Glitter Joyride Podcast

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I’m not sure how Chai Society is landing for folks.

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Are the Ancestors Real?

When I was spending a lot of time teaching about healing ancestors through somatic ritual, one of the questions I got all the time from my students was,

"How do I know the ancestors are real?"

Because I got that question so often, my teacher, Dr. Daniel Foor, helped me to develop a stock answer.

I would say,

"You did not grow up in a culture of ancestral reverence.

“Here in the West, we are disconnected from our lineages and our traditions.

“If you had grown up in a more intact culture, you would not think to ask that question because relating with your ancestors would have been woven into every day of your life.

“You would have made offerings, said their names, waited for dreams with information from your grandma.

“You would have had an ancestor altar in your home.

“You would have sung and prayed to them automatically, because that's what everyone around you did.

“I'm so sorry you did not get that.

“However, you can have that now.

“Ancestors are a human energy, and humans are relational.

“You can build a relationship with your ancestors just like with any other human. With care and attention over time.

“Start small.

“Make an offering and see what happens.

“Then take it a step further."

What is Ancestral Healing?

If my student was still listening and interested, I'd take it to the next level.

"There are many layers to healing, and ancestral healing is one layer.

“Getting reconnected with your well, bright, and elevated ancestors is your birthright.

“In many cultures, the shining ancestors are actively involved with their living descendants, offering advice, intuition, prayer, guidance, and love.

“Think about it, don't you want the very best for any descendants of heart or of blood that you have?

“Wouldn't you say prayers for their highest good and best possible lives?

“Your ancestors did the same for you, even if very far back."

Western Doubt

Anthropologists have noted that the question itself is a Western one.

Twentieth-century Western researchers were challenged to apply cultural relativism when faced with ancestor-worshipping cultures.

Some avoided the question altogether by focusing on what a culture believes.

In Family Constellations work, there is disagreement too, with some practitioners believing that ancestors truly exist, and some believing they are more like archetypes.

Francesca M. Boring, a Shoshone medicine woman and Family Constellation practitioner, said it directly:

“The Ancestors are real. Unlike the interpretation of constructivist constellations which may relegate Ancestors to allegory or metaphor, the Ancestors are viewed simply as ancestors.”

A Personal Metaphysics

But Western minds need proof, not faith. We often come to faith through having positive experiences we cannot explain.

Stephen Jay Gould once said,

“Each of us has to have a personal metaphysics. There are questions that are formally unanswerable on which nonetheless every individual must take a position in order to integrate various pieces of his life.”

My Experience

I would say,

"Hey, you can always try it out and see what results you get.

“I know personally that when I engaged authentically in healing work with my ancestral lineages, my life dramatically improved in unexpected ways.

“Was that my ancestors?

“I believe so, but ultimately it does not matter to me if ancestral relationships are scientifically measurable.

“I feel more wholeness, more integral aliveness, because I am in good relationship with my ancestors.

“Because I know I have done the ritual work within my power to clean up any unresolved trauma and harm my ancestors experienced and/or committed.

“As a white person living in the so-called USA, that matters to me."

Looking Ahead

When we are working with ancestors, we are working with life expressed through generations, a lineage of time.

When we work with trauma, we work with a mind-body that has gotten trapped in time.

That stuckness gets passed down.

This is the threshold where my doctoral research on transgenerational sexual trauma began.

In Part Two of this post, I will share what I learned about the impacts of ancestral trauma on sexuality and how ritual helps us transform what has been passed to us.

My book “Tending the Bones” grew out of this research, and my ritual container Tending the Bones is open now for anyone ready to engage these questions in their own lineages and bodies. $200 Early Bird Discount until Aug. 30

What you need:

* About 15 minutes

* A nose

This is your final invitation to register for Camp LightHeart’s SMELL THIS POEM week, starting Monday, June 2.

Sessions will be recorded.

Anticapitalist experiment: Camp by $ donation.

Scent as embodiment practice, words and poetry as pleasure and respite from a heavy heart.

More info and registration here

Someone asked me if there was a recording of the spiritual hygiene practice I offered in April at the book launch for Tending the Bones. There wasn’t, so I made one.

I hope you find it helpful. It’s especially good after you’ve been energetically slimed (you know the feeling) but is also an essential daily practice for me.

Love,

Pavini

Mary Margaret and I have been sitting on the park bench in downtown Sofia, Bulgaria, for three hours.

Long enough for the banitsa papers and sunflower seed husks to accumulate around our feet, blown by the Balkan breeze. 

Even as the sun goes down, it's pleasant weather, a beautiful late spring evening.

The children playing on the decrepit metal playground equipment have all gone home.

The old men playing chess at the cement tables have picked up their pieces and left their cigarette butts.

I’ve been waiting to pee, but the time for a bathroom is imminent.

Which means a visit to the disco tech cafe across the street.

There, I will squat over a stinking hole in the ground and try not to urinate on my jeans.

Mary Margaret will be alone while I'm gone, not the safest, so I'll hurry.

On the way back, I grab two foil-wrapped SNAKY croissants that were probably baked a year or two ago, judging from their staleness.

We sit and eat, feeding crumbs to the pigeons who are still milling about. 

"I don't think she's coming," MM says, picking out the chocolate filling and eating it, even though chocolate gives her a headache.

Once, I had come across her, standing amid a stream of hundreds of people in the Sofia train station.

She was standing perfectly still, eyes closed, slowly eating a Twix bar. I had watched her for some minutes, taking in her pleasure.

Part of me wished it was me she was savoring. 

"She'll be here.” I replied. “We have to wait."

‘She' is Sisi, our Peace Corps colleague.

We are all volunteers teaching English.

Bulgaria has been free of communist rule for three years.

We are there to bring them into the twentieth century by teaching teenagers Green Day lyrics. 

In the days before cell phones or reliable telecommunications of any sort, we've developed a code: as young, 20-something women:

We wait for each other once we make a meeting.

Not only wait, but if you say you are coming, you are coming.

Because people are waiting for you.

You can't change your mind. 

Things happen.

Trains are late or canceled.

Buses don't show up.

So, occasionally, our code doesn't work.

But for the most part, it keeps us all alive.

It's dark now, and a woman alone in the Sofia streets is prey.

Even two of us together aren't safe, but it's harder to kidnap two screaming, kicking bodies. 

None of us will emerge from the experience without tales of horror.

But hopefully, tonight, Sisi will get here, and we can all go out dancing.

She's taking a train six hours to the capital city from the small town of Stara Zagora, where she's posted. 

Suddenly, Sisi appears.

"Oh my god, I can't believe you are still here!"

We are all hugging and laughing, and the fear I've been feeling disappears.

"I'm so sorry!” she says. “The train I was supposed to take never came, and I had to wait for the local train, and it took forever! Thank you so much for waiting!"

Sisi is crying.

She is a survivor of a violent crime that happened in the US, one of the reasons she left.

Knowing her history, it felt extra essential to wait for her tonight.

"I'm buying the first round!" she announces. 

If you understand this context, you'll likely know why I struggled when years later I moved to San Francisco and was submersed in Bay Area Flakiness (BAF).

If you have yet to experience BAF, let me educate you.

* Living in the Bay and making friends is extremely difficult.

* Everyone is so busy.

* Everyone is scheduled out for three weeks.

* People cancel all the time.

* People wait until the last minute to decide what they will do that night to ensure they can do the very best thing.

* Which might not be your birthday party.

* There is so much going on all the time.

People are f*****g flakey, and it's baked into the culture.

Perhaps this is also true in other big cities; I can't speak to it.

I hate to admit it, but I grew tired of being earnest and consistent after a while. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

Flakiness became my new black.

I tried it on. It felt gross but also strangely freeing.

Not trying to shame you, Bay Area, but when getting ready to flake, consider:

* Will this event ever happen again?

* Who will be impacted if I flake? In what ways?

* What negative consequences might I face if I don't show up?

* Do I want to support this thing in the world?

* Why do I think it won't matter if I don't attend?

* How do I feel about flakey people?

However, I am originally of the Midwest.

Salt of the Earth.

Hot dish, food trains.

Potlucks are places to shine, not drop off the baby carrots and hummus you picked up at Trader Joe's on the way over.

I value showing up.

My system relaxes when someone I care about is committed to showing up.

Remember the post when I talked about F**k it as Fake Freedom?

Flaking is fake freedom.

Flaking is costly.

It costs trust with others and yourself, relationships, and integrity.

My desire to flake often happens when I have committed to something a while ago, and when the moment arrives, I don't have the energy to go.

This means that to align with my value of showing up, I had to become more careful about making commitments (like I used to be before the Bay got on me.)

This is not to say there are no moments we need to cancel plans.

Sometimes, we need to stay home, slow down, and rest.

It's more about being intentional in our lives.

Do you value showing up?

Do you value it enough to develop a more accurate assessment of your capacity beforehand?

This could sound like,

"I want to say yes to your invitation. And the truth is, I don't want to flake, so I need to wait and see how I feel that day.

“I understand this may not work for you. But honoring my commitments matters to me, so I am very careful with how I make them."

Choice practice for this week: Pause before yes. Before making a commitment, take a moment. Are you 95% sure you will keep this commitment?

Last week, you were invited to notice a ‘F**k It’ moment you felt, and to explore what happened if you gently inquired about what your system was needing. What did you experience or learn from that practice? Comment here to answer.

“Not enough balance in your account…”

When I read the email that there is no money in my company bank account to cover payroll, I'm supposed to be on vacation while attending knife school.

I'm supposed to be recharging while my team runs my company.

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I am supposed to come back to why I started this company in the first place: financial freedom.

I'm not supposed to get any emails at 3 PM on Friday afternoon.

That thunk you just heard is my heart dropping out of my body and splatting on the floor.

F**k.

I'm not supposed to have to figure out payroll, since we are out of money, and people need to get paid.

Today.

When I get the email, I am furious with my company.

We had a plan, and the money had been there when I left on vacation.

Undoubtedly, unexpected expenses needed to be paid, and my money person did so. 

If you have never been responsible for making sure your employees get paid on time from the cash (not) flowing into your company, you may not understand the stomach-clenching pressure I feel.

Like, I want to puke.

Suppose you have always worked for someone else, and your paycheck was magically deposited into your bank account each week.

In that case, you will have no idea the anguish and enormous sacrifice a small business owner may have made to ensure you are paid.

You should be paid, don't get me wrong.

Sometimes, getting paid means someone else is bleeding out and not getting paid themselves. 

I drive the hour home from school to deal with the issue.

Inside, I'm panicking.

There is no other magic pool of money that I can fill this gap from today.

In other crises, I've been able to put it on my credit card, but I'm over $100,000 in credit card debt, and the cards are all maxed out.

This is when I will have to tell people they will need to wait for their paycheck until more cash flows in. 

We've weathered the pandemic and civil unrest without any delays in paying people.

It's a point of pride: my employees get paid no matter what.

I dread sending that email.

I've come close before but always managed to somehow find the money.

Not this time. 

In the car, it's hot.

I open the windows and turn onto the highway.

I'm crying.

Frustrated, terrified, angry tears.

"If you want this to happen, you've GOT to give me the money for it to happen!" I scream to my ancestors, to the Gods, to whatever spirits might be listening.

I CANNOT do this without financial support.

I am OUT OF MONEY!

F*****G HELP ME!!!!!

I arrive home and park across from my house.

Drag my snotty self toward my house, stop at the mailbox by the sidewalk.

And there it is.

That magick golden brown envelope, with the window cut out.

The subtle rainbow ombre of an IRS check peaking through.

During the pandemic, the IRS was backlogged.

Two years later, it looks as if I've finally received my refund.

I tear open the envelope.

I can't even remember how much I'm supposed to get.

Over 5K.

It's enough to make payroll for this week.

My devastation turns to celebration.

Holy M***********g Hallelujah. 

Everything is not what it seems when it comes to money.

Money is complex.

It is tangible and energetic at the same time.

It's both practical and magical.

If you engage with money on a purely practical level, you're missing a more profound relationship with resource and flow.

If you engage purely on an emotional level, you're missing out on the fun of its material qualities and the pleasure it can offer.

Most people have many narratives and feelings about money that get in their way.

From the airy-fairy 'let's manifest everything' to the 'it's just numbers' crowds, and everyone in between, I see you. 

Money is a system of connection, meaning, and value.

How you think, feel, and talk about money influences your relationship with it. 

Any spiritual skill you want to develop can be practiced with money, especially faith.

Trusting money is trusting yourself to receive what you need, exactly when you need it.

I’ve been writing a book called Radical Wealth: An Anti-capitalist Guide to Queer and Trans Prosperity.

(Lemme know if you have an agent or publisher friend who might be interested.)

This week’s choice practice comes from that body of work.

Write out a caring, gentle answer to this prompt:

This is the power I decide to give money in my life:

And post your answer in the comments so we can all share collective wisdom.

Glitter Joyride is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

What do I mean by precious?

That's the first order of business. 

To be precious is to be too much.

To have too many needs.

Too many particularities. 

To be precious means you are fussy.

There is an exact right way, and unless things are that way, you are dissatisfied, often loudly. 

To be precious is to want things to be so just, be comfortable, and have your needs addressed. 

At 53, I am much more precious than I was at 33.

Then, I thought taking the redeye from San Francisco to NYC was a fab idea, but now, you couldn't pay me enough.

Being precious means planning ahead to ensure your needs are met. 

Preciousness gets a bad rap because people confuse being demanding with being precious.

Being particular is fine if you don't inflict your needs on others like a lash. 

Mileage varies depending on the user.

Your preciousness is not the same as mine.

I need half and half, baby wipes, and bubbly water to live my best life.

I am not precious about everything, just the things that matter the most to me.

I recently slept in a commune, and the mattress—omfg.

All night, my body hurt as I tossed and turned, trying to get comfy.

I 100% would have owned that mattress in college: different needs.

That's the thing about needs: they change and shift as you do. 

Now, I need a soft bed.

I've purchased a self-inflating solo mattress to take with me to India.

I also need a cooling towel in case I get overheated.

Preciousness can run alongside privilege.

It can land as entitlement.

But it doesn't have to. 

For example, my daughter dislikes the feeling of being sweaty.

She will take two showers a day if she feels gross.

Where we live, water is not a threatened resource.

There is plenty of it, so her showering, while it runs up my water bill, doesn't have the same impact it could have elsewhere. 

But what if she lived in the desert in New Mexico in a community where people had to physically carry the water?

It might be okay if she was willing to carry extra for her shower habit.

But, if she doesn't want to help schlep the water (she likely wouldn't because sweat), it burdens others around her. 

Her preciousness would land as entitlement, instead of self-care. 

Because here's the other meaning of precious. 

To be precious is to be cherished, to be adored.

We give tenderness and care to that which we believe to be treasured.

It has value.

I increasingly want to cherish my body like a temple as I age, not in some woo way, but in pragmatic, action-based activities.

I need to stretch every day.

Hydration is vital to well-being.

Movement, nourishment, companionship, and connection.

All of these are non-negotiable.

I give them to myself because I have a deep love for myself, and giving them to myself helps me to feel and know that love.

Love as a verb, thank you bell hooks. 

In this sense of precious, we became our own babies, maybe even living in our own wombs. (Genderfree association here). 

When I give myself deep care and indulge my needs for comfort, I am well-resourced.

In this case, what I give to others comes from an overflow, the abundance of acceptance and care available in my soma.

Internal Family Systems (IFS) parts work is a practice of preciousness, including every part, no matter how whiny or small.

My teacher says, "No bad parts." 

I love this model of self-acceptance.

I love and accept all parts of myself, and I say this daily. 

However, I do have several queries about preciousness. 

When is self-acceptance a cop-out?

In The Man Who Fell In Love with the Moon (which I highly recommend if you haven't read it; my favorite piece of fiction ever), Madam Ida Richilieu is a primary character.

She often says, "That's just the way I am; don't ask me to change." 

But can we discern between self-care and ignoring the needs of others?

Can I accept traits that negatively impact others and work to become more skillful? 

I don't want my self-acceptance to get in the way of connection, any more than I want my particularities to be a burden others must carry. 

For example, I have a dear friend who is incredibly self-accepting of his own process.

As a result of this self-acceptance, he often changes plans at the last minute because he needs to take care of himself. 

I find this annoying.

I need more consistency and stability.

I value follow-through.

Yes, there will be times when plans must shift, but with this friend, it's a pattern. 

How do we hold both the preciousness of the self and the preciousness of others with egalitarian practice? 

I see my clients struggle with this all the time in relationships.

Because needs are often suspect (don't want to be needy, right?) and because we all have needs we are trying to meet all the time, competition for resources can occur within a relationship.

The idea is that there is only a certain amount of (time, money, attention, etc.), and one person will lose if the other meets their needs. 

Let’s imagine a world where everyone's needs matter.

My porn is thinking about meeting as many of the collective needs as possible.

I get excited thinking about how to creatively meet needs.

Preciousness (the kind where you are fearful your needs won't get met, so you get extra, well, extra about getting your needs met) is born from scarcity. 

Could my friend and I work out a way for him to get his need for staying home for self-care, and I could get my need for consistency and follow-through met? 

It requires being precious enough to unapologetically know and name our needs, to create a radical culture of care for all our needs, and to get super creative. 

This week’s choice practice:

Notice somewhere in you where you judge yourself for a need, thinking it makes you entitled and yucky.

Now, change the channel to the other kind of precious: what if this need is about cherishing?

Let me know next week. 

How did last week's practice go?

What did you notice and learn?

Comment with your answer.

Asking for what you want and need is hard for most of us. 

Receiving requests from others about what they want and need from us can also be challenging. 

I feel fluent in asking what I want and need, but I also struggle. Recently, I had to ask my partner for help with my upcoming trip to India. (YES! THAT'S HAPPENING!)

I was terrified of how he would respond. The question was in my mouth, on my lips, for days. Every time I tried to bring it up, I froze.

Also, I'm in a close relationship with someone who is learning to have and articulate needs. 

Which means I am getting to upgrade my skills in receiving requests.

When I get asked to do something, a lot of math happens.

I consider the relationship I have with the person asking.

I consider my own desires. 

I consider the impact of doing or not doing the thing that is being asked. 

My kids call me Oma. 

Recently, my young adult daughter asked me, "Oma, would you be willing to transfer $50 in my account for my co-pay so I can go to the doctor?"

When they were little, I taught them the Nonviolent Communication phrasing: "Would you be willing to…" 

It's a phrase that lands soft for me. 

They aren't asking me for $50 directly or if I'd do the work to put it in their account, they are asking me about my willingness.

“Would you be willing to….” gives me a moment to consider my own willingness. 

For me, that time helps me avoid feeling obligated.

I feel more agency. 

When people would hear my six-year-old say something like, "Would you be willing to give me a popsicle," or, "Would you be willing to take me to the playground?" I would get comments about how well-behaved my children were.

Truthfully, I didn't want them to be well-behaved so much as I wanted to feel some aspect of choice in our interactions.

So much on both sides of the parent-child relationship precludes choice, am I right?

I extended the same to them as much as I could.

"Would you be willing to pick up your toys now, or would you prefer to do it five minutes from now?" was a common question in our house. 

Asking for what you want or need takes a lot of work. 

Asking takes:

* energy

* the work of clarity

* facing hearing a no

* vulnerability

How to make an ask

I've worked with hundreds of couples, helping them navigate the murky waters of having feelings and needs in relationships. 

In my tenure as a relationship therapist, I've seen some patterns emerge.

One is the resentment/not asking pattern.

A person in a relationship feels deeply unfulfilled and dissatisfied.

When I ask, "Have you told your partner that you would like them to initiate sex?" or whatever the resentment is about, they have not.

Often, they have not asked because they did once and received a no.

They don’t want to feel that way, ever again. That sucked.

They are afraid their partner will say no, or they've already decided it will never happen even if they ask, so why bother? 

If you are on the asking side, I love the NVC approach to requests. 

Share the feeling you are having and the need you can name. Then, make a request with a strategy that meets that need. 

It's easier to talk about in context.

A common complaint I hear from my clients is about who is initiating (or not initiating) sex. 

For example: 

"I feel sad when we don't have sex, because I want to feel connected to you and sex is an important way I feel that. (Shares feeling and need.)

I know it's on both of us to initiate, and I also notice that I haven't been initiating because I'm afraid you'll say no. Would you be willing to initiate sex tonight? (Makes request)

It would really help me meet my need to feel a mutuality in our relationship.” (Gives more context by sharing another need.)

Now compare that more skillful request with this less skillful one: 

"I want you to initiate sex more." (The ‘a*****e’ at the end is like silent E.)

You don't give someone enough context if you lead with the ask.

They don’t know why the ask is essential to you.

Without context, an ask can land like obligation, blame, or that they must comply with or resist your demand.

This rarely works to get what we want.

Instead, it’s helpful to give them more information. 

It's also helpful if you're willing to receive their no, or not right no, or an alternative approach to meeting your need they suggest.

Without these, you're making a demand.

Consider this response to the first more skilled example:

"Hmm, I hear that you want to share the responsibility for initiating sex. (Validates the request.)

I appreciate your asking me, I imagine it took courage to do that. (Validating the labor of the ask.)

Our sexual connection is important to me, too (affirms the need), and I don't know if I'll feel up for sex tonight. (Honors own needs)

Do you want to talk about some other ways I could initiate something if that would meet your need for mutuality, or would you prefer to make a date for sex, if your need is really more about sexual connection? (Offers choices, asking for more information, offering teaming.) 

This format might seem laborious to you, but in my experience, taking the time to ask and receive requests with skill means we get more of what we want. 

It means working gently with the parts of us that fear rejection, that tell us we shouldn't have needs. 

How to receive an ask

When someone asks for something, it's helpful to realize that it is not easy for them, even if they don't share the labor.

I want to recognize that they have gone through an entire process to get to the point where they are asking.

This does not oblige you to say yes.

But, sometimes receiving the ask with gratitude (because they've just shared more of who they are with you) can help a no land more softly. 

"Thanks for asking. I appreciate the vulnerability it took to do that. I need to sit with your request for a bit. Can I give you an answer in an hour?" 

In responding like this, you've

* affirmed the request

* validated the labor

* Let them know you feel grateful

* given yourself time to process the ask

* given a precise time when you will respond

Choice practice for this week: 

Make a choice to ask for something that feels a little scary.

Ask the person who has the power to say yes.

Give them a heads-up that you are practicing your asking skills, and ask for their grace as you fumble through.

Then just make the ask.