push_me

Go Ahead – Push My Buttons

push (one’s) buttons verb
•    Make one react, or react unfavorably; to aggravate; to show off another’s character faults; to taunt. She knows how to push all his buttons.

push_meUnfortunately, most “button pushers” get a bad rap.  They’re considered rude and inconsiderate. They are the difficult people in life.  Teachers send them to the principals office,  parents scream at them, and bus drivers make them walk. Many parents try to protect their kids from button pushers.

We see them differently. We see them as vehicles for change. They definitely challenge us to tap into where we are stuck. If we’re willing to go there, we find more freedom.  The more buttons we discover within ourselves and the more we learn how to notice them before we react in a way that does not serve us or the button pusher, the better we will be able to serve the world.

Constant comfort, pleasure, and ease won’t get you grounded and it certainly won’t get you elevated.  So how do you know a button has been pushed?  Usually your breath gets shallow. Your jaw tightens. Your eyes harden. Parts of your body contract.  Perhaps your belly gets agitated like a turbulent plane ride.

You  feel angry, hurt or withdrawn.  These patterns prevent us from knowing our highest self.  Remember, when a button gets pushed – you’ve just discovered another area for growth.  So instead of plotting your next comeback for when a button gets pushed, stop, and tune int o your breath.  Notice where you feel tight or contracted. Tap into the direct experience of the energy that informs those negative reactions and move from that awareness.

May we dare say honor the people who push your buttons. They will take you where you need to go.

More to Explore

  • Sweeping Breath- Dr. Seuss Style (Siva Sutra 1.2 jnānam bandhaḥ)

    sweep-the-spineBondage and ignorance and limitation!
    Oh my!
    We contract like a sneeze~
    You want to know why?
    These are the roots of our issues,
    You see~
    Unworthiness, insecurity, feeling un-free.

    These deep darkened roots,
    known as Anava Mala,
    cloak our awareness
    like pollen all upon ‘ya.

    This pollen of unworthiness
    Helps us forget~
    How miraculous we are~
    We recoil ~we regret.

    We regret and we doubt.
    We feel separate and small.
    Our pimples and frizzes
    Keep us enthralled.

    How, do we, how do we
    How DO we re-remember?
    Our goodness, our freedom
    From here to September?

    Good question, my dear!
    So at your request~
    I’ll teach you the tools
    To elevate your quest!

    Your breath is the broom
    that sweeps away pollen,
    Shines light on the ignorance
    Which is hidden and smallen.

    Sit tall, close your eyes,
    Tune into your spine.
    Inhale your breath
    Down the left side line

    Sweep your breath out~
    On the same side,
    From bottom to top~
    Deep inside.

    Sweep your breath in,
    Down the right side this time.
    Get real close and real low~
    To release dust and grime.

    Sweep your breath out~
    From bottom to top.
    Keep sweeping your spine~
    No reason to stop!

    No reason to stop~
    Till you feel lighter and free!
    Relieved of unworthy
    Pollen and debris.

    The pollen of ignorance~
    And debris of limitation~
    Can be swept to the surface
    For expansive illumination.

    Each time we remember,
    We grow and expand~
    We become more real!
    And that is quite grand!.

  • Inspired by the Velveteen Rabbit…How Teachers Become Real.

    horse

    The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.

    “What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”

    “Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

    “Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

    “Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

    “Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

    “It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

    “I suppose you are real?” said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive.

    But the Skin Horse only smiled

    –  From the Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams  –