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.

Full Circle

I think it's so important that we frequently stop and check in with ourselves, touch base with ourselves, assess what's going on--emotionally, physically, spiritually. Use every tool we have, find new tools, dig deep, seek healing through truth, reach out, let our voices peal the air like cathedral or temple bells.

When I was six years old I returned home from school one day with my first piece of artwork. It was my rendition of a dog. I'd had no training or practice so it was uniquely primitive and today would be labeled as outsider art. My mother laughed at it and told me I had no artistic talent at all. She kept my drawing on top of the refrigerator and showed it to everyone that entered the house--friends, neighbors, relatives--always calling it the ugliest drawing she had ever seen. Over and over I heard that I had no artistic talent whatsoever. It hurt in ways a 6 year old can't really fathom except to never again bring home another drawing, better yet, never attempt to make another drawing. And so it permeates and sticks. I have no talent, why bother with trying? After all, my mother told me this, and I love her, and she must be right. I never took art in college, not even art appreciation. In my twenties I began traveling and visiting museums and so began my deep love and appreciation of art. Something other people do. I didn't know how deeply wounded I was over that incident.

When I began my most serious recovery work at the age of 39, magical and mystical things began to happen as I opened myself to new worlds, dug deep inside with the help of some incredible therapists and started on the path known as the one less traveled.

Serendipitously one cold but sunny winter day I met an artist, a painter, in a support group, who became one of my best friends. Through our deep friendship, I learned that there was an artist inside me longing to come out and express himself. I nurtured him, and learned all about oil paints, brushes, canvases, colors, etc. from my new friend. We got together and painted, we visited galleries, we bought supplies at art stores, and we painted some more. I struggled through it all and found a new voice of expression. He praised my work and over the next few years I produced approximately 200 paintings. I loved it. I took drawing lessons, and further art lessons. I had come home to that part of myself that had been imprisoned. It was liberating, I could make nice paintings and express myself in ways beyond my imagination.

Last week, I presented my first, simple, uncomplicated yoga vinyasa sequence in class. I struggled to put together a sequence that wasn't just a facsimile of one found in a book, or one that I had experienced in class. I wanted to focus on the standing poses. It wasn't easy, I felt pretty helpless, but in truth I learned so much during the process of putting this together. After all, it was supposed a very simple 3 to 5 pose sequence leading up to a final pose. Other than myself and my beloved teacher, only one other student was able to attend class that particular day. I called out my sequence, asana by asana, and the teacher wrote each pose on the board, one by one, and we talked about how that pose leads into the next pose, how it opens certain parts of the body, warms certain muscles, is a preparation for the next pose, etc. And we talked about parts of the sequence that weren't all that smooth. After all, I'm learning and I've never done this before. The other student seemed to find something very funny in all this as she broke out in laughter repeatedly during this process. How did you come up with that? How do you get from that pose to that pose. Giggle, giggle. Laugh, laugh. I won't say more, except that I must have just blocked it out, or decided that she wasn't really intentionally deriding me. Was she really laughing at my sequence? Yes she was, but I don't think she meant to intentionally hurt my feelings, but that happened and I refused to feel anything. I went numb and dismissed it as unimportant. Such things come back.

That weekend something felt wrong inside me. My sleep was restless, my dreams particularly disturbing. I felt fragile and vulnerable. On Monday as I drove to class, my heart screamed out in pain and I let lose a river a tears. It was then I realized that the deep wound inflicted unintentionally by my mother when I was 6 years old had suddenly opened up and I was bleeding, I was hurting, I was scared. This is all very therapeutic, fully feeling what you feel. I sat with the feeling, let the tears flow, and held back nothing. Not the best condition to drive in but automatic pilot can be a huge help. I processed.

That night I had a rare, near ecstatic dream. There was a dog, a big one, and a beautiful one, and a powerful one. In the dream when I thought of him, he would appear instantly, no matter how far away he might be from me, or how far away I might be from him. He was like an angel, a best friend, an animal spirit empowered with beautiful, magical, super-human qualities. In the back of a moving pickup I suddenly felt I needed him, so I thought of him and suddenly there he was, running behind the pick up, then magically flew up into the cab and took control of everything--he steered me in the direction I needed to go. It was like a miracle happening. This friend of mine, this beautiful dog, was always there for me in this dream. A dog. Like a god. Like my drawing that I still have in the top of my closet. I just read:

...to see a dog in your dream symbolizes intuition, loyalty, generosity, protection, and fidelity. The dream suggests that your strong values and good intentions will enable you to go forward in the world and bring you success. It can also indicate a skill that you have ignored or forgotten..flying signifies a sense of freedom where you had initially felt restricted and limited...

Loreena McKennitt sings:

Stars were falling deep in the darkness

as prayers rose softly, petals at dawn

And as I listened, your voice seemed so clear

so calmly you were calling your god.

Somewhere the sun rose, o'er dunes in the desert

such was the stillness, I ne'er felt before

Was this the question, pulling, pulling, pulling you

in your heart, in your soul, did you find rest there?

Elsewhere a snowfall, the first in the winter

covered the ground as the bells filled the air

You in your robes sang, calling, calling, calling him

in your heart, in your soul, did you find peace there?

Music and lyrics by Loreena McKennitt: Full Circle

from The Mask and the Mirror

And so as we traverse through life, we come full circle, again and again. And when in distress, we call out for help, when we reach deep into ourselves and remain open, answers, peace, and rest may come to us.

N.B. I was just remembering when I was staying with an Indian woman in her small home in Rancho de Taos, NM, and on the morning of Palm Sunday I woke up, looked outside, and it was snowing heavily. A late May snow, the last of the season, and it was heavy. I walked to Church and entered, received a palm frond, but felt suffocated and the need to be outside overcame me so I walked the neighborhood for a long while. The whole time I walked I was accompanied by a dog that seemed to come from out of nowhere, waited for me while I went into the church, and continued walking at my side throughout my walk.

Feeling yucky, great documentary, favorite shots

I'm not feeling well today, so I've given myself permission to stay home all weekend if need be and stay in bed if I feel that's in my best interest, which is where I am right now, surrounded by Ralph and Pepe and some reading assignments. I caught a cold while traveling and although I experienced all the usual symptoms, I kept going and didn't slow down one bit as I didn't feel tired. Now I feel very run down. Somehow it's caught up with me and doesn't want to let go without my attention, so I'm listening. The cold has moved into my chest and I had chills last night and again this morning. I hear a deep gurgling when I cough. I know how fortunate I am to be able to rest, and to rest comfortably. It's a luxury not afforded to many people in this world. In all likelihood, this cold will run its course after briefly slowing me down and I'll resume the life and activity that comes with good health. I give thanks. But honestly, I'm a real baby when it comes to physical pain and discomfort, and if I experience a fever I have thoughts that I just might not make it! Really.

We watched an excellent documentary last night titled The Body of War. After 5 days serving in Iraq, a young US soldier is wounded and permanently disabled, and this movie tells his story. It's sad, frustrating, and paints, in my opinion, an accurate and unbiased picture of how war tears apart families, nations, and can do damage to the human body beyond comprehension. Medical care for these Iraqi veterans is poor and it seems they pretty much live out their remaining years in the shadows, often unable to perform basic bodily functions. The majority of our leaders turn a blind eye, disillusionment seems to be the norm with the current powers that be. I recommend this highly. P.O.V. on PBS.

I so want to have the energy to go get on the mat, or go to a yoga class. I really wanted to take a workshop today at Castle Hill Yoga, about cultivating a home practice. I'm sorry to have missed it, but for everything there is a reason, regardless of whether we have a clue or not, and so I'm parked here letting nature run her course.

I decided to select a few of my favorite photos from the trip and post them. I like to look at things up close and deeply personal. I'm drawn to photography that represents the natural world in an almost abstract vision. Hence, a open pomegranate in a food market stall draws my awe more than the engineering feat of a Roman amphitheatre. That's just me. A Reuben Rubins painting, a flower, a paper fan twirling in a garden, some thorns, palm leaves, red rocks in a garden landscape, the sun shining through the slats of a shed atop Masada, a painting outside an art gallery in the artsy district of Tel Aviv, a pot with a circle within a circle, a view of the Wadi Qilt near St. George's monastery near Jericho, earthy ochres, burnt siennas, raw umbers and deep yellows of sandstone at Petra, and so on.