Thoughts on charity....

... fatigue.

The mailman always leaves me a most curious collection of stuff.   This week alone, no less than 10 solicitations for charity.  Give here, give there, save this, save that, help here, help there.  I sort my mail in the garage, next to the recycling bin and most of these land in the bin, without opening.   The director at work is soliciting for donations for a big charity, Facebook has lots of ads for charities.   Even my junk email folder has solicitations.   The funniest one was from an agency that basically said give-us-your-money-so-we-can-tell-you-what-charities-to-give-to.  Really?  I do stay away from the large national charities ....   I'm not interested in supporting the 6-figure lifestyle of their CEO's.

I wish there were fewer needy people in the world.  I wish I had the funds to support more causes.   But truly, I'm in charity fatigue this year.  

Do I donate?  Yes.  But I do it with a clear heart and not from guilt or peer pressure or because of sob stories.  And to several charities to whom I can give with an open heart and true joy.   

Several of my dearest friends, with whom I've exchanged small gifts for oh....  at least 40-50 years...  have agreed this year that we would not exchange.   We know the love we share with each other, and if I see something or get an idea that just screams to me, I'll do that.   But overall, this year is dedicated to my grandchildren and their parents.   I'm careful with giving (not stingy, but careful and aware),  I'd rather give something made with my hands and my heart than with my checkbook or Visa card. 

Where can I do the most good?  That's the bottom line for me...   Om Shanti Om.

23,675 Days

My mom died long ago, April 19, 1979 to be exact.   I always thought she was 65 when she died, but for some reason, I wanted to know how old she really was ...  because I don't remember.  Since my 65th birthday is on the horizon, I felt strangely connected to her life at this point.

So I did some searching and found this site on which I could calculate her age...   and there I found that her life lasted 23,675 days.  From June 14, 1914 to April 19, 1979.  64 years, 9 months, and 26 days.   Sheesh, I thought, I'm getting close.

So using my birthday of January 10, 1949, I started plugging in some dates.  And tomorrow, November 4, 2013, the 23,675th day of my life.   As of mid afternoon, I will have surpassed her life span.

Sobering. 

How have our lives been different?   I'm still nimble and flexible (thank you, yoga), I don't have old lady hair (at least I don't think I do), I'm still working full time.   When she was my age, she was dying of colon cancer, and mostly unaware of her feelings and energy.  I'm alive and healthy, and hopefully more and more aware of emotions and the energy that propels us.

I feel great sadness for her.  She never got to see her grandson grow up, get married, and become a father himself.  She never got to see her daughter (me) get a master's degree, or move forward on a career path that now spans over 40 years.   She was emotionally hobbled, and I think very unhappy with a lot of her life.   I don't ever remember seeing her cry (my dad either for that matter, even at her funeral).  Her life was short.

Sometimes I'm still angry that she died so young.  She and I had gotten much closer after my son was born.  We'd talk for hours on the phone.  I took great joy in making clothes for her (the year of the famous Christmas bathrobe).  I've missed having a best friend as I moved into adulthood.  And she was all of that.   She loved being a grandmother.  She would so relish in being a great grandmother.

I was orphaned by the time I was in my early 30's.   My dad died four years after my mom.  I wasn't there when either of them left their bodies.   I still think it was their final act of parental love, believing that they needed to "spare" me the sights and sounds of death (though, as a nurse, I've witnessed many transitions and I'm not afraid of them... ).  

I do have a sense of gratitude for all that she was to me and did for me.  I know that they were great sacrifices along the way.   We didn't have much money, yet they managed to save for my college education, among other things.  She, above all, supported my dreams.  She wanted better for me.....

I still miss her.   And in her memory, I hope to move forward to uncharted days with gratitude for her memory. 

My White Thumb....

OK, so I'm a really bad blogger.  My last post was in February... spring and summer have come and gone, and fall is in the air.   It's been a busy few months with the arrival of my twin grandchildren (OK, yes, I'll post pix later!) and a trip to the east coast to see some dear friends.  

Along the way, I've been reading a lot of Michael Pollan.   Yes, he's my current crush.  I love his take on food and his deep understanding of the evolution of food and our relationship to it.   While I was in PA, I ran across his newest book, Cooked.  When I got home, I ordered it on Audible and have been entranced ever since.   He uses the framework of the elements to describe the ever changing landscape of food and preparation.    For air, he got into bread baking... and now I want to do that too!

My history with yeast breads has been somewhat less than illustrious.  Somehow the act of adding dry active yeast to warm water and making bread had always been a process shrouded in mystery, an event that never quite succeeded.   Even those pre-made loaves in the grocery store eluded me.   I became the queen of doorstops.   And I never baked bread again.

So after reading/listening to Cooked, I decided to give it a whirl.  And found a recipe I thought I could follow and someday, master.   Pollan, bless his foodie heart, uses a homemade sour dough starter for his artisan breads... but me, I gotta try the yeast thing.

Therefore, armed with a recipe for pita bread, I set off on the journey.

First batch, 2 weeks ago.   Used whole wheat flour (all I had in the house) and the dough actually rose.  I took pix with my phone to document the event.  But the dough was very wet at the start and it took a lot more flour to even get close to what I thought was the desired consistency.   But it was edible if not dense.

Second batch, last week.   Used 2 c of white unbleached flour, 1 cup of whole wheat pastry flour.    Better, but still not like the pretty pictures on the webpage.    

Third batch, today:  Left out oil and honey on the advice of an experienced baker...  maybe that's weighing it down.     A bit more puffy, but didn't rise as much as with the oil and honey.  Still not bad (I just ate the first one).

So now, I want to find out why I can't make puffy pockets like the recipe shows.  And there is no middle part to stuff with yummy tabouli or hummus. 

I live at 7000 feet, so I add a bit more salt and a generous measurement of yeast to account for the thin air.    I find that the dough tears while kneading and I'm not sure if that's too wet or too dry.  Back to research... and another batch next week.

Hmmmmmm....   the yoga of breadbaking.  It's all about the practice.

The Holding of....

... two opposing ideas.

I was driving to work the other morning.  I had awakened in a less-than-stellar mood, somewhat dismayed at returning to the chaos of a brutal week at work.   I was just sort of off my game.  I hadn't slept well, I was tired and I knew that the day would be busy and offered no respite.  

When I got in the car, I tuned my ipod to a specific chant, one that I knew would soothe whatever was churning inside.   The chant is about 12 minutes long, the perfect length for garage-to-parking-lot travel.

Here's a link to the chant:   Shantala singing "Baba Hanuman"

There was average traffic on my usual route.  I chanted along with the recording and noticed that I was navigating traffic without angst and my mood was settling as I drove. 

Long ago, I had heard a quote (I know not where)... Serenity is the ability to hold two opposing ideas in the mind without conflict.  The quote is sequestered in my desk on an elderly post it note.   I had to find it (and the exact wording) when I got home.

I had been holding two ideas all along my short commute.   The magic of bhakti and the navigation of traffic.   Now to maintain that as I move thru the day.  It became a grounding point.   I didn't always feel serene, but the day did seem to move a bit better.

Lunch....

... with Buddha.

When I first opened Lunch with Buddha by Roland Merullo, I had the distinct and comforting sensation of being embraced by a loving family after a long absence.   I blogged about my love affair with Breakfast with Buddha and have revisited the book several times while waiting for the sequel.  I've read or listened to random snippets in the meantime... always finding new wisdom.

Lunch brings a similar scenario.  Otto Ringling, our reluctant hero, and his brother-in-law, the Buddha-esque Volya Rinpoche, travel in a rumbling elderly pickup from the Pacific Northwest to Dickenson ND.  Their adventures along the way serve as vehicles (pun intended) for Rinpoche to teach subtle but profound lessons.  This journey has a strong undertone of grief (I won't spoil the plot here, suffice to say I sobbed through Chapter 8), yet, as the story reveals, the connections we form and cherish often transcend physical life.

I applaud the quiet humor that Mr. Merullo provides...  these journeys take me from laughter to tears within a few pages. 

After living in Spokane for several years, I could easily relate to the geography of this journey.  The vast open landscapes of the northern plains often remind me of the landscape of the mind.  At first, that which appears to be mundane and/or cluttered (whether it be with scrub trees or miscellaneous thoughts), hidden treasures can be found when we look closely.

I love how Mr. Merullo brings the stories to conclusions without closing the door.  In Breakfast, we knew that Otto had made some deep decisions, even though we weren't told what they were.  I knew.  And now, Lunch concludes with a similar hook, one that made me smile and feel deep and abiding satisfaction.  Even though we aren't told the next chapter, we know.

Mr. Merullo has a gift for character and story....   lyrical prose, quiet metaphors that speak loudly, and characters that truly come to life.   The question remains:  What time is Dinner?

Where were you....

...on Sept. 11, 2001?

Of course, that's the question on everyones lips today. 

As I got up this morning, I thought back to that day.  My son was active duty Air Force and stationed in Korea.  My daughter in law was asleep in the guest room, and their roommate was asleep on the living room floor.   I took my coffee to my studio to turn on local news and there was Matt Lauer with a pale face, talking about the first crash.  I awakened the sleeping ones who rapdily decided to quickly leave for their home in Phoenix, knowing that my son would call his wife as soon as he could.

We all have our remembrances of that day, that week.  It was one of those life events where we each know where we were and who we were with when we heard.  Like JFK's assassination and the Challenger explosion.  Why is it that we don't remember the good days in the same manner?  Oh we remember the births of our children, graduations, weddings, and the like.  But we don't seem to be able to capture that almost cellular memory that we possess when tragedy strikes.

I wonder about all the news coverage that ran for days after these events.  Is it necessary that we revisit the horror and allow ourselves to be re-traumatized with repeated viewings of a story that cannot possibilty have any other ending?  Yet, we were all glued to the tube as replay after replay, viewing angle over viewing angle replayed with unrelenting frequency.

I'm sure they replayed it at some point today on some news channel somewhere.  There were stories about survivors today.  I didn't watch them.  That may sound uncaring or even cynical.  But I won't allow myself to re-imbed those images.   I offer compassion for those who were lost and the families left behind.  Re-living it would not be productive for me.  Or for many others.  We won't forget this day.  We do not need to re-live it. 

Which way do I.....

..want to go?

I love this intersection.  Look closely at the traffic lights.  (Click on the photo for the bigger image) One points left, the other right, and there are enough arrows and directions to confuse the uninitiated.  But it makes me smile every time I see it.

Every moment is a choice.  That thought came to mind during my yoga practice tonight.   Each pose, each breath became a choice to remain conscious and present.  I sometimes wonder about the choices that others make (and that whole discussion could get pretty severe and depressing), but I'm reminded that I can only really consider the choices that are on my path. 

I took the day off yesterday.  After a weekend of county fair and other festivities, I needed a day to catch up and be nice to myself.  I went to my favorite teacher's yoga class, ran errands, and ended with a lunch date with a friend.  We talked a lot about meditation since we are both exploring it and delighting in the things that we are realizing through this practice.  It's a choice to seek silence, to listen deeply, and to know that all the wisdom is contained within.  I didn't believe that at first, but the more I meditate, the more I see that its true for me.

Breakfast....

...with Buddha.

I am thoroughly and un-apologetically loving this book.  Breakfast with Buddha came across my path thru my audio book service and I can't remember when I've been as enthralled with a book.

The story line is simple.  Otto Ringling, your average middle aged American man, is hoodwinked by his sister to chauffeur a Rinpoche on a journey from the east coast to North Dakota, where Otto must decide what to do with his late parent's farm and estate. The two men travel across the base of the Great Lakes, and while Otto attempts to show the Rinpoche some "American Fun", Rinpoche is quietly modeling and teaching him the ways of Buddhism (altho it's never really stated as such).

The themes of mindfulness, choice, and kindness float thru the pages as the duo experiences "furniture" (miniature) golf (complete with a total know-it-all in their foursome), bowling, and a variety of non-chain eating establishments.  

At one juncture, Otto asks about the "evil" in the world.  Those who choose to rape, kill, break laws, hurt other humans, etc.  And Rinpoche explains that those downtrodden souls are in practice for their next lives.  That they are making choices on a moment to moment basis...  Otto later ponders if there are teachers or angels among us... and asks what is the cost if we choose to ignore them

I think of my teacher, back after the illness-induced hiatus, and how well we once again fused in our lessons and picked up where we left off, going deeper with each week into that realm of spirit.  What is the cost if I chose to ignore him and our discussion.  My life is indeed richer since we've worked together and I knew in that moment that I choose to listen, to absorb, to practice all that he has taught me, and to willingly seek the depths of my soul.

I finished the audio book as I came home from work tonight.  Tears streamed down my face as I listened to the final moments of the book.  Tears for Otto who has found his teacher, and who has said Yes.  And reaffirmed my quest, saying Yes as well.

Puzzle...

...pieces.

As I was driving to work this morning, I noticed how there was a literal dance of cars on the main drag.  There was a logging truck ahead of me, a mini cooper to the right, and the usual band of idiots trying to make left turns into traffic.  One almost got clobbered and the oncoming traffic didn't stop.

It felt like a major jig saw puzzle to me.  Each vehicle had its place And if they were attempting to fit into another slot, one in which they didn't belong, they wouldn't fit.  And of course, then there would be consequences.   I uttered a silent prayer that I would stay on my path and fit where I was destined to be... and not have some other piece of hardware try to occupy my space in that moment.

Vehicles (well, drivers) don't always appreciate the laws of physics or energy.  While energy can merge and blend, isn't there a law of physics that says two solid objects can't occupy the same space at the same time? 

I got past the icky part of the trip and headed to campus, blissfully aware of the thinner traffic now that spring break is in progress.   It became a peaceful start to the day.  

May we all find our place in the puzzle....

A Glimmer....

...of light.

There was still a glimmer of daylight on the horizon when I left yoga practice tonight at 645.  Spring is coming.  It was almost 50 degrees outside and I could smell spring in the air.  I had to pause for a deep breath of the fresh air.

It's been an easy winter as far as weather is concerned.  We had only one major storm, only two really bad days for driving... the rest have been brief warm short-lasting bursts of snow.  I'm so not a winter person, so this has been an easy one.  But the short days always make me feel sort of down and blue and tired.  Some of the energy is coming back.

Another darkness is resolving, as my primary Sivananda teacher will be headed back this week.  He's been gone four months and I've missed him tremendously.  We've talked a few times and emailed and texted, but so much has happened and changed within ... I've missed his amazing compassionate spirit and willing ear.  We already have a session scheduled for the week he gets back...

A light at the end of the tunnel...  spring is coming... again.  Shanti Om.

Ashram....

.... inside my head.

Seems there is a lot going on right now.  Work is super busy, students with colds/sore throats/sinus infections (no flu yet... we're crossing our fingers).  Big brew-ha-ha with my nurses' association, lots of secrecy and back handedness going on.  I'm not happy with that at all.  And a big campus production this weekend of Eve Ensler's Vagina Monologues (and I'm on stage this year)....  so I've been feeling pulled in many directions.  

One of the things I brought back from the ashram was a CD of the chants they sing daily.  I so loved the kirtan sessions, even tho I wasn't always sure what I was singing or how to pronounce the words.  There is something about the energy of the music and syllables that spoke to me on a very deep level.   The CD can still take me back to those sessions.  I play it in the car and sing along.  I play it in my office and let the words send their calming energy to my surroundings.

Today, we had students 20 deep waiting for urgent care, my appts were full and I had a student trainer in tow.   And a yoga class at 530.  I got out at 5 and headed across town to class.  Traffic was clogged and I could feel my anxiety rising, not to mention that deep seated anger at stupid drivers (not me, of course!).  I popped the CD in, and sang along with whatever chant came up... and in the 20 minutes it took me to get to the east side of town, I felt much calmer.  Class was slow and deliberate and wonderful.   What was even better was being able to sit down, cross my legs and start to breathe deeply and feel the stress melt away. 

It occurred to me that I can carry the ashram with me.  During savasana, I felt like I was back in the Yoga Hall, feeling the quiet and the sense of peace.   Now the trick is to keep it going.....

Big-G....

...little-g-od.

I had a strange collection of dreams last night.  That happens when I really tired and have too many blankets on the bed.  The first was about a man trying to attack me as a I left a party (why is the image of a fenced-off graveyard so vivid?).  He was dressed in a law enforcement uniform and said something about feeling my openness so he tried to attack "gently."  As he neared my face, I bit him on the nose.  And got away and woke up.  It was 1:14 AM.

Then there was another disturbing dream later on... now I don't remember it.   But after the second, I could not go back to sleep.  It was about 3:30 AM.  So I started chanting (silently because it turns off the reverberations of disturbing thoughts and dreams) the chant of Ganesha, Om Gum Ganapatayi Namaha.  Ganesha is the remover of obstacles.  He's one of the deities to whom I feel a special connection.  After a while, the dream faded. 

I thought back to an email conversation I've been having with my yoga teacher (who is still home recovering)....  he had asked me, during one of our sessions, what would it be like if no one needed me?  That set me back on my heels since I'm just past the 40 year mark of professional nursing.   That question has haunted me, pushed me, and brought me discomfort and joy in the same moment.  So it tied into my prayers to Ganesha and in my mind, I heard/felt a question/plea to Ganesha:  Show me where I need to be.

And immediately, in the stillness of night, there was an answer:  In the presence of God.

Yikes.  Not.What.I.Wanted.To.Hear.

I have a love/hate relationship with Big-G-little-g-o-d.  A lot of it stems from an abusive relationship that evolved in a fundamentalist church group (yes, the minister was banging most of the women in the group, his widow still is in denial about that), and the control and hypocrisy I see in most christian churches.  Certainly the infiltration of the religious right into the current republican party has furthered my distrust and skepticism.   

I'm much more comfortable with the thought of a feminine mother goddess than a uber-christian-paternalistic-punitive-masculine-god.  So this answer played on my mind until I fell asleep.

Now in the light of morning, I'm still contemplating what the answer means and where my relationship with the Divine is taking me.  Certainly the ashram experience was part of the path, and now, several months later, the experience has tempered into fond memories and the acknowledgement that the anger and angst I felt was all part of the picture.  I want to go back.  

Even writing this is meditative in itself....  it's going to be that kind of day.....  and coincidentally, the feast of Sarasvati, the deity of knowledge... and self-essence.  Perhaps she will be my muse today.....

Back on the...

...mat.

I finally made it to yoga class tonight.  The studio has certainly gone thru a lot of teachers since mine has been gone.  The first, while she claimed that her primary practice was Sivananda, was NOT a true Sivananda teacher.   She had stuff in all the wrong order and it just doesn't work that way in my mind (and come to find out, many others).  I think she has been dismissed. 

Since being home from the ashram, I've had command performance holiday parties on every night that yoga is offered.  The new sub is good, I finally went tonight.  It felt good but oh my goodness, three weeks without a structured practice really made me feel it.

I still long for the calm of my teacher.  He is getting better, but still at home, healing.  We've talked often.  At the end tonight, I felt very connected to him.  I could feel activity in my third eye....a gentle pressure that was both reassuring and tender.

Tomorrow is the Winter Solstice.  The light returns.  Candles are gently glowing as I write this.  A sense of calm pervades.  I felt very anxious going to class tonight.  But now I feel a renewal beginning...

Om Shanti...  

Ups....

...and downs.

Winter is not my favorite season.  I put up with it because the rest of the year here is so glorious.  So now, we have snow and ice and cruddy roads and short days.  I'll perk up after the Winter Solstice, but for now, its purely the blahs.

But I push on.   I haven't been to a yoga class since I got home.  I do meditate and I breathe, but I've got to get back into my routine (when the roads are ok).... and I've had some good chats with my teacher.  His health is improving, thankfully. 

In the midst of the blahs, and out of the blue, I got an email from a former patient of mine.  She came in with chronic pain which was not being dealt with... except with increasing prescriptions of narcotics.  We had the long chat about long term use, and I had given her a copy of our contract for controlled substances to take home and read.  She came back the next day in tears, asking to speak to me, and tearfully related that she had never been fully informed of all the side efffects and long term issues.  Together, we planned a schedule to wean her off the meds, and she did it.

I've run into her from time to time... and today's email brought tears to my eyes.  She is still in pain, but using medications wisely and getting the appropriate treatments.  And now, after several years of living in a woman's shelter, she is on her own and teaching workshops in budgeting in the public schools.  She is empowered.  And she wrote to thank me for believing in her all those years ago.  Now she believes it too.

So while its snowing and grey outside, a bit of sunshine arrived in my email box.  I'm so very proud of her!

We never know who we touch.

Real Life...

...sets in.

I've been home just over a week...  the ashram experience is still so very real and yet feels so very far away.  My teacher is still ill, altho now we know what's up and he's getting the treatment he needs to heal.  I'm so very grateful for an answer for him, and continue to hold him in my thoughts and send him healing energy every night in meditation.

Last week was a short week, with a nice 4 day Thanksgiving holiday in there.  Now we count down to graduation on December 16 and all the munchkins go home for the winter break.  We've nearly conquered another semester.  I haven't been at a yoga class since I left the ashram, but the good news is that a new Sivananda teacher is at the studio.  My yoga buddy went tonight and said it was perfect..... so I'll be back on the mat on Thursday.  I miss it!

I've gotten pretty fussy about what I like and don't like in yoga classes.  I love the calm and quiet of Sivananda classes.  I love that the teachers don't feel like they need to fill every second with sound or idle chatter (which has been an ongong problem with some of the teachers at the current studio).  I love the breathing and centering that I feel.  I'm hopeful that my resolution to continue the practice will be fulfilled. 

I find that my mind is quieter, even though I'm not always finding the time for formal meditation.   My quiet time in the mornings is quiet and contemplative.  And at night, I can clear my head and breathe before I fall asleep.  Lasting lessons.  

\

Unpacking....

...the experience.

I rolled into my home town about 130 this afternoon, easy trip thru the desert and up the hill.  A bit of rain but nothing like the torrents of last night.  Grocery stop on the way into town for veggies and then pulled into the driveway.  As I unpack the car and suitcases, I'm unpacking the experience as well. 

This will be with me for a long time.  I have no regrets at all.  I was able to stay in the moment for the most part (except the Great Sock Meditation Day), and feel the feelings as they came up.

Today, there were moments of intense gratitude as the miles ticked away.  I sang chants, listened to an audio book, and at times, just enjoyed the silence.  The sun was warm thru the desert with clouds dancing on the horizon.  The razor edged cliffs of eastern California had a dusting of snow and cloud banks nestled between.  

As I crossed the river and the state line, I smiled and took a deep breath.  Home.  Arizona.  Where the roads are in great condition and the speed limit is 75.  Cruise on home.  The blessed San Francisco peaks showed their wonderful silhouette against a few clouds and disappeared into a mist by the time I reached town.  It was somewhere along that road, many years ago, and as I first saw them, that I clearly heard them speak:  "I have everything you'll ever need."  On that day, tears rolled down my cheeks as I drove, feeling that I had been touched by a very special spirit in that moment.  And after many trips here, I moved here in 95 and this is home.  This is where I belong.

I had a chance to talk to my teacher while I was on the road.  He's still feeling poorly but has seen yet another specialist.   We talked some about the ashram as well as about his health.  It was reassuring to hear his voice and we all hope he comes back soon.  I do miss his input and our private sessions.... maybe soon we'll get to work on headstand.

And so the laundry is going and I'm going to enjoy this last evening of vacation.  Back to work in the AM, taking lessons with me.

Re-entry...

... to the real world.

I'm on my way home.  Left the ashram at 630 this morning in drizzling rain, which stopped when I got to the main highway.  Gas and COFFEE before I hit the freeway.... and then the rain started again and continued thru most of the central valley.   So it was slow trip, but time to reflect on this past week.

I'm very glad I went.   My fantasies of being in a convent are now resolved, for in all honesty, I don't think I could live there full time.   The peace and quiet are lovely, the schedule can be grueling, but it just doesn't feel like my environment.  Of course, it brings to mind how dependent we are on the distractions of modern life to keep us from really knowing who we are inside.  I drove in silence for a lot of the trip, just thinking about taking what I've learned back to my day-to-day life.

I realized that I'm probably closer to being a Buddhist than to being a Hindu.  Love the chanting, and most of the philosophy, but there is something so grounding about Buddhism, something I felt missing in all the ceremonies and teachings.  And the other big thing I realized was that I don't remember any of the teachings addressing a life of gratitude.  For the past 5 years, I've kept a daily gratitude journal, documenting three of more things for which I'm grateful.  Sometimes its a struggle... so I have to think of things, but for the most part the ideas flow.  Buddhism also teaching a lot about compassion, another concept I found lacking at the ashram.  The ashram is very big on service (karma yoga), but I sure didn't hear a lot about suffering, which is another big teaching in Buddhism.

I really loved the chanting... even bought the CD so I could more fully learn the words.   By the last few days, I could sing the opening chant without the kirtan book.   I loved the meditation and got more deeply into my own practice, and I loved the asana practice... but I remain skeptical about the underlying philosophy, hierarchy, and rules

The whole experience was love-hate-stay-run away.  I had moments of pure bliss, walking down the hill from my cabin and crossing the footbridge, feeling a deep gratitude for being right where I was at the time.  And moments of sheer panic of the what-did-I-get-myself-into mode.  I journalled every day, pages and pages which I shared with my two best friends in daily emails.

Now I'm one night away from home... raging rain outside, I'm grateful for being parked in warm dry place, a soft bed and internet connection. 

Time to ponder all of this some more....  and talk with my teacher about the total experience....
I have no regrets.  I was ME all week.  Not who I thought they wanted me to be.... just me.  And that feels good... very very good.

Tales of the Ashram...

...Part 2.

Well, the Beginner's Class has ended as of this afternoon.  We were asked what we would take away from this experience, and while much of it was review for me, I do feel that I have more tools now to proceed with cultivating a home practice, especially while my teacher is ill. 

This has not been a week of cosmic-boom-moments, but small awarenesses of what I've learned.  Last night in Satsang (group meditation, chanting, and last night was Puja), I felt a new depth to my practice.  As I silently chanted my friends names (see the Sock Meditation), and added D, who had open heart surgery this week, I noticed that the names got spaced further and further apart until they ceased and I was left in a quiet peaceful void where I didn't even hear my own heart beat.  I just stayed with that silent stillness for a while, not even noticing that my left leg had again gone to sleep.  I didn't even feel like I was sitting.  Someone in the room sneezed or coughed and that jolted me back to the moment, and the pins and needles in my leg.

We have had lectures every day, today ending with positive thinking, all review after my studies with holistic nursing and with my teacher but it never hurts to hear it again. 

I'm very glad that I chose the Beginner's Week, now I have a better feel for what its like in an ashram.  On Monday, I wanted to run away and leave early and go home and hibernate.  But as the week has progressed, I'm very glad I'm here, I will miss the people I've met, and I'd like to come back.  Sort of like leaving summer camp.  It seems to stretch so far in the future but yet, its gone in an instant.  As my teacher would say, all is impermanent.

In less than 48 hours, I'll be back in the world.  And now its time to go to yet another yoga class.....   

Tales of the Ashram...

....Part 1.

It has taken some time to settle in to this very different environment.  The quiet, the schedule, the food, the weather (colder than I expected)....  the classes, the chanting, the staff people (not very friendly at first), the other students (interesting mix).

The first morning, I woke up at 345 am.   I was toasty warm on the futon with a down comforter and wide awake.   But I didn’t get up.   I think I finally went back to sleep about 430 and my alarm went off at 530.  And back to meditation at 6 am  …..   but my only thought was….

Socks.  I need socks.  How did I forget socks?  Last night, I realized that I had only packed 3 pr of socks (What???) and cotton ones at that and its cold here and my feet are freezing.  Never mind the discomfort of sitting stone still for 30 minutes of silent meditation, I hardly noticed my screaming hips, unhappy sacrum, because my feet were yelling even louder… Socks!  We must have clean Socks. 

I tried to focus on four friends who are all facing health challenges right now.  I would start with a sweet mantra of their names and pretty soon it became M-Socks-M-Socks-J-Socks-B-Socks.   My left foot fell asleep but the message still came thru.  

OK, I think, during free time today, I’ll zip up to Grass Valley and get more socks… maybe that will make my mind quiet down… although I doubt it.  It’s not a panic thing like forgetting an extra pair of contacts… but more practical.  I thought I had brought everything I would need for a week, but I didn’t……  oh and a grocery store would be good too.  I think I need prunes.  You get the idea.  The monkey wants prunes and socks?

This is now known as the famous Sock Meditation.  And yes, I got to Grass Valley and yes, I have sufficient socks to get me home.  The shopping trip also included cheese, crackers, nuts, and contraband instant coffee (no, I'm not ready to give up caffeine yet).

On the inside, I've quieted a lot.  Today, Tuesday, I didn't have the wild urge to pack up and leave like I did yesterday.  The outside world already seems far away.  Meditation was easier tonight.  I kept my mantra going until the leader began the Om's to signal the end of silent meditation.  Yoga classes are good... the 4 pm is my new favorite, with rotating teachers, many of whom just graduated last week.

I decided not to fight my addiction to the computer and have been journaling at every opportunity.  And sending those off to my best friends....  no TV here of course, so I'm quieter and can actually sit and type without distraction.   Somehow about 4 hours of meditation and 4 hours of yoga don't seem that much now.  

I'm staying thru Sunday AM.  Jai Uttal will be here teaching a kirtan class and I think that is worth staying for.  Read the brochure today and yep, I'm in.   Easy.  And they give Senior Discounts! 

I'm very glad I chose a Deluxe Cabin with a private bath.  No roommate.   Bargain.  The only way to go.  Heat, shower, bed, computer, fridge, hot water pot.   Day 3 begins early tomorrow.   It will be over before I know it!   It's all good.

Arrival...

... in paradise.

I got here about 3 pm.  Winding roads the about 9 miles of beautiful country side once I left the main road.  The ashram is beautiful...  gently rolling hills, green green trees, a labyrinth, yellow buildings, and so quiet I can hear my own heart beat.  I'm staying in a sweet cabin, I doubt I have a roommate (which is fine).... at my cell phone does not get any signal here.   And that's ok.   I hope to be basically unplugged this week.  Internet does work.

As I drove the last 2 hrs today, I finished listening to Eat Pray Love, at least the part about India.  No matter how many times I've read that book, I'm still awestruck and can only hope that this week will be as rewarding.