Archive | May, 2013

wednesday morning yin and yang

29 May

Pushing into the paradox of identity, into the two sides of the coin of  personality where:

flexibility=strength    or      flexibility=passivity=weakness

alone=lonely            or      alone=freedom

retreating into the shell of the comfort zone       or       being still and knowing I am

pushing the ego identity out into the world for approval and validation    or   doing in the world in unison with the natural flow

These are some yin          or       yang that keep reappearing for me.

yinyang crop

Of course all definitions fall away – this is known.

“The moment you can say to existence I am perfect as I am, happy as I am, in the east this is called shraddah, trust.”

“When you have accepted yourself you have accepted existence. Compassion arises when you are perfectly grounded in your being – you say, Yes this is the way I am. You have no ideals to fulfill.”

Osho

(Thank you Erin for the Osho!)

It is the mind that divides these things into math equations.

Stepping into my own –

Look at what options can appear – In a 2D world – 3D is mind-blowing.

Polarity in the 3D is something else entirely from a 4D View.

Crop Circle Yin Yang Grey Wethers, near Temple Farm, Wiltshire. Reported 14th July 2009

There comes a moment for me when I am so tired of the identity that I MUST plop myself down and sit under tree as long as I must.

buddha

Am I sitting under the tree    or    Am I hanging on through the curves and  riding the sharp drops with my hands up?

Every moment is presented to me in the passenger seat; I’m strapped in – in agreement and acceptance.  The master playwright is watching from within with a grin – leading me to the edge of breaking out.

Every moment is THE one.

Take the attitude that you will discover the Truth today!
If you say, you are going to take a year off work to search for the Truth, it will take at least a year. 
For, like this the mind has just been given a one-year visa to continue indulging in its antics.
Truth is not a gift to be handed out at the end of one year’s seeking.
It is here now.
Say, “Yes, I am fully here, in the heart, for this”.
Be willing ‘to get it’ today.
‘To get it’ means to blow away the mist of falsehood, of ego identity and vain projections through the light of perfect understanding. 

With such an attitude, nothing will deter you from your goal.

~ Mooji

Zmar, Portugal, 10th of May 2013

How many times and  in how many ways does one need to hear –

Now, Here Now, I Am?

liberation

Tags: , , , ,

happy accidents

28 May

jung_synchronicity_examples

All of life seems a flow from one  happy accident to another – each with the underlying message – I am cared for and guided on my path.  The inner and outer seem to meet – my inner dialogue, dreams, longings, needs seem to be read and reflected into the outer world in such a way that defies explanation.

You have this experience too, right?

I have few such incidents that are bubbling to the surface today.

Years ago I found a 20$ bill on the ground in my wealthy, large lawned neighborhood where there was no one to return it to.    I said a little prayer over the money, that I could give it to someone who needed it more than I did at the time. In finding this money,  I had the realization of my material comfort.  I put the bill in my pocket.  Later the same day, I was approached by a woman in a parking lot trying to sell me a bag of pecans from a tree; she told me of her great needs.  I was able to reach into my pocket and hand her the twenty. I got to pass on a bill that was never mine – and play a bit in the universal flow.  At this same time, I often felt like a failure for just being home and raising my kids in a pretentious and competitive environment.  A tap on the shoulder from a higher lens was well-spent on me then – a clue to keep on going – not all was as it seemed.

Last fall, I was meeting my friend for breakfast on an easy sunday morning, when I was hit from behind, which crumpled the body of the car in a way that damaged nothing except the aesthetics.  The insurance paid me $1686 to get the body repaired.  The next week, my car needed $1700 dollars of engine repairs.  Money that would be hard to come by was now serendipitously HERE NOW in my account from the fender bender.

The past few days have been a flow from  one sync to the next.  Here’s just one:   My daughter, Chloe, and I headed out to spend time together with no destination in mind.  We chose at each intersection, right or left, and ended up at a casual spot for a little snack downtown.  As we pulled into the parking lot, we recognized our next door neighbors from Charlotte, NC, from 6 years ago, were walking into the very restaurant right at that moment.     Mr. Johnson had been like a grandfather to my daughters.  He snuck away from his table and joined us at ours, caught up with Chloe in his loving way, in the gloaming hour.   We returned from the restaurant to watch the film The Beginners, which we had never seen,  and found that the main character Oliver carried out the motif of driving first with his mother and later with a lover by pointing the ways to go at each intersection –  the film mirroring our freewheeling ways from earlier in the evening – driving without a destination in mind, ending up exactly where  we ought.

In many 3D ways, my life may seem a mess.  When I am open and clear, I see the pattern behind the mess.  I will be where I need to be; I will see what I need to see; I will do what seems like my doing – but it will be more than that.  And I will see the inner reflected in the outer.

The Sync Book is a fun romp through the experiences of many wise voices on this topic.

I find that I do not tire of these tales.  The melting between the inner and outer and the melding of the self with everyone else points to the mystery and the deeper layers that actually are present in every moment – if we are open to flow.

There are 5 videos in a row,here, all a few minutes long.

 

Tags: , , ,

cheap and easy high

24 May

carrot juice

I’m so full of juice, my palms are turning orange.

Daily Juice Rituals constitute a new spiritual practice.

Join me; we can change the world with the sacrifices of and indulgence in carrots, ginger, kale, apples…

There is the gathering of the veggies which are placed in the alter of  a large bowl.

Then there is the transmission Of sending them through the machine,

Then we  mindfully receive the juice, down it,  thanking the life force that contributes to health,

Then we lovingly wash the machine .

Finally, there is the high.  Not a joke – the zinging is for real.

I bought the juicer in a time of great anguish in my house.  While a certain soul cried and thrashed in the car,  I defiantly marched into the health food store, bought the juicer with holiday gifted money, loaded a bag full of organic veggies, and celebrated life through juice despite the dark time for my loved one.

My joys are so simple anymore.

I haven’t missed  a day in this practice since December.

I’m not trying to convert, just sharing my awareness today of the ritual aspect of this consumption.  Okay, maybe I do want to start a juicing cult.  We could gather on a hillside by the sea near the Yucatan Peninsula –

Whose in?

Peanut butter on rice cakes, butter on toast, wine with your dinner, a corner of a chocolate bar…anything can be a practice – everything is holy!

Yucatan 456

 

Tags: , , , , , ,

once in a lifetime

22 May

Am I the only one who hears this song in my head at moments in my life?

Well, How did I get here?

Lately, no words are here as I feel like I am slipping away.  I go about the business of living, regimented  in times and places to be, money to be exchanged, chores to be accomplished.

Joyful moments come from exchanges with strangers. While I am Dropping off a load at Goodwill  (I’m clearing out in anticipation of our move in june)  the man helping me carry things told me I had the most wonderful voice.  My voice.  How funny.   Compliments are a way to break the ice of our solitude, the way I see it.  We bask together in our smiles this sunny day in the drop off line.  We  leave each other with the parting words…hang on tight. Oh yes, you too, hang on!.  I can’t make that up.

I announce at the end of class today to my students that I may not return the last days of class this week because I have found a new religion that requires me to move to Israel and change my name and sign over my possessions.  I thank them for the hard work and ask them to wish me well.    There are no rules.

Take my worries, take my shame, take my shyness, take my trophies and certificates.  Take the hopes and dreams based on whom I thought was coming to dinner.  Take the molehills, the ditches, the numb sleepwalking and shove them all down the cosmic commode.  There is no waste; every experience in  the random experiment is recycled and reused in the mini bubble of this universe in an ocean of universes, needle prick – POP.

The ugly reality show of some parts of this messed up joke of a planet have been cancelled, but the actors and the cameramen keep showing up, so the show keeps rolling on.

Some of us have stepped off that treadmill.  Some of us don’t care what you call us or if you agree or  if you like us.  We are here and open, wide newborn babies, but with an aged wariness too (can that be?) – aware of the different sides of this chasm of change.  Run and jump over the crevasse.  Truth so naked and so raw and so delicious on one side and on the other, the same old world we were told was the truth – judgment, hierarchy, surface, eyeballing, rape, projections, desperation.  Turn the light off.   Shut the door.  Go outside as not yourself.  Climb back in the womb and be born anew.

Well, How did I get here?

Stream of consciousness is dangerous business.

Tags: , , ,

sliding parentheses

19 May

silence

 

(;lsdnfaoifvknz;ohfeaofmlveofg;nwoeifj(     )al;skfnasldknvoaienwlkvz;seijfwnfv’;)

 

(aksjdnf;OnaIAe(                                                                                        );lasndvoankmc;’)

 

((                                                                                                                                                      ))

 

 

May we all feel the ease of  the spaciousness within.

 

Tags: , , , ,

dying to die

17 May

skeleton

 Some days are a funeral – for no reason at all.

I wear all black and march around in a most somber way.

But what a relief  – the death march.

Dying is only letting go of that which wishes to suffer.

Backing away from life? perhaps, or

cocooning, while

watching the melodramatic death scene,

hand to the brow and a long, horrible moan.

I sink deep into the grief for the false self,

then come out laughing,

dancing my way to the grave over and over.

And eventually – (NOW) – i will know,

There’s nothing that can die that is not better off that way…

Why wait?

Tags: , , , , , ,

a happening

14 May

firebrigade

Can we every convey the surreality of the overlapping patterns of this experience here in a body?

In the 60’s, there was a theatre form called happenings.  A professor described this movement to our class, and I was filled for a longing to see it, participate in it.  Here is how wiki defines it:  A happening is a performance, situation meant to be considered art, usually as performance art. Happenings take place anywhere, and are often multi-disciplinary, with a nonlinear narrative and the active participation of the audience. Key elements of happenings are planned, but artists sometimes retain room for improvisation. This new media art aspect to happenings eliminates the boundary between the artwork and its viewer. Henceforth, the interactions between the audience and the artwork makes the audience, in a sense, part of the art.

My professor shared that upon leaving a happening, he saw a fire truck go by, and he thought it was a part of the show, but really it was just life “happening.”

Last night’s flow was so very cinematic I want to try to capture; i do not know if i can.

Eden was auditioning for 12th Night last night, a play which we all know is ripe with gender fun, which for a 14 year old is pushing envelopes.  I was to drop her off close to the theatre and stay with the car in that she didn’t want to seem like a kid with a parent nearby, but she needed me nearby. (grin)

So I find a spot, between the action of downtown Charleston and the cool black-box space of the theatre and I stay with the car while she goes off.

The whole world is a show – the tourists, college students, downtowners getting about – fun to watch through the side mirror of my car – putting a fun twisty angle on the action.

Walking toward my car in front of me,  4 young, fit and calendar-worthy firemen make their way from the corner station together in dark uniforms toward the restaurants – wide smiles of camaraderie.  Within a few minutes, the loud radio one of them carries goes off about a fire, and all 4 men go sprinting back toward the station with their to-go boxes of food.

Down the main drag no less than 4 full firetrucks and 2 ambulances speed in my side mirror view.  The city is roaring with sirens from every direction.

A happening.

From Eden’s perspective:  she enters the audition to a room full of 10 or so guys.  They begin discussing whether or not there are any hot police or firemen in all of Charleston.  She is annoyed as she is trying to prepare for the cold reading, but says it is pretty funny to listen to them too.

When the sirens start going off, one of the men steps outside in time to see the firemen running down the street.  9 of the men at the audition run out to watch the firemen, squealing with delight as they now have proof of hot firemen in Charleston, sprinting down the street before them.  Eden is left inside with the one straight guy who looks at her drolly and says, “Well, if that is what you prefer.”

She acts out the whole scene when she enters the car, playing all the roles with hilarity.

Life is a show in the moment.  Clearing more and more of a role, an agenda, or a point of view, even,  I’m a pair of eyes and ears – and I am thoroughly entertained.

You can climb a mountain

You can swim the sea

You can jump into the fire

But you’ll never be free

You can shake me up

Or I can break you down

Whoa-o-o-o-, whoa-o-o-o-

We can make each other happy…

I would change the line from But you’ll never be free to You will always be free 🙂
I hope all is well from the fire!

Tags: , , , , , ,

rise and shine

10 May

night to morning

My daughters still do not wake themselves for school.  I go in, as they sleep through their alarms, and gently, or sometimes not so gently, prod them back into consciousness.  It won’t be long, probably, until they are off, and my flow will not include this morning ritual.  This is one area I allow their self-sufficency to lag, and I just realized why I continue this childhood ritual when one might suggest they learn how to wake to an alarm.  There is a moment – a pause between sleeping and waking – that I get to see.  From the dreaming state to the identity of the burdened teenage student, there is a gap.  The essence of their being seeps through before the suit of the ME is put on entirely.  We meet eyes, but those eyes that see me in that state are different.  There is a sweetness of confusion, of contentment, of dismantling and reassembling that I get to peek into.

Rising and Shining into this new day – I see I can hold on to the one who observes all the dreaming and waking, the one before I put mySELF back together.  Thank you for the glimpses here, teenage girl pointers 🙂

 

Tags: , , , , ,

passion play

9 May

haunted house, woman in red

Have you gotten a glimpse of the dark lord?

He swept me away.

I fell down a hole of his deception.

The body shook,

The body drained of its vital refreshment,

the body hung in a meat locker.

WWW:

Wide World of Weird.

What do I desire?

My desire,

my longing –

a house.

Strange words and inconsistencies,

from the soft lipped sorcerer,

were overlooked in the rush to secure.

I went there; I peeked in the windows.

I saw myself under the tree out back having tea.

Whose property upon was I trespassing?

I allowed.

I watched the show, and I allowed.

Body shook and

shivered to the bone fear;

vulturous thoughts tore out my tendons in the hot sun.

I baked to

an ashy pile, then I was

blown away.

These death spices overpower the soup of our dark times –

out there – some of us eat  each other, raw and bloody,

Bill hicks, yes, it is just a ride and

just a breeze away – the mist from the salty marshes

can caress you with the non duality of the earth without man.

I can even giggle at the scary parts of this silly passion play.

Nothing lost ultimately;

no thing can touch nothing.

The underworld master is in a silly suit – acting his part.

At intermission, he visits the men’s room, and

at the end of the show, he takes his bow,

and pokes you in the ribs –

I scared you, didn’t I?  

Dancing with the Devil in the Pale Moon Light –

batman – the burn, an accelerant if you dare.

Tags: , , , , , , ,

who is the teacher and who is the student?

2 May

Poetry Anthologies at the end of my Writing About Literature class blow me away every semester.

This is not a post about me as a teacher.  I am humbled by a job that feels like it never reaches my ideals, but  I am learning most moments by showing up.  I do do that.  I show up.  And many show up with me.  And then we see what happens.

When we get to the last unit of the class –  I get to share the stuff I love.   The assignment (borrowed from my colleague who is so generous as to share his good ideas) to create their own poetry anthologies  allows the students to embrace what speaks to them – and express sides of themselves often tucked away.  Not a one disappoints!  No project has ever come in that did not tickle my soul  in some way.  I’ll shut up and just post an assortment from this semester.

poetry1

My photography does not do them justice.  From hand-sewn, to hand -painted, to painstakingly handwritten in fountain pen – even the most asleep students seem to come to life when asked to express themselves.

poetry2

dreams out of the paper bag

silence anthology

The Silence anthology was printed on to cloth; the poems were arranged from the most words to the least – so that the pages made no sound when being turned and the words tapered off into… silence.

Sometimes the students are apologetic when they present their works in front of the class for they cannot see their own unique beauty. They do not know how wonderful their creations are.

If you find yourself stuck in a rut without any creative juices – I’ve found a source for you – don’t know their prices, though… 🙂

 

 

Tags: , , , , , ,

%d bloggers like this: