Weekend lessons: Breathing, Snowboarding, Hot Tubs, and Hangovers

Why do you have to be so responsible? 

 

We are responsible for taking the lessons given us and living them in this moment. Only for our thoughts, our heart, our energy that we emit into this world. 

 

 

Lesson #1: Friday night, midnight pacific time. 

The darkness does not surround me but lives inside of me again.  Alone, I want to call her, or someone, but for what?  There is nothing to be said or done.   I breathe, for me and for her; the tears begin, as I think of her in that unfamiliar bed, not knowing anymore the purifying comfort of the fullness of lungs pumping oxygen to each cell.  She starves for this.  In that breath, I know that she is with me, the darkness dissipates and I know she is always there, in me, her love, her wisdom, her guidance.  I turn from the phone, no longer needing to draw anyone else in, and sleep in peace.

 

 

Lesson #2:  Mt. Baldy, CA

The second time is always a bit more difficult, having to learn to be open to what you still don't know, to revise what you think you know.   I know the heelside turn, mastering it ahead of my classmates.  I must have faith that a toeside turn is possible as I unlearn my misunderstandings and fears.   Look ahead, not down.   Use my awareness, but not my habits from yoga.  I deepen my stance, which is not warrior two.   I learn to float like a leaf.  Fast and direct is not always the best choice. Sometimes it is best to meander right and left, to keep control through a altering of surrender and resistance.  Don't the bumps in the snow, but to see them and then move with them.  Always be ready to fall, but never expect to fall.  Quickly get back up; the longer I wait to continue, the harder it is.  Moving without the pull of gravity is difficult. Trust and Balance.   Finally, there must be the time to sit, to totally surrender, to rest and meditate and watch the beauty of the mountain, after which me must practice humility and be willing to start again, often without gracefulness, but not letting that keep you from spiraling upward again. 

 

Lesson #3:  The Desert and the Oscars

The universe sends us the souls we need to support us in this life, and thus, I will never be alone.  A day in the snow is perfected by a night in the desert, under a moon as white and reflective as the snow, here melted and massaging the muscles that worked so hard over the ice.  Good food, good wine, and good friends bring us back to and out of ourselves.   One's ability to guess the winners is not dependent on actually seeing the movies.  Laughter is the best medicine.  Champagne and raspberry sauce and whipped cream are a delicious but destructive combination that time in the hot tub cures only temporarily, but that cannot ruin the soul expanding desert experience.

 

Lesson#4:  Mt. Baldy, revisited (Lychee's cure for a champagne and sugar hangover)

 

 

If the journey places a mountain in your path, you should worship its beauty, even if it results in a few bumps.   "A bad day on the mountain is better than a good day anywhere else," rings the voice of my instructor from two days ago as I disembark from the lift onto the empty mountain stepping off onto icy slush.    Despite the clouds below, here the sun beams its warmth onto the snow, the mountain workers, the five visitors and the empty lodge.  The beauty of Southern California, where sun and snow exist in unison,  the snow resists melting.  I have the mountain to myself.  I am eager to practice my lessons from Saturday, to work my muscles and build the memory of strength and control and agility, to move my mind into a space clear and pure as the mountain air.   Sitting, I strap my feet to the slick wood and plastic, digging the razor edge into the snow.   The first time is slow going,  allowing my body and mind to drift into the moment, into the place.  Then, I start again and make my first run all the way down the hill without falling.  No witnesses and no one waiting for me to share this small feat.   I sing a little chant to myself as I swing over the treetops back to the top of the slope.   The fog begins to roll as if to say my work is done here today.   Rows of empty chairs pass ahead and behind, I am slowly lowered through the fog, the cloud, the ground below and the trees around me appear miles away, the thing, white air seems endless.   A shiver runs up my spine and then I take out my headphone to listen to the music of the mountain:  crackling ice and a whispering wind hums in sync with a song in my soul.   A coldness sets into my damp body.  I sing OM with the wind, the trees, the snow, the rocks, creating heat from my belly to my toes.   It works enough.   Some families play in the parking lot, here to see the snow only.  I start back down the winding roads of the mountain, back on track on the highway, back to my life, my apartment, no longer a prison, but a home, a blessing, the resulting creation of all that I am and have been up until this moment. 

 

 

Her Soul Reaches Through the Cosmos

The hot water swirls as the moon lights the water, the air. This time
her eyes do not need to adjust to see her skin, her toes, floating.
She hugs herself, for the first time knowing what it means to love
herself fully, alone and without judgment. She kisses one knee and
then the other before opening herself to the energy of this vortex.
It pulsates through her body; she is the wisdom, love, strength,
faith, peace she needs.

Her soul reaches through the cosmos to all she loves.

Do you feel her thanking you for blessing her life, not at all alone?

Do you feel her holding you, as you struggle with each breathe?

Do you feel her kissing you with her heart, laughing and smiling into
your laugh and smile, a kiss of joy, a kiss of fulfilled desire,
miles above the city lights until her third eye rests on your heart
and you remember how to love?

February will not defeat me

The clarity of the day as I open my blinds is an illusion, as is much
of what we experience.

(Disclaimer: this is written in a slightly intoxicated stated after
a Dali-level-surrealist day late on a Friday night. This is not a
linear conversation -- welcome to the many voices in my head -- and
will probably go up unedited).

I woke knowing so much. The universe laughs at me.

A month is an hour to one, two centuries to another, so since last
week it is only 15 minutes to him, and 50 years to me.

Yet I am not a day older. I get younger actually.

Why do you need to be so responsible?

I wake with intentions, which are thwarted each moment. This new
soul calling me to delay my hike, keeping me home all morning,
afternoon in Florida, as my mother transitions to this next phase.
I hear her slipping away as we talk. Later, I see her in her room
with the garden view as if I am there, I cry because already what I
most fear is gone: who do I call now?

Thank you for letting me go through this alone. I know I would only
use you to avoid this journey I must make.

"Look at the snow and then, there, the ocean," my new guide points to
the east then west, convincing me that Runyon Canyon has its
beauty. I let go of my skepticism and marvel at the landscape:
neatly packed houses dot green hills, the newly renovated white dome
of the observatory imitates the grandeur of the white capped
mountains miles away. "That is where I want to be tomorrow," feeling
caught by the schedules of others as I long for the snow, for the
feeling of being really alive, risking, for something to require and
capture my complete attention, keeping my mind from wandering to
places it doesn't need to be. The air yields and invites, the smog
of LA lifting, a sign, permission?

An atheist with a conscience; a metaphysical practitioner and salsa
dancer. New teachers, new essays? "What is the point of these
essays of these encounters with strangers?" "Behind each face, each
package of human being, is often something unexpected, but we don’t'
know unless we are open to being wrong about our stereotypes and
initial judgments. "

I did this for you, can you do the same for me?

"It is good to meet a soul with depth, who is aware there is
something to be aware about. I want to spend more time with you."

Thank you for asking me the questions I need to hear, for reminding
me of what I know.

I need to do this alone. No one can help me. "You realize by that
statement you are closing doors on love and comfort." Yes. You are
right. But maybe I really need to do this alone, not wage emotional
terrorism on those I love (or those I don't).

Maybe that is what we needed to hear tonight.

She can only take her next trip alone. I am there, thousand of miles
away.

I go not where they pray for me, though my prayers are with them.

The best I can do for her, for me, for you, is to awaken my body upon
the snow, evidence of my strength and will and reality, then to
celebrate and nurture that under the stars in the desert, this life
you gave me and taught me not to squander.

February will not defeat me.

Swirling down the drain

After a very long sweltering bath, my heart beating rapidly from
soaking in the heated lavender and ginger water, an attempt to sweat
out what feels like an oncoming cold that will thwart my date
tomorrow with my new toy (the snowboard, for you gutter-minded
folks), I stood watching the water swirl down the drain remembering a
childhood fear after bath of not getting out soon enough and sliding
down the drain with the bath water. Where this irrational thought
entered my head, I never knew, until today, I recalled scenes from
"What the Bleep do We Know?" (really, how many more references must I
make before you watch this film?). I wondered, was there a wisdom
in the innocence of childhood about the unity of all, the effects of
thoughts upon water and our essence being the same as water, the same
as air, a part of the universe . . . a part of me that knew, if some
way, it really was possible I could side down that drain as easily as
each drop of water, dissolving into oneness.

Like falling in love. Maybe people fear love like I feared the
abyss of that drain. Just as going down the drain would require my
transformation, so love requires us to transform ourselves. I chose
to follow what I was about how the world functions, clinging to the
familiar, not matter how limiting. Likewise, we often cling to what
we know of the world, what makes sense in our experience, even if
ultimately unfulfilling, rather than risking losing what we know for
something blissful and beautiful. We cannot let go of our either-or
thinking, of the dichotomies that we use to make order of the
world. Commitment versus freedom, for instance. Can there not be
freedom in committing, freedom in trusting another so complete that
we can finally be who we are without fear of judgment or rejection?
In committing, can we not find freedom from denial or freedom from
longing? Even if i did liquify and float down the drain, wouldn't
my essence remain in some form, never leaving. When will realize
that it is impossible to lose ourselves once we learn to listen to
our soul, to accept the gifts the universe provides to us each
moment, and to love ourselves so we may love others?

In a moment, the water was gone, leaving only me, water in human
form, with droplets of bathwater on my body and droplets of sweat on
my brow. I drank more water then washed my hair, ironically sweated
and dehydrated from the long, steamy bath, continuing the cycle of
give and take.

Pillow Book Reunion

Feeling a bit under the weather, I decided to sit and watch a movie,
the best recovery for colds. Not being a big movie collector, I
dug out an old favorite I haven't seen in years: The Pillow Book. A
beautiful example of filmmaking that inspired me to make editing a
career. Sacha Vierney, an amazing cinematographer, about 80, I
believe, when he shot this movie -- how inspiring. I hope at 80 to
be continuing to create, evolve, discover new possibilities within
myself.

This film resonates with me on various levels.

First, I want to edit. The layering and layering of images, the non-
sequential storytelling. The lists. The impressionistic style.
Like the dots on a Monet making up the whole.

Second, the writing. It is about writers and writing. The
publishers, the beautiful images of calligraphy, the superimposition
of words, the inks, the brushes, the Pillow Book, the diary, the
secrets and lovers and fantasies. Writing married to filmmaking,
two of the most compelling forms for storytelling.

Finally, the writing on the skin. I feel the cool wetness of the
ink and the feathery brush. Especially on the nape of one's neck.
It makes me want to, like the character, find bars with luxurious
curtained couches where I can lie and have someone paint stories or
sign their names on my skin. It makes me want to find a painter to
paint a story on my back, lulling me into stillness and peace like a
kiss in the morning.

Black Rain

Suddenly, my sanctuary becomes my prison.

I may have chosen not to dive into that pool of darkness, so it
transformed into a cloud to rain upon me.

I put all of myself into these four walls, a home, a retreat. The
pairs of candles, pictures, origami swans, all exactly as they should
be. Yet, the most important thing is missing and slipping further
and further away. I can't find the traction to hold on any more. I
slip in the black rain.

Judged and condemned without a say in any of it. The ultimate test
in surrender and instead I find myself caught. Better to judge first
than be judged and tossed aside, like so many times before. He
learned the game well. I did not.

Still, we both are suffering.

I surrender to the downpour, waiting for the sun to come, for the
sentence to be lifted. For pardoning of the judge and judged.

I school myself to let go

As my spirituality and religious beliefs shift farther and farther
from my Christian roots, one particular Christian observation that
has deepened in meaning for me over the past several years is Lent.
Growing up, I was taught Lent is the time when you give up something
for forty days. It was all about sacrifice and denial. It was
simply an exercise in discipline. There was no discussion of
transformation or growth. Just denial.

About two years ago (which makes me realize I have been blogging for
two years as I remember writing about this at the time), I asked my
pastor about what to give up and she beautifully explained it is not
about giving up something, but about bringing yourself closer to
God. Now, that makes sense, coalescing with my evolving
spirituality as a progression through life, not a religion. That
year I gave up cynicism, a step which probably initiated a new
openness allowing me to be where I am, which is not feeling fully at
home in 'religion' and Christianity, but feeling more spiritually
centered and alive than ever before. I feel blessed.

Over breakfast this morning, debating if I should indulge in the
ultimate pancakes (which I didn't), my friend encouraged me to as
yesterday was official pancake day, perhaps, she noted, because it is
the day before Lent. Ah, I had forgotten. Lent.

What, I wondered, do I need to release, to discipline myself in, so
that I could be closer to God, closer to my own purpose and, as so
many of the mentors I have been reading would say, my own divine self.

Control.

Yes, give up control. There is so much in my life at the moment I
want to bring to fruition or resolution, but am not able to 'make' it
happen. Death, love, new ventures, trips, classes, books to read,
writing. In my desire to control, I am scattered. So I give up
control.

Yet, as I stand in line to have the ashes marked on my forehead
(again, something never practiced until I attended this church, a
ritual I find provokes reflection, and, as the liturgy today stated,
is a beautiful representation of the burning of the valueless,
leaving us with the essentials of what we need to live in harmony
with the universe), I wonder how I can give up something I don't
have. I don't have control of anything my heart, my thoughts, each
moment and each breath, creating my own reality; giving this control
up would not bring me closer to the clarity and joy I seek. I could
relinquish my desire to control that which is beyond my control.
However, this seems to passive, more of an acceptance than an act of
discipline.

Perhaps, it is my impatience and my attachment to expectations that I
must relinquish.
Which reminds me of the A.R. Ammons poem I was searching for on
Valentine's Day. "I school myself to let you go . . ." It is this
kind of discipline that I need. To let go of my impatience and just
be and do what each moment requires of me. This is difficult as I
must prepare for my upcoming semester though I am anxious to start
the new computer classes, as I want time to stand still holding my
mother in this world yet also awaiting her passage into a place of no
suffering and perfect peace, as I contemplate shifting my life again
to fit in graduate school while I enjoy new hobbies and activities,
as I am pulled between work and pleasure reading, as I write to delve
into my own spirit and understanding wondering when I will ever get
to 'real' writing.

I school myself to let go.

Motorcycle Diary #3

For a moment, I forget all that has happened, who has come and gone.  Just a moment.  My eyes closed, the wind caresses my hair and whispers in my ear.   February, hot as summer.  I don't have to think, just feel the shift in weight as the machine slows down, let my body respond.   Peace in surrendering to the moment.  No judgment, no longing.   

I long for this freedom on my own.  Perhaps it is for this I have invested in my quarter-life crisis vehicle.  I dream of gliding, using the power and grace of my body, in the air.  The closest to flying, thanking each movement, each bone and muscle, relying only on myself and no one else to feel the power of the air, leaning into life's obstacles, fearless and balanced.  

The Oasis Is

I sit, listening to the wind, imagining I am the wind and nothing else.  This, perhaps, is the key to surviving the desert: to listen and to stop seeking.   There is no oasis, yet I can hear the water running deep beneath the ground.  A pool, shallow and dark, tempts.  I thirst. I dip my toe in, feel the darkness rise up into my heart, and choose not to go in.  The puddle disappears; my toe lingers in a spot of cool, dark sand.  I walk on, without need, without longing, confident that I am the desert, the spring, the oasis.  When ready, another listening soul will pass by the dark and shallow puddle to converge with me, two desert springs creating a new oasis. 

An inconspicuous love poem

I was looking for an A.R. Ammons poem, Autonomy,  about a love that feared losing the love so much that the speaker chooses to live without that love.  I used to have it memorized and one line has been escaping my memory.  I wanted to fill in that blank.  I'm not there, but that poem keeps coming in my head as I think of someone else who might be there.  

I found this poem, copied from another book, marking my other favorite poem by Ammons.  I realized it is really a love poem -- love:  a web, perfect, adaptable, and each one unique.  (I love Ammons's use of nature/science in his poetry).  

So, here is my Valentine, posted, because despite all my talk of letting go of fear, I fear violating a space I promised to not invade until invited.   Yet, this is my space, where you voluntarily choose to read the thoughts of my heart.    Besides, love and Valentines should be shared boldly, not hidden and hoarded.  I could even say it represents how my love for many of you is unique, like each spider web, as  I sneak this into my blog, just as Ammons sneaks love into the middle of this poem about spider webs. 

Identity

A.R. Ammons

1) An individual spider web

identifies a species:

an order of instinct prevails

through all accidents of circumstance,

though possibility is

high along the peripheries of

spider

webs:

you can go all

around the fringing attachments

and find

disorder ripe,

entropy rich, high levels of random,

numerous occasions of accident:

2) the possible settings

of a web are infinite:

how does

the spider keep

identity

while creating the web

in a particular place?

how and to what extent

and by what modes of chemistry

and control?

it is

wonderful

how things work: I will tell you

about it

because

it is interesting

and because whatever is

moves in weeds

and stars and spider webs

and known

is loved:

in that love,

each of us knowing it,

I love you,

for it moves within and beyond us,

sizzles in

to winter grasses, darts and hangs with bumblebees

by summer windowsills:

I will show you

the underlying that takes no image to itself,

cannot be shown or said,

but weaves in and out of moons and bladderweeds,

is all and

beyond destruction

because created fully in no

particular form:

if the web were perfectly pre-set,

the spider could

never find

a perfect place to set it in: and

if the web were

perfectly adaptable,

if freedom and possibility were without limit,

the web would

lose its special identity:

the row-strung garden web

keeps order at the center

where space is freest (intersecting that the freest

"medium" should

accept the firmest order)

and that

order

diminishes toward the

periphery

allowing at the points of contact

entropy equal to entropy.

Kiss wisely and openly

I started my morning stepping into clarity of vision -- of the mountains across the valley.   My to-do-list seemed to stretch to those mountains.  My time in the desert resulted in a lot of thinking and no writing, as usual.  The energy there is entrancing: emerged stillness.   The work always happens upon the return.   The crystal mountain view and warm sunny day was a gift as I took my laptop outside to buckle down and get to work.  (This blog is my reward late in the evening).

 

The longest essay I have ever written.   In December, it was 2000-words.   Today, I broke below the 500-word limit.  Two months for 500 words about my writing and myself.     

 

Now I can go back to my musing, to the desert, just me, the stars, and the hot swirling water around my pale, luminous skin.   There is nothing I need to do to let the mind go as the desert air breathes me.  I think of the heart breaking, as Caroline Myss says, not in half, but wide-open.  

 

Listening to the wind, I remember times when my heart seemed to break in two.   "He will always come back, and you will always think you did something wrong, but you cannot make it work."  Committing to make relationships work.   In our very language, I see how that never works, the misplaced emphasis.   Commitment is not about working or forcing, but being fully in what you commit to; being the relationship, job, city, whatever it is, fully with joy, love, trust and faith.   I commit to not making a relationship fit my needs, but allowing relationships to be.

 

Seeing the infinite blackness of night and brightness of stars, I follow my heart to ponder needs. Who takes care of that?  I needed to finish this essay, and I did.   But even that was not a need, but a choice. Focusing on needs makes us seem limited.  Perhaps needs feed our fears.  "I need you close because I fear losing you.  I need your attention because I fear your love will not last.  I need your love because I fear being alone."  Sometimes, our need for another masks our fear of ourselves.   The best thing we can do for that person is to leave them to face their fear and overcome it.   As Rumi writes, "Don't keep complaining about loneliness!  Let the fear-language of that theme crack open and float away."  

 

Like our hearts breaking wide-open to love others without fear, without need to possess or control, without judgment of others' needs.  

 

I lift my body out of the warm water.  The cold desert air kisses my skin, reminding me of all that is beyond words, and that even just a kiss is like a love letter which produces  "a transformation in the other person, and . . . within you" and may take your whole life to write  (Thich Nhat Hanh).   The joy, the living, the love, the wisdom are in the act of writing the love letter, no matter the form.  

 

As the minutes bring our day that supposedly celebrates love, kiss wisely and openly, without need, because muscles have memory.  

lesson 2 from the Aware Show

Lesson number two:  don't forget the positive and praise.   

 

I digressed from my writing about The Aware Show and, therefore, neglected to address the wonderful second segment of the show featuring a couple who wrote a book and counsels couples on bringing consciousness and "open-hearted listening" to relationships.  Though they cater to couples, it is worthwhile to see how this discipline may apply to our relations to our selves and to others.  (Unfortunately, the guests are not listed on the website [www.theawareshow.com] and I failed to write down their names.) 

 

Some wonderful points they made:

·      There is not one reality that is more valid than the other -- both people are right in their experience.   We must accept that two opposing realities may exist simultaneously

·      From here, each may listen and safely put him/herself in the other's shoes; since there is not the goal to prove one person right or wrong, to 'win,' there is no need to justify, defend, deny, or allow fear and anger to dictate actions.

·      Asking for something does not mean you will get it, just that it will be considered.

·      Harmony grows in the mutual intention and motivation to nurture love for oneself and for one's partner.

·      All relationships have conflict and it is conflict that allows us to strengthen our connection with another if mindfulness is used to resolve the conflict. 

 

Thus, just as in mindful meditation and foster awareness of our own heart to hear what it is our heart tells us and why, we may be open to doing the same for the other person.   It is a discipline and involves trust -- in ourselves and in the other person. 

 

As I listened to this, I was able to recognize this process, or the beginnings of it, in my relations with some people, strengthening my trust in my heart and the intentions I have been meditating upon lately.  Moreover, hearing this shed a bit more clarity and confidence on what I seek in a partner.  I have experienced a glimmer of this, and know it is possible and beautiful.

 

Thich Nhat Hanh, in Taming the Tiger Within, writes about the usual cycle of anger that happens with those we love:  "When you make another suffer, he or she will try to find relief by making you suffer more."  I am ashamed to admit, I have been there and done that extremely well.  But what happens when even one of the two breaks out of this cycle, listening without judgment or anger, allowing compassion and love stop the suffering rather than anger?   It is this breaking out that these guests exemplified. 

 

Hanh goes on to describe, like the guests on this show, that "It's very natural that when you suffer, although you know how to practice, you still need the other person to help you in your practice . . . That is the language of true love."   So, perhaps, this journey need not be taken alone, maybe my seeking balance between my longing for companionship with my belief that our main task in this life is to find peace within is perfectly natural. I have been mired in literature about the personal legend and live in a culture that values individualism and independence above all else.  Is it any wonder, then, that rather than asking for help, we usually deny ourselves and the other person what we need,  "In true love, there is no pride.  You cannot pretend that you don't suffer.  You cannot pretend that you are not angry.  This kind of denial is based on pride.  'Angry?  Me?  Why should I be angry?  I'm okay.'  But in fact, you are not okay.  You are in hell.  Anger is burning you up, and you must tell your partner, your son, your daughter."   It may be fear rather than anger, or a bit of both.  Even before that, though, we must tell ourselves that we are angry, afraid or whatever emotional obstacle holds us from peace and love to ourselves.

 

Consciousness disguised

Apparently, even cleaning my home has a purpose in the larger universe.  Having put off cleaning since I got home, I was dusting to the news on 90.7 when a show I had heard rave reviews about from a deeply respected and intellectual friend.  The Aware show is a program discussing issues of consciousness and awareness in our personal lives and in our world. 

 

Today's topic hit close to home as the teacher union prepares to vote for a strike next.  The Conscious Life Expo is being held at the LAX Hilton where union workers are protesting Hilton's unfair treatment and inadequate wages.  Don't you think organizers of a Conscious Life Expo would be conscious enough to avoid facilities that had blatantly unconscious practices? This is not a new conflict in Los Angeles; about two years ago LAUSD stopped using such hotels for conferences and trainings in support of the workers.  

 

That is LAUSD, an organization in its own battle with a union.  Yet the Conscious Life Expo would not relocate. (Note: I fully support the idea of a Conscious Life Expo, could even enjoy it.)

 

The host of the show and two of her guests are scheduled to participate in a panel at the conference.   None of them advocated changing the local of the Expo as the union requested.  (I will note that the host remained neutral, so any perceptions here cannot be assumed to be her opinion).  The guests from the Expo, I felt, were defensive and focused primarily on reaching the enlightened, compassionate attendees of the conference rather than supporting living wages for the workers who would allow them the luxury to sit in comfort while being waited upon to share ideas of consciousness.  They seemed neglect that these workers are conscious (or potentially conscious) beings simply trying to live their lives as anyone else.

 

As solutions, there was talk of a letter writing campaign and tip jars for the workers.   Yet, the question remains, what about after the Expo leaves?   Hilton has their money from the conference and all the attendees.   The workers go back to making minimum or below minimum wages.  

 

Eddie, a worker at the LAX Hilton, was included as a guest.  He answered one question to tell us how it is to work for Hilton:  unfair and underpaid.

 

The conversation continued, with the Expo participants lauding their own compassion, yet talking about the workers as if they are lesser beings, as if the uneducated and the working class cannot be 'conscious' yet and, therefore, do not deserve the same privileges and obligation of conscious behavior as the conference attendees.  There was a bit of pitying for these workers who could not go out and get an education to better themselves. 

 

Perhaps if these representatives of consciousness looked beyond their own agenda, they could have found some real solutions to really transform the dialogue as well as the lives of the union workers.  If you don't move the conference, why not invite the boycotters into the expo for free?  Rather than having them wait on you and giving them some tips, take over the hotel, sit on the floor, clean your own room, bring your own lunch and really talk about how consciousness could change these workers lives and change the assumptions about work and economics in this country. 

 

It cannot be assumed that because someone is living paycheck to paycheck he/she is not a conscious being or on the path to consciousness and awareness.   All the people who are most alive spiritually and who have touched my life most deeply are ones are not validated by degrees or prestige. Yet, they live honestly and creatively and vitality.  

 

In researching more about the law of attraction and vibrational theory, I came across an interesting perspective on the relationship between positive thinking gurus and promises for material gain from Grant Bellows:

 

Since MOST people are totally absorbed by the acquisition of material wealth and prosperity and are afraid or unreceptive to topics like spirituality, do you tell them to write a book explaining that our creative abilities are way more important than money, or ask them make a movie that will surely alienate and confuse the majority of the population? No! If you do that, then you’ve failed to reach the most people.

 

Instead, you approach the creative “Law of Attraction” teachings from a point of view that most people can understand and accept: how to get a big house…how to get a luxury car…how to become the next American Idol…all of this by using the Law of Attraction.   (http://grantbellows.com/2007/01/20/law-of-attraction-vibration-theory/)

 

Though he does go on to say that this eventually leads to spiritual awakening, I am troubled by the end-justifying-the-means mentality. First, such selling of positive thinking encourages people to continue to pursue something other than what their heart tells them to pursue, what Coehlo called one's personal legend, perpetuating attachment to the material world.   It also absolves us of the responsibility to truly believe in our potential to transform and for others to be transformed.  Finally, if the mansion or the fame is not achieved, we are in danger of blaming the victim, closing the collective consciousness rather than liberating us from desires and attachments, feeding fear and closing off love.

 

For example, a friend tried to convince me why I should be attracted to one person over another.   I remain confident in what my heart tells me.  Yet, she found it hard to believe I would not enjoy spending weekends in luxury resorts. As we all doubt at times, I went online to investigate a resort name she dropped that I knew little about.  It is soulless and sterile.   I don't want my world wrapped in illusions.   I want to celebrate the joy of the real beauty of the world.   The ideal aspect of a getaway (or not needing to getaway is even better) lies in the harmonious unspoken vibration between a partner and I, someone with whom I share a mutual understanding of compassion and support in our journeys to awareness. Perhaps part of that journey would be resting at the end of a day of rigorous hiking in a tent.  It might be a massage from the rainforest village masseur. This is the intention I hope to manifest in my life.  If I remained attached to the idea that success is the exclusive resort, that if I truly think positively this is where I will end up, I would miss the truth of my heart and the adventure of my life as it should be.

 

Perhaps the next step in the positive thinking and consciousness movement needs to be a redefinition of success.  In my own experience, I rejected traditional ideas of success early on, though at times, it would gnaw at me, mitigating much potential happiness.   My yoga practice allowed me to deepen my understanding of my own definitions of success.  This, in turn, has opened me to great abundance in my life, particularly in meeting friends whom I would have closed off if I had limited my ideas of what is valuable and wise to superficial societal definitions, but prove to be valuable treasures in my life.  Some have high education, some have none.  Some are wealthy and some are poor, but they all bring wisdom, joy, compassion and, most importantly, love into my life.

 

For now, I intend for my awareness to never become my new ego, blocking my awareness, closing me off from seeing the consciousness of those around me, often disguised in the most unlikely forms.  

 

Muscles have memory

Muscles have memory. Each moment, each touch, lives with us
forever, stored in our cells if not in our consciousness.

In yoga, the goal is to harmonize awareness throughout the body,
releasing what is in your muscles, positive or negative, as well as
what is your mind, not to forget, but to be conscious of each memory
without judgment.

Over the past month and a half, I have strayed a bit from my hatha
yoga practice (the movement branch of yoga), challenging my body in
new ways, asking my muscles to find and move beyond new limits.
Running, with a new pair of shoes (back to shoe theory) and a new
concept of my body, my weight as being limited only by my perception
of it, became a new practice in mindfulness and yoga, working to open
my body as I gained stamina and strength. On the final day, I was
able to run the entire length of the causeway without slowing down to
a walk. Now my muscles know they can do this, and they will
remember it.

Dancing also created a new openness, a new awareness of movement,
requiring both a focused concentration and a release of thought --
you must simultaneously feel the music and surrender to the lead of
your partner while maintaining absolute control over each step in
time with each beat and desire of the leader. Moreover, that desire
might be a moment where you are given the freedom to not follow, to
listen to your own heart and rhythm, until the moment when he calls
you back to synchronized coordination.

Surrender and awareness.

The more you do this, the more your body remembers. I attended an
intermediate salsa class today and the instructor suggested I try the
advanced. "You only need to focus on shifting your weight on the
correct beats, the more you do it, the more your body will remember
it," he observed and advised. I stayed and by the end of the three
hours I could feel the movement becoming a part of me, taking over my
body.

Surrender and awareness.

All this culminates in snowboarding, where the loss of any of these
results in rather unpleasant falls. For four hours, I found new
ways to coordinate and control my body, new levels of strength and
focus. My muscles remember (and rebel a bit, with today being the
first day I could sit with absolutely no pain whatsoever).

After the several sessions of dancing per week, the running, and the
snowboarding (a one time, but extremely intense endeavor), I notice a
new strength and stamina in my yoga practice have brought new
challenges in my extension and openness. It is not so much the
inability to extend or a lack of openness, but a new awareness of the
muscles and strength in the extension, a certain shifting of how it
is done and how it all fits together.

So I breathe and wait, reveling in the strength and treating my
egotistic goals ("But I used to be able to do this . . .) with
compassion until they fade. As my own resistance is shed, my spine
opens and I melt forward, folding completely in half, my chest on my
thighs, hugging my beautiful self in peace, feeling both my strength
and my openness, moving deeper into what I thought I left behind or
lost, the satisfaction more than I knew.

Strong and soft, like a palm tree able to bend, not crack, in
hurricane level winds.

Our muscles have memory. Returning to yoga, my muscles rejoice,
missing the balance between the strength and openness, the challenge
and the comfort. That is something I can go back to. Other
memories are less accessible: a palm, an embrace, a kiss, a tongue, a
heart muscle singing to my heart muscle through breast bones, muscles
and skin, one muscle longing for its match.

The law of vibration pushes me up the spiral

The journey up the spiral continues.

When I moved to Los Angeles to further my editing career, this is not
what I imagined.

By all accounts, I think it is safe to blog about this as the
investment the school is making in my training gives me confidence
they are serious about this transition for me. Patience, timing, and
confidence has landed me my editing class beyond what I would have
had the nerve to ask for a few years ago. All for the best, perhaps,
considering earlier obstacles of finishing my credential status and
the luxury of having the time to grow as an English teacher which has
fed my growth as a writer.

Now, without any effort of mine (except a letter opening myself up to
the invitation), the intro to computers position I had been offered
has expanded into a hybrid intro to computers and intro to digital
media course. Through a specially funded program for Career and
Technical Education, I will be sent to become an Apple Certified
Trainer in Final Cut Pro and all the other programs in the FCP
suite. Though I worked primarily on Avid, some of will be review,
but I will properly learn the bells and whistles (and fundamentals)
of FCP. As time goes on, the sequence of classes will hopefully
expand to more advanced production and editing, as well as graphic
arts and animation (a currently costly, and therefore, not definite
implementation). It is wonderfully exciting to think of using my
teaching skills and my experience in editing to open up new and very
tangible avenues for students. To me, editing is never so far from
writing-- storytelling at the root of each -- so I do not feel like I
am totally abandoning my interests in writing and English (it's all
about communication, too).

What makes this possible? Perhaps the law of attraction, the
harmonizing of vibrational energy. Just as I complete my clear
credential, freeing me from having to carry a full course load in
English, just as I find the graduate program I want to pursue and ask
for guidance on how to manage teaching full time with graduate
classes, just as my gypsy soul longs for change, it all happens: a
new principal, a new initiative by Apple, shifting in personnel at my
school. My lab will be equipped with 30 Macbook Pros, all with
Final Cut. A nice perk will be one for my own use. One of the
most exciting aspects of the meeting with the Apple reps, my
colleagues, and my principal was the respect from everyone in the
room for my experience in the field and the seriousness taken of my
concerns, questions, and recommendations. For one of the first times
in my teaching career, I really felt a sense of confidence and purpose.

Now, if only I could finish that grad school application. And I
still have this final semester of my English classes, which I will
miss somewhat, to prepare. I look forward to seeing my senior
classes and ending this phase of my career with much success and joy.

Black holes and revelations

Dusting off my writing table on my balcony, I notice the mountains,
merely shadows in the haze, hidden behind the attention craving
civilization and its smog and mirror illusions. Much the way it
crowds our mind, causing us to forget what it is we connect with,
seek, need. Then, if we find it, will we recognize it, or will it
seem as intangible as the mountains from my balcony?

Yesterday the mountains loomed clear and solid for the moment I had
to step out on my balcony. I looked and left for meetings and errands.

I know if I drive out to the mountains, everything will seem obvious
and simple: no expectations, no hope (which reminds me of a Muse
song I recently discovered driven by a hauntingly passionate chorus.
Actually the entire song is on chorus and no verses, a mantra of
love, hope, and fighting against the fear of the love and hope? It
resonates with me while remaining a bit of an enigma -- "our hopes
and expectations, black holes and revelations" -- why does it
continue to linger in my mind). Yet, even knowing that, I continue
to stay here in the smog and confusion. Such is my mind and heart.
A day of clarity is often followed by one (or many) of smog.

I want simplicity and clarity of being just as the mountain,
regardless of the smog that masks and reveals it, remains outside my
window.

My weeks in Florida sent me many lessons in listening to my heart, in
awareness and in love. It was a journey like the slow bus ride up
to Monteverde, Costa Rica -- each bend in the road brings new vistas
even as you grow weary and long for an end. Then, you arrive,
tired, exhausted, yet ready to accept the peace that welcomes you.
It isn't always comfortable, but even in the rain and fog, you can
sense the beauty.

Back in Los Angeles, that sense is still there, but I cannot seem to
connect it with my surrounding and my circumstances. I am starting
to feel the inconstancy, the randomness of time. In my absence,
parts of my life stood still, now out of sync with where I am. Other
parts of life seemed to jump planes, leaving a void for that part
that now exists in some parallel universe, unfamiliar and incongruous
with my inner heart. Yet, they all exist at once, vibrating inside of
me, though with much dissonance (though dissonance can be beautiful,
anticipating the eventual resolution into harmony). In time it will
resolve in harmony, as it should be, if I just keep the simplicity
and surety of the mountain.

Patience was never my virtue. I want to bring it all together in
harmony quickly. I cannot. I want to run. But from what and to
what? I want to transform my life. I force myself hourly to stop,
breath, wait, have faith.

The most tangible manifestation of this is my relation to my
church. It is my home, my family. I am welcomed back with the same
warmth and sincerity as when I go to Florida. Yet, I cannot speak
the words of the opening prayer, about our need for Jesus to rise
about our imperfections because I know I do not believe this. I know
I am perfect and whole as I am, Jesus is a model for how to live in
awareness and love. As is Buddha and so many others.

I have found sanctuary and examples of love and human kindness and
much support in this community, but can I continue these friendships
and connections if I am spiritually not in agreement with their
philosophies? Or, perhaps, it is more about our relation to family.
We love them, we grow with them, but at some point, we move on while
still loving, finding new venues to feed our growth to allow us to
continue to bring love to all we do.

To test all this, perhaps, I stopped by the discussion group after
yoga. We looked at Mark Chapters 6 and 7. Even then, Jesus sent
the apostles out on their own, given the power of miracles within
them. However, they did not see this potential, could not even see
the miracles performed before them. Rather than bringing me closer
into the church, it reinforced this new direction, the idea of our
limitless potential if we could only gain the awareness of the power
of God, of the universe, of love inside of us.

With that, we, too, could feed thousands with five loaves and two
fish or walk on water.

With that, we could see through the smog and babble to find what our
soul craves without fear, embracing it with love and gratitude.

P.S. -- as I title this black holes and revelations, the song is
suddenly clear

How is your sole?

About a year or so ago, I bought my first pair of real hiking shoes.
The featured little pyramid nudgies on the soles which amazingly kept
me from slipping in the dusty trails of Griffith Park. Suddenly I
felt like a real hiker.

Today, I tried out my new dancing shoes (literally, not figuratively)
and what a difference! The shoes feature a suede sole (it's all
about soles) to keep you from slipping unexpectedly, but also to
allow you to slide and spin when desired. While my turns still lack
a certain grace and my dancing style could use some honing, the new
shoes made single turns almost effortless and double turns possible.
With the new spin but not slip action, I will have be able to focus
more on developing my own unique salsa style, as the instructor
encouraged us in the lesson. It helped that I had many good leads
throughout the evening. It was all topped off my the fabulous music
of my friends, Tumbao Melao (check them out under myspace friends).

Never underestimate the value of a good shoe.

Therefore, I went exploring possible investments in my new adventure,
which I feel like I owe my bruised knees and bottom to continue, and
found a great bargain on a lovely pair of snowboarding boots. They
were such a good deal, it will only take saving the rental on two
trips to make it worthwhile -- I am sure that is very likely to
happen within my lifetime. I figured if hiking boots can make hiking
more effective and fun, and dance shoes can make my spins more fluid,
then maybe good snowboarding boots are the first step to more
boarding and less bruising (though after yoga class and continued
discomfort in the knees and tailbone, maybe just some padding would
have been the best investment). I suspect it is really the board
that makes the difference, but without outside advisement, i was
hesitant to plop down that money, even with some bargain boards (but
perhaps substandard?).

Besides, I am going with my shoe theory. I only regret there are
not writer shoes or lesson planning shoes to help those two tasks along.

Strangers aren't as strange as we imagine

As little as we like to admit it, we all need help once in a while.

I went to see Children of Men last night after some rave review by
friends with highly respected taste in film. I wonder how certain
types of texts move into my life in groups. The spiritual books and
now, another movie, similar to City of God, that exposes hope even in
a world of despair and violence. Everyone, people are open miracles,
crave hope. However, we easily fall into reactionary modes --
simply reacting to the world around us rather than trying to be or
create that hope. Miracles are small and natural events -- in the
case of this movie, having a child. Not one to be all sappy about
children and babies, the poignancy of a world without children,
without a future was still chilling. In both movies, the characters
were mostly well-rounded, not all evil and not all pure. Even the
heroes of the stories had their flaws, truly tragic heroes as
outlined in classical philosophy. The journey structure of Children
of Men was beautiful and allowed for exploration of the theme of the
kindness of strangers in the most unexpected places, for our need to
be open to trusting those who we normally would not and being
prepared that those we trust are not always perfect in that trust.

Today, I received the first issue The Sun, a Christmas gift from my
dear friend and original fellow blogger, Alizarin. Over breakfast I
flipped to find some short pieces to read and came across a
collection of tales from readers about help -- times when help game
generously and unexpectedly, often from strangers.

This reminds me of my own series of essays that I occasionally visit
and then neglect for too long about the beauty and transformation
possible in our experiences with strangers. I have my writing class
next weekend and so maybe all of this hint which piece I should
develop for our session (I write to procrastinate working on this
writing).

Watering our garden of energy

For those of you who watched What the Bleep do we Know?, you may
remember the part about the photographs of water crystals exposed to
different intentions and thoughts. Essentially, positive, loving
thoughts resulted in beautiful, clear crystals and negative thoughts
resulted in cloudy, discolored, uncrystalized water.

Dr. Emoto's website contains the Love and Thank water project:
http://www.thank-water.net/english/index.html

Under the suggested ways to participate, I thought about how many of
us shower to rid ourselves of the negative energy of the day,
spending time in the shower as a place for consolation for our anger
and sadness (or is it only me who cries in the shower during sadness
and sings during joy?). If all water is connected, and we are all
connected, well . . . the implications are humbling.

I leave you with a central question from the movie:
If thought can do that water and we are 70% water, imagine what our
thoughts do to us?

How do you keep snow from melting in the sun?

We get up, knowing we will fall again and again.

Today I move and enjoy the pain, the distinct feeling of each muscle
working with each step, picturing my body like one of those skinned
diagrams in a biology book, seeing the contraction and release of
each muscle like a small miracle outside of myself. Each muscle
doing its job, involuntarily, propelled by a unwavering sense of
purpose, moving each leg forward.

While it took hours of work and bumps and slips and slides to
awaken awareness of the skeletal muscles, it took less than a minute
to bring the an even deeper level of pain into the heart muscle.

This is a muscle that was not meant to be abused, but to love and
love and love some more. Yet, in the very purpose for its being is
where it exposes itself to pain.

How do you keep your skeletal muscles from supporting your body?

How do you keep snow from melting in the sun?

How do you keep your heart from loving?

Big clunking gates

It is said that if you want someone's full support, let them think it
is their idea.

Adding my own less manipulative addendum to this is to just wait
until they think of it and ask for your help.

When I first started teaching, I wanted to bring my background in
video editing to the students, but was given the run around of locked
up cameras and computers that everyone was sure existed. They were
mythical and I never did see them. Besides, I had my classroom to
take care of as a beginning teacher and refused to divert my energy
in vain.

Two years later, I am invited into a special program (though it is
not all totally definite) to bring a media arts program to the
school, including specialized training to certify assistant editors.
It feels like not just a window or a door opening, but some big,
clunking gates swinging wide open with a simple, light exhale to an
entire castle of new possibilities. How fun.