Passing

I'm often surprised at how easily conversation comes with complete strangers.  I was standing in line at Central Market in Dallas when I heard the cashier call out for me to come forward.  Apparently I was in a reverie, momentarily unaware of my surroundings.  Just daydreaming, I told her, to which she responded nothing wrong with that.  Then for some reason I said that maybe people would be better off spending more time daydreaming, exploring where they go.   She agreed, and asked if I had ever been in an isolation tank.  No.  I've really been wanting to do that she told me.  Some friends say it's very scary but I want to try it.  I began thinking about that.  An isolation or flotation tank is certainly a place where one is completely alone with oneself, with total quiet, with darkness, floating in water.  One of the many themes Patricia brought up during the workshop was the exploration of our own areas of darkness, our inner caves.  These caves can be psychological, physical, or spiritual.  But, it is important to go there, whether in asana, meditation, or pranayama.  It is in our caves that we discover the unknown about ourselves as these caves can be places where things are hiding, things we need to bring into the light of knowing, of understanding.  It's all about exploration and discovery of aspects of self.  The inner light of divinity, the spark of enlightenment, the repressed feelings we have never been able to acknowledge, our infinite wisdom as well as acceptance of our limitations or restrictions.  It is so fascinating.  She is an extraordinary teacher and I think that maybe to many students she is to them what Iyengar was to her, certainly for those of us who have never worked with Iyengar.  She shared so much with the group about her feelings surrounding his death, various conversations she had had with him over the decades, his suffering that probably propelled him to such unbelievable heights, his own transformations, his incomparable dedication to his path which had so much to do with his students.  When Patricia mentioned that she was having difficulty coming to terms with the fact that she would never actually see him or be with him again, and that she would suddenly awaken from a nap in a startled state of disbelief that he was truly gone, it reminded me of nearly identical feelings I had when my mother died.  I grieved for a year.  The next morning while driving to class, I found myself feeling very sad and wondering what was going on to trigger such feelings and tears.  I realized that my partner has in many ways been the most important teacher I've ever had in my life.  He has taught me so much, from patience and mindfulness to responsibility, to get out there and live life as fully as possible, to travel, to explore new cultures, meet new people, to be myself fully, practice all things with discipline and moderation, overcome debilitating fears, and much more.  All that, and he has saved my life, more than once.  So I realized that of all the people in the world, he has had the most positive influence on me in countless ways.  He has loved me unconditionally, been supportive of my sojourns and explorations into new arenas and journeys, and he has always been there, to listen without judgment but give truthful feedback. When I think of the possibility that perhaps, just maybe, one day he will no longer be around I simply find that thought  incomprehensible.  It is something I cannot fathom.  So, Patricia's talk of Guruji's passing triggered a deep longing in me to be with Dale, to hold on to him, to be grateful for him, and to hope he will be with me for a long, long time to come.  

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Every hour a child in India dies from rabies, and nearly all of these deaths are linked to dog bites.  Stray dogs, many of them carrying rabies, are one of India's multitude of problems.  Recently a young, iridescent green hummingbird crashed into the living room window making a loud enough thump to cause me to get up and investigate.  He had fallen onto the glass top table where I feed the stray tom cat.  I wrapped the hummer in a cotton cloth, placed him in a shoebox, and left him to recover in the darkness of a top closet shelf.  Hours later I took him outside and watched him fly away when he heard the sound of a nearby hummer at the feeding station hanging in front of the kitchen window.  There was no blood and no broken bones, which is not always the case.  It was a blessing to watch him fly away.  Blessing is derived from the word blood, and can mean something that is infused with sacredness.  I watched a documentary yesterday on Emmett Till after listening to Dominique Christina reciting her award winning poetry.  In 1955 Emmett was viciously beaten to death for whistling at a white woman in Money, Mississippi.  He was found in the Tallahatchie River with a cotton gin fan tied to his neck with barbed wire.  It was one of the sparks that ignited the Civil Rights movement.

My original intent when creating a blog was to continue journaling using a blog as opposed to writing on paper.  Knowing that what I write is available for anyone to read, it makes me more attentive to my writing but also tends to make me slightly censor myself.  Self censorship is not something I want to practice. So, I must say that I have been struggling too much with thinking what people may think, and this is a practice that bears no fruit and is largely fictitious projecting.  So I am going to get back into a more stream of consciousness writing. 

Our emotions are often easily interpreted by others who look at our naked faces.  I was fascinated to learn that our facial expressions actually can have an effect on our emotions.  In other words, if you are not angry, but you purposely make an angry face, eventually your body/mind will respond with a heartbeat that escalates by 10 or 15 beats a minute, adrenalin will get released into your system, and so on.  Therefore, when we practice yoga, having a calm face can have a significant effect on our mental state.  If we struggle using our facial muscles, we will begin struggling in many other ways, and there can be the residual effect.  The reverse is also true. 

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I think I will always remember the day of 9/11, the day of JFK's assassination, and now I think I will always remember the day BKS Iyengar died.  From my perspective he was a genius with a strong drive to help himself and to help others using the ancient art and science of yoga which he brought forward into the modern world as much if not more than anyone ever has.  He created a yoga center in Pune in honor of his wife, a foundation for children in his home town, wrote many great books including the extraordinary Light on Yoga and Light on Life, to name only two.  He will continue to inspire for many generations to come.  On that particular day as I was leaving the house I came upon small fawn trapped between the metal railings of a neighbor's fence.  Until fawns reach a certain age, they cannot follow their mothers when they jump across fences but must find ways to get around the fence or get through it.  This fawn tried to go through the fence, got nearly all the way through, then got stuck in her hip area.  I can only imagine how many hours she must have struggled to free herself.  Shortly thereafter I saw a film on Facebook in which a good Samaritan released a fawn stuck in between the railing of a metal fence identical to the one I saw that day.  But alas, there was no good Samaritan to rescue this young animal.  Only the evening before I walked this exact route and she was not there, so it had happened sometime after I had walked by, about 12 hours earlier.  She was dead and the vultures were fast at work doing what they are meant to do.  Still, I felt a great sense of sadness for the young deer whose life was cut so short by happenstance.   A few days ago I witnessed a grackle aggressively stabbing a small bird to death on the sidewalk.  It was brutal, and my intervention was too late.  The youngster died about 5 minutes after my attempted rescue.  Death is with us all the time in a variety of forms, but when we feel the loss of someone we have been close too, or been influenced by, or someone we greatly admire, it is natural to feel sad, natural to find it hard to come to terms with their permanent absence, natural to awaken in a startled state of realization that they are indeed forever gone.

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Science and technology advance to staggering heights as brilliant individuals across the globe delve deeper into their research; at the same time, barbarism and brutality spread across countries and destroy far more lives than the deadly Ebola virus.  I watched part of a documentary that filmed individuals in Asia who had been responsible for thousands of brutal deaths.  They were proud of the roles they played in purging Communists from their countries, proud of the horrific torture they inflicted, all with the support of their regimes' leaders.  I couldn't finish watching the film.  Others give freely to the needy, provide medical support for the sick, food for the hungry, companionship to the lonely and isolated.   




 

Portals of Receiving

Before bed last night I practiced adho mukha vrksasana whereby I positioned props so that I could  lightly touch my forehead to the prop making it relatively easy to balance in the pose with feet off the wall (hadn't practiced that way in a while), utthita trikonasana, parsvakonasana, vrksasana, uttanasana, and more.  I listened to most of an interview with Douglas Keller (author, teacher, yoga therapist, and all around very nice guy) about how to forward bend intelligently (The Art of Forward Bending), which I found quite informative and will finish listening to today.  Then I danced free-spiritedly and spontaneously to loud music until I broke out in a sweat.  There can be such a serious side to life, to our practice, our work, our study, the way we spend our time, that it should be a priority to balance that with simple crazy fun, whatever that may be.  At the very least, rest is one of the most important experiences ever.

There has been a mild struggle going on within me about enrolling in Austin Yoga Institute's Iyengar Yoga Teacher Training Program.  No matter how many workshops or classes I attend, no matter how calmly and without expectation I approach them, there is always an element of anxiety that creeps in when I think about attending something that is akin to "school."  Deep within is the voice that says "you are not good enough".   Even though I don't buy into that, anymore, at all, it still speaks and I think it always will.  There is nothing to be gained in denying this, and a lot to be learned in feeling it and letting it happen.  Part of going to school since childhood through college and after was fantastic, and part of it was really scary, and everything in between. After all, how much of our time have we or do we spend in a classroom situation? I can honestly say that the really scary parts, the paralyzing parts, the parts that induce panic and intense fear are all reactions of the past, but still they remain part of who I am, forever etched into my memory of things gone by.  We are who we are, and the bottom line of many aspects of ourselves remain the same.  The spots on a leopard never change no matter her age or accumulated life experiences (utter dependence upon mother, playful childhood, traumatic childhood, learning to hunt, breaking away into independence, finding a mate (or not), facing hunger, many failed attempts to capture prey, and so on).   We may learn to turn the volume of negativity way down, even off, but it does take some action to quiet the chatter of the what ifs as we go down the familiar path of imagining the worse.  Which, by the way, can be quite helpful as the worse thing that we can imagine happening is usually that we will die, and we know that is unlikely to happen under the given circumstances we are about to place ourselves into.  An answered question that brings comfort.  As it turns out, I absolutely loved the program, had a great time, and feel as though I have again embarked on a journey with countless challenges and rewards. 

(Dream)  Monkeys hang from the large tree, leopards rest on strong branches.  They are passive and safely observable.  When the monkeys descend, there is a pair that begins creating chaos and havoc.  They are entering the doors of surrounding rooms and there is an abundance of fear.  There is a voice on a loud speaker narrating the actions of the monkeys, speaking with a confident sense of authority and with a great deal of detailed knowledge.  The monkeys have entered a room and have done something bad.   I close the large classroom door to prevent them from entering, only to discover that the lock on the large door is nonfunctional, the screws from the bolting mechanism are loose and falling out, making it impossible to lock the door.  I notice the door, though large, is beginning to rot, but is still substantial.  A leopard jumps down from the tree and is next to me, and is about to attack me, so I think.  There is a threat, then no threat, then there is a threat again (first there is a mountain then there is no mountain then there is).  I move away slightly and thwart the potential attack.  Across the street on a large trash pile are two house cats.  The leopard moves towards them and kills one of them.  It is a gentle kill, but it is a kill nonetheless, the purpose to eat.

I'm thinking that from the tree of life which is strong, stable, rooted in the earth, and always growing hangs the complex duality of playfulness and deceit, elements in our lives we really cannot and should try to block from entering.  We may try to close the portal, but eventually we must face these things.  They will enter.  We will hear them.   Playfulness and not taking things too seriously is a very important attitude and action to maintain in our lives, but we must keep things balanced and return to some discipline for life cannot be all about play (nor all about work).  What exactly is deceit?  I think that many of the important decisions we make throughout our lives should be made using the best wisdom we have available to us at the time.  Unfortunately, that wisdom is not always readily available, and we must pass through the door of many questions, and allow ourselves to wonder if we are deceiving ourselves or being truly honest, weighing one against the other, seeking that which is ultimately best for us, and this can be easy or unbelievably complex.  In many ways,  this is up to us.  They are two sides of the same coin, and are often mistaken, one for the other.  It can take time and patience.  Two nearly identical cats atop a trash heap again can represent the duality of freedom/independence/creativity versus its opposite, that of feeling trapped or stagnant, unable to move forward because of indecision, misgivings or fear.  All this atop a heap of trash/garbage--aspects of ourselves, our history, that has been discarded, rejected or tossed aside.  Things that no longer serve our well being.  But, there is wisdom inside and atop this heap of garbage because we build and grow from the many lessons learned throughout our history.  The trash heap will continue to grow so long as we continue to grow, continue to process and defeat the non-truths, and allow ourselves the freedom to live freely and creatively. 

Years ago when we were traveling through East Africa, my partner got very sick while we were staying in the Serengeti National Park.  He encouraged me to continue touring, and that very afternoon we spotted a leopard in a tree.  What a sight!  He was so disappointed that he missed seeing that leopard.  It has been a joke between us now for a long time that when a leopard is mentioned, I wink and remind him of how I saw a leopard and he didn't.  Perhaps a leopard in my mind has come to symbolize his extraordinary fortitude and strength.  No matter how difficult the situation, he remains calm and seemingly unaffected.  He has inspired more than I will ever be able to fully appreciate. 

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I've never before experienced vertigo the way I have on a few occasions during the past year.  It is a dizziness that renders one completely unable to balance or function while the room spins endlessly and one stays put, close to the ground, ever so thankful for gravity.  This condition is called Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo aka BPPV.  Little ear rocks which are small crystals of calcium carbonate (called otoconia) become dislodged from their places of residency (the utricle and saccule) in our inner ear and get into one or more of the semi-circular canals.  50% of dizziness in older people is due to BPPV, and is easily treatable with some simple maneuvers which took many centuries to discover. 

Readings:  Blink, The Power of Thinking Without Thinking by Malcolm Gladwell
                  Balance, In Search of the Lost Sense by Scott McCredie
                  Quiet, The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking by Susan Cain 

Finding Quiet

I love the quiet.  I am reading a book called Quiet by Susan Cain.  In brief, she delves into the nature of quiet, introverted people.  Devon told me she had read the book and it helped her understand that some of her behaviors she was not comfortable with had become behaviors she now not only accepts, but embraces.  Cain quotes Proust as calling those special moments of unity between writer and reader as "that fruitful miracle of a communication in the midst of solitude."  It is miraculous when we step forward toward more fully accepting ourselves and loving ourselves unconditionally.  It is perhaps a process without end.  I felt that way this weekend while listening to Ramanand.  Nearly all of what he said resonated within me with full understanding.  For me, nothing esoteric, just basic truths most of us of age (or not) have come to know through painful experiences, hard learned lessons of life, plumbing the depths of ourselves, peeling away layers in our oftentimes compelling and urgent journey towards truth of self, of life, of relationships. 

Today is Memorial Day which I understand to be a day for remembering all those men and women who fought in wars.  For decades now I have kept the bronze star awarded to my father for his service during World War II in my night stand drawer.  Long past his death, I finally came to understand and love him, and I wept for him.  Severely traumatized, alcoholic, abusive, hard core workaholic, gambler, womanizer, an absent father.  When we understand, we forgive.  With forgiveness we are free to love, and I don't think it is ever too late.

After 39 years, Dale and I got "married" in Taos on Wednesday, May 14.  The ceremony was sweet, simple, quiet, and meaningful.  I didn't think a piece of paper would mean much of anything, but the ritual, the ceremony, the sacredness of it does spin one towards looking at things from a different perspective, a view with more appreciation, perhaps a renewal.  It snowed, the moon was full, the old but modernized adobe enveloped us with warmth and hospitality.  We took our dog, Mikio, along with us.   

This past Friday I had my cat Pepe euthanized.  He had alimentary (intestinal) small cell lymphoma.  His symptoms began long ago, and I think that by the time he was diagnosed, the cancer was quite advanced.  He did not respond to prednisone, nor to two different chemotherapy treatments.  It is always a hard thing to do.  I observed his slow decline, his change in behavior, felt him daily as the muscle tissue melted away leaving him nearly emaciated.  Along the journey of dealing with his illness, there were a multitude of decisions to make.  We did everything we could, and more, and I can only hope we didn't do too much.  When I instinctually knew it was time, I had to battle with my mind for several hours.  During this time, I somehow heard about a book entitled Blink, learning how to think without thinking, meaning to listen to our intuition, our gut.  The book is on my wish list. 

It is growing dark outside, and there is the distant roar of thunder.  My dog stays close as he fears stormy weather.  The house is quiet, the cats sleeping, Dale in his room probably reading, listening to music, or online.   It is intensely green outside in infinite hues.  Pepe is peacefully sleeping forever under a stand of oaks alongside Adam, Sam, Kit Kat, Pewter, and Ralph.  The rain last night nourished the trees and grasses, filling the air with the smell of organic earth.  My burn pile is now all ashes, the fire long gone.  The wind which has been blowing daily is at the moment sitting still.   

Tuxedo Boy

After Peggy's Monday afternoon class, before I left the parking lot, I listened to a voicemail from Sharon Theisen, DVM, regarding the results of my cat Pepe's biopsies.  Not good news at all.  Cancer.  Pepe was born early Fall, 2004.  I adopted him in May 2008.  The year before he was  he was rescued by an Austin Group from Town Lake Animal Center, which was at the time a kill center.  He has been a wonderful pet, very sweet and loving, a gentle nature, quiet.  Very much a lap cat and very social with people.  Well over 2 years ago he developed allergies and was tested and found to be allergic to a wide range of pollens.  I have been giving him weekly shots since then and he has seen a dermatologist, who treats allergies, regularly.  He has suffered from ear issues related to his allergies as well as all the aggressive grooming and scratching that results from the relentless itching all over his body.  There have been times when he itches so intensely that he will lick and scratch to the point that he bleeds, forms scabs, looses large patches of hair.  Cortisone pills do provide some relief.  For over a year now he has been plagued with lots of diarrhea and vomiting.  I have mentioned this repeatedly to his doctors.  One vet found some bacteria in his stool and prescribed an antibiotic, which helped a little, for a while.  It was suggested that perhaps he had developed a food allergy so I've tried feeding him prescribed hypoallergenic cat food, and other recommended brands and flavors, with no luck.  Then he was tested for hyperthyroidism, and he was negative.  Finally, after dropping down to barely 8 pounds from nearly 12 pounds, he was referred to an internist (Dr. Sharon Thiesen) who recommended exploratory surgery as the most comprehensive method of getting good biopsies from his stomach, ileus, and intestine.  The report came back yesterday as positive for alimentary (intestinal) small cell lymphoma.  He has been put on prednisone daily which should help a lot, but the next step is to consider whether or not to begin administering chemotherapy, which comes in a pill (chlorambucil) without all the side effects associated with chemotherapy in humans.  Still, there are potential side effects and at this point I haven't made a decision on what to do.  I will meet next week with Dr. Thiesen to have his staples removed (24 of them), and we will discuss the options.  His comfort and well-being is most important.  It is my understanding that with treatment, his life expectancy should be between 1.5 and 2 years.  He's probably had the cancer for about a year.  I feel sad that he has this terminal illness.  I feel gratitude for the wonderful years we have had together and gratitude that I was able to be his caretaker for the past 6 years.  He has been such a joy.  Now it is wait and see how he responds to the daily steroid treatment and possibly the chemotherapy. 

I just spoke on the phone with Dr. Theisen, and we are going to move forward with the chemotherapy as Pepe has bounced back quite well from his exploratory surgery.  I have a history with Sharon Theisen, DVM, as she treated one of my other cats many years ago.  Sam had a really bad heart, and with her expertise, we were able to give him 5 additional years of a good quality life.  He was my first rescued pet, and since then that is all I have had.  So, when I took Pepe in to see Dr. Theisen, I was delighted to see a photograph of Sam on her wall.  It was touching and brought tears to my eyes, and how well I remember the day we finally put Sam down, and how she and I both cried at his loss.  He was quite the warrior cat for sure.

To Listen or Not?

We all want to be loved, and so many of our needs stem from that very basic human craving.  I met a guy during yoga class on a recent cruise who reminded me of that need in me that has taken me on some rather harrowing journeys in the realm of baffling and complex relationships with others (all profound learning experiences).  Because I have microscopically examined the root cause of the particular aspect of that need, I had a pretty clear perspective on what was happening and was able to simply observe without succumbing to the pull.  Frank was in his early 50's, quite good looking, friendly, talkative, engaging, but also needy and emotionally unavailable.  He served in the military and was on board a ship that sank, he nearly drowned, and all the fire and fumes did permanent damage to his lungs, including cancer, so his hospitalizations and treatments have been extensive and ongoing.  He was also in "intelligence" and has retained that particular mindset of distrust, paranoia, and a strong tendency to manipulate, to play games.  It is not easy for me to relate or understand all this, but I try.  I listen.  And, I think that is an important key.  Learning to listen.  Learning to care.  Learning to understand.  He had no interest in my feedback so I kept as quiet as possible, but I did have to put some "gems of wisdom" on the table.  (Okay, so I am admitting that I feel both older and wiser).  He was not happy and felt all alone in the world, only 52 and living very much in the past.  I did my best to connect but he lives his life as anonymously as possible.  He wouldn't give me his last name, and his registered name on the yoga roster may have been fictitious.  I don't know!!  He told me that if I were to Google him I would hit a dead end (all by design).  That's the issue in dealing with such people, they desperately want to be listened to, they want a friend, they want to relate, but, in my opinion, they are so out of touch with their truer selves that forming such healthy bonds, is virtually impossible.   It's almost like an unconsciousness commitment to practicing the opposite of what the yamas and niyamas call for (universal and personal ethical codes of behavior).  The pull of the emotionally unavailable and needy will always be with me and so will the desire to fix (again, thank you Daddy).  But, the pull has lost nearly all strength.  It is such a paradox that while I believe in the importance of listening to others, I cannot deny the need I have to be listened to, and it seems that finding such people to listen to me is rare.  I certainly should feel gratitude when I'm faced with the role of being the listener.  In some cases, it is a duty and I know I may be helping in some small way.  I think that when we learn to truly listen to others with caring and understanding, we open the door to learning not only about others, but also about ourselves.  There can be an abundance of clarity.  I suggest that when someone wants to talk to you about something that is troubling them, let them talk, don't wait until the moment they have finished and then start telling them about all the associations that came up for you while they were talking.  In fact, do your best to stop your own associations and focus as keenly as possible on what they are saying, as though it is something you are hearing for the very first time.  Be objective in your listening, try to hear with clarity, don't allow your own associations to interfere with your listening, your understanding, your caring.  It's not that easy for me, but I'm working on it. 

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On the subject of listening, there is little choice when having dental work done!  Today I saw my dentist because of a toothache.  His wife is lovely and is his receptionist/accountant/office manager, and I have been going there since 1980, so I've gotten to know them over the years.  She has been out of the office a lot in recent years with a wide range of health issues.  Today he told me she nearly burned the house down, then had a wreck in their car, then went and made a large jewelry purchase, then sat in the car for 4 hours in front of the jewelers, apparently in a catatonic state.  Police were called.  She ended up being diagnosed as having had a psychotic episode perhaps brought on by a severe bladder infection.  But, it turns out she was diagnosed long ago as bipolar but refuses medication.  So, she has been getting into some difficulties.  (Been there and done that many times.)  She is now in a psych ward and will be moved into a nursing care facility and cannot go home  unless she takes her prescribed meds.  My dentist said that the label of mental illness, specifically bipolar, has quite a stigma attached to it for her and so she is in denial and doesn't think she needs meds.  Reality has repeatedly proven otherwise for her and many others.  I wish her the very best, she has been in my thoughts all day.  My dentist needed to talk.  Lots going on for them and I cannot imagine the pressure he is under.  So I listened, and understood for more than he will ever imagine!  Last I heard, she is taking her meds and hopes to come home.  I had a fractured lower molar.  We shall see if a crown and/or root canal will be needed, but there was no abscess, but perhaps nerve damage.  Wait and see. 

Mikio and I had a nice long walk in Zilker park.  Yesterday I drove to Round Rock so Pepe could see his dermatologist for his allergy issues.  Now we are awaiting blood tests to see if he has hyperthyroidism, which is relatively easy to treat.  He has lost a lot of weight and simply cannot hold food down.  But, the new vial is working well and he has stopped the licking and scratching that leaves his skin raw and bloody.  I will slightly decrease his weekly injections.  Wait and see. 

I feel really tired tonight!

Settle In to Be Unsettled

My neighbors the Wolfs--Mel and Carey--told me that Oreo had been killed on their front porch a few hours after they spotted a coyote in their yard.  There was a loud thump, they later saw footprints, and that was it.  Life can be quite short for roaming cats.  Mel has a brain tumor and is undergoing chemo which will be followed by radiation.  We are all vulnerable.  A gray cat that looks a lot like Oreo has been visiting us for several months but will not let me get near him.  I looked out the other day and he was on the porch looking quite distressed.  One eye was discolored and partially closed, he had some kind of mark on the side of his face, and something, perhaps thorns, were sticking out of his back.  He would not let me get near so I set up the humane trap.  Instead I got a raccoon and promptly let him out before he got too upset.  I caught a glimpse of a buzzard flying past my window and wondered if the gray cat had died.  I walked all around the woods but found nothing; however, I was stunned at the number of birds.  They were everywhere, it was so unusual.  I've never in all my years living out here seen nor heard so many birds all over the property.  It must be due to the rain, perhaps migration.  I caught a sniff of death, that putrid smell of rotting flesh, and knew that it couldn't be the gray cat, way too soon even if he did die, which I thought likely.  The whiff of death was strong, but I couldn't locate anything, and never again could I find the smell.  One fleeting sniff and that was it.  The wind must have blown just right.  There was nothing on the property, but I found the carcass on the other side of the fence, on the right of way leading to the vacant lot, close to the Wolfs house.  The buzzards had eaten most of the insides of the doe, going in through cavities and pulling out guts and organs, leaving the skin pretty much intact.  Standing there looking at her I still could smell nothing.  I'll never know what happened to her.  I saw the gray cat today and he was remarkably healed, certainly nowhere near death.  Extraordinary resilience.  His eye was normal, the thorns were gone, only the blood from the cut on his face was still visible.  If I can catch him in the trap, I will take him to the vet, but he's elusive. My dog Mikio is a breed most closely linked genetically to wolves, I've read.  Are my neighbors from an ancient tribe where the wolf was their fetish?   I took Mikio to see the doe carcass, which is now reduced to mostly bloody rib bones with tiny bits of flesh still hanging on.  A feast for bugs.  Cycles.  Death.  Dogs know death when they smell it, see it.  As we walked back to the house the wind was fierce, but not chilly.  It felt so good to be alive, healthy, taking in the vibrancy of life, breathing, feeling, knowing, smelling...I know a moment will come when all this that I know as life will no longer be.  It is unsettling to dwell upon for too long, but being unsettled has always been a place of learning.  Ginny the remarkable dog trainer came yesterday and we are making great progress in our training sessions with Mikio.  I love him, he is such a beautiful, calm, sweet animal.  Definitely independent, and the techniques use positive reinforcement, mostly, and nothing that ever in any way hurts the animal and tries to break his spirit.  It should never ever be a goal to break the spirit of any living thing.  Theresa came from the vet's office to give Blue Eyes his rabies shot because they forget to administer it when he was last in.  Traveling is traumatic for him and he defecates and urinates all over himself, the cage, and often me.  Theresa has a slew of orphaned, injured, and abused cats that she cares for and tries to find homes for.  People will drive down Hwy 290 and throw a cat out the window, she told me.  Very, very unsettling.   I love the wind, but it stirs up all the things my cat Pepe is seriously allergic to.  A new, second vial was recently created to add to the first vial to cover more allergens and I am happy to see that he is having quite a reaction because this means it is working.  I rub his self-inflicted wounds with Vetericyn, I give him 2 shots a week, and he requires methylprednisolone which upsets his tummy and gives him diarrhea.  So he has special diet and takes fortiflora nearly every day.  When he knows a shot or pill is coming, he runs and hides.  His sense of knowing all this is eerily keen.  I think that feeling unsettled is akin to the sense of groundlessness we must learn to accept as part of our lives.  Everything is in flux. "The fundamental ambiguity of being human" is with us daily, says Pema Chodron. 

"Living is a form of not being sure, not knowing what next or how.  The moment you know how, you begin to die a little.  The artist never entirely knows.  We guess.  We may be wrong, but we take leap after leap in the dark."  Agnes de Mille

"Life is like stepping into a boat that is about to sail out to sea and sink."  Shunryu Suzuki Roshi

So obviously we must learn to settle in to be unsettled. 

Negril, Jamaica (Trying to Live Beautifully)

The waves crash against the craggy, jagged shoreline, at times savagely.  Dark clouds roll in and the clap of thunder is frighteningly loud.  Amidst the cacophony of background noises I can hear a faint, steady whistling sound.  Ever so slowly it gets louder, and more shrill.  Just as gradually as it began, the whistling fades.  It is the peanut man pushing his cart along the narrow, winding road just outside the gates of the hotel.  There is no break in the sound, unlike the waves.  A pipe releases the steam from his old fashioned contraption as he rolls along the road, passing vendors selling fresh fruit, colorful tie dyed clothing, wooden carvings, homemade soup.  Until we die, there is no break in our breathing, it is steady.


I am naked on the beach in Mona Lisa's massage parlor, a small wood frame structure with walls of fluttering sheets offering some little degree of privacy from those walking the shoreline. "It is not a problem, mon."  She is a hefty woman with strong hands, her massage is deep and feels good.  I go into deep relaxation.  She caresses my genitals in several long strokes that take me by surprise but it seems so natural.  There is an earthy quality to this woman that puts me at complete ease.  I sit up slowly to dress, and she tells me "your shorts are lost, mon".  A joke.  It is raining.  My shoes have been left on the beach and are wet.  





My bed sheets are spotted with blood this morning as are my pillows.  My elbows are raw and have bled throughout the night. The yoga room floor is hard tile.  I am still feeling some anger at the taxi driver who yesterday hassled me and tried to frighten me into paying an outrageous fare.  He partially succeeded but the amount was not significant; however, the hassle was.  The anger will pass just like the clouds, it will fade away like the whistle fades from the peanut man.  It is worth it, lunch at Jackie's with Sharon is sweet.  One of the best smoothies ever. 






We went snorkeling again today with Vincent, an exceptionally nice man who watches and guides us with great care.  The water is warm and calming, the stingrays graceful as they swim in front of us.  The reef is alive and vibrant today, perhaps because of the intense downpour late yesterday.   I hold a live blow fish, a sea cucumber, a starfish...




John asks me to remain still as he tells the entire class to come and observe.  "His sitting posture is better than anyone else here," he tells the class.  My ego wants to grow big but I am humbled by the experience.  I am dripping in sweat as we've just come down from head stand then shoulder stand.  (John tells us the only rule in Iyengar Yoga is that head stand comes before shoulder stand.)  The room faces the blue sea, waves crash, the wind caresses.  "Is Ron relaxed?" he asks the class.  A resounding no.  He's sweating and tense, he says as he adjusts me for pranayama, a position I find virtually impossible to hold.  As always, I am made aware of how much I have to learn.  The previous day Barbara had us move slowly towards a balancing pose that began with getting one leg over our shoulder.  I put my leg behind my head.  "As impressive as that is, Ron Hicks, that is not where we are going."  I realized it was my pride that was leading me in that moment and I acknowledged and pulled back.  When we achieved the final pose, again I felt a sense of accomplishment that I quite nicely achieved the pose.  Barbara pointed to another student and directed the attention of the class to her pose.  I felt totally deflated and ignored. 


  "We are so easily blown about by the winds of praise and blame.  This has been going on through the ages.  They criticize the silent ones.  They criticize the talkative ones.  They criticize the moderate ones.  There is no one in the world that escapes criticism.  There never was and never will be, nor is there now, the wholly criticized or the wholly approved."  (Skakyamuni Buddha, more than 2500 years ago.)*  The desire for praise can be a hook, just as an aversion to criticism can be a hook, no matter how constructive the criticism may be.  Know your triggers and acknowledge when you are hooked, advises Pema Chodron.




We are a trio from Sydney, Amsterdam and Dripping Springs.  We kiss and hug tightly.  We have long discussions on all things yogic.  Life is good.   We eat, laugh, drink Red Stripe beer and sip some rum.  We order extra vegetables.  We haggle with taxi drivers.  We work hard in class, perhaps too hard, I am told.  "You don't always have to give 100 percent," Marietta tells me, "quite often 90, or 80, or 70 percent might serve you better." 


We have our last class of the retreat this afternoon, followed by dinner and a party, and tomorrow Clive will deliver us to the Montego Bay Airport as we all go in separate directions. 


*Living Beautifully with Uncertainty and Change, Pema Chodron