Tag Archives: buddhist practice

Rain, Tears, Gray Skies and Wonderment

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I was awakened by a dream of having three children in an Eastern culture. I was leading meditation practice with the natives in a hill tribe. Authorities did not like having the populace learning to drop the drama, to step away from the story and to turn inward for peace.

deconstructing beauty

They swept down upon the village and took each person and cut off his or her hair by scraping the scalp with a sharp sword. I said to my children,” This will hurt. Turn within to find a place to be that cannot be touched.”

When I was fully awake, I realized that much of what has been playing out in the world had permeated my dream state. The urge to believe that weather systems, earth quakes, governmental repression is somehow new and ultimately destructive was obviously leaving its dirty tracks on the clean floor of my existence.

I follow what is going on politically and international. Attempting to share events with others who are cut off by reposting information appearing on twitter and facebook, is an urge I follow out of a desire to help. Imagining what could be going on is always the path into even greater drama despair.

darkness and light

Those times when I have stood up in the classroom or at staff meetings; or during professional development days to say, “This is bull shit,” are from a deep place in my soul. The other aspect of my personality is the good girl. I want to be stroked by the powers that be and told I did every single thing properly. I want a sticker on my chart.

Well if that isn’t a game plan for internal conflict, I don’t know what is. So I share what I believe to be accurate information. I watch my mind and my thoughts. Taking positive action so that I can live “as if” becomes easier as I grow.

But the dreams that come out of an unsafe and war zone childhood can awaken me. My mind is telling me that I am not protected in the world and that speaking out is dangerous.
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My sub-conscious habits have lead to isolating myself and staying quiet until I burst into some Joan of Arch speech and immolate myself upon my own burning stake.

I stepped out of bed with the dream still clothing me and attended to the rituals of self care. I attended a class on self development.

And ultimately, I mused on how much of North America is just growing up. We have not had our country over run by famine, by attacking hoards (an experience of the Native Indians). We have not seen our government overtly shooting people in the streets in a systematic manner. Europeans, Asians, South Americans and Africans have survived every type of stressor that can be named. But my generation, the baby boomers and after have not had a depression before. Some escaped the Viet Nam war experience and were too old for the Middle Eastern experiences.

So in the long run, perhaps much of what is happening now is part of the process of learning responsibility. It is about seeing that life is challenging. There is a wisdom that grows when hardship comes. And it is the kind of wisdom that can lead people to tweet, “The electricity is out, can’t leave the apartment.found out I have a boy friend living here with me.”

So when our world is shaken up by earthquakes or anything else, we turn to one another. We turn within to find a place of peace. We learn to see the brilliant, shining every day beauty of what we once thought of as a boring normal day.

look closely

The dream taught me that I don’t have to live in fear and that I don’t have to worry about “authority figures” changing my identity. Those are all images from my past, from my dark places. There is no drama. There is only turning to find who is there to love.

Always, always the question is, “What am I learning?”

August Fades

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The clouds overhead today floated in a brilliant light tone of prussian blue sky. At the start of day the clouds were muted but as the sun moved across the sky to flare the blue to a vibrant pastel the clouds burned white. Now, as the sun sets the edge of all the clouds is neon rayed. Like the last days of summer, for a few lingering moments the intensity of smudged color hangs in the air.

long shadows moving on summer lawn

The sky is shifting. Grays in multitude of shades hang in the silver air. Seasons shift. Lights shift. Colors shift in this period between seasons.

I mowed my lawn today with my wonky, cartoon-wheeled lawn mower. The axel is bent on all of the wheels so they roll around at various positions of 45 % angles. It works. It cuts the grass. And it didn’t cost me much. The green kingdom with its six mum plants and the last two roses waving their orange flag looks orderly. The care and attention I put into my lawn is easy to see.

I have trimmed back the lavender bushes so that a body can pass up my walkway to the front door without having to kick back the seedy stem heads. All that was trimmed, I am placing in net bags to give to friends. Their purpose is to promote tranquility.

Squeezing the bag causes the air to fill with the memory of the purple blossoms swarming with bees in the warm air of summer. The pollinating, the creating of blossoms are instantly recalled as the thumb sinks into the tiny pillow of dried plants.

I love summer and inevitably go through a kind of reluctant farewell to the heat and brilliant colors. There is sadness in the chill air after sundown.

The beginning of summer always holds promise. This year I will play more. This year I will find the loved one. This year I will be the carefree child creature I am at core.

As the promise of summer passes away, I recall which promises I have kept to myself.

being aware t

my choices help to create who I am

I have gotten the yard in shape; painted the fences; painted the deck; renovated the kitchen; dug up and replanted my garden beds; gone to school in Boulder, Colorado where I earned an A on my M.F.A. course; maintained my commitment to body building; connected with new people in order to build friendships. My nearly 4 thousand kilometer trip from Kelowna to Boulder, Colorado; on to Denver, Colorado; visiting Portland, Oregon and returning home was out of my comfort zone and an accomplishment.

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However within myself, I have carried with me a certain sadness that has been there most of my life. Some days it is active and pressing on me. Others I just ignore it by getting busy and moving toward my goals. Feelings of not being safe when I was young, not being loved are smaller and less insistent.

Roses my neighbour bought for my birthday

What I have learned in this last year is to ask for help. I am going out the door more often to be in the company of friends. I stay calm in difficult situations and can solve what needs to be solved without drama.

My body is healthier. My outlook is more optimistic. I am finding it much easier to understand what is happening when negative emotions arise. It is very rarely that I find myself justifying my behaviour or condemning myself for a stupid error.

Body building, eating well and eight hours of sleep

What has helped me the most in my journey is the idea of no story. Things just happen. The sun has set. The sky is now edging turquoise to navy blue clouds. It just is.

companionship in the falling light

I am proud of myself for not sinking down into distracting negative behaviors to deal with emotions which come up. I have seen what drinking alcohol does to the mind, to the ego, to the personality. I have observed my financial tail spin when I tried to buy my way out of distress. So standing emotionally “undressed” in the wind of what is, is my choice. Ultimately, it is easier.

Why did that happen? Why did the relationships not work out? Why am I feeling stuck or lost in a particular moment? It just is. When the cold water of the lake is moving up my ankles and then drawing back again, I watch the movement and feel the temperature and texture. It just is.

We all have our own lessons. We are like children sitting in school with a worksheet, head resting on a hand. It is hard, so hard that we stick out our tongues, we hold the pencil awkwardly. We try an answer. We hope.

May you continue to dance through the autumn with a smile upon your face.

What comes in?

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We have all seen the doorway that has served as a place to record the growth of a child though out the years. There is something poignant and universal when we view the ledger of a person thriving. Some years the gaps between marks is very small and then… The spurts are times when the child changes height, configuration and more subtle are the rapid changes in abilities and skills.
The vision I have held in my mind for these last 28 months since my old life fell away, or exploded, or imploded or was surgically removed is a vision of a caterpillar being encapsulated. Within the shell, a dissolving was going on.

The person who was became a formless mush. The sense of purpose was gone, the passion for life, the focus on the future fell away. The form of formlessness was where I floated. One day I had a vision of a self with no centre.

The centre I had held for the last 16 years was held by my concern and love for my husband, my job, and then my art. All of these fell away. So I sat meditation each day holding my grief like my baby and had the vision of a big mush of an entity with no centre.

At times I was almost werewolf frustrated and just needed the bright moon to call out to. At others I was in deep acceptance that what was happening was a process and that one day I would reform, I would feel a calling. What I didn’t know was what I would be after I passed through the process.

In April, it began. I volunteered to care for babies and toddlers at the Women’s Place. Sitting with a warm baby on my lap, having two three year old girls climbing me and touching my bracelets, earrings, necklace and saying , “pretty,” was healing. These open, vibrant souls are so present that each time I finished the session of day care I felt like I had left an acupuncture treatment… for the heart. They offer love like there is no tomorrow.


I joined choir because the director Barbara Samuels said to me, “Lean into it baby. Lean into it.” When I walked into the room I saw radiant, amazing women wearing (hold on to your door handle Kelowna residents) color. Real for sure color. Not urban camoflage that is meant to blend everyone into the same beige-gray. Purples and Golds and Coral and Greens were pure and bold. I was delighted. And each choir practice I was puzzled, challenged, stretched and could feel myself grow.

The writing in the dark experience of forcing myself to spend hours every day working on my voice became a doorway. Accepted into the Naropa Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetry Summer School program spurred me on to go the full out choice. I had given up my M.F.A. in Bellingham in order to protect my then husband from the draft. The dream of completing it had stayed with me. So now I am in the process of winding my way through the labyrinth of entry into Naropa’s M.F.A. program in Boulder.
I have never been to Boulder. I know nothing about the program but it feels right.

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So as I stand assessing my life, looking at the doorway at the markers I see that April was a growth spurt. All of the work, the intention to live consciously and authentically is starting to manifest a new life for me. I feel taller, stronger, more substantial.

And what I now understand is that the “hole” in the centre of my being is a blessing. It is where all of my strength comes from. It is the garden at the centre of my physical being. It is quiet, empty and filled with silence. I do not need to try to jam another man into that empty place. I do not need to try to move emotional furniture in and make it a crowded room. It is where the divine lives.

The relationship with my body is more loving. I have worked out most days and built muscle, strength and substance. My heart is what I call “more fluffy” because of the children, the choir, the singing, the shamanic practices.


There are times when the patterns of the last 18 years are a source of loss memory. There are times of discouragement and desire for a strong calling.

There are nights when I am deeply sad.

However, I have friends around me who are on a spiritual path and they whisper sweet everythings in my ear. Their presence helps me to walk to the doorway and look at how I have grown. I am about to take what feel like big risks in the world. But I see myself as a fully formed butterfly and I trust my wings and the wind.

I am about to fly.

Moving Up

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I have had my ups and downs in the last year. The ups are like an elevator overshooting the floor I want to be on and I either get out for only a short while or just stand waiting for the momentary euphoria to pass.

mating for life, partnership


Reading and studying; meditating and praying; seeking counsel and shamanic practice has moved me a few floors higher up. It has given me a larger view as I look down over my life.
Recently while at an event, the woman who dated my ex-husband on our anniversary, went to coffee with him while we were still trying to get back together, went to dinner and movies with him approached me. I went into shock and lost the feeling connections with my legs. In my head I could hear the question, “What do you want from me?”
It was kind of a report card for me about where I am spiritually and as a person. I felt sick to my stomach, weak and sad but in the moment I understood that her issues involved her sense of self worth. She, wounded in some way, could date and call it not dating. She needed to show her self off in black lace and find solace in a man.
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As I stood checking in on my body which is my practice, I felt fear, anger and actual nausea. If I had had any feeling in my legs I might have fled. So instead, I made eye contact. I thought about why she could possibly want to talk to me when I had had friends who had tried to carry on a conversation with her and been rebuffed. She had walked across a very crowded room to stand in front of me. Months ago I had wanted to warn her to protect herself against the known dangers of being in any relationship with this man: health issues, financial issues, mental health issues. But now, I have come so far that I realized that her journey is her journey. Unless she specifically asked me a question, there was nothing I could do.

Fire in the sky sunset


I remained pleasant, made small talk and as soon as I could feel my legs again, I excused myself. My grief was enormous and I went home to crawl under the covers for two days. I cried for my loss of a dream. I cried for the betrayal of someone who would not only go out on our anniversary, but would come to me the next day to tell me. But it was like the returning fever sweat of Malaria. It came and it left.
So how did I conduct myself? What was my report card? I had one negative thought as I was talking to her. I thought, “I could give her some suggestions about that dry skin problem.” Mostly, I just saw how desperate being desperate for love makes anyone.

The perfect love is nurturing


Today the frozen sun is out and I am beginning again. I have come a long way and I am proud of myself. I see where I want to be…. and how I want to be in the world. The elevator is on the way up.

Christmas Clarity

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The air is crisp and cool. The season is settling in throughout the continent. I saw a video of the opening of a new outdoor ice arena in Mexico.
In the Eastern section of Canada there was a meter and 1/2 of snow last night. The romantic image of snow on trees, two wet mitten covered hands linking a couple strolling through the diamond studded snow scape comes to mind. People digging out their dog houses and cars is not usually featured in this dream land.
The interesting work of being in the present means embracing what is and saying this is a season, this is a day. To look at the tree out my window and remember the fullness of green is to reject the beautiful lines of the black branches against the gray, winter sky. There are things to appreciate in even the harshness of the view.
Not being able to be happy in the now, is a practice. Living into the future is a practice. I am starting to “get” that only by being able to enjoy the moment can I get better at accepting the now.
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the golden moment of now, a gift from the universe

May you live in joy this day.

Deep in the Amazon

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First of all, it wasn’t a spa experience. Yes there was a sauna and it was the air. My hair began to spring into wet coils as soon as we got off of the plane in Iquitos and by the end of twelve days, my comb just hooked on and refused to budge. Our skin was glowing with the humidity.

The reason I had chosen the Refugio was that all of the forums I had visited recommended Scott’s retreat as a place to get healing plant treatments and to really live in a natural way. The housing was rustic with cold water gravity tank fed showers. Most of the time we were there the electricity did not work so the lighting was a small candle in a large room or an even tinier flashlight that I had brought with me. One luxury was the real, indoor toilet that flushed. I came to really appreciate that feature.

What motivated my decision to go to Peru was my experience in the hospital two weeks previously. Once again my bowel had blocked up and it was twisted. At any moment it could have exploded and taken me with it. Tired. I was tired of living in such a way that I was always dealing with the Rheumatoid arthritis, cancer, new growths moving toward cancer. I was exhausted. The marriage had broken up in a nasty manner while I was recovering from major surgery and was weakened and dependent. The issue of my body betraying me, my relationship betraying me had me in such depressive energy that I was honestly not caring. It was all I could do, this life. Time for something else.

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Once I was discharged, I started doing research and began reading books, articles and forums about the healing effects of ayahusaca on the neurological processing of information. The urge for control had not made my life better. The necessity to work hard had not made me financially or physically strong. My desire to give love and be a supportive, loving partner had not been effective. This had to be the bottom. I had to rebuild my anxiety centre, to lift my mind into a quieter state.

the day in October I decided "enough"

So I made the reservation for the Rufgio that Scott had established in the rain forest outside of the town of Iquitos on the Amazon River. Another adventure was begun. The way I had inhabited my life was shallow and driven. It was time to open to the universe.

What is Valuable? Kelowna fire!

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When people flee their homes in the face of destructive fire, the wall of wind and flame attacking, what do they take? They take first that which is alive. The cat or dog that climbs into their laps and offers warmth, closeness and the trust of dependency. They gather their children, their loved ones and head for safety.

grand daughter's delight

grand daughter

And they take the past. As they open the door to the car, they take that which keeps the doorway to the past open. Currently, that can mean a computer with the scanned images of babies. For me, baby pictures of my mother, grandmother, my children and grandchildren. These are all a reminder that we share an experience of dependency, of realtive innocence. We all were once at the mercy of others.

It helps me to be forebearing of my forebearers. It helps me to remember my own callousness and love toward my babies. It helps to get perspective on the chain of hope and dysfunction which comprise our family history.

reaching us from the past

reaching us from the past

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Next, the question of living in a Kafkaesque world demands attention. Does anyone embrace the opportunity to deal with bureacracy? The passport, insurance policies, governmental forms are like garlic to keep the vampires of civil servants away. The sucking out of time, energy, money from our lives while we hold on the phone or stand in line is to be avoided at all cost.

There are those whose plunge into chaos elicits the desire to take as many objects as they can. Interestingly enough it is these very people, whose gift is accumulation, who will replace every item within months. Things are like a nest for some. We stuff them around us much like a child who has toys and a plethora of pillows on all sides as a wall of defense against the world.

As my husband points out, in ancient Sumeria people worried about giving enough grain to the king. There have always been worries and grief around valuables.

The most important thing to do during a crisis that means loss is to focus. Save those things which remind us why we are here. Save the symbols of love because they help us to remember. Remember to be compassionate and to love.

Challenge or Warning, How to tell.

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In life one of the things I find the most difficult is to ascertain when something is a challenge or a warning. How does one tell the difference? It takes a lifetime of running off the road, finding one’s wheels spinning in the sky before one begins to understand. I still don’t.

However, there are things that as Douglas Coupland points out, are not worth it. He said, “Find out what you don’t want to do and then don’t do it.”

Sometimes, nevertheless, by walking away from difficulties we shrink. We shrink from learning to push on. We shrink in size because we didn’t stretch our bodies, our minds, our spirits. With students, I am frequently encouraging them to think step by step. I ask them to remind themselves that they are “the worst you will ever be at…. (fill in the task) today. Tomorrow you will be better as you practice.”

It is very difficult to assess yourself without criticism… at least for me. My expectations are frequently so expansive that I run aground on the shoals of my own ambition. Competitiveness also puts me in a place whereby I am judging both others and myself to see who is “ahead.” This attitude is poisonous. It is like a long-distance runner who turns to check others in the race. All track and field coaches point out that that split second when the runner’s mind is off of the race, is when he or she loses. The athlete loses the ability to focus. The runner loses the ability to “be” in his or her body fully and efficiently. He or she loses a connectedness with the ground, the air, the energy flow. And it is given over to the other runners. In a meet if this happened not one runner is present. In life, we who have a tendency to judge and be competitive lose the opportunity to be present.

Flow-Stab energy flow

Flow-Stab energy flow

Life seems tough for cheap levitra this page a teenage boy because of peer pressure. Further, these contents inhibit the performance of PDE-5 in body and promote 100mg sildenafil blood flow to the genitals. It can also address neurological disorders, work related injuries, pdxcommercial.com free cialis no prescription and a variety of other conditions and illnesses. Inlife offers a cialis in canada browse this pharmacy store now binary compensation plan with unilevel bonuses and commissions that are remunerated on weekly basis. So how best to work with these tendencies? First of all being aware of how one is feeling is crucial. To observe the emotion gently seems to go a long way to loosening their grip on me.

A warning that one is running on the wrong track comes from a sense of being trapped, of a closing down of the body, of a lessening of energy. Sometimes if one persists and increases skill, one can push through the initial resistance.

On the other hand, when the resistance persists. When the task is increasingly frustrating, it is best to take Coupland’s advice and hand it over to another who joyously and fairly effortlessly can help you. So the final observation that I am making in my life is that there are others on the team, in your tribe who can assist. But there are times when… one must take on the challenge and keep on going on in order to grow.

It is much like working out. If you are in pain the next day and can’t move… then you have done yourself an injury. If you feel warmth in your body and a revitalized energy, you are on the path. I am looking for that feeling in everything I do.

Wish me luck!

Sunday is meant for sitting.

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design your wall wallpaper

design your wall wallpaper

Today we began the day by getting caught up on some of the cleaning and attending to that which had piled up during the week. Piles of laundry, paper, magazines, sandy memories of walking from the street into the house. Once the dishwasher was “BaToosh BaTooshing” I got the laundry going “Ftttlt FttltFttlting” and Cameron was on the vaccume cleaner “whoaaa whoaaa whoaa”.

When the surfaces were oiled the crevices free of grit and the fluff of dust, we sat meditation on impermanance. My mind kept going to the impermanance of clean, the impermanance of  those moments of balance when all seems calm, the impermanance of dirty snow and dead dried plants sticking through the unavailable soil. It all changes. Mist, sound, clouds, breath. Our lives, our nations, our planet swirling from one shape to another.

And then my mind went, inevitably to problem solving. Do.  Do. My mind has me in its grip. I have decided that I can create a video projected as Rian does that morphs images like Matthias’ work into a final image reminiscent of Jean Francois’ work. It was a thought.
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Following a plan seems almost impossible for us since we are so project based. Things cycle through our lives so perhaps for us to contemplate impermanance is not such a stretch. A project done is ejected into deep space. Our eyes now alight on another goal.

Depletion of resources is the core difficulty. How does one remain productive, expansive, curious when the body and mind are contracted and still with fatigue? Creativity relies on a certain ease with self. Go back to the well. Find the oasis within. That is the discipline.

Remaining at rest results from knowing that there is no remaining. Interesting….