sorry the guy is playing a game. Hes creating the continuations to force you to make the decision so that he can think of himself as the wronged misunderstood party. If life if a stage this is not the play you want to have a staring role in.

From what you wrote it is unlikely this guy will make your relationship a priority. Such men have to experience the pain of loss before they are ready for relationship.

That does not mean you should wait for him to learn as we teach people how to treat us. If he learns the lesson and you startup the relationship again he will back slid. This is the nature of Love, sometimes it requires we move on in order to learn the lessons it has for us.

• This reply was modified 8 years, 1 month ago by Peter.

The profile picture you picked to represent yourself shows you have been able to maintain an eye and connection to beauty even you have yet to realize it as part of who you are.

Let the image of the rolling waves of love create the space for you to realize what is already present within.

Deep peace of the running wave to you.
Deep peace of the flowing air to you.
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you.
Deep peace of the shining stars to you.
Deep peace of the gentle night to you.
Moon and stars pour their healing light on you.
Deep peace of the infinite peace to you,

Gaelic Blessing

• This reply was modified 8 years, 1 month ago by Peter.

I was thinking about what you wrote last night and an image come to mind of someone who was not just stuck but blocked. Not to be crude but the word that came to mind was constipated. Perhaps the difficulty in letting go of past experiences was in away leaving you mentally and or emotionally constipated.

I then saw an image of you as a freely running river, someone who was able to allow their experiences to move through them, taking in the nutritious parts of the experiences and expelling the rest. I know it’s odd.

Part of the practice of ‘alchemy’ required the alchemist to enter into the task they are performing. That as the various metals were melted so they could be purified they experienced the purification within themselves. I am a firm believer that when we enter into a physical practice of some kind in this manner we can transform our inner being as well. (I used ballroom dance)

This might sound strange but I wondered what might happen if you took some time by yourselves and tried one of those cleansing and detoxification programs while meditating on the process of letting go. That as you work on the physical you also work on the inner.

What might life be like if your memories could freely flow through you without them overly influencing your present?

I know it’s odd and I’m surprised I sharing these thoughts but what the hay, even if they just make you laugh, Nothing wrong with a good laugh.

Best wishes on your Journey.

I also can relate with the constant looping self-talk keeping me stuck in place. I suspect that as a graduate in philosophy you might have a tendency to overthink things.

The story of Cinderella comes to mind as this is a story about what to do when your suck and experiencing the time of ashes.

In the story Cinderella has lost contact with her mother and father. As an archetypal inner energy the Father provides protection, guidance, discipline while the Mother our ability to nurture and love ourselves. (We all need to become our “own mother and father” and learn to nurture, guide and protect our authentic selves. This is one of the tasks of becoming.)

In the story Cinderella is stuck with the step mother (negative self-talk) and so not able to nurture her authentic self. Even her creative possibilities, what she felt were her gifts seem to work against the self and become un-relatable. (Step sisters)

It is during this time that the task is to take care of the daily jobs required, to tend the garden, take out the trash. To do what you need and have to do as best you avoiding the temptation to over think, measure the experiences.

This creates the space for what could be called the numinous movement, the invitation to the ball. The time where without our trying to control the situation we have the experience, the “magical” moment, were all ones experiences come together with purpose, a glimpse of possibilities and dancing with life once more.

Here there may be a temptation to hold fast to such experience, stay to long, recreate them… but that will just leave you stuck in other ways. Such experiences are not meant to last but light the fire of inspiration.

The numinous experience awakens the time for the inner “prince” archetype. The time of action to seek out a connection to ones being and doing, feeling and thinking nature.

In time of ashes the story advises, as does many wisdom traditions, that we spend time doing the jobs required of us. Perhaps the kind of meditation practice of washing dishes, sweeping floors… without thinking of doing other things. A focus on the tasks and needs at hand without measurements or judgments that so easily leads to the negative step mother self-talk.

Create the space for possibility and glimpse of what might be and the time to act, to seek out the connection between your feeling and thinking nature and see what new possibility might then be born. Allow it to happen and Trust.

We become the stories we tell ourselves, so write a good one.

Checkout Kathryn Craft the author of ‘The Art of Falling’ website, her journey of writing is interesting.

• This reply was modified 8 years, 1 month ago by Peter.

If you have a activity you enjoy there is probably a group or club that you could join.

In the end if this is something you want you are just going to have to put yourself out their.

After having similar experiences and feelings I found that a great deal of it was influenced by the stories I was telling myself. I would constantly replay conversations and past memories of perceived failings, longing for do overs, if only, should have, could have, a consent stream of negative self-talk.

Of course I was aware of all the self-help advice to change the stories and think positive however I wasn’t able to do that.

Like you my attempt at meditation and positive thinking would end badly as I got overwhelmed by past memories and associated negative self-talk. Worse I added the failure of not being able to create a better story or positive thinking to the list to make myself feel worse. (It occurred to me that I might be addicted to feeling bad.)

I wasn’t able to replace the negative stories with positive thinking but wondered if I could just stop telling story’s in those moments.

I set the intention to noticed when I was telling my victim or villain stories and the stop. Instead of filling the space with analyses or “positive” thinking, I would take a breath and focus on doing what I was currently doing.

It was odd as I started to notice an empty space in which in which I could be a detached observer and better respond to the experience.

I had to be careful as I didn’t want to become detached from my experiences or feeling and become apathetic. It’s a difficult balance as the lure to detach fully from feeling is a temptation for me.

However by not filing every space with a stories, replays and analyses, positive or negative, it has helped in creating a space where it became possible be and not get lost in frantic inner reactions.

I still at times feel empty, lost and detached, dead to my experiences, however by stopping the self-talk and not filling the space in I am less likely during those times to use the experiences to spiral deeper into the pit, essentially beating myself up for beating myself up, for beating myself up, for feeling bad, for feeling bad, for feeling unhappy, for feeling unhappy….. (Which is what I was addicted to, feeling something by feeling bad about myself)

• This reply was modified 8 years, 1 month ago by Peter.

I have not read the book but recall an article where the letters were used as evidence that Mother Teresa had lost her faith.

Essentially the authors of the article equated doubt and the experiences of absence of G_d’s grace, love, justice, dark night of the soul if you will as the loss of faith.

Perhaps anticipating such misunderstandings a part of the reason that she wished to keep her written struggles to herself.

I disagree with the authors of that article as ‘fear is to courage’ as ‘doubt is to faith’. That it is in times of doubt that we exercise faith, often in the process discovering what or faith. Times of certainty does not require faith.

In her service I do not wonder why Mother Teresa experience times of absence of G_ds grace, justice, love and even doubt as to G_d’s love and goodness. Yet she continued to act and serve ‘as if’. Acting in with certain intention in times of doubt and uncertainty. That is not a contradiction.

The paradox, or is it irony, or is it miracle… that for many of those she served she became the experience of G_d’s presents, grace, goodness… In her experience of absence she became the experience of presents for others!

I find that amazing.

It is in times of doubt when we discover faith.

Fear is to courage as doubt is to faith.

Doubt is a door.

Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Abre la puerta
Her name is Hope and she’s 12 years old,
going on 20 to life. She is god at 5 feet tall.
Abre la Puerta, open the door
and let her in, give her food.

Old Florence lives in the parking garage
at the university with her bags and packs
on the floor all around and she washes
her 84 year old body in the sink at the library
with a piece of flannel from her deceased husband’s pajamas.
Abre la Puerta, she’s god.
Florence is God, there’s a God named Florencia.

Remember that old abuelita, your grandest grandmother?
How she staggered toward you on legs so thin?
You were just a baby then and she smiled all over your infant self
and when you rose young and steaming from the void
that was God in her abuelita form, crying with joy just to see you,
“Que, que, que babybita” she’d say to you.
“Oh look at you, you babybaby you…”

“Look,” says God, “she talks.” God talks baby talk.
She opened a door in her belly for you.
Your grandmother is God. God is a grandmother

And you remember that red room where you grew? That was God.
And remember the warm hands that received you? That was God.
And you remember your father’s hands holding your face,
as though it were some kind of jewel that might break?
In that moment, he was God.

Your mate who snores, well… God snores, you see.
Your mate is God, who can never find his socks.
And your lover who burns for things you cannot give,
that is God also.

Your mate is God.
God is a housewife in mudface and hair curlers
at the door waving goodbye in a housecoat.
God wears a housecoat.

And, oh, the world that is young and has loved so deeply
and been betrayed, whose skin hangs like rags
and whose arms have no muscle and whose eyes have lost luster;
open the door of your heartaches and step through the door of your betrayal.
Pass through the hole that is left in your heart.
Pass through because it is a door.
Abre la Puerta, open the door.

Do you remember that your legs are el anillo, the ring that circles the lover?
Your legs make a door, pass through the door,
Abre la Puerta pass the bulb through.
Open the door, the most sacred of doors,
the trail through your belly and the road up your spine.

Remember, fire is a door.
and song is a door. A scar is a door.
Abre la Puerta, open the door.

The forest on fire is a door
and the ocean ruined is a door.
Anything that needs us
or calls us to God is a door.
Abre la Puerta, open the door.

Anything that hurts us,
anything that needs us opens the door.
Abre la Puerta, open the door.

All of these years of seeming indestructibility,
the grandfather of your world dies
and his heart explodes
and yours breaks into a thousand pieces.
These are doors. Open the doors.
Abre la Puerta. Pass through these doors.

The world is a tribe of one-breasted women.
Walk through the door of the scars on their chest.
Abre la Puerta, open the door.

Over the edge of the world you go,
into the abyss. You march in time.
And put the best medicine in the worst of the wounds.
Abre la Puerta, open the door.

The lake in which you almost drowned, that is a door.
The slap in the face that made you kiss the floor, that is a door.
The betrayal that sent you straight to hell, that is a door.
Abre la Puerta, open the door.

Same old story, all strong souls first go to hell
before they do the healing of the world they came here for.
If we are lucky we return to help those still trapped below.
Abre la Puerta, open the door.
Hell is a door caused by pain.

Opening a flower, rain opening the Earth
the kisses of humans opening the heart of the world
these are doors.
Abre la Puerta, open the door.

The scar drawn by razors, that is a door.
The scars that are doors are opened, are opened.
Abre la Puerta, open the door.

The scars drawn by chainsaws across forests, those are doors.
The poem of new life that comes every dawn,
the soaring of sun, that is a door, the grave is a door.
The door to hell is a door.
Abre la Puerta, open the door.

Your grandmother, your grandfather,
your mother, your father have died leaving a hole in your life.
Step through that hole. It is an opening.
That hole is a threshold. That hole is a door.
Abre la Puerta, open the door.
Abre la Puerta, open the door.
Abre la Puerta, open the door.

Clarissa Pinkola Estes