Teri Harris Saa is a conscious creation mentor and speaker, and cofounder, with her husband Alfredo Saa, of The Art of Conscious Creation center. She is the mother of one grown son and lives in the Denver area.

CHAPTER 1

Breaking Down—and Out

That morning it happened again. I could feel it creeping up like a shadow, aforeboding, dense and dark. My doctor had said that it was simply stress, butthere was nothing simple about it. With a sense of panic, I wanted to raceforward into my responsibilities and run from them at the same time—kids, work,maintaining a household, social engagements, the whole daily living routine. Upat five, shower, hair, make-up, get my husband going, the kids ready for school,make breakfast, pack lunches, cajole the family into helping clean up thedishes—it was a race just to get each day started. And in between all thefrantic activity lurked the nagging question: Who am I and what's the purpose ofmy life?

I could hear the school bus pulling up outside. Frantic that the driver wouldn'tstop unless he saw the boys waiting at their comer, I yelled at my sons to getgoing. They made it, just barely, and I watched them disappear into the bus.When, I wondered, had they gotten so big? I didn't ponder the question long; Icould hear my husband in the kitchen fumbling for his keys and went to help himin his search. Irritated and swearing, mumbling that he was already late for hismorning meeting, Michael finally found his keys under the pile of mail on thecounter. He flew out the door yelling goodbye as he went. I was soon rushing outthe door myself when I remembered that I needed to leave payment for Susan, myevery-other-week cleaning woman, the one so-called luxury I allowed myself. Iwrote her a check—with a thank-you to the Great Spirit of the Working Woman—putit on the counter, then stood for a moment listening to the silence in thehouse. I wished I could settle into the quiet, sit down with a cup of coffee forawhile. Instead, I realized I was going to be late and hurried to my car tobegin the one-hour-through-dense-traffic trek to work

Why do I do this? I asked myself as I drove out the driveway: Why do I rusharound like this every day, always feeling harried and late and unsatisfied. Theanswer seemed obvious—because modern life is complicated and expensive.

I had managed to keep this level of activity up for a long time. I have a goodjob, I told myself. I'm important to my boss and my clients. My family needs me."Push, push, push," my inner voices whispered. "People are depending on you."

I drove the route to work struggling to make sense of it all, feeling thefamiliar sense of panic building. I turned on the radio and found some softmusic. But before I had a moment to relax, I was interrupted. The car in frontof me slammed on its brakes and at the flash of red lights I unconsciouslyreacted by slamming too hard on my own. The traffic around me screeched to ahalt. My heart beat wildly and I gasped for breath, trying to control myself.The world was closing in on me.

I managed to inch my way through the traffic, horns blaring all around, andpulled off the next exit. Driving almost blindly for several blocks, I spotted aparking lot and pulled in. Sitting there alone in my car, I began to sob, mybody shaking uncontrollably It was all too much. And to make matters worse, mycompulsively active mind reacted by shouting questions—Is this what life is allabout? Is this why I was born? Am I meant to sit crying, alone in my car in adeserted parking lot on a dismal, unfamiliar street? Is this the purpose of mylife?! I wanted to scream.

I sat like this for twenty minutes or more until, gradually, I calmed downenough to drive home.

Susan glanced up from cleaning the stove as I walked in the kitchen. Before shecould form the word, "Hi," she saw my expression and stopped. I smiled, hopingto avert her attention from my tear-stained eyes. "Rough morning," I said as Imade my way past her toward my bedroom. I felt numb. My emotional, mental, andphysical energies were completely spent. God, I was tired! Body and soul.

I stopped in front of the bed, turned, and fell onto the mattress like a deadweight. I closed my eyes and, for one awful moment, wondered what it would belike to die. Would death fill me with a sense of peace and quiet? I yearned tofeel an inner calm. I wanted out—out of noise—out of chaos—out ofresponsibility—out of pain.

"What pain?" I almost said it out loud. "My life isn't painful. My life isnormal, basically good." I have only one problem and the doctor diagnosed it as"stress."

I was interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

"Are you all right?" Susan asked quietly. "Is there anything I can do?"

Susan had been cleaning my house for the past five years. She was a gentle,caring woman, about my age. She often shared with me how fortunate she felt tobe in her line of work. She was her own boss, she said, and the work gave herthe space to be alone, with all of the thinking time she needed. She once jokedthat she pondered the mysteries of the universe while meticulously polishingtoilet bowls. She got a little lonely at times, she confessed, but the solitudegave her peace. And most important, the work allowed her to become an intimate,valued part of many families.

I forced my eyes open and looked at her. "I certainly value you," I thought tomyself. "You've become a trusted friend, someone I can count on—at least one dayevery other week!—to eliminate part of the chaos in my life."

Susan moved closer to the bed and reached out to me. Clumsily, I propped myselfup on one elbow.

"It's nothing really," I told her. "The doctor says that I have too many thingson my plate. I hate that term, don't you?" Susan's eyes urged me to continue."It's like saying life is a smorgasbord and we can choose what or what not toput on our plate. That might be true, if we all lived in a cafeteria, butthere's not one thing in my daily routine that I can give up. I can't put feweritems on my plate. I can't even get a smaller plate. It's impossible. So here Iam with an enormous plate, piled high with activity and responsibility—" I couldsee Susan register the touch of hysteria in my voice.

"Everything I do is important to someone," I went on more slowly, "my husband,my kids, relatives, boss, co-workers, friends, society in general. If I let goof even one thing, it'll impact someone. I have no choice, there's nothing I cantake off of my plate. If my husband and I are to achieve the American dream, andthen maintain it, I have to keep going. I have no choice." I paused, exhausted.

"I'm all right. Really. I'm just a little tired." I attempted a show ofstrength, but ended up slumping back onto the bed. "Rough morning," I saidagain. Susan...