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When I was a teenager, I invested $400 in 20 years of anger and a big, hard, life-changing lesson. I had seen this guy around – a friend of a friend named Justin – carrying the exact model of guitar that I wanted, and there was a rumor that he was looking to sell it. I tracked him down in a parking lot by the beach where high schoolers hung out on summer nights.
He was among a group of kids smoking cigarettes on a Mexican blanket in the back of a van. As I approached them, he nodded at me in recognition, and I asked him about the guitar. He said he had paid $800 for the instrument but was willing to let it go for half of that because he needed money fast. So fast, in fact, that he wanted me to pay him for it on the spot even though he didn’t have the guitar with him. That way, he explained, he would know I was serious about it and he wouldn’t sell it to another guy that he had already promised it to. I went home and returned with my money, which I handed over, and he agreed to meet me at a coffee shop the next morning with the guitar.
Only, as you can probably guess, he didn’t show up.
I found out where he lived and went to his house. He answered the door flanked by a large, red-faced man several years older than us who looked twitchy, and had scabs on his knuckles. I asked for the guitar.
“What guitar?” Justin replied. “Are you talking about my cousin’s guitar?”
“Yeah,” the man asked, “are you talking about my guitar?” and he pointed to the guitar, which lay on a dirty couch behind them.
“Well it’s my guitar actually,” I stated, trying to sound tougher than I felt. “I paid Justin 400 bucks for it yesterday.”
“Why would you make up a story like that?” his cousin challenged, sneering to reveal a mouthful of broken teeth. “He can’t sell my guitar. Can you, Justin?”
“Nope,” said Justin. “I barely know this loser.”
“Did this little boy give you 400 bucks?” Cousin asked.
“Of course not. Cuz then I’d have 400 bucks. But I’m broke, see?” and he pulled out his wallet and opened it to show that it was empty.
“Well then,” said Cousin, turning back to me, “it looks like you just came here to try to cheat us and that’s not very nice.”
“You’re the ones who are cheating me!” I countered, but my instincts were telling me that no good would come out of pushing this.
“Is this little boy threatening us at our own house, Justin?” Cousin asked.
“It kinda sounds like it,” Justin replied. “It kinda sounds like he wants to fight.” The two of them edged toward me.
“I don’t want to fight,” I said, “I just want the guitar that I paid for.”
“If you don’t want trouble,” said Cousin, “then get off our porch and don’t show your face around here again.”
So I left.
At that age, in that time and place, I believed that getting an adult involved – even one with a badge – simply wasn’t an option. Not solving your own problems was looked down upon, and there was no real escape from retribution for squealing in a small town. No, the only way to manage such an issue was to beat someone up. My guy friends said things like, “You need to go back over there and pound the money out of him!” But I was a skinny pacifist and Justin and his cousin were the burly sons of lobstermen. I suggested that maybe a whole gang of us could visit Justin’s house, but my friends sheepishly declined, murmuring things like, “I don’t have any beef with him . . .”
I only encountered Justin once more in person. I ran into him at a restaurant a few months later, where he was sitting at a table with his friends (no Cousin, luckily). I walked over to him and said, “You still owe me 400 bucks.”
“Yeah?” he replied, “Get in line. I owe money to a lot of people.” And at this he shrugged and looked to his friends who all laughed and started yelling out how much he owed them.
I wish I could say that was the end of it, but I had hundreds – no, thousands – of encounters with him in my mind during and after this time. The incident generated many negative conclusions: that I was an idiot, that people are bad and untrustworthy, that I was weak, that Boston is full of thugs, that I wasn’t manly, that I couldn’t count on my friends, and so on. I had daydreams in which I would imagine myself destroying his life, or going back with a gun or a knife and getting my money, or stealing the guitar.
Sometimes I would forget about the whole thing for a month or six months or a year, but whenever I remembered it again I still felt upset.
It was many years before I entertained the idea of forgiveness. I didn’t like him and I didn’t want to give him anything he didn’t deserve, but I was beginning to get a sense of just how much my own resentment had poisoned me. So I tried it. I said to myself, “I forgive Justin for stealing my money,” and I felt a little relieved.
But shortly thereafter, I caught myself replaying the story and feeling angry. I hadn’t let it go. I was frustrated. I forgave him again. And then I caught myself again. And I repeated this cycle a few more times before a deeper understanding began to dawn on me.
First, I decided that it would be worth $400 to really let this go. So I reframed it – I decided I was letting him have the $400 willingly so that I could just be done with this. I hoped that if I could convince myself that I was choosing this, there would be nothing to resent.
Unfortunately, this strategy wasn’t enough to help me get over the whole thing, but there was value in being rational about the various costs and payoffs involved. I was getting nothing but pain for my $400 as long as I held onto my story. And, Briana once reminded me, if I had taken on those guys: “You would have been paying four hundred dollars to get your butt kicked.”
Second, I discovered that forgiveness is almost always a many-layered process and constitutes more work than we tend to expect. In my case, I had some anger about having gotten ripped off, but I was gradually getting to a place where $400 wasn’t that much money. The actual theft wasn’t the biggest thing. More bothersome was the sense that my instincts were wrong, that I was helpless, that I was a wimp, and especially that I should have done something differently.
I looked long and hard at all of this, and it took me on a deeper journey into my psyche that revealed that these thoughts all had deeper roots. There was a certain mistrust for the world that was important to recognize, but more importantly, a mistrust of myself, and lots of self-blame. I systematically unearthed everything I found and forgave it all.
Third, I realized that true forgiveness is not a single act, but a commitment. I’ve written about this idea in several articles and books, but never before told the story that led me to it. Until I had this revelation, I believed that a proper act of forgiveness should last forever and the resentment should never come back. Thus, I had also some self-blame around not having forgiven correctly, since it wasn’t sticking.
Then I learned that the “correct” way to forgive is to make an agreement with myself that I am going to forgive over and over, as many times as it takes. It’s also an agreement to be mindful enough to notice when I’ve picked up my resentment again, to stop indulging in it, and let it go once more.
So, in the end, perhaps $400 was a bargain for the insights I finally got.
What have you invested in (whether with dollars, energy, time, or some other commodity) that has thus far yielded only pain? Is it possible to reframe it such that you offer to willingly give what has already been given – in exchange for growth, insight, and freedom?
Where is forgiveness in order? Besides the most obvious object of forgiveness, what sub-resentments exist? (It’s worth getting a pen and paper for this, since it might be a long list.) Are you willing to make a lifelong commitment to forgive and thus be freed from a story that has kept you enslaved? It’s heroism, truly.
Be well,
Dr. Peter Borten
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[post_content] => In this video, Dr. Peter Borten explains the basics of Body Centered Releasing, and the powerfully positive effect this practice can have on your life. Learning to use your body to make peace with inner conflicts and let things go is always preferable to resisting and holding on to emotions by trapping them inside. Body Centered releasing lets us BE with each moment in a way that allows for more freedom.
Dr. Borten also introduces
The Freedom Journal - The Dragontree's new workbook that will help you guide yourself through this process of saying yes to each moment as it comes while always keeping some awareness on your physical felt experience. Instead of trying to revisit the past or anticipate the future, you're able to stop resisting and be in the reality of the present moment - and your whole life changes.
Get Freedom: A Simple Ritual For Letting Go
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[post_content] => This Saturday is the beginning of the Chinese New Year. One year ago, I remember thinking about the approaching Year of the Fire Monkey and wondering how it would play out. The monkey, much like Curious George, is known for causing havoc. And given the particular elemental qualities at play, experts of feng shui and the Chinese zodiac predicted a year of strong personalities, violent clashes, craziness, trickery, and turning convention on its head. Just picture a couple of monkeys on fire running around in your house.
I don’t put a tremendous amount of stock into these predictions. In fact, I usually forget about them a few weeks into the year. But in 2016, I often found myself distracted by the political theatrics despite myself. It reminded me of the time a monkey jumped on me in Mexico and firmly latched onto my ear with its sharp little teeth. Not only was it uncomfortable, it was quite difficult for me to extract myself from the situation.
Of course, there’s no way to prove that the events of 2016 were caused by its Chinese zodiac attributes, but if the Fire Monkey helps us frame our understanding of the year in a useful way, I think it has served its purpose. Or at least it makes us curious about the next animal.
On January 28th, we enter the Year of the Fire Rooster. Each of the different animals is a symbol for a natural dynamic; some of the interpretations are intuitive and others are a bit of a stretch. In the case of the rooster, let’s start with the one thing everyone knows about roosters by the time they’re three years old. When they see the sun rise, they yell, “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” I believe this translates roughly to, “Wake up!”
Second, they roost. That is, they sit up on something high and watch over several nests. From their roosting spot, they have a position of vision. In numerous spiritual traditions, the rooster is regarded as an intermediary of communication with the Divine; perhaps this notion comes from the high and watchful position the rooster occupies. When the roosting rooster sees something he doesn’t like (such as another rooster moving in), he yells some more.
Third, they fight. Roosters are naturally aggressive toward other roosters, a fact exploited around the world in cockfighting. Roosters are groomed and modified – sometimes with blades attached to their legs – where this blood sport is popular. In Bali, cockfighting is actually a religious ritual (“tabuh rah”) – the losing bird is considered a sacrifice to appease evil spirits – performed at every temple.
The element of the year combines with the animal to color its influence. This year it’s fire, and I think that’s a good sign. Fire’s nature is to illuminate. Its ability to shed light into the darkest corners heralds a time of transparency and clarity.
So, how can we interpret these characteristics as we look hopefully toward the coming year? Well, as I see it, there are two kinds of roosters: the evolved rooster and the base rooster. One proclaims the return of the light and tells everyone to wake up. The other sees only enemies and opportunities to assert his dominance. One roosts up high and views the big picture. The other struts around on the ground looking for a fight.
Each of us has the potential to embody the qualities of an evolved rooster or a base rooster, and I’m betting that we’re going to lean more toward evolution this year. It’s time to wake up.
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[post_content] => When I was a teenager, I invested $400 in 20 years of anger and a big, hard, life-changing lesson. I had seen this guy around – a friend of a friend named Justin – carrying the exact model of guitar that I wanted, and there was a rumor that he was looking to sell it. I tracked him down in a parking lot by the beach where high schoolers hung out on summer nights.
He was among a group of kids smoking cigarettes on a Mexican blanket in the back of a van. As I approached them, he nodded at me in recognition, and I asked him about the guitar. He said he had paid $800 for the instrument but was willing to let it go for half of that because he needed money fast. So fast, in fact, that he wanted me to pay him for it on the spot even though he didn’t have the guitar with him. That way, he explained, he would know I was serious about it and he wouldn’t sell it to another guy that he had already promised it to. I went home and returned with my money, which I handed over, and he agreed to meet me at a coffee shop the next morning with the guitar.
Only, as you can probably guess, he didn’t show up.
I found out where he lived and went to his house. He answered the door flanked by a large, red-faced man several years older than us who looked twitchy, and had scabs on his knuckles. I asked for the guitar.
“What guitar?” Justin replied. “Are you talking about my cousin’s guitar?”
“Yeah,” the man asked, “are you talking about my guitar?” and he pointed to the guitar, which lay on a dirty couch behind them.
“Well it’s my guitar actually,” I stated, trying to sound tougher than I felt. “I paid Justin 400 bucks for it yesterday.”
“Why would you make up a story like that?” his cousin challenged, sneering to reveal a mouthful of broken teeth. “He can’t sell my guitar. Can you, Justin?”
“Nope,” said Justin. “I barely know this loser.”
“Did this little boy give you 400 bucks?” Cousin asked.
“Of course not. Cuz then I’d have 400 bucks. But I’m broke, see?” and he pulled out his wallet and opened it to show that it was empty.
“Well then,” said Cousin, turning back to me, “it looks like you just came here to try to cheat us and that’s not very nice.”
“You’re the ones who are cheating me!” I countered, but my instincts were telling me that no good would come out of pushing this.
“Is this little boy threatening us at our own house, Justin?” Cousin asked.
“It kinda sounds like it,” Justin replied. “It kinda sounds like he wants to fight.” The two of them edged toward me.
“I don’t want to fight,” I said, “I just want the guitar that I paid for.”
“If you don’t want trouble,” said Cousin, “then get off our porch and don’t show your face around here again.”
So I left.
At that age, in that time and place, I believed that getting an adult involved – even one with a badge – simply wasn’t an option. Not solving your own problems was looked down upon, and there was no real escape from retribution for squealing in a small town. No, the only way to manage such an issue was to beat someone up. My guy friends said things like, “You need to go back over there and pound the money out of him!” But I was a skinny pacifist and Justin and his cousin were the burly sons of lobstermen. I suggested that maybe a whole gang of us could visit Justin’s house, but my friends sheepishly declined, murmuring things like, “I don’t have any beef with him . . .”
I only encountered Justin once more in person. I ran into him at a restaurant a few months later, where he was sitting at a table with his friends (no Cousin, luckily). I walked over to him and said, “You still owe me 400 bucks.”
“Yeah?” he replied, “Get in line. I owe money to a lot of people.” And at this he shrugged and looked to his friends who all laughed and started yelling out how much he owed them.
I wish I could say that was the end of it, but I had hundreds – no, thousands – of encounters with him in my mind during and after this time. The incident generated many negative conclusions: that I was an idiot, that people are bad and untrustworthy, that I was weak, that Boston is full of thugs, that I wasn’t manly, that I couldn’t count on my friends, and so on. I had daydreams in which I would imagine myself destroying his life, or going back with a gun or a knife and getting my money, or stealing the guitar.
Sometimes I would forget about the whole thing for a month or six months or a year, but whenever I remembered it again I still felt upset.
It was many years before I entertained the idea of forgiveness. I didn’t like him and I didn’t want to give him anything he didn’t deserve, but I was beginning to get a sense of just how much my own resentment had poisoned me. So I tried it. I said to myself, “I forgive Justin for stealing my money,” and I felt a little relieved.
But shortly thereafter, I caught myself replaying the story and feeling angry. I hadn’t let it go. I was frustrated. I forgave him again. And then I caught myself again. And I repeated this cycle a few more times before a deeper understanding began to dawn on me.
First, I decided that it would be worth $400 to really let this go. So I reframed it – I decided I was letting him have the $400 willingly so that I could just be done with this. I hoped that if I could convince myself that I was choosing this, there would be nothing to resent.
Unfortunately, this strategy wasn’t enough to help me get over the whole thing, but there was value in being rational about the various costs and payoffs involved. I was getting nothing but pain for my $400 as long as I held onto my story. And, Briana once reminded me, if I had taken on those guys: “You would have been paying four hundred dollars to get your butt kicked.”
Second, I discovered that forgiveness is almost always a many-layered process and constitutes more work than we tend to expect. In my case, I had some anger about having gotten ripped off, but I was gradually getting to a place where $400 wasn’t that much money. The actual theft wasn’t the biggest thing. More bothersome was the sense that my instincts were wrong, that I was helpless, that I was a wimp, and especially that I should have done something differently.
I looked long and hard at all of this, and it took me on a deeper journey into my psyche that revealed that these thoughts all had deeper roots. There was a certain mistrust for the world that was important to recognize, but more importantly, a mistrust of myself, and lots of self-blame. I systematically unearthed everything I found and forgave it all.
Third, I realized that true forgiveness is not a single act, but a commitment. I’ve written about this idea in several articles and books, but never before told the story that led me to it. Until I had this revelation, I believed that a proper act of forgiveness should last forever and the resentment should never come back. Thus, I had also some self-blame around not having forgiven correctly, since it wasn’t sticking.
Then I learned that the “correct” way to forgive is to make an agreement with myself that I am going to forgive over and over, as many times as it takes. It’s also an agreement to be mindful enough to notice when I’ve picked up my resentment again, to stop indulging in it, and let it go once more.
So, in the end, perhaps $400 was a bargain for the insights I finally got.
What have you invested in (whether with dollars, energy, time, or some other commodity) that has thus far yielded only pain? Is it possible to reframe it such that you offer to willingly give what has already been given – in exchange for growth, insight, and freedom?
Where is forgiveness in order? Besides the most obvious object of forgiveness, what sub-resentments exist? (It’s worth getting a pen and paper for this, since it might be a long list.) Are you willing to make a lifelong commitment to forgive and thus be freed from a story that has kept you enslaved? It’s heroism, truly.
Be well,
Dr. Peter Borten
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Cart
I’ve never used meditation to activate “change” though I meditate daily…have for decades! I welcome the new light provided here.
thanks Susan. Just saw these comments now. I’m glad this article spoke to you. I don’t actually know where our web designer found these photos. Probably shutterstock. be well,
Peter
And Ayuervedia and the term sanskara is not new to me. Was I just not able to really hear (have motivation to act) until you last two books?
Where do you access such beautiful photo’s? (Love everything about this woman on the bridge. In particular seeing one person clearly…the one in the now, not ahead or behind but in the moment.) I enjoy the haptic and appearance of the Rituals For Life cover. The mountains appear to be similar to a painting I’ve viewed from a FB friend of Briana’s…no?
Hi Susan. I’m glad you liked the article and presentation. I am not sure where that photo came from, but guessing that one of our designers found it on a stock photo site like shutterstock or istockphoto or getty. And the blue watercolor for Rituals for Transformation was done by our employees Erica Nelson and Brian Kubat, who manage our design work and much, much more.
be well,
Peter
Exactly what I needed today.
Glad to hear it!
A lot to think about
Utterly beautiful and divinely timed. Thank you.
Thanks, Robin!
Amazing introspect! This is exactly what I’m looking for, to expound on, and include in my life’s journey!
Thanks, Michelle. I’m glad it was helpful.
Bless you for this. Perfect timing as s reminder that change is the only constant and I am constantly changing! Love it!
Thank you, Sharon. I will take all the blessings I can get. 😉
Thanks for this great artical and reminder how important meditation is in life!!
You’re welcome, Charn.
I used to be more optimistic about people’s ability to change if they truly we’re open to the idea and could see the rewards but as I have reached the near end of my life, I seem to have lost that optimism. I don’t want to be cynical but my life experiences have pushed me in that direction. Pam M
Hi Pam,
I’m sorry you’ve lost your optimism. Maybe cut down on consumption of news. There are lots of great sources of positive news out there, stories of people being amazing, and books about triumph. Your choice of what you expose yourself to can make a huge difference in your outlook. Meanwhile, in your day to day interactions, if you consciously offer your gifts and strive for connection and service, I believe you will see something in more people that may change your mind.
Needed this in the best way!
Happy to provide.
Beautifully written with hope of change in people…if they choose to.
Thank you, Kim.
I feel I’ve been working for some changes and keep falling back into old patterns. Your comments have helped me forgive myself for not “getting there” and understand why it seems to hard to get out of those “ruts.” Your observations re-inspire me to continue to work toward those changes I seek in my life. Namaste
I’m glad to hear this article helped illuminate these mechanisms for you, Michele. Yes, you’re not destined to live forever in those ruts. But REMEMBER this, as often as possible.
I’m struggling to emerge from a lifelong recurrent samskaras ( now I understand what it is). Step 1 – I’m aware of it. Step 2 – I now accept what it is. Today begins my conscious work to let it go. It does not enhance my life. Thank you for this insight.
You’re so welcome, Lisa
Peter,
Printing this one! Speaking loudly to me as set an intention yesterday to work on trying to change the fixed pathways of my brain and trying to create new pathways, not so rigid, not so stuck in ruminative loops!
thanks Peter, great helpful articles!
You’re welcome Maureen! Glad it was helpful.
Be well,
Peter