"Sacred Activism" (Rifts and Chasms)

I watched a documentary recently featured on P.O.V. (an excellent program that airs on public television stations, and yes, in liberal Austin, Texas, this program seems to usually be aired after 9 p.m., or after 10 p.m.) that profiled the pretty awful plight of elderly GLBT members of our society. I'd no idea how many GLBT elderly people struggle so hard to make ends meet, how rare it is to find GLBT friendly nursing homes, assisted living homes, and general health care. AND, we are talking about a majority of retired GLBT members of our society, NOT just a few. A majority. It must be remembered that these folks grew up in the 20's, 30's, 40's, and 50's and the world as we know it now, in this country, was very different. It was not always easy to find and hold decent paying jobs unless you lived a closeted life. There was a lot of discrimination. Few of these domestic partners knew to go to an estate planning attorney. Who would suggest that to them, and how many could afford it, and how many available attorneys were there at that time that dealt with such matters? Many have lost partners with whom they were in long term relationships, and find themselves being evicted from their homes because the title of the house was in the partner's name. There are no social security benefits to be had from one's partner, hence the exclusion of Medicare. Even today if you are in a long term relationship and do not have Durable Power of Attorney/Medical Power of Attorney you are not allowed to visit your partner in the hospital if anyone objects, and yes, families do object. You may be not be invited to speak at your partner's funeral, or have any part of that whole process. Horror stories abound, even today. So many of these folks are invisible, they are marginalized, they are disenfranchised. No rights or benefits in regards to their partners. Some companies are making exceptions these days, but these people have little to no governmental representation. We don't know who they are, or where they are. An interview with one young gay man said he feared older gay men would only want sex from him, but if he could be guaranteed that wouldn't happen, he'd welcome having coffee every morning with an elderly gay man. Unfortunately that paints a very sad picture in my mind, the fear of our elderly based on such assumptions and in my opinion, very unsupportive reasoning. Another young gay man said he didn't know anything at all about elderly GLBT people, they were indeed invisible. There is a great rift, a real chasm between younger GLBT folks and older GLBT people, and I find this very sad indeed. I can easily imagine a mentoring program between young and old. It has been an incredible blessing for me personally to have a gay yoga kula that is accepting, loving, and embracing, and to find myself accepted into the yoga community at large--in general they are a group of uniquely special people with great big loving hearts. This makes me cry with tears of gratitude. I'm also blessed to have a wonderful life-mate, and we are going on 34 years together soon!

I only recently became aware of Andrew Harvey, a gay writer, yogi, mystic, scholar, etc....he advocates "Sacred Activism"...not dissimilar in my mind to prayer in action. Getting out there in the world and doing something to help others. Really putting your beliefs into action. Reaching out to touch someone. Sometimes a smile given to a stranger on the street can work miracles. We are all connected.

http://www.andrewharvey.net/sacred_activism.html

Faces and Facets of Fear

I started watching Eckhart Tolle's DVD The Flowering of Consciousness I (based on his book(s) which I haven't read) last evening with my partner and wasn't surprised at how the *pointing of his words* resonates with much truth for me. There is no end to self-improvement, no end to seeking, no end to the path, the quest, the search for meaning in all things. Do we ever really discover exactly or totally who were are? Of course not. Answers are enriching when they come, but they are often accompanied by even more questions. I think this is all very good and is the nature of things. Ebb and flow, wax and wane, stumble and fall, stand steadfast, try to be a good warrior, stay fit and healthy in body, mind, spirit, and then stumble again and fall. And cry.

I am reminded of a woman I met and befriended who had a sad look in her eyes that was visible beneath the defensive arrogance and cocky self confidence she exuded. She told me her husband had committed suicide and her high school age son was experiencing similar signs of depression. "Sometimes you just have to put one foot in front of the other and not think beyond that." I thought to myself at the time what little understanding this woman has regarding the complex issues of depression, suicidal ideation and succumbing to the suicidal impulse, the deep scars that many of us bear that pull us down hard. But now I look back on those words of hers and in them I see wisdom, in the sense that if you are focused on just moving one step at a time you are focused on being in the present, and in this there is much relief from suffering. It really isn't that different from focusing on just taking your next breath. I grew to love this woman and to admire her for all her suffering and her constant seeking of solace in the solemnity of an isolated monastery in NM where I too sought answers. Her worldly wealth made issues such as food, shelter, health care, etc., all of which are extremely important to every single human being on this planet, non-issues for her, but in lieu of having to focus on survival issues she had to cope with issues such as deep despair, loneliness, isolation, abandonment, and not feeling loved in this world. (That last one has been a recurring one for me that comes from my core and can have a profound effect on me and my sufferings). Again I quote Bayda:

"Suffering is guaranteed as long as we demand that life be free from discomfort."

"You believe you can't be happy because your life is difficult. This is backwards. You can't be truly happy until your life is difficult."

"Suffering is the result of insisting that something be other than it is."

And so one day while traveling my own deep rooted fears caught up with me, deep depression and despair set in, and I didn't feel I could possibly go on any longer. This same woman saw the fear in my face and when the armed soldiers came to take me away she intervened and spent many hours of her time helping to get me into a hospital that could take care of me. For this my dear E I am forever grateful.

So for now I'm going to simply put one foot in front of the other and not give a whit about knowing anything about anything.

Inner Courtyards of Quietitude

I find it interesting when a yoga class theme (if there is one) closely correlates to my own recent musings whether it has to do with thoughts, feelings, love, relationships, forgiveness, compassion, awareness, letting go and so on. About thoughts, we clearly are not our thoughts and I think I'm finally getting my mind around that, so to speak. (I'm slow). Our thoughts are not who we are, they can often be just mind chatter, a pretend dialog with another, a fantasy, and my favorite is the trio that comprises the IFS of addiction--what if only? (about the past), what if only? (the now), and what if only? (about the future), we can truly become addicted to such thinking. It's natural for the mind to do this, and I don't think I'll ever come close to stopping it, but it's revelatory when one can recognize what's going on and know what the mind is doing and say to oneself "that's just my mind being active, nothing more and nothing less." I don't think that's where our deeper/higher selves reside. We are to find ourselves beyond all that clatter and clutter and clacking. Today during my drive in to Austin I decided to imagine all the cars around me as though they were thoughts, and when someone decided to drive on my tail I decided to be aware of what they were doing but not react or respond. And the same for the cars that rush past me only to find themselves many car links behind me at the next stop light. I merely observe but try hard to not respond. Be aware but relaxed. It's a bit of a meditation that I think may make driving safer for myself and others. Perhaps meditation isn't the right word here because all meditation techniques I'm familiar with should never be done while driving (except maybe short ones at stop lights).

Bayda writes: "See your thoughts for what they are; Just thoughts. And see them for what they aren't: the truth about who you are and what life is."

Anxiety is always about the future. Bring your mind to the present, to what is happening right now, and you can recognize anxiety as just another thought."

"Notice how often thinking and talking are detours from the painful work of being present to life."

In class today Gioconda read a poem by Hafiz that repeats this same motif. Sometimes we can just put our hand up in a gesture of "no, more" to our thoughts to quieten them, to let them know they are familiar companions but they are not wanted in this moment. As Elizabeth Gilbert says, they are like our neighbors, always there, and we can live in harmony with them, but distance is good. I like the metaphor of fences make good neighbors---I think we need to erect fences to our thoughts and tell them from time to time to just stay on their side of the fence!

Fortuitous Encounters

No doubt my favorite living contemporary painter is Alyce Frank. She lives near Taos NM in a small town with her husband and produces paintings that reach out and touch me ever so deeply. I believe one of her favorite painters and source of inspiration is Vincent van Gogh. Alyce is represented in several galleries. I had read a little about her but had never met her, seen her, nor seen a photo of her, nor had I actually seen one of her paintings *in person*--I had viewed them first on postcards I found in Abiquiu NM near to where I lived for nearly a year a few miles beyond the village of Canones, then in books and online. I knew she loved to paint plein air especially in NM. A couple of years ago my partner and I took a driving trip out West, heading for California. One day while touring Yosemite Park in one of those large tour buses we made yet another stop to take in the breath taking scenery. I noticed a couple of painters parked in an old station wagon with large easels set up by the side of the road. Something stirred in me and told me that I just HAD to go over and say hello and introduce myself. I walked away from the group and headed over to the painters some little distance away. I walked right up to them and introduced myself and then blurted out "Are you by any chance Alyce Frank?" To which she replied, yes, I am, and this is my painting partner Barbara Zaring. I was both in awe and shock at this so called *coincidence*, and it turns out Ms. Frank also got quite a little thrill from the whole event. She was the artist in residence at Yosemite and I had no idea of any of this. Wow, what magical things can happen, especially when we take that risk and move right through our nervousness and doubts and fears and follow those inner urgings. A few weeks later I received a call from the owner of the Fenix Gallery in Taos who informed me that Alyce Frank was so impressed by the encounter that she wanted me to have one of her paintings!!! I simply couldn't believe it--her paintings typically sell anywhere from $4000 to $10,000 and more. Well that part proved to be just a bit too good to be true as I learned that what was meant was that Ms. Frank was offering me a painting for less than half price, plus shipping and handling. In that case I kindly asked if I could chose a different painting than the one she had set aside for me and she indeed approved my request. Now I have an original Alyce Frank oil painting hanging in my living room titled El Salto. I love it, and I love how I came to be the owner of such a beautiful piece of art by my most revered contemporary painter in the whole world!!



Another fortuitous encounter happened one day at a support group meeting I was attending weekly at the Austin Men's Center (Co-dependence anonymous). What a great group of guys! We came together weekly and shared our stories without judgment, offering one another support, care, and love, and many of us coming to the knowledge that we are not alone in this world with our problems , issues, and suffering. It was my plan to make a trip to the bank and retrieve some documents from the safety deposit box after the meeting. I had placed the safety deposit key in my bag. The key itself is tucked away bright red little envelope. It was cold outside and so before getting in my car I decided to get the key out of my bag and put it in my pocket so it would be readily available when I got to the bank. I searched and searched in my bag and could not find it. Eventually I removed every single item from my bag, sorted through everything, placing everything on the floor, then carefully sorting through everything again and slowly putting everything back into my bag (a small backpack) but the key was NOWHERE to be found. Suddenly I heard someone in the adjacent room crying and I went to see what was going on. One guy, who was needing to leave to get to work was listening to another guy who appeared to be in deep pain about something, and his sobbing was intense. I went into the room and sat down and held him while he cried, and cried, and cried, then told me his problem. Later, when he had recovered his composure for the time being we exchanged names and phone numbers and he became one of my best friends in my life. He taught me to paint, something that I had never done before. I had a deeply ingrained belief that I had absolutely no artistic ability whatsoever and therefore had never taken an art course, not even an art history course. My first piece of art that I brought home from first grade and proudly showed to my mother turned out to be the object of unintentional, but very hurtful ridicule. My mother told me and everyone else who came to the house that I had brought home the ugliest piece of art she had ever seen in her life. She repeatedly displayed this artwork of mine and had many laughs at it's ugliness. She told me I had no talent whatsoever. Hence, I had avoided the visual arts my entire life up until I was 39 years old. But that was soon to change. This beautiful man I met that day was a gifted artist and he taught me to paint. He encouraged me, he praised me, he inspired me.



After our meeting that day I got into my car to head for the bank, realizing that I had been unable to find the safety deposit key, something that had kept me there at the center longer than was normal as I had searched my backpack extensively, which had allowed me to meet my new friend. I just KNEW I had put that key in my bag before leaving home so sitting there in my car, I opened my bag to again begin yet another search for the elusive key and there it was, sitting right on top of the contents of my bag, in plain view.



I have learned the hard way (naturally) to look at such mysterious events with complete openness and try not figure out the meaning. Conjecture, theories, interpretations that may lead to certain actions on my part have proven to be not the best course of action, not the best way to understand these things. Rather I've learned, and still learn, to be still and watch and go slowly and be introspective but without coming to all sorts of self misguided conclusions, because when one does that, it removes the mystery, it removes the element of the mystical, it seeks to concretize that which may very well need to remain ethereal.



Note: the first painting above is El Salto by Alyce Frank as are the next two; the fourth painting was done by me.

Blessings to Open New Doors

I drove Zachary to Beeville yesterday. Dale went with me. Oftentimes it's a bit strange going back to my home town, sometimes I'm flooded with memories--both pleasant and not so pleasant--and other times I feel as though many lifetimes have passed since I once lived here. There is one feeling that's consistent and that's that I'm glad I no longer live here in this depressing place. When my friend from High School Brian moved back to Beeville from NYC a few years ago, I began going down there quite often, but it was different. Brian lives in the country outside Beeville on 75 acres in a large, beautiful house built by his parents. It's totally private and secluded and Beeville seems worlds away, most of the time. Brian put in a pool with a large deck and upgraded the outdoor half-bath in the carport area. We've had so many fun times by the pool, so many parties. One weekend about this time last summer I drove down for a visit. On the way there I caught a momentary glance out of the corner of my eye of Buck and Meg (two horses) in the pasture adjacent to the highway. Buck was standing over Meg who was laying on the ground, something horses enjoy doing, rolling in the dirt. Later while lounging by the pool I noticed that neither Buck nor Meg had made an appearance. Usually they show up when we are out by the pool and I always love to walk down to the fence and pet them, and Brian usually gathers a bucket of grain pellets to feed them. I asked Brian where they were and we all puzzled over why they hadn't yet shown up. They never did. Something in my gut was troubled. Something in the back of my mind felt uneasy, but I couldn't figure it out. The image of Buck standing over Meg while she rolled in the dirt kept coming to mind. Did I actually see her rolling in the dirt? The next morning Brian got a call from a friend, who had driven by on the highway, with dire news--"you have a dead horse in your pasture." The sheriff was called, Brian's brother came out and it wasn't long before news filtered up to the house that someone had driven by and shot Meg in the head with 22 caliber rifle, and she was dead. While they dug a deep hole in the field for burial, I watched over Buck who had been coaxed into a corral near the house. He was so upset, running about trying to get to Meg, almost busting through the fence, whinnying over and over again. I spent hours with him that morning, calming him, soothing him as best as I could. Obviously he had witnessed the murder of his companion, the beautiful mare Meg. He was afraid of me at first, then slowly moved closer and closer until finally I was rubbing the entire side of his long neck, and I could see he was calming down and feeling soothed.

Immediately after returning to Austin I went to a yoga class and Keith read the following poem aloud which totally blew me away:

A Blessing

By James Wright

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,

Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.

And the eyes of those two Indian ponies

Darken with kindness.

They have come gladly out of the willows

To welcome my friend and me.

We step over the barbed wire into the pasture

Where they have been grazing all day, alone.

They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness

That we have come.

They bow shyly as wet swans.

They love each other.

There is no loneliness like theirs.

At home once more,

They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.

I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,

For she has walked over to me

And nuzzled my left hand.

She is black and white,

Her mane falls wild on her forehead,

And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist.

Suddenly I realize that if I stepped out of my body

I would break
Into blossom.

I was haunted by this for a long while. I was confused about a recent (and ongoing) *infatuation* that had me torn apart and weeping daily for weeks on end, which eventually turned into months. I stayed with it all and worked hard at processing it, understanding it, going to the core of the issues that were coming up for me. This is not easy work. The next month I attended a retreat at Bodhi Zen Center in Jemez Springs NM, A Gathering of Men, sponsored by Spirit Journeys. It was a profound experience. Just totally profound. The next month I traveled throughout Tuscany for several weeks, then a few months later I found myself on a yoga retreat in Bali. Doors had opened and blessings bestowed. I worked with a wonderful therapist and joined a group-therapy-group. It was all so very rich and rewarding and such hard f***ing work!

Staying with our pain and feeling it fully without trying to suppress it is the way of the heart, it's the way to healing, understanding, growth. So many doors open to us when we stay the course of our heart, listen deeply to what our best self is telling us, often heard through the words of others, passages in books, poems, dreams (including nightmares). Archaeological digs into our deeper pits, no matter how dark, will reveal many truths.

Links to some of my photoshows, with more to come soon. These shows can take a while

to upload, so be very patient. Also, try clicking on beta version, and you may need to install

a flash player:

http://www.photoshow.com/watch/Bg3tG2cQ

http://www.photoshow.com/watch/Xw9pZ4kn

http://www.photoshow.com/watch/FT2cv7Jh

http://www.photoshow.com/watch/gD7ZF4ip

Words, information, knowledge, wisdom

We are bombarded by information, especially if we cruise the Internet, watch movies, TV, read books, magazines, yet we retain so very little of this information, which is probably a good thing. I suppose knowledge comes when we spend time and put forth the effort to learn something new, or master something, we come to know about it, to some greater degree than before. We retain information that captures our interest and we delve into it. We have knowledge about it. And wisdom, yes, that rich form of guidance that is etched deeply into our psyches and tells us what is right vs wrong, what is healthy and good for us and what isn't, helps to lead us on the path we choose, helps us to choose the path that is best for us...

It's interesting how one may come upon a word and decide to use that word in one's writing or dialog. Suddenly it seems that word is to be found everywhere. It just pops up like magic all the time, that is after you become aware of it. Yet, it was there all along, you simply didn't notice it. And so it goes with so many things. Awareness is an important word, an important state, a concept well worth pondering, contemplating. A word(s) that I've noticed to be so prevalent for many months now is moon. Or lunar. In Sun magazine I read an interview with Andrew Harvey. I saw his books in Whole Life Books, the feminine comes up a lot in his writings, Mother Nature, Goddess, and so on. Elizabeth Gilbert writes: "...but for millennia there have been others who choose instead to get up before the sun and wash their faces and go to their prayers. And then fiercely try to hold on to their devotional convictions throughout the lunacy of another day."

LUNACY of another day? A day of sun, a day without moon? A day with the feminine hidden? The complexity of the lunar cycle was explained (rather an attempted explanation) in a recent meditation session let by Abhi whereby he played a tape he had made that must have lasted 20 minutes or so about the moon, her cycles, blue moon, full moon, new moon, so many days, hours, minutes...it went on and on with an incredible amount of information. I retained so very little. Lunar breathing to cool down. Mary Keator said most of us, including most women, are far more in touch with our masculine aspects than with our feminine aspects. I find this endlessly fascinating, and often wonder how in touch am I with my feminine aspects vs my masculine aspects?

Pema Chodron wisely tells us to not take ourselves so seriously. To simply lighten up. Which allows me to free associate, similar to the year or so I spent writing my morning pages every day as Julia Cameron suggests in The Artists Way.

I can hear the TV in the other room and try to tune it out. My nephew---Ok, we've gone to the movies--yesterday we saw Wall E, which was really good, clothes shopping, ice cream parlor, swimming at Hamilton's Pool, dined out, hair cut, purchased books for summer reading...and I'm ready for my freedom again! My body is protesting the change in diet and other routines. Still, I'm having fun but will take my nephew home this weekend--tomorrow. It surprises me how easily he gets bored and how much TV he watches! I wish there were other kids around for him to play with, but he gets plenty of that at home, and at school...

Rituals

I regretably made an appointment to have my car in for its 1000 mile service at 6:30 this morning, so I need to leave the house around 5:30 a.m. to 5:45 a.m. I'm reacting with some stress over having my nephew as company, I don't feel well suited to entertaining a 10 year old.

Yesterday we went to the movies and saw Get Smart, shared a huge bag of popcorn then walked over to Amy's Ice Cream and had a large scoop of Belgium Chocolate ice cream (one of my favorites). We got home around 5 and then I had to prepare dinner for all of us, hence we didn't eat until around 7 p.m. I began to feel the need to have some space and privacy after barely having him here for over 24 hours! What a wimp I am when it comes to giving my time and routine over to taking care of a 10 year old! I've always known I could never be a parent! But I did make it to practice yesterday morning and that was sweet. I stopped at Umlauf Garden to check out the hours and sure enough they are closed Mon and Tues, so the idea of taking Zach there was out of the question for the day. Still, we do have fun, acting silly and laughing at all the craziness portrayed in that *movie*....

I managed to make it to bed last night by 8:30 so I had some time to myself (plus the wonderful morning time that I so enjoy, all to myself as Dale and Zach tend to sleep late compared with my routine) and read the following passage that particularly rang true for me:

rituals and reality

"Rituals and forms in spiritual practice can be useful, but in themselves they have little to do with seeing the truth. We must question whether we use the forms and rituals to connect with what is, or as a way to hide in familiar security. The longer one practices in a particular tradition, the easier it becomes to hide in the routines, in doing it "right," and--especially--in the jargon. Thus we trap ourselves in the protected cacoon of comforting predictability, unable to experience the reality of what our life really is."

excerpted from Saying YES to Life (Even the Hard Parts) by Ezra Bayda with Josh Bartok.