The Old Mare Can Still Bite

We bought a crystal ball in Mexico, I don't remember when. It's very heavy and I'm sure it has a high lead content. Mostly it has sat atop the marble coffee table, but we moved it to a southerly facing window ledge a while back. Yesterday we could smell something burning, so I went outside to see if someone nearby was burning a trash pile or leaves but sensed nothing. The smell was coming from the living room, not unlike the smell you notice when you blow out a candle and the waxy smoke quickly fills the surrounding space. The burning smell was so strong we moved into action. I climbed up into all three attic areas but all was okay. We checked the toaster, electrical wires, went outside again, checked the oven. Neither of us had been burning candles or incense. We narrowed the smell down to the fireplace area, but our fireplace is set up with fake logs and natural gas and we haven't turned it on in ages. Finally I saw the problem--the sun was hitting the crystal ball in such a way that the rays of the sun were focused on a spot on the wooden window ledge adjacent to the fireplace and had burned a hole about the size of a razor blade. It was black and hot and penetrated about an eighth of an inch. We doused it with water and vowed to keep the crystal ball away from the rays of the sun. It wasn't exactly forecasting our future but I can't help but wonder what the future might have held had we not been home.

I visited my sister and family on Thanksgiving day and met the newest member of her family--a beautiful quarter horse. I walked out into the damp field with bridle in hand and walked right up to her, put the bridle on then had my cousin, with several kids in tow, give me a hands boost up onto her back and I rode bareback to the barn where I saddled her up and rode for just long enough to get acquainted with her gentle nature. All the kids wanted to ride so I hoisted them up, one after another and led the mare down a cow path and back. It was great fun and the adults in the group wanted a brief riding lesson so I obliged and then watched as they sat on her back and went absolutely nowhere! I gave several demonstrations but knowing horses and learning to ride is something that takes time and experience and even though I hadn't ridden in a long time it all came back to me instinctively. They are beautiful, empathetic creatures. I kind of fell in love with her and would just as soon bring her home with me! When I returned my nephew home at the end of the holidays the mare found her way to the fence right by my car. I brushed her a while and petted her, but soon the kids were all around and I could tell she was annoyed. Then my sister came up and someone said something that caused her to burst out into an uproarious laughter and in a split second the mare reared her head up and bit the hell out of my sister's right breast. I thought for a moment she was going to pass out, but after about 30 seconds the pain subsided and a big blue, red and purple bruise appeared. It was quite a shock that this should happen, but no doubt my sister needs to learn to be calmer around her horse or she's going to get it right in the...

A 19 year old college student plowed his mother's pick up truck through our wild game fence late on Saturday night recently and totally demolished a section of it, snapping the wires like sewing thread, including the supporting wires attached to the nearby telephone pole. Luckily no one was hurt, but the damage effects about 60 feet of the fence as seven T posts are bent and that much of the high tensile wire must be replaced, requiring the installation of a new bracing post. He left the scene but called the next day and apologised, which I appreciate but he simply didn't understand that he couldn't come out and prop it up on his own. He didn't want his auto insurance to be notified but when I saw the damage I felt I had to file a police report. His mother got involved and said she wanted to pay for the damages out her own pocket rather than pay higher insurance premiums and we agreed. However, things did not go smoothly at all and in the end I had to ask the sheriff to pay her a personal visit and get her automobile insurance information so we could file a claim and get the job completed by the original fence builder. It's interesting, to say the least, to meet someone who bitingly professes to be an authority on something they know absolutely nothing about, and can be downright aggressive when you try to spell out the facts. The enormous expenditure of misguided energy is quite perplexing and stressful.

I'm enjoying about 3 yoga classes a week these days, and am still working with my physical therapist on strengthening a variety of muscles to help heal and protect my shoulders. The hoisting of kids up onto the back of a horse is not something I plan to do again anytime soon!


Happy Holidays to all and be safe--at home, on the rode, and with your bodies.

On The Ride

A small segment of a dream lingers in my thoughts for days afterwards. I was in an elevator, ascending to the top level of a building, and as I ascended the walls of the elevator began closing in on me--like they do in movies whereby the Indiana Jones character must find a quick means of escape or face death. An elevator is perhaps a contemporary of the wheel of fortune symbol, as it turns, one is ascending, descending, and at one point or another at the top or the bottom, but mostly in between. The emotional and physical ups and downs of life will apparently, at least for me, never end so long as I'm On the Ride. Just when we think the walls are closing in on us we find the strength to hold them open. My fortunes decline and then I find the coffers full; my spiritual strength waxes and wanes; my body forces me to a near state of stasis. I remember the meaninglessness of time, or better yet my skewed perspective, and allow the anger and frustation enough expression to diffuse and soften. I read mystery novels to pass the time. They often adhere to a strict formula which affords a sense of security, of predictability, the forces of evil doing battle with the forces of good where the detective ultimately outwits the villain and despite the damages already done, manages to set things right, more or less. I've become a huge fan of The Closer with Kyra Sedgwick as Chief Inspector Brenda Lee, a southern lady transferred to the mean streets of Los Angeles as head of a special branch whose purpose is to solve high profile murders (on DVD).

I miss group asana practice very much. I miss the community of people and the healing and nurturing that is always present. Doing physical therapy exercises with various colored thera-bands, at home, alone, is so boring that I feel I am being again tested to see if I can remember to stop and evaluate, to slow down even more and look at life from a different perspective. Personally, I don't care if my postural integrity is far from perfect, nor do I particularly care that my right lung is smaller than my left, that I have forgotten how to breathe into my upper lungs using my diaphram--I'm labeled an 'over inhaler'--nor that there's imbalance nearly everywhere from the hips up. But when it hurts and pain becomes a constant companion, I do indeed care and am called into a different kind of action. I've been very surprised to learn that quite a few people who practice yoga end up with injuries requiring physical therapy--so my physical therapist tells me. "We have many students of yoga coming through our doors seeking healing" he tells me. I've given up wondering what I might have done wrong. IF anything, it was pushing too hard doing what I love, not paying careful enough attention to pain, and forgetting the age and condition of this body I inhabit. It's not fruitful to think in terms of right and wrong, clearly I did a whole lot of right because it felt delicious and was so enriching. But now I need to compensate for whatever reasons that led to this imbalance that causes, at times, intense pain. Maybe I was over zealous in my pursuit of goodness, and ego got too involved. Doesn't matter anymore, not now.

A beautiful Siamese tom cat has decided he likes us, and we like him very much. He's not quite feral, but petting him is presently out of the question, much less placing him in a carrier and taking him to the vet for shots and evaluation. But it's been quite enjoyable making his acquaintance and doing our best to provide food and water. We call him blue eyes. How original.

I drive Dale to physical therapy this morning, his knee is healing very nicely and he walks far better post operation than before. We are already talking travel and planning our next adventure, perhaps Alaska, perhaps Ireland, who knows. I have a meeting with my physical therapist this week for the usual evaluation and the fine tuning and tweaking of my exercise program. I also see my newest Orthopedic Surgeon for the second time and hope to learn that surgery is not necessarily on the horizon, although I'm no longer resistant to it. One must be very careful in dealing with these surgeons, they often have god complexes and require that one be especially tolerant of their attitudes, as well as proactive in one's own care, but that should always be the case.

Back to The Club Dumas by Arturo Perez-Reverte, check on Blue Eyes, have breakfast and begin chaffeur duties.

Interview with Karen Armstrong on NPR

The following link should take you to a brilliant interview with Karen Armstrong which aired recently on NPR's Fresh Aire, and I highly recommend setting aside 38 minutes and listening to it.

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=112968197&ps=cprs

Should the link not work, just go to http://www.npr.org and find the Fresh Aire podcasts. Let the content be a worthy treat to yourself! I hope you find it as inspsiring as I did.

The More We Learn, the More We Love, the More We Love, the More We Enjoy

While sitting in the doctor's office today I was delightfully surprised at the wonderful collection of books and magazines available to peruse--The Impressionists, a book on Australia, another of Africa, a book on Monet, a limited edition book about the Titanic, and much more. I was also impressed with the doctor and left feeling hopeful, uplifted and ready to move into his prescribed action or inaction, whatever the case may be. I feel quite hopeful that he has an understanding of my problem, one that he describes as "black and white with no areas of gray" and one that can be relatively easy to heal so long as I'm willing to do the work and stay proactive in my health care. I like his holistic approach. I like the fact that he seems so confident that he has discovered physical issues that clearly explain my problem--namely, my shoulder pain that continues to worsen no matter what I do. I wanted to jump for joy and scream YES when he told me that I've done nothing wrong, that this has nothing to do with yoga, or with doing asanas incorrectly, but has everything to do with trauma suffered in 1988-89 that has left my upper thoracic spine very much torqued in one direction which then is at a tug of war with my neck. I think the torqued upper thoracic spine spins my torso causing my right shoulder to move forward, my neck struggles to be forward looking, and there is much nerve impingement, plus the fact the the C-5 cervical disk is 60% gone and two other disks protrude slightly, one to the left, one to the right. I will work with him 3 times a week for the next two weeks followed by work with a physical therapist. He doesn't want me washing the car, mowing the grass, or doing any yoga while his treatment is in progress over the next two weeks. This will be a huge challenge. I will greatly miss the physical connection with community and no doubt the disconnect will not be easy, but this will be an opportunity to focus on the *non asana* aspects of yoga, such as, for example, studying my Anusara manuals!! But out of all the doctors and physical therapists I've seen (and more) he is the only one who has taken x-rays of my full spine, allowing him to view the whole spinal column to see what's going on. It's so common for doctors (and many of us) to have tunnel vision, maybe because we can only see that which we know about. In a book in his office I read, "The more we learn, the more we love; the more we love, the more we simply enjoy."

I took my yoga mat to Puerto Vallarta intending to do asana on the terrace or go to one of several yoga studios, but I simply didn't do that. I thought that giving my shoulders a rest might help--it did not. After a recent afternoon of swimming, I felt more pain than ever in both my shoulders, so rest seem to be a good idea, although the canopy tour of the jungle, all harnessed up and flying from one tree to another attached to a cable wire was definitely a bit of a strain on my shoulders. So mostly I just chilled, and read, and ate, and walked, and visited with people. Our suite in an old villa was funky and charming, right on the beach, and the staff and other guests were simply delightful. Dale struggled mightily with his knee and his greatly impaired ability to walk, so I suppose I did feel just a tad guilty being gone for over 6 hours on the jungle canopy tour. So I arranged several massages in our rooms, did some cooking in our little kitchen, and we spent a lot of time riding in taxis going out to eat at a new restaurant most evenings, lounging on the beach or by the pool or in the cool shade of our covered terrace. It's good to be home, as always. The pair of resident foxes are bringing their kits right up to the house to drink water. I wonder if they will survive the heat and what they find to eat. The birds and squirrels are all back as the feeders are now being filled daily. The old white haired racoon has learned to arrive early to eat what the birds and squirrels have left over. They are all always in search of food and water. The need for nourishment never ends. We can never learn too much, nor love too much, and there is always something right in front of us to enjoy, to take delight in.

"Home", More than a Film

Home is a spectacular film by Yann Arthus-Bertrand, narrated by Glenn Close, filmed in over 50 countries, with fantastic music, incredible aerial views, spectacular color. It is enlightening, enriching, educational, and a bombardment of the senses. Very Highly recommended. Home being our planet earth, its incomprehensible array of plant and animal species, micro organisms, our planet that is around 4 billion years old. We, as humans, having only appeared on the scene in the last 200,000 years. Only in the last 20,000 years did we settle into agrarian communities. Over one fourth of the people living on the planet today live exactly the way they did 6,000 years ago, and of those, three quarters still till the soil by hand. More people live in the deserts of the world than the whole of the population of Europe. Then we come to the last 50 years, and everything becomes "faster and faster" and what has happened just defies comprehension. We are a species like no other, ever. Please watch this film if you get the chance. It's available for rent, or can be purchased. I aimed the camera at the TV and took the above photos.

Resolving that Antsy Feeling

A small remnant of a dream remembered from last night held fast to consciousness this morning, so I've been thinking about it over coffee. Something like this: the large (think super-size) skeleton of an ant fell on the floor after I extracted it from my ear, along with some other debris. I thought it might be the skeleton of a scorpion. With curiosity I touched it, and it was indeed the skeleton of a large ant--dead, decaying, and unraveling. The end of its life cycle. I'm pleased but a little sad, this letting go of something many have told me to do. Let's get to the core. I took yoga teacher training for the purpose of deepening my practice. I never aspired to teaching, and always put that out there and made that clear. Still, others who I very much admire and respect kept telling me that I should teach, that I would be good at it, that it would benefit both myself and others. This kind of positive but instructive feedback was good to hear even though it contradicted my original thinking. I began to question my lack of aspiration to teach. I began to turn it over and over in my mind. Again and again I would come back home to my own thoughts and feelings that teaching yoga is something I GREATLY admire in others, something that has benefited me beyond words. But me teach? Such a new, unexplored arena. So in a way, I gave in to the idea and signed up to be a substitute teacher. I had many doubts--not so much about my ability to teach (but yes, definitely some of those doubts), but more about my desire to teach, and how it would fit into my lifestyle, my time schedule, my commitment to my personal practice, my time constraints. More importantly, is this something I want to do? So I have been doing some teaching, and for a beginner teacher it is challenging, time consuming, and at first pretty scary. But I've done it and while it has dramatically increased my appreciation and admiration for the art and discipline of teaching this sacred practice, I have come round full circle and again have come to the confirmation that it is not something I want to do. And I need to be at peace that this is okay. I need to know that no matter what others tell me (and the vast majority of those who encourage me to teach are teachers themselves), I am ultimately the one who decides what my heart is asking me to do. So I've been a busy ant for a significant portion of my life, then I stopped and was no longer a busy worker ant always with a demanding job in front of me. I will not feel the sting of the scorpion by NOT doing what others tell me, I will not be punished, there will be no consequences to suffer, only that which I impose on myself. So I have given notice to the place where I teach, and this notice was received with total acceptance, understanding, and love. Sometimes my intuition isn't clear, it isn't black and white. Before we truly know what's best for us, we need to get out there and explore, and do it. Go through the fear, move through the action. And then we are far better equipped to move forward in our lives with discernment. And, this may need to be repeated. It is important to listen to what others say, and allow for change and a multitude of possibilities, but ultimately we chose our own paths.

Engagement in the Many Journeys

After yoga Sunday night a small group of us were having sandwiches at The Great Outdoors Cafe: Paul had recently traveled to New Mexico and his roommate has/had a house in Santa Fe, Jim is going to the Bodhi Zen Center in Jemez Springs, his friend is going to meet him for a stay in Santa Fe, Bo was recently there...and all this got me thinking along these lines:

It began with a woman in art therapy giving me a rock that was precious to her. Take it, she said, hold it and feel the magic, let it transport you, it comes from the banks of the Chama River in Northern New Mexico.

Fifteen years ago I had a house in Canones, northern New Mexico, at the end of a four mile long dirt road that began as a forest trail and evolved into a two lane, deeply rutted, narrow, and at times harrowing road to the house and the surrounding four acres. It was a beautiful four mile drive that took thirty minutes to traverse in good weather, in a four wheel drive vehicle or pickup truck. At the crest of a hill to the left was an ancient Anasazi Indian village rarely seen except by the occasional villager and visiting archaeologist. To the right was a tiny Greek Orthodox Monastery that kept me amply supplied with the best locally made bees wax candles in exchange for taking in their cats during short sabbaticals. I had no telephone, no television, and in the winter, no neighbors. Delicious, sweet water flowed through the property from a mountain stream that also brought piped water into the house all year long--a rare commodity for most in this region. Near the corner of a large field behind the house were the remnants of a log cabin from long ago, shaded by an apple tree that was a prolific producer of small, sour apples. Horses loved the apples and with an old fashioned recipe could be made into the best apple pie I've ever tasted. A lone pinon pine towered mightily at the front gate while groves of cottonwoods lined the banks of the icy cold Canones Creek and colored the landscape with brilliant colors in the fall season. Surrounding the house was a root cellar, a tack room, a greenhouse, two large screened porches, one attached and the other some distance from the house as part of a guest room and an old abandoned trailer house that smelled of dead mice. There was a free standing carport adjacent to the small shed that housed the firewood. A giant propane tank stood out like a sore thumb near the entry gate and foretold of long, harsh winters that visited each year with deep snows and subfreezing temperatures. An old fashioned swing hung from the rafters of a small gazebo next to the wooden foot bridge that crossed the creek. The house itself had an exterior covering of split logs made shiny with regular linseed oil applications and was well insulated against the cold. Inside were two bedrooms, a sleeping porch/studio, an open kitchen and living room with fireplace, one bathroom, and a sizable utility room containing the defunct baseboard heating system, washer, dryer, hot water heater, and large freezer. I painted most of the interior walls, applied yet another coat of linseed oil diluted with turpentine to the exterior planks, and painted the trim of the house a colorful Indian red. I gardened, hauled rocks, mowed, chopped firewood, mended fences and gates, cleaned the tall chimney like a chimney sweep, went for long walks in the adjacent state and national forest lands, visited the Anasazi ruins, made friends with the monks and some of the villagers and used tools my hands had never before touched. I added extra panes of glass to the windows of the added-on sleeping porch which was intended for summer use and not well insulated against the blowing winds of winter. I learned to keep it closed off from rest of the house during cold winter nights, then would open it up during sunny days as I sat in front of my easel or took lazy afternoon naps. I added two propane heaters as emergency back-up. I settled in for winter. I was happy and contented. I was doing exactly what I wanted to do, I was following my dream. I had moved to my oasis, my utopia in the remote deserts, forests, mountains and valleys of Northern New Mexico.


I barely made it for a year. The winter turned the landscape to infinite shades of dull, depressing gray. The roads became worse. There was always the possibility of the pipes freezing which would result in the loss of water until spring. I fell off a ladder injuring my wrist with no one to hear my screams for assistance. I drove two hours to get groceries and stood outside in the freezing snows and blizzard-like winds making phone calls home, beginning to question my decision to move here in the first place. As winter wore on and isolation set in, I became desperately lonely. Night after night was yet another dark night of the soul. I would retreat to the Benedictine Monastery about 30 miles away for company, all the while worried about leaving my cats alone. I would walk out to the front gate under a brilliant cast of stars the likes of which I had never seen before or since and call out to some god to bring an end to my loneliness, my fear, my isolation. I spent day after day contacting and visiting various bureaucratic agencies in an attempt to get a telephone installed. I was told that a telephone would be simple to install provided I pay about $100,000 for the 3.5 miles of wires and poles that needed to be installed, after obtaining permission from each and every landowner whose property the lines would cross. I would visit friends in Santa Fe who couldn't visit me without having the underbellies of their vehicles torn away. I would visit art galleries and restaurants and get home long past midnight. I missed my partner back in Austin more than I imagined possible. I started therapy in Santa Fe with a wonderful young therapist who was my saving grace. After several months he asked me what prevented me from returning to Austin, from returning home, from returning to my partner? When I realized the answer was NOTHING, I jumped for joy, packed up some clothes and the cats, winterized the cabin, and headed back home. I had spent my time alone in the deserted northern wilds of New Mexico and came to fully understand the deep meaning in the phrase "there's no place like home." Dorothy said it, she was wearing the shoes all the while without knowing their power. A rich, unforgettable experience, a journey of learning and growth, a time of deep searching and longing and introspection, a time to never forget, but finally, the realization that I needed to go home, and that I had a home to go to.

A young, gifted friend tells me he wants to pull up stakes and move to New Mexico, buy some land, have a house and a separate studio for yoga, massage, teaching classes, group meetings and gatherings, and ideally have a scattering of small cabins on the property for guests. Where? I ask. Somewhere in Northern New Mexico, between Santa Fe and Taos, a small town. Why? I ask. To be in touch and harmony with nature, the dramatic, beautiful landscape, experience the intensity of the change of seasons. Like so many of us, he is drawn deeply into the Land of Enchantment. The place where alternative lifestyles are relatively commonplace. A place of indigenous peoples, secluded monasteries, Zen centers, Native American reservations, communities living off the grid. I totally understand this urge that pulls at him. I have felt it and acted on it. It's important to have dreams, goals, to follow our hearts, to move out into the world and take risks--this is what makes us feel alive. As an elder, I have seen this dream acted on over and over again, and while I'd never discourage anyone from following their dreams, I do strongly advise people to go out to New Mexico first and stay for a while, rent a house, become familiar with your surrounds. It's a very harsh life out there. It's one of the most sparsely populated states in the US. It's difficult to earn a living. It can get very lonely. All the people you dream about coming to visit you may not show up. The community you dream of building may not come to pass. The chances of returning to the place from whence you came are pretty high. I've seen this over and over again. The largest town between Santa Fe and Taos is Espanola. Between Espanola and Taos are a few very tiny towns, and although incredibly picturesque, not very many permanent residents. Heading from Espanola towards Abiquiu is also beautiful, but again a very harsh and difficult climate in which to live. People build dream homes along the Chama River and a year or two later put them up for sale. Countless communes have come and gone. Georgia O'Keefe loved this country and lived there for many years, but in the beginning she rented a house on secluded property of Ghost Ranch and frequently returned to New York. Over a period of many years and frequent visits and increasingly longer stays, she decided to take up permanent residence. But she was a highly successful painter and knew the landscape thoroughly, and was one of a rare breed of people who can thrive creatively and otherwise both in a harsh climate and virtual isolation from community for extended periods of time. But who am I to say that this gifted young man will not go out there and find exactly what he wants and needs? I am not one to say that, only present my perspective, my own personal experience, and be at peace with him doing exactly what he wants to do. Blessings to him and to all who venture forth into the unknown, whether alone or with a companion, in search of meaning and happiness.

A Motley Crew of Poets, Indeed

A motley group of students take a field trip with their teacher to an old, run down monastery, built of great substance but in much need of restoration, set in a series of beautifully maintained gardens. Through dirty windows one glimpses the extraordinary greenery of the inner and outer sculpted and natural landscapes--inner courtyards and surrounding gardens with cypress trees growing along the grassy banks of a flowing stream. It speaks of enlightenment and the likes of William Blake. The assignment is to compose a traditional sonnet following a prescribed rhyme scheme. Afterwards, students are called out by name to read their compositions to the group. With great dramatic flair, one student pretends to conduct an orchestra as a prelude to the reading of his literary masterpiece. Another student greatly surprises the group by reading an exquisite poem written masterfully with perfect rhyme and image provoking metaphor. Yet another student reads her poem which ends abruptly mid-stanza and leaves the group puzzled over the lack of apparent meaning and the total departure from the specific assignment. I am called upon to read my poem, which I have completed following the given instructions, and I'm initially very pleased with my creative output until I begin comparing my poem to the exquisite compositions of others. Suddenly mine seems lame, and worthless, and I don't want to read it so I pretend to have lost it. I am not let off the hook, and the class waits while I search. In the meanwhile yet another student recites her poem of near perfection. Now my poem appears to be lost and I am glad I cannot find it. The teacher asks for all my materials--my books and various papers, and he begins a personal search for my lost poem. He finds other poems I've written, and drawings, and doodles and scribbles and underlined passages and marvels at it all. He points out the beauty of my personal inventory. Suddenly I am aglow with a renewed faith in myself and I too begin searching for the poem I have written. I find it and am pleased with it, I love it for what it is--my poem. Maybe not as sophisticated or erudite as some of the others, maybe not so rich in metaphor, not so colorful, but still, it is mine (and it is part of the whole). And all is well as I've listened to my teacher and stopped comparing and contrasting my work with that of others, stopped separating mine out.

We can always find people whose poetry of being is more beautiful than ours, just as we can easily find those whose poetry seems nonsensical, or lacking in rhyme and rhythm and substance. It's good to be aware of this great diversity and to observe it and soak it all in lovingly. But when we begin to compare ourselves in a judgmental way to those whose poetry we find more beautiful than ours we begin to doubt ourselves and lose touch with our inner teacher. The same is true when we compare ourselves with those whose poetry appears shallow and without meaning, for if we use it for comparative purposes to give rise to our own sense of well being, we have failed to truly embrace the beauty of diversity, we have turned off the dialog with our inner teacher. And so as we look out on to the poetic landscape of our lives, we seek to find learning and growth and beauty in all this, and focus our attention on exactly what we have before us in our own gardens--one day it may be lush and tropical, other days it may be a frightening barren landscape. Our outer bones and structure may begin to face decay, but it is what it is and we are who we are and so we begin to cultivate the poetry of our inner lives, listening to others, sharing, accepting, exercising non-envy and stepping forth into the circle and community of self-acceptance. By tending to our own gardens, we show others how to tend to theirs, and we all reap the bounty.

Om Hrim Om

Dissolving Knots and Melting Away Nails

After practice yesterday I had a great massage, a Jeff combo special extreme. Laying on my stomach, I went into a deep relaxation, perhaps a trance. I saw my back covered with giant nails (best description is railroad spikes). This was not a painful image or a disturbing one, no blood, just a series of spikes holding my body down, and as Jeff continued to massage me the spikes disintegrated, releasing their hold. It was a sweet, pleasant image yet one that expressed intensity. Imagine actually being nailed down with railroad spikes penetrating your body--pretty awful. But in my image the spikes were painless. When we relax our minds and our bodies, we can release all the nails of tension that keep us nailed down, that keep us held in place and stuck, that keep us face down and free from seeing, free from moving into understanding. For more than a few weeks now I've been struggling to understand a relationship that I don't fully understand. It seems to defy definition, understanding, and at times, healthy boundaries. I needed to let it go, I needed to be free from it for the time being--all this within myself. I felt hurt and angry and these feelings cause my mind to get stuck in creating scenarios that are little more than illusions that seek to release the pain. They are like illusory whirlwinds that take off and gain strength in an instant before I realize I have the capacity to stop them before they take on too much of a life of their own. Again and again when I realize that I'm not feeling loved in the world, that I'm feeling unworthy of love, it helps me understand that the pain I'm feeling comes from old wounds and has been triggered by an outside event that usually has very little to do with what's swirling around within me. However, we do need to pay close attention to those people in our lives who may indeed have a tendency to disregard our boundaries, or whose actions don't jibe with their words (and vice versa). Human nature is so complex and when we try to nail down someone else's behavior we might only end up in knots ourselves. Sometimes, not always, it's best to just let go, stop the whirlwinds of illusion, and let the nails come out, and from this place we are more free in choosing what serves us best.

Underlining the Underlying

I often find myself, while reading a book, grabbing a pencil or highliter and underlining nearly every sentence I've just read with the thought: I must come back to this--it really speaks to me, there are many layers of meaning here that warrant further exploration. Bringing Yoga to Life by Donna Farhi is one such book. For example, in her chapter The Freedom of Discipline, she talks about the importance of learning to channel our energies by "increasing our tolerance for staying in the pause between desire and satisfaction." Staying in that place between wanting and getting or doing. I've been applying this pause to so many things of late and the outcome is simply wonderful. It allows for things to just unfold without me interfering, interjecting, projecting, and in general trying to control or manipulate things, even with the very best of intentions, whether I believe I'm being appropriately assertive or not. There is a gentleness in this that I like very much. Not knowing what to do is a dilemma many of us find ourselves in, as well as not knowing what to say, when to say it, whether to say it at all when confronted with difficult situations. Yes, the avoidance of conflict altogether is not a very realistic approach to living--after all, conflict of one kind or another is a fact of life--but fully understanding and seeing that fine line that divides *into action* vs *pause* is difficult for many of us to define. Staying in pause mode can bring the clarity we are looking for, and oftentimes that clarity unfolds before us while we are in a state of pause, and resolution comes to fruition while we observe. This is NOT to say we shouldn't actively participate in our lives nor does it promote procrastination. What it does say is that the habitual reacting that may have been with us for a long time may be a behavior that needs to be carefully examined. Farhi writes that the Latin root for discipline is disciplina which means knowledge, or enlightenment. Discipline sometimes has a negative connotation, but when put in the context of an action that brings knowledge and insight into who we really are, it helps to push us to show up to the yoga mat or the meditation cushion, or just get out and work at getting and finding whatever we need in a manner that is skillful and guided by discernment. Pausing can be as simple as wanting to tell a stranger in a yoga class that his behavior is insulting to the teacher and violates yoga etiquette and tradition (not paying attention to the teacher, talking so that other students cannot hear the teacher, physically adjusting a fellow student, etc.) But when you pause from saying anything and moments later learn he is the spouse and/or best friend of the teacher it's a confirmation that the pause served you quite well!! Action that is anger based, or controlling based, or care taking orientated is best kept in the pause mode. Pause doesn't mean stop permanently, it just means slow down and be very mindful before stepping in to shape or control a situation. I really do like this whole pause concept. I'm underlining Pause and examining its many underlying meanings and applications in my life.

The Falling of a Teardrop--"Just a Little Green"

To account for his distance, J told me life had been throwing him some curve balls. That's what life does, I said, it likes to throw things at us and pull us in all sorts of directions, leaving us dizzy and sometimes sick, and therefore not always as available as we would like to be. We all need time to process, to be alone to ponder and wonder. Sometimes we are lied to, people try to engage us in scurrilous gossip and sometimes we succumb and are sucked right into that vortex. We try to untangle all the little injustices laid at our feet, set the record straight, let the truth be known. We get caught up in the web and are devoured by the stories. Hooked, as Chodran calls it. Just hooked in a nano second, before we've had time to just step back and take a deep breath. This stepping back is not easy, nor is it withdrawing. There is an element of detachment but by no means void of empathy. We seek a sense of objectivity without being an actor in a play written by someone else. A play that might be tragic, absurd, or sad, and mostly quite irrelevant to what we want to be engaged in. So we begin learning to script the plays that bring richness to our lives but this doesn't mean building a wall around us with a deep moat filled with stagnant water; however, it does mean growing to know ourselves and what we want, what we need, then seeking out those people and situations as best we can so that we can act out the roles we feel are best suited to our own personal growth, hence we can interact with and observe others doing the same thing--for our own good and the greater good of others. Often there is so much UN-learning for us to do. Truths can be elusive, with so many dimensions. We begin to reject and throw out all the ignorances that have caused us so much conflict, so much suffering.

Patanjali has so much to offer us, it's really almost incomprehensible in it's simplicity. With humility, an open heart and an open mind we embrace the sacred study of yoga, and with that, we begin to embrace the life we want to lead. Each time my buttons get pushed, it indicates a clinging to one of the kleshas. (Patanjali mentions 5 kleshas, or causes of suffering). To help us dissolve these veils, he suggests that we develop 4 attitudes: friendliness, compassion, celebrating the good in others, and remaining impartial to the faults and imperfections of others. Donna Fahri writes that our spiritual fitness can only be tested in relationship with others. So, when my buttons get pushed, I ask myself what's really going on here. And usually it comes down to the simple answer: I don't feel loved, and that for me can be a really devastating feeling, until I realize, HEY, this is that opportunity presenting itself, it's a pretty loud knock on my door. Someone says or does something, or doesn't say or do something, and I'm triggered. I might feel angry, sad, wanting to act on that retaliatory impulse; when I stop myself I realize that usually nothing has really happened that amounts to a hill of beans. Just a hill of beans I create in my mind because I'm afraid I'm unworthy of love. The old story that reaches back into childhood. The recurring theme. "You are not loved because you are not worthy of love." When I realize this is what's going on, again, it breaks the illusion that someone is purposely trying to hurt me. It's just the little boy in me feeling deeply hurt that his dad couldn't find ways to express his love for his son. My best *defense* is learning to love as sincerely and as deeply as I can muster, and that means being open and vulnerable, which allows the love of others to freely come to me, and it does. The healing is profound.

I had a leisurely lunch with my good friend J yesterday. He still blames himself for his HIV status, and finds himself beating himself up with guilt. He is searching for the path that will lead him to forgive himself. Many of us indulge in little indiscretions from time to time, and they add up but usually with no significant consequences. But the AIDS virus doesn't allow you to forget your indiscretion. Your partner told you he was not infected, you had every reason at the time to trust him. He hid his little indiscretion from you thinking there would be no consequences. Just a little rendezvous. And it spreads and spirals out of control and has profound consequences. It is with you every single day and sometimes rears its powerful head and comes very close to slaying you.

I closed my eyes and saw a green tear falling from the heart center. Why a green teardrop? In so many arenas of life, I'm still green and have so much to learn (and un-learn). The heart chakra is green, as is a blade of grass shooting up towards the sun, spring time colors the palate with shades of green, of renewal and growth. Oh yes, and split pea soup. How do all those peas get split into near perfect little halves?

Taking Flight

I love Spring time. I've spent countless hours watching the birds, especially the mama and papa chipping sparrows and their chicks on the top of the column of the front porch where they built a nest upon a nest upon a nest. All day they tirelessly bring insects to the screaming hatchlings. They chatter and fuss when the cats sit in the windowsill nearby and become conspicuously quiet when I walk outside. Yesterday the chicks decided to emerge from the nest and jump around on the top of the column. One fell out but couldn't fly. Then another fell out. I stood sentry in case the neighbors cats showed up for a meal. The little ones just couldn't fly and the fussing and screeching kept my attention for hours. Finally I decided to intervene and try and put them back in the nest. Well, what a mistake that was. I spent forever trying to catch one of the chicks with a soft cloth. I must have looked pretty silly but finally I caught one and put him back in the nest with his siblings, and he immediately flew out and landed right back on the ground. They are too young to leave the nest, so goes my thinking. The sun set and everything quieted down. I looked this morning and the nest was completely empty. Presumably, all four babies had taken flight, or attempted flight. They grow so fast, all the while the parents are inexhaustibly bringing insects to spit into wide open beaks. I saw a big tom cat sitting out on the rock ledge a while ago, right where the baby birds take refuge. Did he eat them? Did they escape? I don't know, but I do know I need to just let it go, and let nature take her course.

I know I'm borrowing from a poem that really speaks to me, but during a class this week there was a brief moment, when, through guidance and energy, I thought I was going to totally explode into a radiant blossom of overwhelming light. I think that spark that resides within each of us is often made more assessable when we are led into that space by another who is tapping into their higher energy and we let go completely and let ourselves just fall into IT. Perhaps this is what happens when we truly let go and taste the nectar of grace. For me, it's like dipping my toes into a cool stream of water and feeling totally electrified by the sensation, only it's not so much a physical sensation as an inner, spiritual one. Thanks to all the yoga teachers whose energy connects into inner territory and allows me to intuit something far greater than anything I know. Those are indeed sacred moments. No more nor no less sacred than watching baby birds trying to take flight for the first time.

I love Spring time, and I love trying to take that inner flight towards the light of self.

Silent Altars Today

I stepped outside into the cool darkness of predawn to listen to the mystical call of a great horned owl. I've not heard him in a while. I saw a fox sauntering down the sidewalk without a care. Quails sing out bob white, bob white, and make regular appearances under the bird feeders. Other birds sing out Shakespeare, Shakespeare. Eggs have hatched on the front porch perch and the parents feed their naked little ones a feast of insects all day long. On the drive home today from the Orthopedist, a red tailed hawk flew right over my car at the moment that these lyrics from Memory (Cats) were being sung:

And soon it will be morning,
Daylight, I must wait for the sunrise,
I must think of a new life
And I mustn't give in
When the dawn comes
Tonight will be a memory too
And a new day will begin

A new day is dawning, and I mustn't cling to the old, the bad, the past is but a book of memories, both good and bad. I think of J, and his healing abilities that are now being explored, his unfolding processes. His energy work leaves me feeling absolutely fantastic. Dare I say I love the guy? Yes, I do say it.

I had my initial visit with an Orthopedist today. Xrays show significant deterioration of one of the discs in the lower part of the cervical spine.
This could be the root cause of the pain now shooting down into the shoulders
and into my arms to the elbows (all rather tolerable, mostly). The deep cortisone injections into both shoulder joints will either ease the pain significantly in about a week, or do nothing at all, which will determine the next course of action, an MRI or not. Pressure from bony structures, herniated discs or misaligned bones can cause nerves to do strange things to the body. Yoga helps a lot. It's an ancient injury.

I taught my second class yesterday as a volunteer sub. Teaching as a novice is difficult and time consuming. I hope others benefit. I have very mixed feelings about all this, and wait for clarity to come (or not).

Yesterday I received the following letter. Following that is a letter she received from a representative of the Dalai Lama. Following that is my letter to her.


"To fellow dharma friends,

Hello. I have been a dharma practitioner for many years. Recently, His Holiness the Dalai Lama, on a Canadian television interview, stated that he completely
rejects the notion of homosexual love

( http://www.cbc.ca/sunday/2007/11/110407_1.html ).

In response to my question about this cultural prejudice, one of His Holiness's representatives (Tsultrim Dorjee) sent me this response below ”essentially comparing the acceptance of homosexuals to the toleration of thieves, liars, and adulterers.. It is a rather sad day when Buddhist leaders and the Tibetan Government in Exile cling to cultural norms and prejudices.

This is a serious concern for all dharma practitioners. What should I do? Am I living in sin because I am a lesbian?

I ask my dharma friends to call on His Holiness to embrace homosexuals as full members of the dharma community. I think it is time for true compassion, not prejudice.

I would like some serious thoughts as to my question though. Thank you.

Tenzin Palmo


--- On Thu, 4/30/09, Tsultrim Dorjee wrote:


From: Tsultrim Dorjee
Subject: Acknowledgement
To: jjnyinluv@yahoo.com
Date: Thursday, April 30, 2009, 6:09 AM


Dear Tenzin,

This is to acknowledge receipt of your letter of April 28 regarding homosexuality.

For your information, what His Holiness is actually trying to say is that once you accept a religion or a belief you are naturally obliged to follow certain precepts, norms and rules of that religion or belief. For example in the case of Buddhism, the definition of being a Buddhist is:
1) All produced things are impermanent
2) All contaminated things are suffering
3) All phenomenon are empty and selfless
4) Nirvana is peace
If a person professes to be a Buddhist but does not believe in these things, then technically he is not a Buddhist. Similarly, more relevant to the issue of homosexuality, there is the code of conduct for Buddhists. As a Buddhist one should refrain from engaging in the ten non-virtuous actions. In the practice of the ten non-virtuous actions homosexuality is considered a sexual misconduct. Naturally therefore, if you are a Buddhist it is not considered proper to indulge in homosexuality. On the other hand, if you were not a Buddhist this would not be applicable. For example, if someone is not a Buddhist and does not believe in Karma (law of causality) it would be ridiculous to condemn such a person or to say that his attitude is inappropriate. But if one is a Buddhist the situation will not be the same. In any case, it is important to look at this, as in the case of all other things, from an overall view. There are many such actions that are considered inappropriate for a Buddhist, such as lying, stealing and committing adultery and so on. Many Buddhists commit these acts. They are not condoned or considered appropriate but there is an acceptance that there are people who commit such acts.

I hope it clears you now.

With best wishes,

Yours sincerely,

Tsultrim Dorjee
Assistant

*********
My response to Tensin Palmo's letter:

Dear Tenzin Palmo,

As a gay man and a person who embraces the teachings of Buddhism (and other spiritual precepts) I am initially shocked into disbelief at what Tsultrim Dorjee has to say about homosexuality in the email below and also at what the Dalai Lama himself says about homosexual love in his interview ( http://www.cbc.ca/sunday/2007/11/110407_1.html fast foward to 10 minutes into the interview). But then again, they are both only human and apparently ignorant in regards to this matter. I love the story Jack Kornfield tells of a deeply depressed gay man who found a spiritual teacher who taught him meditation and completely turned his life around. When he learned that his guru viewed homosexuality as "wrong", he fell back into a depression and was deeply conflicted. However, his guru had taught him so many wonderful things, and was such a wonderful person/teacher, that when he was able to look past his teacher's ignorance on this particular matter, and forgive him for this ignorance, and focus on all his good qualities, he was able to come to terms with the matter and resume his relationship with his spiritual teacher. If we believe people are innately good, and that goodness lies at their core, then as humans we must assume they are still journeying towards that goodness, and we must love them as best we can, including all their blemishes and imperfections.

Like Alice Walker, I do not call myself a Buddhist because it is yet another label that attaches oneself to an institutionalized set of rules and a belief system whose evolution often bears little resemblance to the original moment of spiritual enlightment that occurred centuries ago. On the other hand, I believe I have the right to call myself a Buddhist if I believe I am following the teachings of the Buddha.

In my opinion, it is simple nonsense to think you are living in sin and not walking the dharmic path. What does your heart tell you? There you are. Be at peace with this. It is unlikely you or I will be able to change the Dalai Lama's position on this matter any more than aspiring gay priests or nuns will be able to change the Pope's condemnation of homosexual love or certain Cardinals who believe the Holocaust never occurred, despite the truth that is standing right there in front of them.

Ron Hicks
rhicks2@austin.rr.com

Mish Mash

When a wounded, bleeding cat was presented to me in a dream I took him in with open arms and nursed him to health. Soon he was running around the house freely, in good health, just being a much loved happy cat. When he tried to follow me outdoors I blocked his exit and said No, you can't have THAT kind of freedom. So I began wondering how this related to my current life. Cats are fiercely independent creatures, with minds of their own, free spirits--yet they are very dependent upon the care of humans. Like any living thing, they can be hurt, wounded, abused, mistreated. They can lose their power. Their damaged bodies die and the spirit moves on.

Our sense of freedom can suddenly be shattered by life events that are unexpected, from small shatterings that are momentary to life-changing events. Adding on a new responsiblility can be both rewarding and feel like a restriction to one's freedom. But there is always choice. Choosing freedom when it's offered, choosing to heal when that's available to us, chosing carefully when to set up boundaries (as opposed to barriers), and choosing to love and care for oneself and others. Sometimes, with the very best of intentions, we give our power away by acquiescing to things when our gut says no, I really don't want to do that, or no, that doesn't work for me. We allow ourselves to do things when something inside keeps telling us it just doesn't fit. Clarity can be elusive, decision-making can require deep introspection, and then we just have to trust. Self-acceptance can be a powerful tool.

It rained this past week and the burn pile was really big, so I doused it with a modest amount of diesel and set it afire. Because it was damp, it burned slow and created swirls of dense white smoke and steam. The rain poured down in light to heavy pulsations, but fire is hard to contain. I love fires, but I don't like being out in the rain. But something primitive inside stirred and I stayed with it. I peeled my clothes off and felt the rain drops all around me. I stepped near to the fire with rake in hand and played with trying to get more leaves and wood to burn. The wind constantly shifted and I was forever finding myself engulfed in smoke. There was a meeting of the elements I rarely witness up close--the dance of fire interacting with a dousing of rain, then fed and renewed by a gush of wind, the organic, dying limbs and leaves and roots of plants transforming into ash. A dove landed on a nearby line and cooed and watched and had a hard time balancing on the wire.

Sometimes it's hard to balance our lives. We find we are doing too much and feel we have no freedom, that we have lost touch with the natural world. We take on more and feel strangled. We let go of some things and sometimes that works, sometimes we find we have too much free time and we don't know how to deal with it. We grow bored. We feel guilty that we are not being productive, or doing our part to save the world, to save the planet.

The smoke from the fire permeated my skin, my hair and I smelled like soot. My eyes watered. Stepping too close to the heat made me look like a blushing beet. I watched a confused cricket race towards the fire only to turn around to get away, circle around and come back into the fire from another angle. He was burned alive.

Sometimes when we get burned it's because we are running around in circles and not noticing that we are moving too close too danger, or we are moving too far from safety. We douse ourselves with water and feel cold and drenched. When we bleed like a wounded cat we feel we have lost our power, given away some freedom, and we want it back. We seek healing. We find freedom. But when we begin to rest comfortably into that sense of safety and permanence, it can quickly be taken away,
go up in smoke, bleed out onto the ground, we fall off the tightrope we've been walking on. We mourn like a dove. But we fly on.

I ran over a squirrel on the highway. It was a hard hit. I turned around and parked. He was partially crushed yet frantically hanging on for life, gasping for breath. I covered him with a rag and put him in a cloth grocery bag. I put him on the ground and he was bleeding and crushed beyond hope. I hated to see him suffering. I was at friend's house so I borrowed his father's shot gun and blasted the little squirrel into little fleshy, bloody bits and pieces. I felt horrible, not so much for putting him down, but for running him over in the first place, for being involved in his death. Stay with it.

When we get in too much of a hurry and we are not watching where we are going life can run us over and lickety-split we are smashed and broken and lay there bleeding. Maybe we survive, maybe not, sometimes a little part of us dies. All the things we have squirrelled away for the winters of our life we must some day leave behind, and that could be tomorrow. But always there is rebirth.

I can't seem to totally wash away the smell of soot. I stink in a way that has a slight appeal to my senses. Maybe it's in my lungs, or hangin on to hair in my nostrils. A squirrel ran out in front of my car today but I stopped just in time for him to make his escape. My cats grow fat and lazy and are afraid to go outside when I accidentally leave the door open behind me. It's a kind of freedom they've never known, so they don't want it.

The birdsong has been especially loud of late, or maybe I'm simply noticing it more. The doves gather around the birdfeeders and find it hard to balance, so mostly they eat seed that has fallen to the ground. They compete with the squirrels. Feral cats lurk in the bushes waiting for just the right moment to pounce on their prey. Buzzards were pecking out the eyes of a deer carcass on the side of the highway this morning. It truly gave me the creeps, but it is the law of the jungle, even the sometimes chaotic urban jungle in which most of us live. But always, there is harmony to be found, and always, we are challenged to learn, to try and find that often very small place of balance where we can rest.

Where is the Ground?

It's interesting how small events can converge, accumulate, or even culminate in causing one to suddenly feel groundless. It's just a lot of uncertainty that seems to blow in on the prevailing winds, the kind of uncertainty that makes you want to grab a hold of something so you don't spiral down too deep into the unknown. So it's all kind of juicy sweet and bitter all at once, this getting familiar with a new unknown, or a new uncertainty--or even an old one that revisits often. These days that groundless feeling manifest itself in my heart. I will suddenly awaken from a nap with a palpitating heart. This is good news because no longer do my fears cause my blood pressure to skyrocket, or cause irritation to the lining of my stomach, or cause me to withdraw into myself and close down. There is something about a heart that beats harder and faster that heightens my awareness to sit up and listen. Time to pay close attention.

This afternoon on the drive home through the backroads I saw a pair of beautiful cream colored horses--one was lying on the ground and the other was standing over her. I had a flashback to another time a couple of years ago when I saw the exact same thing only to learn the next morning that the horse lying on the ground had been shot dead in a drive by shooting. I never told my friends whom I was visiting what I had seen because at the time I had no idea whatsoever that the one horse was dead. It just never occurred to me. But still, I remember having a queasy feeling, and remember asking why the horses hadn't come up to the house, and yet it wasn't that unusual. How could I have known with certainty that the deep queasy feeling might have been because part of me may have sensed that she was dead. The next day when we learned she had been shot I was totally overcome with guilt for not telling my friends what I had seen the day before. Could I have saved her had I said something? I think not. And today's sight caused me to remember all these things, and to notice and realize that the beautiful blonde horse lying on the ground was totally alive and well and just doing what horses frequently do--they just lie down on their sides for a while, enjoying the feel of the dirt, the feel of earth against their body instead of just their hooves. Sometimes my feet cannot feel the ground. Maybe I should go lay down on the ground and see if I regain my sense of foundation, but I know that it is from these moments of uncertainty when we feel groundless that we learn and grow so long as we stay with it and not try to escape from the uncertainty. Sometimes I want to ask for clarification but when you already know that much of life is all about mystery, it's best to just be quiet, and be still. I also know that in the end I will fall down to the ground and never get up again. Of that I am certain. "One of these days, my friend, we all fall down forever." The ground is never that far way.

Who Quiets the Singing Tree?

Several years ago I cut, cleared, sawed, and mowed a path through the woods around the house. One day while walking this path I heard a strange singing sound, kind of eerie, unrecognizable. A sort of vibration. The wind was blowing that day and I thought maybe it was some distant sound traveling on the wings on the wind, but not so. Behind me was a tree whose branch had grown right up against the branch of another tree and as the wind caused the branches to rub against one another the friction made a distinct, musical sound. Over time this friction between the branches had formed a sort of tree wound, a place where the bark and more had worn away completely. I called it the singing tree and would go and sit under it and simply listen to the extraordinary sound. Recently I've tried to find it again and I can't. Today I realized that it is no longer there because the trees have grown and the unique contact between the branches is gone, the singing tree wound has healed and is no longer. I'm bummed about the pulled muscle in my back, and that I can't do asanas for a while, but it was suggested I take walks. Just as the lament of the wounded singing branches of the trees have healed and grown, so will my pulled muscle. I used to be afraid to walk in the woods but now I feel no fear, but rather at ease, and welcomed. Sometimes I see animal faces in the plants, in the dead decaying pieces of wood, in the unique rock formations. Gray writes that "spirit is not limited to human beings. Rocks, animals, the earth, and so on are seen as having spirits...in indigenous cultures, spirit can be directly engaged and used as a source for healing."

Kabat-Zinn writes: "The old fairy tales, we are told by their modern interpreters...are ancient maps offering their own guidance for the development of full human beings. The wisdom of these tales comes down to our day from a time before writing, having been told in twilight and darkness around fires for thousands of years...they are emblematic of the dramas we encounter as we seek wholeness, happiness, and peace. The kings, queens, princes and princesses, dwarfs and witches are not mere personages out there. We know them intuitively as aspects of our own psyches, strands of our own being, groping toward fulfillment. We house the ogre and the witch, and they have to be faced and honored or they will consume us. Fairy tales are ancient guidance, containing a wisdom, distilled through millennia of telling, for our instinctual survival, growth, and integration in the face of inner and outer demons and dragons, dark woods and wastelands...It is worth while to seek the altar where our own fragmented and isolated being-strands can find each other and marry, bringing new levels of harmony and understanding to our lives, to the point where we might actually live happily ever after, which really means in the timeless here and now."

The singing tree is gone, but the musical notes resonate with healing when I meditate upon them, allow the energy to pierce my outer bark. From a trash heap at one of the San Antonio missions I gathered some dying aloe vera plants, and have many times repotted them, throwing the tangle of roots in the woods where they continue to thrive and bloom despite the odds. There are little trails everywhere made by unseen animals scurrying about under the cover of darkness. Holes are dug everywhere to provide shelter and dens of refuge from predators or the elements. I observed a large branch growing vertically towards the sky from a seemingly dead tree stump, it's green leaves fresh and alive and fragrant. And I saw my first hummingbird of the season, and swear she looked just like a fairy.

The Prolonged Journey into Slumber

Most nights I gently remind my partner that once again he is prolonging my journey towards slumber by engaging me in little last minute nocturnal projects that will only take a second. He smiles. The landscape lights need adjusting. Let's bring in some tools. The fountains need to be turned off. The cats know the routine, and go in the opposite direction when we try in vain to herd them into the kitchen that comprises my so called side of the house. The heavy wooden doors I had shipped from New Mexico create a sound barrier and serve as reminders that such boundaries are doors of freedom for our individuality. Free spirits, they say. I advise troubled couples to let their partners be who they are. Caged, we do not sing. I gaze out the kitchen window wondering when or even if the Painted Buntings will make their colorful appearance this Spring. They are beacons in a world of growing extinctions. I drink my coffee and throw the toy mouse across the room. My stomach gets kneaded with little paws. I hear songbirds greeting the morning as the day dawns. The wind causes a cacophony of sounds among the wind chimes hanging from the oak trees, and dead leaves dance in their spring fall and begin to recycle their nutrients into the soil. I read about the good red road which is our sacred path, how all my relations is a mantra of universal connectedness, and when we notice synchronicity in our lives we are in balance and vitality is with us. When something changes in your dreams it will be reflected in your life vs. when something changes in your life it will be reflected in your dreams. There is always another way of seeing things, of doing things. Other realities. I long for another sweat lodge ceremony. I want to step outside and fly and see the ground below through eagle eyes. I dream of diving into the underworld and communing with animal spirits. I record upcoming workshops, retreats, and classes in my at-a-glance calendar and ponder which ones I'll actually make it to. Edward told me that if I bought a bunch of little chickens the hawks and owls would visit often but that seems too contrived and unnatural to me, but still sparks a bit of interest. My niece writes her annual email and tells me she will be visiting orphaned children in Guatemala and that she is intimidated by yoga. I paraphrase the appropriate sutra and urge her to go against the grain of fear and start where she is. My best friend tells me he wants to paint again this year, but isn't this the 7th year he has expressed such plans that have come to naught? We agree that he will attend a regular Sunday yoga class in his attempt to gain a sense of himself, begin walking a new path to find the elements of life that have become lost to him but he is a no show coming up on three Sundays now. I sigh and feel sad but remember I cannot save, only offer up some little bit of support and whisper a prayer when I remember. I forget so many things. I know I will be scattering the ashes of loved ones and wonder who will scatter mine and remember it doesn't matter one little whit. Still. Stillness. The creaking of a door like clockwork, the barriers of our souls are opened, it's time for breakfast. For errands. For another day.

Searching for Directions

My younger sister has taken on a boarder named Edward, almost 20 years old, whom I met a few days ago, and had the opportunity to hear his story, which goes something like this: he and my nephew and a third boy had been best friends since grade school except the third boy was hit by a garbage truck on Congress Ave while riding his bike and was killed; my nephew witnessed a murder up close and personal; Edward was walking on Lamar and was struck by a hit and run driver, suffering severe head trauma. The head trauma was followed by followed by migraines, hallucinations, then a diagnosis of schizophrenia, hospitalizations, all this while grappling with the fear of being gay and finding no peer or parental support. A rough time. He's now stabilized and is searching for work, so I hired him for the day to wash windows and do some yard work. I was definitely playing the role of the Big Brother Mentor sort of thing that I'm not particularly familiar with, so I just played it by ear and did my best and I think it went quite well. I listened, I answered questions and gave feedback when prompted, and worked alongside him for many hours. We got a lot accomplished. There has been a slight escalation in my interactions with younger folks of late, and I feel especially responsible to set as best an example as I can and dispense the best advice I can when asked to do so. In the end, we make our own decisions and choose our paths, but I do think that every little interaction along the way can have sway over us, positive and negative, significant or trivial. Life swirls and spins, cycles and recycles all around us, throughout our worlds and the planet as a whole. Pretty fascinating. I find that everyone, no matter their age or circumstance, no matter their journey or history, deep inside longs for love and acceptance. We want our experiences to be meaningful and nourishing and we want to feel loved. We want to be heard and acknowledged. We want confirmation of our innate goodness. Sometimes these deep longings are left impoverished and starving. We want answers to the profound questions of life. The answers may be right in front of us but we haven't yet learned to see them. We want a guiding hand to reach out to us in our moments of darkness and pull us back into some kind of light. Sometimes the guiding hand leads us deeper into darkness. I know that Edward will go and buy drugs with the money he earned, but he assures me he will only play with the natural ones, as if that offers up some sort of organic consolation. Many times I had to say no thank you, I do not want to have a mushroom or hemp experience, I don't want to heighten my awareness in that way. Yet I felt I didn't have the right to judge or criticize. Oh what a world. Just some morning musings.

The Never Ending Removal of Obstacles

I woke up at 4 this morning with remnants of a vivid dream swirling into the groggy transition of mind from dream state to consciousness, compelling me to reach for pen and paper, capturing with words those vivid and strange images that are the composition of a dream, all the while noticing the unfolding connections of the dream to the events of the day before. Yesterday was seemingly unique, perhaps because I was more awake and aware. In some ways the first half of the day turned out to be a parallel of the afternoon that was to come. On the way to Mark's 10 a.m. class at Castle, a light at Lamar turned red with my car first in the queue, which gave me the opportunity to have a conversation with a homeless guy and his dog. The story is vague, but went something like this: he jumped through a large pane of glass after being awakened by a dog, maybe the building was on fire, and after flying through the glass the dog followed him and landed in his arms. He spent 2 months in Brackenridge Hospital, near death, and kept the adopted dog with him the whole time, despite protests. The dog had saved his life by getting them both out of the building, and the doctors took over, suturing the deep, life threatening lacerations to his chest and face.

I arrived at class to learn that Gioconda was subbing for Mark. It was a good class and I'm always enriched by my beautiful "little sister's" presence, wisdom, and inspired teaching. The class was a challenge, my body temperature rising and sweat pouring off me. I needed to take several rests, nothing unusual in this. Sometimes these windowless studios that have just experienced a previous class seem stifling and devoid of fresh air to me. After doing a series of handstands and pinchas, followed by several urdhva dhanurasanas, my heart was beating furiously in my chest, yet my breath remained slow and calm. There was a sweet deliciousness in these moments of feeling my heart pounding so hard and fast, yet no feeling whatsoever of needing to breathe deeper, fuller, or faster. No sense of approaching panic. I remember thinking that because the asana is such a powerful heart opener, maybe a divine dose of prana had entered my body. I slowed my breath even more and it was even more delicious and unfamiliar.

I stopped at the car wash and the wait was long and they told me Jeff, my massage therapist, would be there in 45 minutes, long after I'd be gone. I left him the card Changing the World One Om at a Time with a note saying I hoped to see him there, got home around 1:30, just in time for lunch, a few household chores, a brief rest, then I headed out to another class. In this class I was aware of the breathing of others, which is always such a nice experience--the deep connected feeling of community in practice so often sensed and felt by the sharing of breath. I'm drawn to a new guy who struggles mightily with the asanas, and makes all sorts of moans and grunts with his voice and breath. He is a beginner and I relish watching his growth. The instructor announced "no grunting in class". I noticed that when he left class he appeared crestfallen. The theme of the earlier class was mudita, and I wanted to stay with that practice, so I emailed him and told him I admired how regularly he had been in showing up to practice, showing up on the mat, and how he was doing exactly what he needed to do, that he was exactly where he needed to be, and that with consistent practice he would notice shifts and transformations. In some ways I think beginners benefit the most from positive experience in class so as to keep them on the yogic path, if that's the journey for them.

As I was filling the car up with gas I was approached by a young man with his dog, reminding me of my experience earlier in the day with the other homeless guy and his dog. This guy was down on his luck, and yet this dog that he had rescued from an abusive life revealed to me, as earlier, that his owner was treating him well, feeding him well, and the bond between them was tight and bright. The calm and sweet nature of these faithful dogs reminded me of when animals come to our rescue and provide us with a much needed dose of empathy, a breath of freshness and companionship when we might otherwise feel alone in the world. This young man was living in a seedy hotel for which he was paying $190 a week. At such times I want to shake my fist at the unjust world, but must find refuge in knowing this is simply the way it is in the world, and far, far worse at any given moment with countless living creatures all over this mysterious planet. These encounters stir up a desire to save and rescue, which I cannot do. But listening, hearing their stories, caring, seeing their light, giving a few dollars here and there is good for me, and hopefully good for them. A few moments to stand and breathe with another may not be saving the world, but who's to know the outcome of sharing one breath, one om at a time with others?

When we sincerely rejoice and share in the joyous success of others, without expectation, we open ourselves up to receiving the same in return; likewise, when we are experiencing joy and success in our own lives, and when we listen and care and feel compassion for others, when we share our hopes for the betterment of the world, one moment at a time, perhaps we can make some positive difference.

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The dream centered around my younger biological sister. Although her journey through life is radically different from my *adopted sister/teacher/mentor*, they share similar characteristics unique to those from the "red hair" gene pool--intensely passionate, fiercely independent. In the dream I was travelling in a very crowded bus where everyone was sitting on the floor on yoga mats in rows of four, and one woman wouldn't allow me to get off at my destination. Other women intervened and prevailed. Indicative of the powerful ebb and flow of feminine energy I've experienced of late. My task was to deliver the name of the color of paint being used to paint her (my sister's) house and the nearby ceiling of an open aired lobby. It was an extraordinarily rich and beautiful red, earthy red, adobe red, vibrant and alive, again representing the power of raw energy, aggression, profoundly deep spiritual and emotional characteristics. But this red had a softness to it, toned down, calm, soothing. The painter was conveying the name of the paint to me in foreign coinage and bills, which were spilling out on to the ground when a homeless man grabbed a handful and ran away with the money. I chased him and got it back, then chose to give him some of my own will, clearly representative of our free will, our freedom of choice, and how the decisions we make in our life can have profound consequences. When I arrived, in the dream, at my sister's house, she wasn't there, but I was instead greeted by a pleasant woman who was supposed to be her mother-in-law. Resolution of conflicts with good outcomes. The mythical symbol of conflict and interference transformed into harmony. The guilt and alienated (foreign) feeling I often have when I witness others with so little currency, but learning to come to terms with that seemingly unfair state of affairs.

Cats, Candles/Agapanthus, Aloe Vera

The last two days have been devoted to yard work and I'm tired of it. I ache. Aging is for the birds. I lit candles tonight, put a favorite oil into a diffuser, drew a hot bubble bath, put on some beautiful, meditative music and soaked in Lavendar Chamomile with extracts of marigold, chamomile, soy, lemon grass, aloe vera, and vitamin E. Organic of course :-). Throughout the work day each time I came into the house I found my cats affectionately coiled up in my chair, on my towel. Sweet creatures. We hired a guy to help us, thinking maybe 5 hours today, 5 more tomorrow. He was young and did everything we wanted him to do in 1.5 hours! We forget that we move slowly. It was nice having a young strong worker to help us. We are simplifying our yard, moving more into a Zen direction with lots of gravel and far fewer plants, for the purpose of having less maintenance. Besides, I'm tired of everything we plant growing so fast and aggressively that in no time at all the landscape feels like a jungle. It's too much. I separated the agapantha clumps and replanted 6 small plants, tossing all the rest in the burn pile. The same with the planter of aloe vera plants, most went into the burn pile while 3 youngsters got replanted in the wooden flower box by the garage. It's a healing plant but the thorns can be nasty.

It's not easy going for 2 full days without doing yoga, I miss it. Dale is moving slower and slower with each passing day and yard work is becoming too much for him, even though he loves getting out and puttering around in the yard.

Time for bed. I've been leaving my roller shades fully open at night. It welcomes the night into the room, and allows the cats to peer out at all the nocturnal critters. Spring is here and the days are growing longer. I had lunch with Jeff and we both agreed this is one of our favorite times of the year. It's been fun catching up with friends for lunch and making it to more men's yoga classes.

Folks that are Dear

This is my third blog attempt this morning. My mind isn't wildly out of control (I don't think), but it seems to be searching for just the right words, for the opening through which my thoughts can flow unimpeded. Have you (comments welcome) ever had a positive, meaningful, connected interaction with someone whereby when it was over and you were moving away you felt part of that person was still with you? Furthermore, the part of that person still with you took on the form of an animal? Something like the residual energy of that person was still contained in your energy field but in a mythical, symbolic way. Is this just utterly ridiculous? Is it simple projection? Is the mind/spirit on a deeper level connecting with something primordial? In a certain way it's like wakeful dreaming, and our thoughts take on *unfamiliar* forms that are not immediately accessible and clear.

Example: I dreamt the other night that I was in the company of a very angry woman. I think my mind was expressing a need to release something that I was refusing to acknowledge on a conscious level, something that I was suppressing, to do with anger, with anger towards the feminine aspects (of myself), or the life and people around me. Aha, now that makes sense. Because truly in real life I was pissed off at someone but I absolutely could find no way to constructively express or release that anger. In fact the anger was misplaced, and actually expressing the anger towards that person would have been totally inappropriate because that anger had nothing to do with that person, but everything to do with me. So the anger came out in my dream, through my subconscious mind, and found expression and release that way. When we don't act out, when we sit with stuff, it can be amazing how certain issues find resolution on their own, without our own conscious intervention and meddling. Besides, hell has no wrath like a Goddess scorned. Never underestimate the power of the Goddess.

After practice the other day I had lunch with a group of guys, five of us in all. It was quite an enjoyable get together, and the conversation flowed freely, moving from one topic to another in a somewhat stream of consciousness sort of way. In retrospect, I realize that I didn't have a clue what was being said half the time. Really, it was gibberish to me. So I just honed in on that which I could understand, listened and responded. Nothing unusual in any of this. But when you do find someone you feel deeply connected to, it's downright rich, and often transcends words and simply being in the presence of that person leaves one feeling sated.

Deer. Such majestic creatures whose bodies move seemingly without effort, gracefully defying the laws of gravity. Powerful yet vulnerable, feminine yet virile, swift with fleetness of foot yet unable to discern their primary enemy in the urban jungle (the SUV, the automobile). "The deer depicts meditation, meekness, and gentleness but also signifies love-sickness, solitariness and melancholy, when associated with the maple (in the Chinese tradition). In the Celtic tradition they are messengers of the divine, supernatural animals of the fairy world, fairy cattle. Deerskin and antlers are ritual vestments."

Personally, I have lived in the company of deer for the past 30 years, feeding them, observing their social hierarchy, matriarchal led herds of does and only young bucks who are kicked out as they approach young adulthood. It is sad to see the young buck literally being kicked and hoofed by his mother, aunts and sisters. He must leave and live alone, at times running with other males. I struggled mightily with the decision to ban them from our property a few years back, but decided that since they were eating our garden and all our deer-proof plants, especially in times of drought, it was the only thing to do, hence the 7 1/2 foot fence. Now when I gaze out I see the landscape devoid of deer, and find something lamentable about that, and so I lament as I inhale and exhale the reality of injustice.

*******

I just read in a newsletter put out by Spirit Journeys, the following, which I thought apropos:

"There is much fear swirling all around us these days. Let your Inner Warrior stand fast in the knowledge that fear is an untruth spoken by those hiding in the Shadows or living in the Dark; only Love is real and stands openly in the Light."

Still, it's a great time to be alive.