Getting Marooned Outside Our Inner Sanctums

This past weekend reminded me that I keep company with cats more often than with people; the sounds of windchimes, birdsong, and rustling leaves is far more prevalent in my little world than that of conversing humans. This weekend was an exception. It was martini night at Blu, certainly a first for me. Sweet and fruity martinis with an alluring, nectar like taste that can take one to the edge of drunkenness and dizziness lickety split. The key is small sips followed by long pauses. I was delighted to see an acquaintance tending bar there. Daryl and I had great fun--I like how we connect in so many ways. We all need these new infusions of special connectedness with one another, especially if, like me, they are relatively rare of late. The music was live and loud and begged for a sing-along. I Will Survive, I Put A Spell on You, because you're mine. And that's when the walls came crashing down around us. Sweet, beautiful and fragile, my acquaintance laughed and exuded such warmth as she served us drinks. Then she went off duty, and moments later returned with tears flowing down her face, and she was devastated, for the moment, her vulnerability violated. He had taken her bag away from her and refused to give it back. He was refusing to leave her alone. I've seen that kind of possessiveness, the kind that screams I Own You, and it's a bad scene. The police were called, and I can claim to know nothing more other than that which I observed. But I know all about abuse, particularly spousal abuse. I have seen how it can wreck lives, transform holy holidays into shattered pieces of brokenness. To the outsider, these things just burst forth into the moment and cause temporary shockwaves. For the victims, they can be long-term, hurting and festering day after day until suddenly they just burst open like a boil that spills forth its pus like an erupting volcano, and suddenly one is just burnt down to ash. I cannot judge. I don't know the many facets of this story. I don't know the whole of it. But, it is a theme that runs through many of our lives. Our pains come flying out of us and onto others--we strike out as often as we've been struck, until we learn, if ever we do, that it simply doesn't have to be this way. The cycle can be broken. And, as usual, I too feel sad and weep.

A couple of weekends ago I took my first intense vinyasa class in quite a while, and did it ever leave me feeling oh so sore. But I did two more this weekend and while the plan is to pretty much stay away from them, I did have great fun, especially when I let go of all attempts to push myself beyond what felt good. My physical therapist has "graduated" me! I have passed his tests and my shoulders are well into their healing. Just keep doing what you're doing, he advised, and let time do the rest. Thank you Steve at Star Physical Therapy, and thank you Iyengar Yoga and the wonderful, instructive teachers I've had the honor to work with, thanks to Erin and Mark at Austin Deep, a special thanks to Bekir, and to all those who have shared their healing knowledge with me and shown sincere concern.

It is fascinating to watch Blue Eyes the once feral cat being transformed before our very eyes. Daily, he changes. His aggression and fight or flight response is now replaced by yawns, stretches, lots of purring and oh so much curiosity. He gets lots of petting, but still, I must move gently and slowly and always be respectful of his boundaries, his fears--he will not hesitate to let me know his claws are far sharper than mine. Still, a quick dip of my fingers into his water bowl and a quick splash of water droplets flying off my fingers on to his face usually does the trick. He backs off, we both apologise, and begin again. I have yet to find a better way to win the hearts of others than simple kindness, compassion, love, and understanding. And a big dose of patience. Total non-violence. It works, just like Gandhi told us, and all the sages and seers before and after him. But, watch out for those wearing false robes of holiness, they can outwit us and before long we listen to them above and beyond our own inner wisdom. Keen discernment towards all that tends to shape and mould our lives is yet another of many mantras to help guide us along the way.

They are selling maroon-bonnets at HEB, maroon bluebonnets, that is. I don't know why this has left such an impression with me. When did someone come up with a maroon bonnet wildflower or have they always been with us? I've never seen one before, nor heard of one. I asked inside the store and was told "no, those are Indian paintbrushes." My reply was "no, they certainly are not." "Well, look at the label." So I did. Maroon bonnets, in little black containers alongside regular, old fashioned bluebonnets. Actually, I really like these little surprises.

A big white church invites me in. I stand outside. It is massive. Except for a vertical line of bas relief in rich colors and forms, it is simple architecture covered in a bright white stucco. It glows. Young plants ready to be potted sit in a window sill beside the door. I am called to go inside and pot these plants. We all need to go inside and tend to our inner gardens, nourish ourselves and be in that inner sanctum. Well, at least I do. Sometimes I linger so long outside that sacred space that it all but becomes lost to me, even though it's always there.