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The Scenic Route to Freedom: A Book Review

The same weekend I read an advance copy of Hiro Boga’s To Be Soul, Do Soul, my wife and I went for a Saturday drive to the New England Peace Pagoda in Leverett, Massachusetts. The winding roads led us through the late-October countryside, past old cemeteries, crooked farmhouses, and an occasional dog lounging in a driveway, watching the leaves fall.

The experiences were uncannily aligned; both invited me to slow down and experience the pure poetry not only around but within me. At the Pagoda, a gleaming white dome greeted us against a perfectly blue sky, the unblemished golden prayer wheel turning ever so subtly at the top. The opening pages of the book offered a similar experience, an invitation at once simple and vast, so that I knew immediately I was in the realm of the sacred. Hiro’s voice is as solid and real as if she were sitting next to me on one of the slightly sloping benches made of wood or stone, one thousand prayer flags flapping in the fall breeze.

The further I ventured into the writing the more connected I felt to what Hiro so confidently names soul. Without so much as a hint of contrivance, she shows her readers that soul isn’t something other, but rather deeply embedded within each of us, an earthy, multidimensional source of renewable wisdom.

Hiro’s exquisite one-liners are often so delightful and surprising, one can’t help but leap at the invitation: “Be the honey in someone else’s tea. Be the fire that cooks someone else’s stew, the oven that bakes their fragrant loaf of bread.”

It may be poetic, but it’s not all metaphor. She guides us towards asking questions related to power, creativity, and social change. “Write the story of the last day of your life. Live it today,” Hiro offers, but “take the scenic route.” Here, there is no rush, and the effect is one of tremendous permission that brought me to places within alternately calm, enlivened, moved, and awakened. The utter lack of agenda allowed me to fully explore joy, grief, story, and nature in embodied, sensual, and often surprising ways – ways that revealed new doorways to me to better understanding myself and allowing for a more spacious relationship to creativity and consciousness.

It’s important to note that all of this occurs in ways that don’t bypass reality but urge us to dive into it, exactly as it is and as we are. That may in fact be the book’s real superpower: Its utter embrace of possibility, rooted in the tangible, “in our own lives, in the body politic, and in the world.”

Many of the pages begin with imperatives – Write, Dive, Rest, Invite, Release, Open, Run, Listen, Notice, Saturate, Explore. Hiro seamlessly weaves stillness and action, movement and meditation, inquiry and experimentation; no matter a reader’s background or reason for choosing this book, she will discover whole inner worlds and new ways of interacting with the outside world, too. Hiro reminds us that we are all inherently beautiful, powerful, and whole, and that joy and integrity are byproducts of curiosity and the creative process.

Without a hint of dogma, Hiro holds that we each have the ability to transform our own suffering into a “balm to heal the world’s wounds.” Her writing – lush, grounded, and often breathtaking in its precision – makes poetry out of liberation, reminding us that we are ever-changing. This work calls us to look closely and unflinchingly at the systems that shape us and that we in turn shape, and offers practices that help us untangle ourselves from these very titles and roles. In Hiro’s words: “Make a plan. Put it into motion. Begin today.”

Part poetry collection, part how-to manual, this book transcends easy categorization – which is exactly what makes it so unique. With the steadiness of water against stone, Hiro’s gentle voice encourages us, again and again, to let go of that which holds us back and to move towards authenticity. Some of the pages here have just a single line, and I found the white space itself as potent an invitation into contemplation and exploration as the words themselves. Soul riddles, intended not to stump but to challenge our usual ways of processing and analyzing information, plunged me into participation in ways that surprised and changed me. “Stand for the world in which you want to live,” Hiro instructs, with an authority that makes me trust her – and myself.

Use it as a guide on the path of becoming, the path of freeing ourselves from a lifetime of accumulated beliefs, the path to greater understanding of ourselves and how we meet the world, the path to true healing and accountability, and ultimately, to allowing our innate creativity to shine.

This powerful book lives up to its subtitle, Adventures in Creative Consciousness. It has the ingredients to change not only your life, but the world – but each of us must roll up our sleeves to experiment with our own recipes. I can think of no better companion than Hiro Boga and the gift of this book.

To Be Soul, Do Soul is available to purchase now. Order your copy by December 31, 2017, and receive two exclusive bonuses.

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Spitting Out the Patriarchy

It’s hard to sit down without knowing what I’m going to write. Hard, only because there is an expectation here, an unspoken one I carry around with me all the time. Ready for it?

It has to be good. 

I don’t think of what I do as teaching, but I’m also beginning to see the cracks in this dismissal of myself. And one of the things I teach, if I am to not only state but take pride in the fact that I do, in fact, teach something, is this: You don’t have to be good. Mary Oliver’s “Wild Geese” has become an anthem of sorts, and my commitment to encouraging you to do that, too, in your own ways, as you can and choose to, is the unpinning of everything I bring to the world.

That doesn’t mean I’m good at it. Ironically or not, it’s the thing I struggle most with, this not being good business. I think there may be a hint in the word “business” here, since the last thing I want is to be a cog in the billion-dollar self-help industry, that preys on women believing we can be better, even if “better” means “you don’t have to be good.” It’s not a sales pitch.

It’s the real life stuff of days when the sun is shining but you feel off, unable to pin down why. It’s a racing mind at 4:00am. It’s a vague feeling of not being all the present, but also knowing there’s nowhere you could possibly be but right here, and the rest is a rabbit hole of overthinking.

After last weekend’s Unfurl retreat in Wisconsin, one of the participants who’d rented a car gave me a ride back to the Minneapolis airport. We stopped in Maiden Rock, one of the wonderfully quirky, artsy towns along the Great River Road, picked up a couple of still-warm, buttery scones from a small, crowded bakery, and quickly did some shopping for our peeps back home in a store bursting with Mexican and Peruvian art.

In the car, driving along the Mississippi and ooh-ing and aah-ing at the brilliant foliage on both sides, we had a chance to reflect on many aspects of the weekend. At one point, I pointed out that I wasn’t sure I’d “done” all that much. She lovingly and powerfully pointed out that this was the patriarchy talking, and I was startled by but appreciative of her keen ear.

Why patriarchy? Because we’re conditioned not to take too much credit, not to draw attention to ourselves, and by all means not to take up too much room.

“So tell me what you’re proud of,” she said, an invitation that at once made me feel shy and seen (oh, how these so often go together).

And I did. I told her I was proud that the nine women who’d spent three days on a hilltop farm together, writing and connecting, all seemed genuinely glad to have come. I told her I was proud of myself for letting my other work wait, trusting that all would be well and bringing my wholehearted attention to every individual in the room. I was proud, I realized, that I’d set aside my own judgment and expectation, truly opening to the experience and allowing it to unfold.

This was a lot to be proud of. And none of it diminished my gratitude for the woman who hosted us, without whom there wouldn’t have been a midwest Unfurl retreat in the first place. It didn’t overshadow my awe at the fact every single woman there co-created the experience by showing up and stepping into the unknown, not letting fear drive the bus. Why on earth would I have hesitated to feel proud of myself?

Self-doubt is a learned behavior, one that’s reinforced by cultural norms and capitalism. We grow up steeped in comparing ourselves to others, expecting more and more and more, always trying to get somewhere else, somewhere bigger and better. This seeps into our souls. It corrodes our inherent creativity and dampens our spirits; it keeps us silent and second-guessing rather than shining, taking risks, and growing more confident. It teaches us to be careful lest we slip and offend someone, to hold back lest we overstep, and to curl inward upon ourselves rather than unfurling outward into a messy and broken world that needs us. The world needs us.

Listening deeply — when it’s derived from a place of presence — is not the same as swallowing your voice. And being proud, when it’s borne of the recognition that we get to be proud of our work, our bodies, our choices, our families, our rough drafts and our imperfection, is not arrogant. It’s self-worth. It’s love.

I teach. I do. I am proud of my work. There is still some discomfort here — a not-so-small voice in my head saying: Fine, but why do you need to make an announcement about it?

That voice is why. Because this, too, is my practice. The practice not only of writing but of acknowledging the places that I’d sooner not mention. Every time I delete my own words, every time I wrestle with a single sentence trying to perfect it rather than just writing some damn thing and moving right along, every time I belittle the impact of my work, I am modeling shame. And that, my friends, is the opposite of what I’m here for.

I’m here to celebrate myself exactly where I am today, which is recalibrating and reflective (not to mention unshowered), keenly aware of how it feels to hold so much, and also knowing that we are designed to do one thing at a time. I’m here to remind myself — and maybe you reading — that what I’m doing here counts. It will change and grow and deepen and evolve, yes, but it is also, already, real. The tyranny of always getting somewhere else? It’s a racket.

Let’s opt out by encouraging each other to recognize where we’ve internalized so many lies, so much damage to the psyche, and death by a thousand cuts of our innate gifts. I want nothing more than this realness, this place to practice., this permission to be proud of myself.

This is how we spit out the patriarchy. This is how we become truly free. Now tell me: What are you proud of?

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Let’s practice together! The next 2-week online group, Over Our Heads, is now open for registration.