The Consequences of Saying Yes, in Hindsight (Opening Doors, Crossing Bridges...)

I always look forward to the "Readers Write" section published in The Sun magazine. Submissions of personal, nonfiction writings are submitted by readers based on a given topic such as Yes, Anger, Narrow Escapes, to name only a few--with a wide girth to avoid subject matter restriction. In the January 2009 issue the topic is Saying Yes, and the writings are fascinating, thought provoking, and at times gut wrenching, which make me think of the times in my life when I said yes whereby the consequences had a significant effect on my life, which is pretty much what readers write about. When I was 22, I met a man in a bar who invited me to go home with him. I remember being very attracted to him and sensing something unique and wonderful beneath his somewhat nerdy/intellectual appearance--glasses, short stature, longish dark hair, big brown eyes, thick brows and long lashes, Mediterranean skin. Yummy!! It was 1974. It was agreed that I was to follow behind him in my car, so we left the bar in the wee hours that night after a fun evening of dancing and small talk, with me following in my car. My gas tank registered empty. Totally empty. At the time I was a student at UT living on a very tight budget. I grew nervous and apprehensive, fearing I would run out of gas. I decided that as soon as I found a gas station that was opened I would pull over, flash my lights, and hope he would figure out what I was doing. There were no open gas stations anywhere, and he just kept driving and driving, further and further away from familiar neighborhoods. I just knew I was going to run out of gas, my heart started pounding, my mind racing, it was very late, no other cars in sight, everything was closed. And, after all, this guy was a total stranger, and he seemed to live pretty darn far away in a relatively remote and scarcely populated area I was totally unfamiliar with. I pulled my car off to the side of the road and stopped, thinking that the only logical and reasonable thing to do would be to turn around, call it a night, and hopefully make it back to my apartment without running out of gas, but if I did it would be okay walking the remaining distance home. His tail lights grew dim as he kept driving, maybe not noticing I had stopped, or maybe deciding that he was going home with or without the company of this stranger in tow. I began to navigate a u-turn and head back towards familiar geography and my apartment. But something inside stopped me and said Yes, keep following him, take the risk, just do it. So I did and miraculously I didn't run out of gas. That was 34 years ago and I am so glad I said yes to his invitation, and yes to my intuition to keep on driving despite the odds.

In the ensuing months one of my best friends tried to talk me out of this blossoming relationship, but instead I listened to my heart that said Yes, this is a good relationship. I went home that summer to work for my step-father and my new love went abroad on a pre-planned vacation. He wrote me a much anticipated letter which my mother confiscated and read. I never saw the letter but knew he had sent it, and I began to suspect my mother had it, but she denied it for many years. Suddenly she seemed to turn against me, and made it clear I was no longer welcomed. What the hell was going on? In his letter to me, l learned later on, he declared his love for me and proposed that we move in together. My mother grew more hostile towards me, and finally asked me to leave the house, that there was no longer any place for me within my own family. I was totally devasted, as are many young people whose families reject them outright and toss them out (I was 22 and an adult, but I was still in college and they were providing much needed assistance just as they had promised they would). I had vacated my $45 a month apartment, given notice, but still had a few days left. I drove back to Austin and slept on a bare mattress and cried and wept for days.

In the end, my partner and I moved in together and are still happily together. A few years later after reading The Front Runner, my mother became a great friend to the gay community and one of my best friends, and remained that way until her death in 1996.

Sometimes in the split second of a situation where we are called upon to make an immediate decision, the only thing we can do is try to listen to the answer that we feel coming from our deepest gut and go with it. Usually, it's in our best interest, and can sometimes have an effect on our life in a most profound way. (Of course our gut can say No, in which case the outcome is usually, but not always, a mystery. And mysteries are part of the magic of life.)

Photos: Door, hilltop village, Provence; Bridge, painted many times (from below) by Cezanne, Provence; Dale and Ron long ago in Mexico

A Time for Drunken Horses

I watched a movie last night titled A Time for Drunken Horses. It was not easy to watch. It dealt with life at its harshest--life as a persecuted ethnic minority living in poverty, in a remote mountainous region of extreme cold, a daily struggle for survival. In the trip across the mountainous border between Iran and Iraq, liquor is poured into the water given to the mules right before the long treks ahead, the colder the weather, the more alcohol they get. The movie is not about the horses, but the heartfelt tenderness and caring that binds a family together as a unit, in the midst of terrific strife, which in a moment can be torn asunder, split into pieces, awash with tears and sorrow, again and again.

Right after crossing the High Atlas Mountains in Morocco, we arrived at a site that our guide deemed important for us to see. It was a beautiful day, the ruin sat atop the crest of a hill, with a nice long walk along a winding country road with beautiful scenery and fresh mountain air. We passed a man with his two young boys and their wooden cart, the little donkey tied nearby. The boys were too young to work so they sat in the cart, the father nearby harvesting fresh grass to feed his animals. What a bucolic scene! As we rounded a curve in the road ahead, leaving the family behind and heading closer to the ruin, I heard the man loudly cursing in anger and could hear popping sounds that were quite alarming. I retraced my steps, and as I rounded the corner I saw him whipping his donkey, mercilessly, for eating some grass in the back of the cart. Strike after strike, he put all his muscle into hurting this little donkey, who was tied down and could only dance about trying to bear the deep stinging of the wooden stick which came at him in one blow after another. It just made me sick, and without fully realizing what I was doing, I let out a scream that echoed through the whole valley, some may say a blood-curdling scream, and suddenly everyone just froze and stared at me. The little boys appeared frightened, the man totally perplexed, the donkey I would like to think look relieved. The abuse ended. For the time being. These animals are the life line to survival of these impoverished people. I understand their anger and frustration at a world that has dealt them so very little in terms of material goods, making life a daily trial of survival. But the ignorance at play was more than I could stand, and the donkey was suffering needlessly for eating grass in the back of a cart right in front of him. I'd like to think I conscientiously did a good deed, but I think in reality something very primitive inside me just took hold and came pouring out of me through my voice onto the landscape and the wrongful act I was witnessing. Our guide was so calm about it all as he walked with me, calming me, and telling me that unfortunately that kind of thing happened way too often, and was born of ignorance about how to take care of and nurture that which is the very source of your survival.

Many young impoverished Bedouins thoughout the Middle East begin earning money for their families at a very early age, and for most, attending school is not an option. When I revisited St. George's monastery near Jericho I went alone. The driver just dropped me off and agreed to pick me up at a later designated time. On the long, winding switchback trail leading to the monastery a young Bedouin man joined me hoping to persuade me to ride his donkey for $25. I declined but he stayed with me, even though I told him I wanted to be alone. So I accepted his company and we walked along, donkey in tow, and he begged me to ride his donkey, at least on the return trip when he thought I would be tired. I knew he was only earning his living and tourism can be nonexistent for long periods of time in a country so often ravaged by conflict and violence. He volunteered to wait for me, even though I reiterated that I preferred walking. Nevertheless, I did tell him I would give consideration to his proposal but could offer no guarantee. A few hours later, after my visit, there he was waiting for me. I told him I'd like to offer him $25 as a gift but I didn't want to ride. He refused, saying it was not about the money. Well, of course it is, but I had wounded his pride. No handouts for him. So I swallowed my pride and in spite of not wanting to burden these poor pack animals I accepted his offer, we agreed on a price, and up I went onto the back of Ahmen the little donkey. I must admit that I totally enjoyed my visit with this young man, and learned all about his family. Our tour guides had told us that it's a longstanding tradition amongst the Bedouins to invite strangers into their homes for 3 days, but after that you are no longer welcomed and of course they will want money. This young man invited me to his home and I actually think I would have accepted had I been free to do so, but I wasn't. Imagine staying in a tented Bedouin village in the middle of the desert and meeting his uncle and his uncle's wives and their 15 or so children and the rest of the clan. What an adventure! But alas my driver showed up in his fancy white Mercedes and as I turned to my new friend to give him a final heartfelt farewell, I could only see his back as he rode atop his donkey, having made enough money to begin his homeward journey to some unknown, remote site.

Arc, Split and Shine Like a Rainbow!

I've been wanting to write something about this past year, something that summarizes or encapsulates as succinctly as possible my personal journey through the year, but the words elude me. So I was thinking of a creative writing workshop I took with Jeff Davis, Journey from the Center to the Page, meaning the journey from deep within our center to words expressed on a page. There were several sessions spread out over several days, including the Yoga of Writing with Wonder. We did asanas, we meditated sitting, laying down, and walking. We stared at rocks, and other objects of nature, and pondered them. We wrote down five words that we felt were underused in our culture. Then from the five words, we were to chose one, marking out the other four. That one remaining word was to be the topic of our creative writing project, right then and there, spontaneously. I came up with the word rainbow because it conjures up so many images and thoughts and concepts for me as well as colors and experiences going back to early childhood. Before putting pen to paper, we were encouraged to walk outdoors, look around at the world from a different perspective, notice things we might not normally notice. Heightened senses, awareness. After wandering up and down the alley I returned and began to write of my experience interwoven with all the possible associations I could come up related to the word "rainbow":

"My pen ran out of ink, emptying it's last drop of blackness onto the page. The gray sky is dull and damp and evokes the need for shelter. The studio envelopes me. The rain fell and left Mother Earth wet with puddles, drips, and droplets. Falling, arcing over roofs, darkening the bark of trees, splattering, spilling downward and held in the bowels of earth. A dankness, the roar of clashing clouds, colliding and throwing down bolts of lightening, striking, hitting, tumultuous. As the storm subsides, the majesty of sun again shines forth his smile kissing Mother Earth and sending radiant rays upon all,. The magic begins in the near distance, beyond touch, just there, an arc of brilliant color, ground to ground, bowed up in the middle, a half sun, a semi-circle dancing with color, the prism of light broken into curving lines that are alive, transitory, a sight to behold. Never ending dreams brought always by the light, the element of water, color, the stuff of dreams, dreams that can be elusive, beyond grasp, always over there, beyond approach, but right there in front of you to behold. The bow of a ship afloat the waters of life, rivulets, bend your dreams into the rainbow of life, prostrate yourself before this miracle of nature, this perfection that is found only in the now, gone in the blink of an eye. The semi-circle of life, the richness that seems to be over there, just beyond reach, is really here, right now, the arc of rich color, of mystery, glimpsed in moments that quickly pass but with power to transform, just as light transforms the element of water vapor. Bend down, fall over, bow to the blessed, brilliant rainbow. The end of the rainbow is yet another beginning, a place anew, to find refuge and shelter. You are home, here, in this light of life, the stuff of dreams, this color of being. Dream your dreams and always follow your rainbows.

So for the new year I want to continue following my rainbow dreams, seeing past the illusions and false stories, seeking and finding the magic and the color, feeling the pain and sorrow, realizing and accepting impermanence, crying and laughing, loving and not pushing away the darkness when it comes, reaching skyward with an open heart towards that which at times seems so unattainable. I want to be a seeker, and know that whether I find something brilliant or nothing at all, what's really important is the journey itself.

May our hopes and dreams take us onward into the New Year, marching as spiritual warriors, steadfast and resolute in our hearts' quest for Truths.

(Photo downloaded from the internet)

Without the Fanfare

I took my first class ever this past Thursday night with Christina Sell. The class really rocked, and I'm told there's a guy out there named Jesse who actually sweats more than I do! The class had such a positive and welcoming aspect to it, due to the wonderful people in attendance, something I love about doing yoga--you get to surround yourself with people who are open to life, and exude love and friendliness. It was a unique evening in several ways that really have no apparent connection other than they happened within a short space of time. I ran into a guy I hadn't seen in a long time, and he's in a place of fear and anger that took me by surprise, and I found myself having to establish a clear boundary with him, stepping up my assertiveness, and then walking away after realizing he would not honor my refusal to engage in scurrilous gossip with him. I saw another guy I hadn't seen in a longer while and got a nice hello and a warm hug from him, which was really sweet. Then during class the IT band of my left leg, behind the knee, apparently crossed over, or got crossed over, with the tendon and when it crossed back into position it made a loud popping sound that not only startled the hell out of me, it got the teacher's attention and I think most people in the room heard it. I now know that it's not that uncommon an occurence and I felt no pain, just a tiny bit of soreness yesterday, and during subsequent practices I found myself unable to do Garudasana and Padmasana with that leg, but I think in a couple of days or so all will be back to normal. Still, I wonder what caused that to happen?

Practice on Saturday with Cary was really special, and in recognition of the Winter Solstice he led us through a wonderful opening meditation, an intense vinyasa flow, then a closing meditation before Savasana. A trio of us did some giggling in class when our windshield wiper legs collided but it was fun and harmless. The essence of Savasana, stillness and silence, is not meant to bring an end to our playful endeavors, but to pay homage to the work our bodies have done and to touch in with inner waters of stillness, try to slow the ripples of the mind, and prepare ourselves for the many deaths and births we will experience, both literally and metaphorically. To die, but not to sleep.

Earlier this month my partner and I quietly and without fanfare, as is our style, celebrated our 34 years together as a couple. We had hoped that by this time in our relationship the political, social, and legal systems would recognize our partnership and grant us the same rights as those of opposite sex relationships but that didn't happen. It would be nice, but as Joni Mitchell sings, we don't need no piece of paper from the city hall, keeping us tight and true...

I always love practicing with Keith at Dharma, and did my second class observation with him on Sunday, then joined in the vinyasa flow class afterwards. In my opinion, he ranks among the very best teachers in Austin. A woman named Cherry I was talking with after class suddenly said "it's a great time to be alive". That really struck a note with me.

Peaceful Holidays

What's in a Name?

I was reading a book for class that talked about the importance of play. Play being that sense of interaction we have with ourselves and others and the world around us whereby we just don't take things so damn seriously. When we play with a sense of awe, of wonderment, of openness, of genuine compassion and caring for what's happening and remain open to what comes, we make living and learning a more authentic and joyful experience. Don't we all need this? That's not to say we play carelessly or without regard for consequences--quite the contrary. The word that describes this in Sanskrit is lila. Although I may have read this definition before, my memory is quite sketchy at times but I knew that was the name of an Anusara inspired yoga teacher's blog that I find quite interesting and sometimes just awesome to read. So I went there and was really more than just a little moved that he (Jeremiah) had made reference to me in a recent posting, and called me his friend, and I wasn't sure he had a clue who I was (actually I thought he probably disliked me). Sometimes the smallest things we do that are of a kind and compassionate nature can have consequences of a positive nature that we may never know about. Sometimes a stranger will give me a smile that just reaches deep down inside and gently massages my heart in a way that feels so incredibly healing, sometimes in a profound way. And sometimes it's exactly what I really needed in that moment. But I must admit, I have to be open and vulnerable myself and awake to what's going on. (Of course sometimes I can get negative vibes from people that tell me they are deeply troubled by fear and suffering, and I just try to breathe in a little bit of their sadness and breathe out positive energy; who knows, it may do nothing for them but it makes me feel good.

And I think of all the times I've been in that place of fear.)

My friend Brian has talked a great deal about his close and his long time friend, an elderly woman in her mid to late eighties. I've never met her but I've heard so much about her over the years. My friend Hank, Brian's partner, is a very gifted artist and writer. His drawings are just phenomenal, and all the more so as he's visually impaired and yet his ability to see and express intense detail is just beyond understanding. His recent painting is of their good friend, Lylah. Check out his website.

http://www.henrycatenacci.com/

The Playful, Luminous Dance of Life

I often experience the unique pull and push of paradox in life. The other morning, on the way to class, I was driving on a quiet country road, no other cars about, very few houses, 25 mph speed limit, and a couple of beautiful does (yes, female deer) crossed in front of my car. I stopped and watched them. The first one came to a fence and stopped completely in her tracks, calmly gazed about briefly then pushed herself seemingly without effort straight up into the air, tucked in her legs, and hung suspended in that split moment between going up and coming down, then glided downward to the ground on the other side of the fence. The perfect balance between sthira and sukha. The second doe following behind her also walked up to the fence, came to a complete standstill, then gracefully glided straight up into the air, hung suspended with her legs tucked in, as though some invisible string were attached to her center pulling her upwards toward the skies, and glided slightly forward just enough to clear the fence to land on the other side. I was so inspired I talked about the event in class, read a Hafiz poem about listening to the inner voice that shouts Yes! Yes! Yes! to every luminous movement in Existence. As I continued my drive to class, a few moments later I saw a flock of buzzards eating at the carcass of a deer alongside the road. It's paradoxical to one moment see the luminous life dance and grace of movement in a deer jumping effortlessly over a fence, and in the next moment see another deer that's collided with a vehicle and been sent, perhaps with excrutiating pain and suffering, into the bloody dance of death.

That morning the sun was shining bright and I made an unusual discovery before leaving the house. I was printing out some information on the chakras and my eye was drawn to the orange color of the Svadisthana chakra, right below the navel, the lower abdomen. Lesson: the right to our feelings; a connection to our sensing abilities and issues relating to feelings; our ability to be social and intimate. Imbalance: Eating disorders. Alcohol/drug abuse. Depression. Low back pain. and so on. I opened my book "Sadhus--India's Mystic Holy Men" to page 88 where there's a photo of a holy man dressed in bright orange holding his pastoral staff (danda), or rod of divination, a symbol of spiritual power, carried by brahman ascetics. I looked up on my wall, and again, there he was was in a photograph I took 17 years ago while traveling in Nepal and India (1991). I looked at the publication date of the book: 1993.

It's not really all that unusual that I would photograph an ascetic who would get photographed again by someone else a couple of years later and get published in a book. What is kind of strange to me is that I enlarged that photo and it's been hanging on my walls for 17 years and I've looked at the Sadhus book countless times, and never noticed the ascetic on my wall was one and the same as the ascetic in the book.

More paradoxical than all of the above are the false realities we create, then buy into them, then discover it was all an illusion, a story we made up. Maya. It can all change in a second. We reawaken again and again only to learn we were asleep. We learn to play with life, with ourselves, with others in a way that is liberating, that is alive and zesty and juicy and also compassionate and caring, where things are open to surprise, and that all that happens has consequences. To be genuinely playful is "revolutionary." If we revere and recognize the world as the play of the Goddess Shakti principle, we can join in and imitate this play in everything we do. In Sanskrit, it's called lila.

(See also The Yoga of Breath, a Step-by-Step Guide to Pranayama by Richard Rosen).

Surface dirt; Yoga school

In a dream last night I noticed a few strangers had gathered on the lawn by the garage. Soon they came knocking at the door and wanted to know what ancient relics might be found below the surface of that particular area. I recalled that once there was an unusal sandy area, white sand with pools of deep blue water. But it had all been covered over by layers of soil planted with grass, and pipes that fed the sprinkler system. I walked out to explore and noticed the area was covered with fire ant mounds and as I attempted to explore, to do some amateur excavating, the ants soon covered my legs, but I washed them off with water and continued looking around. A few steps later I discovered the beautiful white sands and deep pools of fresh water, in an adjacent area, and a neighbor appeared to explain that it had been there all along. Upon further exploration I saw that the spring-fed pools of water in the white sand flowed down into a deep channel the water had carved into the hard stone that wound its way around a small island, then eventually emptied into the vastness of sea. People appeared and told me the route via canoe was a wonderful experience, potentially treacherous, but with care could easily be navigated and the journey was a great one. Soon large white stone carved benches appeared with beautiful views of the landscape below and people gathered to commune and share.

As in life, when we open our eyes there are dimensions of reality right before us that have been there all along. Sometimes the process of excavating through the surface dirt to see what lies below begins with first facing obstacles and "stings" that can, with effort, be overcome with a gentle steadfastness that will wash away those bites and begin to reveal new realities, new treasures, new journeys, and a vastness with no end. For me, a momentary glimpse into the infinite simply tells me "hey, I'm here, come explore", but more importantly stay the course of your journey, focus on what's right there in front of you less you lose sight of it.

As G says, so many new seeds of knowledge have been planted, be okay with feeling overwhelmed, and know that newly planted seeds must germinate. Delving into Patanjali's sutras, the study of pranayama, learning Sanskrit names of asanas, attending lectures and staying attentive and focused and taking notes, leading the class through Surya Namaskar Sequence A and B for the first time ever, watching videos that in the course of an hour summarize the history of yoga, continuing to maintain one's personal practice, attendng classes as participant, as observer, well, it can be a bit overwhelming. Dealing with the dynamics of a class setting, interacting with a group of new people, assisting, adjusting, sharing, learning together, all very challening, but definitely part of the journey. When I open my notebook it tells me to breathe and stay in the moment. It helps to regularly give myself permission to stumble.

In the above photos I'm 1. doing headstand on the Jordanian side of the Dead Sea, covered in Dead Sea mud which is meant to pull toxins out of the body. It felt good, especially being applied. 2) Floating in the Dead Sea. Because of the high salt content, the body just naturally floats at and slightly above the surface of the water. If you attempt to dog paddle or swim or do most of the things we are used to doing in *regular* water, it becomes a struggle because the Dead Sea naturally forces you to the surface. I'm told that people will get caught up in the struggle, face down in the water, and drown. It's a matter of complete surrender to the water.