Full Circle

I think it's so important that we frequently stop and check in with ourselves, touch base with ourselves, assess what's going on--emotionally, physically, spiritually. Use every tool we have, find new tools, dig deep, seek healing through truth, reach out, let our voices peal the air like cathedral or temple bells.

When I was six years old I returned home from school one day with my first piece of artwork. It was my rendition of a dog. I'd had no training or practice so it was uniquely primitive and today would be labeled as outsider art. My mother laughed at it and told me I had no artistic talent at all. She kept my drawing on top of the refrigerator and showed it to everyone that entered the house--friends, neighbors, relatives--always calling it the ugliest drawing she had ever seen. Over and over I heard that I had no artistic talent whatsoever. It hurt in ways a 6 year old can't really fathom except to never again bring home another drawing, better yet, never attempt to make another drawing. And so it permeates and sticks. I have no talent, why bother with trying? After all, my mother told me this, and I love her, and she must be right. I never took art in college, not even art appreciation. In my twenties I began traveling and visiting museums and so began my deep love and appreciation of art. Something other people do. I didn't know how deeply wounded I was over that incident.

When I began my most serious recovery work at the age of 39, magical and mystical things began to happen as I opened myself to new worlds, dug deep inside with the help of some incredible therapists and started on the path known as the one less traveled.

Serendipitously one cold but sunny winter day I met an artist, a painter, in a support group, who became one of my best friends. Through our deep friendship, I learned that there was an artist inside me longing to come out and express himself. I nurtured him, and learned all about oil paints, brushes, canvases, colors, etc. from my new friend. We got together and painted, we visited galleries, we bought supplies at art stores, and we painted some more. I struggled through it all and found a new voice of expression. He praised my work and over the next few years I produced approximately 200 paintings. I loved it. I took drawing lessons, and further art lessons. I had come home to that part of myself that had been imprisoned. It was liberating, I could make nice paintings and express myself in ways beyond my imagination.

Last week, I presented my first, simple, uncomplicated yoga vinyasa sequence in class. I struggled to put together a sequence that wasn't just a facsimile of one found in a book, or one that I had experienced in class. I wanted to focus on the standing poses. It wasn't easy, I felt pretty helpless, but in truth I learned so much during the process of putting this together. After all, it was supposed a very simple 3 to 5 pose sequence leading up to a final pose. Other than myself and my beloved teacher, only one other student was able to attend class that particular day. I called out my sequence, asana by asana, and the teacher wrote each pose on the board, one by one, and we talked about how that pose leads into the next pose, how it opens certain parts of the body, warms certain muscles, is a preparation for the next pose, etc. And we talked about parts of the sequence that weren't all that smooth. After all, I'm learning and I've never done this before. The other student seemed to find something very funny in all this as she broke out in laughter repeatedly during this process. How did you come up with that? How do you get from that pose to that pose. Giggle, giggle. Laugh, laugh. I won't say more, except that I must have just blocked it out, or decided that she wasn't really intentionally deriding me. Was she really laughing at my sequence? Yes she was, but I don't think she meant to intentionally hurt my feelings, but that happened and I refused to feel anything. I went numb and dismissed it as unimportant. Such things come back.

That weekend something felt wrong inside me. My sleep was restless, my dreams particularly disturbing. I felt fragile and vulnerable. On Monday as I drove to class, my heart screamed out in pain and I let lose a river a tears. It was then I realized that the deep wound inflicted unintentionally by my mother when I was 6 years old had suddenly opened up and I was bleeding, I was hurting, I was scared. This is all very therapeutic, fully feeling what you feel. I sat with the feeling, let the tears flow, and held back nothing. Not the best condition to drive in but automatic pilot can be a huge help. I processed.

That night I had a rare, near ecstatic dream. There was a dog, a big one, and a beautiful one, and a powerful one. In the dream when I thought of him, he would appear instantly, no matter how far away he might be from me, or how far away I might be from him. He was like an angel, a best friend, an animal spirit empowered with beautiful, magical, super-human qualities. In the back of a moving pickup I suddenly felt I needed him, so I thought of him and suddenly there he was, running behind the pick up, then magically flew up into the cab and took control of everything--he steered me in the direction I needed to go. It was like a miracle happening. This friend of mine, this beautiful dog, was always there for me in this dream. A dog. Like a god. Like my drawing that I still have in the top of my closet. I just read:

...to see a dog in your dream symbolizes intuition, loyalty, generosity, protection, and fidelity. The dream suggests that your strong values and good intentions will enable you to go forward in the world and bring you success. It can also indicate a skill that you have ignored or forgotten..flying signifies a sense of freedom where you had initially felt restricted and limited...

Loreena McKennitt sings:

Stars were falling deep in the darkness

as prayers rose softly, petals at dawn

And as I listened, your voice seemed so clear

so calmly you were calling your god.

Somewhere the sun rose, o'er dunes in the desert

such was the stillness, I ne'er felt before

Was this the question, pulling, pulling, pulling you

in your heart, in your soul, did you find rest there?

Elsewhere a snowfall, the first in the winter

covered the ground as the bells filled the air

You in your robes sang, calling, calling, calling him

in your heart, in your soul, did you find peace there?

Music and lyrics by Loreena McKennitt: Full Circle

from The Mask and the Mirror

And so as we traverse through life, we come full circle, again and again. And when in distress, we call out for help, when we reach deep into ourselves and remain open, answers, peace, and rest may come to us.

N.B. I was just remembering when I was staying with an Indian woman in her small home in Rancho de Taos, NM, and on the morning of Palm Sunday I woke up, looked outside, and it was snowing heavily. A late May snow, the last of the season, and it was heavy. I walked to Church and entered, received a palm frond, but felt suffocated and the need to be outside overcame me so I walked the neighborhood for a long while. The whole time I walked I was accompanied by a dog that seemed to come from out of nowhere, waited for me while I went into the church, and continued walking at my side throughout my walk.

Feeling yucky, great documentary, favorite shots

I'm not feeling well today, so I've given myself permission to stay home all weekend if need be and stay in bed if I feel that's in my best interest, which is where I am right now, surrounded by Ralph and Pepe and some reading assignments. I caught a cold while traveling and although I experienced all the usual symptoms, I kept going and didn't slow down one bit as I didn't feel tired. Now I feel very run down. Somehow it's caught up with me and doesn't want to let go without my attention, so I'm listening. The cold has moved into my chest and I had chills last night and again this morning. I hear a deep gurgling when I cough. I know how fortunate I am to be able to rest, and to rest comfortably. It's a luxury not afforded to many people in this world. In all likelihood, this cold will run its course after briefly slowing me down and I'll resume the life and activity that comes with good health. I give thanks. But honestly, I'm a real baby when it comes to physical pain and discomfort, and if I experience a fever I have thoughts that I just might not make it! Really.

We watched an excellent documentary last night titled The Body of War. After 5 days serving in Iraq, a young US soldier is wounded and permanently disabled, and this movie tells his story. It's sad, frustrating, and paints, in my opinion, an accurate and unbiased picture of how war tears apart families, nations, and can do damage to the human body beyond comprehension. Medical care for these Iraqi veterans is poor and it seems they pretty much live out their remaining years in the shadows, often unable to perform basic bodily functions. The majority of our leaders turn a blind eye, disillusionment seems to be the norm with the current powers that be. I recommend this highly. P.O.V. on PBS.

I so want to have the energy to go get on the mat, or go to a yoga class. I really wanted to take a workshop today at Castle Hill Yoga, about cultivating a home practice. I'm sorry to have missed it, but for everything there is a reason, regardless of whether we have a clue or not, and so I'm parked here letting nature run her course.

I decided to select a few of my favorite photos from the trip and post them. I like to look at things up close and deeply personal. I'm drawn to photography that represents the natural world in an almost abstract vision. Hence, a open pomegranate in a food market stall draws my awe more than the engineering feat of a Roman amphitheatre. That's just me. A Reuben Rubins painting, a flower, a paper fan twirling in a garden, some thorns, palm leaves, red rocks in a garden landscape, the sun shining through the slats of a shed atop Masada, a painting outside an art gallery in the artsy district of Tel Aviv, a pot with a circle within a circle, a view of the Wadi Qilt near St. George's monastery near Jericho, earthy ochres, burnt siennas, raw umbers and deep yellows of sandstone at Petra, and so on.

Traveling

It's Monday morning and I've less than 2 hours before leaving for the first class of my four month intensive teacher training program with Gioconda. Just before leaving for Jordan and Israel in mid October, I learned that she would be offering this training (beginning Nov 10th, today) so I enrolled, then had the following 3 weeks to think about it. This will be my 3rd time to enroll so maybe three's the charm.

Just as I knew it would be, the Jordan/Israel trip was a bit on the strenuous side, the rhythm of movement pretty intense, but I soon got into the swing of things and had a really great time. We walked many miles most days seeing as many sites as time would permit. It was pretty exhausting. We were a small group and for the most part got along beautifully, which I think is particularly noteworthy considering our diversity--3 fundamental Christians (Seventh Day Adventists), several Jewish couples (everyone was straight except for the 2 of us, which as usual was a non-issue), a couple of agnostics, and a couple of really super nice and worldly wise docents from Manhattan who were a total delight to be around. Their frequent injections of their extensive knowledge of the natural sciences into our discussions was absolutely refreshing. Our 2 guides, Mark and Marilyn, moved to Israel a number of years ago from California after spending their lives pursuing several interesting careers, including more than a few collective years with the Peace Corps in several countries. They are such good people. For me Jerusalem is a religious vortex that swirls with dogmatic and hence chaotic behavior. Religious conflict and fervor abounds yet simultaneously manages to find an acceptable level of slightly tense harmony most of the time. Unlike 15 years ago when I frequently prostrated myself before Christian alters throughout the city, called upon the intervention of St. John of the Cross, my patron saint at the time, to guide me into the depths of mysticism, attended mass daily and read the psalms with tears in my eyes, this time I found myself to be a far happier person, still a seeker with no absolute answers, but confident and accepting of things simply as they are without allowing the conditioned mind to interfere too greatly in the experiential. It was good, really good. I was photographed doing my more *advanced* yoga poses at Roman ruins, covered in Dead Sea mud on the sandy beach of the Dead Sea. We trudged along the banks of the Sea of Galilee, winding paths astride the Jordan River, and plunged many times into the salty waters of the the Dead Sea, dodged in and out of dark alleys and old, dusty churches, walked up and down ancient stone steps leading to obscure archaeological sites and marvelled at it all.

The above photos are, in order, flower arrangement in the Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem, St. George's Monastery on the Wadi Qilt outside Jerusalem near Jericho, man in prayer in front of the "wailing wall*, sunset over the Sea of Galilee, Gamala, Petra, Ron having an arabic moment, Bedouin dress as seen in the museum in the Roman theatre in Aman, Jordan.