Love the one you're with

 

I used this picture as the cover of my research presentation at our annual colloquium this year. It's a woman meditating under a bodhi tree. I love the colors, and the clay-like texture the painting portrays.

Today is my husband's birthday. We spent the greater part of the day packing and cleaning. I rented a carpet cleaner from Lowe's and steam-cleaned our antique rug. It was a proud, feminist moment for me learning how to use this large, complicated machine.

After our hard work we decided to treat ourselves to a slice at Savage pizza down the street. Savage is one of our favorites, with New York style pizza, excellent salads, and a really cool, kitchy atmosphere decked out with action figures. We were light-hearted and carefree as we sat down. Full on love, hungry for sustenance, happy to be in one another's company.

I recalled a strange thought I'd had earlier in the day, when I wished my love a happy birthday. I thought to myself that I should take a moment to truly appreciate his being alive and well. Death is always with us, just a heartbeat away. A moment's unchecked glance. The cliche blink-of-an-eye's distance.

I ordered a shrimp ceaser while my darling decided on a tomato and eggplant calzone. I drooled over knowing I'd be sneaking bites of his; by this point in our relationship he can be sure that I'll always go for a nibble of anything he orders (and will probably like it better!). It was just at that moment when we heard it:

A nauseating sound. The loud smack and thud of metal on metal, tires squeeling and shrieking. A car crash was happening, and we were sitting on the patio of Savage bearing witness. The sounds made us both cringe our shoulders together. But then, another, unexpected sound came. Another loud bang and thud, but it was not at all metal on metal and it was immediate. I felt my heart sink and my eyes well up. I turned my head to see a car, still skidding forward for what had been at least 75 feet, pushing the remnants of a motorcylce in its battered and charred grill.

Some things we don't hesitate on. I began to weap. My husband leapt from his chair, onto the table and over the railing of the patio, and took off towards the scene. A previously trained nurse reacts on instinct.

The other customers on the patio were all on their feet by this point, straining their necks to see over the parked cars. Where was the man on the motorcycle? I heard a guy say behind me, "dear god, please let it have been parked..." and another woman reply "no, it's lights are on." I didn't need to look to know. I was the only person not standing. I just sat with my eyes to the ground, feeling the raw grief of the moment.

It was a while before I spotted him coming back, walking slow and tired, as if he'd been through a fight. The ambulances had arrived. He was no longer needed. Was he ever needed?

There is something so admirable about him. It's in the way he carries himself -- with strength, composure, even a gentle quietness. We didn't speak about it right away. He sat back down. We looked at eachother quietly. Though I'm sure everyone around was chattering away about what had happened and would happen, everything around us and between us was silent. He finally asked me if I'd like to leave. I nodded and we boxed our untouched food.

I asked him to walk a different way home. I didn't want to see whatever it was that lay there in the street. So we took the long way, hand-in-hand, not saying a word.

Sometimes you just have to let the silence hang for a while, before you break it open. It was another thirty minutes before he could talk about what he'd seen when he left me on the patio. It was after our failed our attempts to eat at home, to keep packing, to watch a movie. It was after he smoked a cigarette and reminded himself outloud to breath. We just didn't know what to do with ourselves. We knew it couldn't be avoided, though the desire was there to push it all away. He had to talk it out of him, there was no other way.

The man's helmet had come off. The driver of the car was drunk. The bike had been hit, the man had been ejected from the bike and then run over by both his own bike and the drunk driver's car. When my husband reached the man, his face and skull were crushed and he was bleeding out. He checked for a pulse -- a light one still beat. He watched the man's stomach quiver the last moments of life.

The ambulances arrived and my husband left the man's side. He went to the side of the street to break up a fight that had broken out between one person and another who was filming the scene with his iphone, hoping to upload it to youtube. After subdueing these two, he went to gaurd the only cop, a woman, who was tending to the drunk driver. The driver was crying and praying.

So many lives changed in an instant. I weap for that.

I take a long moment tonight to appreciate my husband being alive and being well.

I don't understand the gauking, the exploitation, of tragic death for entertainment's sake. It's a horrific event that demands respect, silence, and deep reflection.

Love the ones you're with. Even if you don't know their names.

White Daisy Passing

The idea of moving is always exciting. I think it's the promise of change, as if uprooting can also somehow get us unstuck and shake us free. In previous years I became much more excited and hopeful about moves. These days the idea is more weighted. It's light as well as heavy. It's both promising and daunting. I enjoy throwing every last unecessary item away. It's a huge purging project of letters too long held onto, outworn clothes stripped, unremarkable books tossed from the shelf, and let's not forget the cluttered collection of "stocking stuffer" gifts that one holds onto out of loving obligation: the little fragrant oils, lotions, and odd presents like foot warmers and decorated birthday wine glass, or the miniture "fondu for two."  It makes me desperately wish "christmas" didn't exist.

All things go. All things grow.

The packing process gives ample time for reflecting on the years, the growth, the changes, the errors, the achievements. I think about how my writing has taken such a long hiatus. Poetry has been replaced by research. This isn't all bad -- though I do deeply miss and long for a connection with that ancient craft of divining words. I've grown tremendously in my ability to write a solid, clear thesis. I am learning how to express my more complex ideas and to convey them with precision and inner fervor.

Then there's the box of old pictures we come across. You know the one -- it still has the framed photos of him. I came across these and found myself pleased that I didn't feel an emotional tie any longer in the sense of remorse or regret or longing for the past. I appreciate how attractive of a couple we were -- very handsome indeed! I see how I really was someone else. Still myself, but somehow someone else. I like her. She's so different from the woman I see now. She was regal and full of grace and elegance. Quiet, introverted and introspect. Today she is very outward-turned, glowing, passionate, with a wide-open expression that takes in the world. She looks younger now, somehow. I think it has to do with the heart.

Do we throw away the pictures of them, too? Do we hold on to it? Is it disrespectful to our spouse? I can't bring myself to put it in the trash. That feels almost like throwing away a sacred relic. It's true the owners of these photographs are dead and gone, having become new and different people, but they are still honored in the heart, aren't they? Don't they still deserve a place on our private mantel?

I fall back in line

I've been away for too long. Learning hard lessons, writing good and important papers, and being ill for a three week stretch. So here are a few highlights from recent to bring the blog back up to date.

I've been pickling, and not pickling. Jamming and not jamming. Often I put peaches together in a bowl or fresh veggies with dill and seasoning, ready to boil for jarring. Half of my attempts have gone bad -- literally -- waiting for me to finish. One jar of pickled veggies made it. I'm thinking a bloody mary party might soon take place, garnished with these delights!

New plants for spring!

And putting all of my rock and sea shell collections into jars for the big move.... (everything apparently must go into a jar!)

A happy, recovered self packing up our sweet little home in Candler Park.

I have some words of wisdom to share soon regarding the many good and necessary lessons I've been learning on the path lately. Most of these lessons have been incredibly painful and difficult, but aren't the best ones always this way? When I find myself ready for real spirit growth, I call out to Kali and dare her to bring me the hardest of the hard obstacles. Smash my ego! Break it to pieces! Please! I know when I make this inner yell, this deep provocation, she will respond with ferocity. She cuts it to the quick. Pulls it all up from the roots! It's messy and shameful and gut-wrenching. It's ugly and smelly and gross and renders one totally naked and vulnerable. Just the right way to be most fully open for the big changes to happen inside!

She Sails with Me

A few updates to share. It's jamming season! Well, in my humble opinion it's always jamming season. But the strawberries are beginning to ripen as spring is once again here. This is the time when my husband brings home cartons full of strawberries. He needn't say a word: when I see a sink full of freshly rinsed berries, I know what he's wanting.

He also suprised me with an entire set of china last week. Coming home from work, he walked in the front door with a gigantic box. This is his beautiful find... with my favorite go-to meal of wilted kale with white beans, lemon, walnuts and cheese.

And, I finally gave in to a little lusting I've been having lately. Paints!! It's been a long time since I've indulged this creative side. I've been longing to dip back into the acrylics and spend afternoons lost in the diligence of a portrait or two.

Are there any delightful little surprises your life is dishing up for you lately?

Being Boxed In

In the early part of Ajahn Passano's most recent dhamma talk, he said something which really stood out to me. He talked about how sometimes we can box ourselves in with our practice, and that it is important to always question ourselves and our methods. He told a story about how Ajahn Chah, tired of being around others, set off to go meditate in solitude. Once alone, Ajahn Chah began to feel very lonely. He realized that solitude was not actually what he needed.

Last week I set a goal for myself that was actually someone else's goal. I mentioned Wallace's book and instruction for developing insight and concentration. I then took it up as a duty or project which I would then carry out in meditation practice. And the most curious thing happened right after declaring that determination: I meditated once, maybe twice, and then stopped. Within no time at all the practice became stifling, irritating, burdening. I had boxed myself in. Everything that had once previously been unfolding and developing on its own accord stopped.

Of course, there are some subtle reasons for this experience that are things which need to be worked with: as soon as a goal is set something happens to the meditation practice which turns the practice into an obstacle and blocks the path. 'If I am not there then I am here'... and in this subtle belief I am already negating and am in a state of without. I have cut myself off from concentration and insight by the very quiet way in which I have told myself I do not have it but can and should seek it (and this is how I do it). The practice immediately became a struggle. I had little compassion for myself, little love, but much frustration and disappointment. I would sit and begin with my intention and instantly there was an army blocking the way.

So I decided to experiment with it to see what was going on, to try and question my efforts. I stopped the practice for a few days. I just gave it up. Naturally, after a while I began to want meditation back in my life.... but what I wanted back was not what I'd left it with: the desire and aspiration for concentration and insight. What I wanted back was the communion with my being, the loving silence of being with my self, the touching of the inner spirit and inner heart.

I'm taking away from this lesson two realizations:

One: Meditation practice is impossible without a loving, happy mind. An open, loving, compassionate heart must always be present.

Two: We must find our own way, our own path. While I can take nuggets of wisdom from Wallace, Pema Chodron, the Ajahns, etc, the only one who can point the way in every moment is my own self.

The Queen and The Lion's Gaze: Finding Balance

I've written a lot lately about awakening our inner wealth of love and compassion, both in meditation and out in the world, in ourselves and for others. This is such a wonderful way to build a solid, strong foundation for practice. But I've been reminded lately that this is not the only side to practice. If we spend too much time being "blissed out," as a friend of mine likes to call it, our mind begins to lose the quality of sharpness and acuity that's so necessary for developing insight.

 I'm turning my attention now towards, well, attention. This part of the practice isn't fun, it's not particularly enjoyable, in fact it's so simple and boring that it's remarkably hard. It requires a great deal of effort, dedication, and discipline. But it's entirely necessary.

There's a terrific book by Alan Wallace called The Attention Revolution (see link provided) that gives a really nice step-by-step guide to building attention and focusing in meditation. There are a lot of stages, and I'm still stuck at the second stage. Most of us, in fact, will spend a long, long time just at the second stage. I'm making it my goal throughout the next three weeks to make it to stage three. The difference between the two is that at stage two one is able to maintain focused attention on their meditation object (the breath) for a few minutes at a time, continuously, until this time is built up to about 20 minutes. In stage three, this 20 minute period is doubled and one is able to easily maintain attention on the breath for at least 40 minutes. I'm pretty close to the goal already, but friends, it's hard. The defeating qualities of dullness and excitation that so often plague our minds can be remarkably subtle. The practice requires constant vigilance.

Having established compassion for one's self will make training in concentration a much gentler and healthy process. For all of the effort that is required here, it's important not to be aggressive with ourselves at any point in the practice. We still must practice with an open, loving heart.

One thing I'd like to take along with me on this part of the journey is something that my psychotherapist, Lisa, brought up in our last session. She was talking to me about Jungian archetypes and how these archetypes can be very powerful totems in our lives if we have any inclination towards the magical. We'd been talking lately about how to build appropriate boundaries between ourselves and the world. This may seem to be antithetical to what I've been talking about lately with loving-kindness and compassion, but it's really such a key aspect of being able to give someone our full love and compassion. We must be strong, whole persons.

So, she suggested the image of the Queen for me. What does the Queen represent? A source of great inner strength, all-powerful, immovable, impenetrable, regal, kind, patient.  I thought about relating this to a tarot card, perhaps the Preistess. This image shares similarities with the tibetan buddhist idea of the Lion's gaze, in some respects. To maintain the Lion's gaze is to situate one's self with unmovable, unshakable concentration -- like the gaze of a Lion. In all of these images -- the queen, the lion, the priestess -- there is a being-in-touch with an inner core strength. It's as if we have a mountain inside of us that we can sit upon, always. A rock of solidity. We can use this in meditation to maintain focus and effort, clarity and persistence. We can also use it in our everyday lives as we come into contact with difficult people and situations.

What archetype would you like to envision for yourself right now? What is most helpful, empowering, and can act as a source of inner strength and guidance for you?

Love Your Body

I love to love my body. It's such a beautiful thing.

I feed it well. Tonight's dinner menu: sauteed mustard greens with olive oil, walnuts, cannellini beans and lemon. Sliced heirloom tomatoes with diced avocado. One large portobello cap filled with soft la tur cheese, tomatoes, arugala, squash and sundried tomatoes. End of meal: blueberry yogurt.

I pay attention to it. Together my body and I run long distances and short, depending on how it feels. I shake its booty, roll its hips, clap its hands and stomp its feet in Zumba aerobics class every Wednesday.

I pamper it. Pumpice stone, exotic salts, massages, saunas, hot tubs and steam rooms.

Last weekend my friend and I went to a Korean spa. In the women's section of this delightful spa, every woman is nude. They walk around, lay around, get salt scrubs and massages, swim, breath in the warm healing powers of hot steam. We are a community of women here. No one is really all that concerned with her nudity, or her nudity compared to yours. There were women of every age, shape, and color. I spent hours with my feminine tribe. We are glorious beings! We carry the force of creation with us in our very center, our very core. How magnificent is that?!