Reconciliation

Posted on August 31, 2015 by admin

What I am told by those who say they know, is that the first year of a new decade is a bit like a toddler just pushing up off of the floor and into a wobbling stance. The progress is hesitant, lacking confidence and more about adjusting to the new point of view than anything else.
The teachers say the first year of a new decade is a bit like the first pancake in the pan. It is basically a throw away.

It is in the place of being 41 or 51 or 61 that the individual goes, “Oh so this is how the new decade feels.”

Becoming acclimatized to 70 is, apparently, what last year was about.

That is not to say it was a throw away. I learned new technology; I learned new methods of meditation; I established new habits which serve me well.

growing into self

However, I clearly see that I am in a period in my life of reconciliation which includes: reunion, fence mending, remedying, harmonizing, balancing and achieving peace.

All of the ferocity of my youthful and adolescent desires are still burning in me. However, my confidence in my abilities is at an all time high.
I know how it is I wish to be in the world. That image has never been more clearly reflecting in the preceding hours of my life.

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In my 71st year, my remaining family who have not passed are closer to me than ever before. With joy, I watch them discover and connect with one another. Like tribes in a war zone the emotional diaspora sent groups fleeing. There is a stronger tie between us today.

As far as remedying goes, at this stage in my life I have come to understand from my reading; from my experiences; from my patterns that I am nothing more than a bundle of habits. To create another aspect of self, I see with clarity that the remedy is in watchfulness. Like any good author, I sit back and observe. What story will unfold? If “the character” moves forward with these particular sets of behaviors what is the inevitable outcome?

And so, I use mindfulness practice and watch myself. To reconstruct the ending, I need to teach myself new behaviors and new habits. In my 71st year, this will be my main “project.”

The inevitable outcome will be to harmonize my youthful, jagged and unskilled methods of reacting while keeping the goals and the heart felt yearnings in place.

fitting in

The result for me, in this year of finding my feet is to allow fire. The result for me will be knowing how to rest peacefully at times and how to burn brightly at others. I am finally reconciled to my own nature. And I thank whatever miracle happened to keep me alive to experience this time of acceptance.
“Life teaches you how to live it if you live long enough,” Tony Bennett said.

Picking Threads

Posted on August 13, 2015 by admin

I am systematically working on building new habits. Researchers have said that we are nothing more than a bundle of habits.

We believe ourselves to be this face, this body, this story, this history, this actor, this receiver, this age, this cohort, this tapestry of threads woven into our energy field. We believe ourselves to be conscious and operating from the Executive decision function section of the frontal lobe.

All brain studies point to this assumption as flawed.
We are in the thrall of habit mind. If 95% of what we are telling ourselves throughout the day is simply old drama that is recalculating and interpreting current data, then it is no real surprise that the movie, the plot we are enacting is the same story. However, this time the narrative is in a different setting. We are the same being only this time wearing as a costume a slightly altered body.
Did I mention, I am systematically working on building new habits.

I have a notebook. I have set up a grid. I am checking off squares.
What this does is it releases me from the interpretive dance of what is or could or would or should or will or did happen. The Loie Fuller scarf dance of swooping justifications, lyrical rationalizations, slight of eye, feign of hand, performances of inner dialogue music that normally occur.
I either check off the square or I don’t.
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I admire my ego self. It is so stalwart.

I hover my pen over a square saying, “Well I did walk around in the mall. That is exercise.” The creativity is admirable. The translation is not unlike that on Babble Fish. In one field I put the words and in the other a strange, otherworldly version appears. Breathing is exercise. Napping is physical. Sitting and reading about exercise is working toward my goals. Shopping for an exercise outfit is focus on that desired outcome. Right. Right? Right!
How I untangle the threads is with alertness. I have set up my reticular activation system to recognize successes. I have checked off doing weight for three days in a row because I do not have a vague goal of “exercise”. My goals are specific habits which I am entraining: yoga, weight lifting, and walking for no purpose.
Walking for no purpose gets rid of the “automatic out,” that ego tries to create. Mowing the lawn is walking. But it is not walking unleashed from a secondary goal. I cannot ingrain a habit without the recognition of the very habit which I am constructing.
That way lies madness. Or strange babblefish translations of ego talk.
I could be “burning calories” by eating with an incredibly heavy fork that I need to place 500 yards away and run back and forth to take that satisfying chomp of food.
All I have done is entrain eating.
Oh, the ego monster is sooo tricky.
For now, I am happy with my list. I am pleased when I put down a check mark and I stay in a place wherein I know who I will effortlessly be after a three month focus on building those particular habits.
Because, it ain’t magic. It ain’t a tragedy. It ain’t a heroic struggle to climb out of an awakening volcanic cone to the tiny pin light of the surface.
I am just a bundle of habits.
Did you follow my thread?

Summer Bright

Posted on June 8, 2015 by admin

The thing about summer is I always wait for it during all the long, gray preceding months and then one day while I am bending over the spring flowers, putting in new seeds and weeding the snake like vines slithering between the strawberries, it hits.

Living in the Okanagan means that it hits at 38 degrees celsius. Living in the Okanagan means it explodes through the windows after days of over cast semi-light and flirtatious temperatures. “Hi, there,” the day says, with its 20 degrees followed by a manic wind storm, bolting off the sky with dark clouds and monsoons.

It toys and coys and ploys with us, the weather. And then it blasts us stupid. It was 42 on my deck today. I spent most of it with my face turned side ways on my bed, dog sweating from my tongue. I think I either slept or hallucinated for a good two hours. There is an entirely separate brain wave patterning for that heat zapped coma.

Turning the fan on is just an annoyance because that entails readjusting the stream over several hours.

They are given offers to the physicians so that they viagra uk shop prescribe it to the patients. An viagra generic cheap alternate result is that the erectile tissue of the penis to expand blood stream to cause an erection. Besides levitra tab 20mg the above factors, there are also certain factors that should be avoided to improve the sexual potency. All this is done by the generic cialis viagra heritageihc.com simple increased testosterone levels. The first night of heat I did not get to sleep until 3 am. The fan was always off target. It was too high and passed innocuously over my bed. Then it was cooling the space under my bed doing nothing more than making aesthetic choreographies with dust motes.

I identify with this response to heat

My friend and I decided to go for a walk at 5 pm because surely by all that is rational it would have cooled down by then. The cement buildings and sidewalks were just beginning to off gas stored up heat. It was rather like being dropped onto an Urban barbeque. I turned to her as she said, “Maybe we could just walk up a few blocks to a coffee shop?” Her forehead was a glistening water fall of sweat. Her eyes looked a bit dazed and she was leaning to the right away from the building’s blast as she walked.

The day that I decide I can’t take it any more is when I turn on the Paddle Wheel sound of the wall shaker air conditioner. The room throbs a bit but if I turn my body just right, a cool stream of air blows the sweat off of me into the room somewhere. That is a good feeling. It is the season I have so longed for.

And then the beauty of blossoms begins again.

Yielding to Autumn

Posted on August 28, 2014 by admin

My teachers, my readings bang the rhythmic message, the beats of the restrictions of attachment. I see a hand grabbing a string pulled through to cut the flesh. I see a hand reaching to the wire fence of periphery which clearly defines the territory of now and this and what is known, sustaining injury as the plane of time and habit tilt.

At times I see myself as a moth trapped in a jar. The space inside has all that needs to sustain me. Nothing is missing for continuance of all that now is. And yet I fly into the glass trying to get beyond these limits.

It is strange that being human, riding in the body is a state of such conflict. The summer is fading. A few leaves on the giant Maple tree which stands sentinel outside my bedroom window have died back. They are shriveled beige paper.

I want change. I yearn for a more exciting life, a more stimulating life, a life filled with more opportunities to step into my power supported by my tribe.

And yet I mourn the season’s change. I mourn the end of the ease of bodies walking loose in the heat. I resist the shrouding of people, the winter entombing of my neighbours, the withdrawal into a time of low, colorless light.

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And so I desire change and grieve change. The work is to stop the Baroque dance and sit. If I can yield to that which is and that which is, I am no longer trapped by my circumstances or by my reactions to my circumstances.

I bend my head to autumn but in my heart there burns a summer ferocity that is looking for a way to shine. There is no either/or, no two dimensions. All is all. I make my way the best I can.

And so I watch the flowers fade, the sun turned down, the clouds coming to hunker down over the valley graying out the sky. I am working at releasing my attachment to the unkept promises of summer, the hopes to find a way to a larger life.

I yield to Autumn.

Kryon, Bruce Lipton and Gregg Braden

Posted on July 4, 2014 by admin

I left my fairy tale bungalow with the roses blooming surround to visit Mount Shasta and Crater Lake recently.

A friend informed me that this area was a highly spiritual place for native Indians.

Standing at the teetering edge of Crater Lake is hyper real. The blues are reminiscent of 1950’s technicolored film scenes. The whites are unearthly floating in lazer blue water and sky. The contrast between the tranquility of the scene and the violence which created this high vibration sight is jarring. Even today, Native Indians and New Age mystics come to interact with the deepest water lake in North America.

My friend, Laura and I stood on the dark rock at the edge. She turned to me and said, “The last time I came here was about twenty years ago on my honeymoon.”

I smiled and looked down at the bottomless water holding sky. “The last time I came here was about twenty years ago on my honeymoon.”

We were both quiet. I searched around inside my body closet for emotions… wondering if I would hit a monster memory or a little demon pain and was finding only calm. I felt good. I felt so opened up and enveloped by the beauty before and beneath me. That was all.

Afterward, I went to the gift shop to buy a tee shirt. I would wear it as a victory emblem. I had not returned to Crater Lake. I was seeing it for the first time free of any past story.

When we arrived in Mount Shasta, our hostess told us her own narrative. We found our place to stay during the conference through the airbnb.com site. Chi is a Japanese. She is a Japanese concert pianist who moved to New York. During the summers she taught short courses at Mount Shasta but it called to her. She left her life in New York behind and moved without a place to live, without a job, without a clear purpose and alone.

One year and six months later she now lives in a house, teaches at nearby institutions, tours with local symphonies.She now has a large and luscious garden which she planted. She found a man who loves her and is her equal in skills, openness and gratitude for their new life. In eighteen months she created an entirely new way of being in the world.

Because she trusted herself, she grew.

When she first moved to Mount Shasta, there was a blizzard that shut down the town for weeks. Her friends in New York thought she was crazy. She thought she might be crazy. Now, She has made a new structured reality to live within and it is far better.

The conference itself was uneven. Some speakers were inspirational… but I always find that a waste of time. I brought my own sparkler spirit. I was inspired to travel, to spend money, to leave my house. Yep.

I was so high school girl giggling in the back of the room when my new friend turned to me. We are both open notebook, furiously scribbling types of people.

“I haven’t got anything in my notebook. Did she say anything?” She said.

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She looked relieved as we both laughed.

So much of the conference was light on actual information. I felt like a sixth grader in a third grade class and my body was unused to sitting for such long periods of time. I stop to analyze my reaction. Am I wrong to feel this way? Is it ego to want to find those beautiful revelations of information that open a person up, that challenge a person’s mind?

I frequently get up and go outside to do some yoga poses and just stare at Mount Shasta. I am yearning to get up onto her pathways, to interact with the spirits purported to be on the mountainside.

Sitting in the dark room barely able to see my notebook, I still persisted in taking notes. As I read them scrawled like a insect trail over the pages, it is like reading from one possessed. I will share a few with you to be puzzled by along with me or to amuse you.

“My baby body cleaning me.
Calling the Elders to be with us.
The Telos beings are crying.
I give this day to all that is divine.
A big white puffy woman like a cloud.
Blah blah blah blah so far nothing. only her visions.”

We are asked to stand facing another participant. I am hit. I am hit hard in the chest. The woman I face appears to me as a severed tree broken off in a storm with no branches left. She is a sharp asymmetrical point. The trunk still lives but she has lost all her foliage. I lean into her and whisper, “It will be alright.” I am telling her the truth. She needs to hope and grow her branches back.

We repeat the exercise with another person and this time the woman I face is surrounded by blossoms. She is surrounded by beautiful, healthy, radiant flowers. I tell her. I say, “You have a blooming garden all around you.” She hugs me and quietly responds, “Thank you.” She knows exactly what I have seen. She knows.

The energy in the room from the 700 people is immense. Some are on walkers, some are large with despair, some are healers or lightworkers. Everyone wants to know how to be better at this, at this being alive, at this walking the earth. There are many, many who are here to find a key to the gate of hope.

One speaker talks about personality types and informs the audience of a web site with a test that will lead them to an analysis of their type. She delineated the types and the percentages of the population that are that mode of person. I know immediately from her description that I am a “reflector.” I am in the 1% of the population whose job is to stay outside. My job is to not join the groups. My job is to not follow others, participate in that which others feel is fun or entertaining. A reflector’s calling is to observe from the distant place and allow others to see who they are. By not becoming part of the social organism, we can remain sociological anthropologist. No question. Absolutely.

My notes at this point say: “Moss growing on a paper cutter blade.”

And then I write a poem about falling in love…. with myself.

to be continued. to be continued.

DIY is it an Illusion?

Posted on November 26, 2013 by admin

Embracing the Power Dragon

This last month there have been so many lessons learned. When Pay Pal made a deposit to my account twice and then had to remove a payment, I flipped the anxiety switch off. Like a current of negative electricity that threatened to run through my mind, the story started to play. Flip the switch.

My thoughts immediately went to a statement which I had read in a library book, Zen and the Art of Falling in Love by Dr. Brenda Shoshanna.

She asked the question, “What is the host and what is the guest.” It was simply put. It got through to me. Is a feeling of being at home, loved, supported and respected the host in my house of emotions? Or is the sense of lack, scarcity, vulnerability the host? Are moments of sorrow, grief, anger, numbness the elements that take up most of my mental floor space? Or do these emotions just visit for a while to a place that is more fulsome and joyous?

So $600 that I had not expected to flow out of my account would leave. First, I said to myself, “That was never your money. You are glad to pay back that which is not yours.” Secondly, I went into my practice of asking, “What are you supposed to learn?”

Going to that place lead me to understand more fully how my relationship with money is less than adult. Do I know how much is in my account as if I were an adult? Am I anticipating payments that must come out such as my house insurance which I had “forgotten” about?

So much of managing my money has been about deprivation because that is what I have become an expert at living. My parents worked four jobs yet when we went shopping my mother would visit every store on both sides of the Columbia river to see what items were cheapest. When she died she still had every receipt for each and every item she had purchased since 1960.

I was in graduate school for an extended period of time and lived with no heat and little money. My way of living has always been as a poor student. With over 2,000 books, I moved from one boarding house to another. The thrift stores provided me with clothing and household items. Each time my life fell apart it cost me thousands of dollars and I had to begin again.

So being cold, underfed and wearing thrift clothing became a sign of competence. It meant I could live within the constraints of my pay check. But this month, I was once again directed in a more powerful mind set. What if you took your assets and managed them more mindfully to allow plenty to flow in?

I went to the bank and sat down with the investment banker. I was reassured that my understanding of the world economy was accurate. I do have two years before inflation will begin. I have two years to pay down my “reverse dowry” line of credit obligation taken out to buy my freedom.

I felt actual fear as I took the money out of the self directed account to allow the bank to manage it. But the jar of coins under the bed attitude was not serving me. The wrap up in a blanket and keep the lights off mentality was not serving me.

It is against my very cautious nature to go out and buy expensive items just to feel powerful. Today, I replaced the stove element on the second hand simple appliance all by myself. It cost $37 and it worked. But I have the heat up and bought some lovely food items on sale.

centered

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It is walking that territory between fear and delusion that is the trick.

I am so proud of myself for the head way (and don’t you just love that word!) that I have made. For the first time since my divorce, I have begun to eat breakfast sitting at the breakfast table. I went through the double financial lessons of house insurance payment and having to pay back $600 without drama. It was a lesson and I took the homework with me to the bank. I called a handy woman to repair the tiles that have not worked properly in the bathroom.

Only quietly, like a whisper down a well, was I hearing the anxious beasty voice telling me I would shrivel and die dehydrated and starved. And as I was watching my mind, I could see that I did not have what I call “push back” on the ego voice. I just left it whimpering in the well.

surrounded by blessings

The other wonderful awakening has come through using the tests for the seeds of intention that I found in the book E2. The first test is to ask the universe for an unexpected/unusual gift. The test was for 48 hours. I noticed my negative, ego voice growing louder and louder. “It is 40 hours now and nothing.” “It is 42 hours now and nothing.”

At 46 hours a friend came to my house with five CD’s some by Liquid Mind. I had heard of the artist and thought I wanted to check him out. And now I am standing with his works in my hand. People bought me coffee, Three polka dotted zipper bags showed up in my mail. An old friend left me with a big bottle of Lavender oil she had crafted from her garden.

So what my lessons have all pointed to this month is a sense that I am using the skills I have worked toward. I have been able in the moment of an event to shut off the negative current, to get down into the structure of the thing and ask, “What am I supposed to learn?”

The biggest realization for me has been that it is not about solving problems. It is about developing technique. I was on the tennis team in high school and spent hours hitting balls that were coming at me fast. Some I had to hit back handed. Some I had to smoothly connect with on the forehand side. Some bounced wildly and the ability to calm the ball down with the surface of my racquet and then send it with intention was necessary.

I understand now that that is exactly what is happening. Balls are coming at you. Lessons are coming at you. They will not stop. Hitting one does not mean there will never be another. It is a deluded mind that thinks, “I will solve this problem in order to solve all problems forever.”

The light came on for me. It is about the skill. Am I standing with my feet balanced holding the centre? Are my hands relaxed? Is my mind calm and alert? As things come toward me, there is no place for negative emotion. As I watch myself, I understand that over time, with intention and patience I am building skills.

How did I reach this place where peace, joy and gratitude are the hosts and lower energies are the guest? It is because of my coaches, because of those who have taught me in books, on you tube. It is because of my friends who have moved forward to live more authentically and fully. It is because of my spirits, angels, guides surrounding me.

I eat at the table. I repair those things which need to be repaired. I watch my financial situation with a more alert eye. I am not a Do It Yourselfer. I have been taught with loving wisdom. I am growing to trust myself and others more fully for the first time in my life. Now where is that screw driver?

Dave with the Diamond, The Language of Love

Posted on September 16, 2013 by admin

As the baking heat of summer abates, I walk along the waterfront. The experience is so much like the last sip of mango juice, the last kiss of a loved one, the fragrance of the remaining rose standing singular on the stretching branch. Knowing that it is drawing to a close makes me open up my senses all the more.

I think to myself, “Soon you will not see the loose, relaxed bodies of family tribes strolling with a shared rhythm. Soon the skin, arms and legs will be hidden away for winter like putting away seasonal clothing, these exposed limbs. Soon the evening air will not be perfumed by the release of fragrant flowers like a retelling of the narrative of the heat soaked day.”

Sunset City Park

It is in the denouement or in the anticipation that we most awaken to our own lives. Studies have show the point of greatest happiness is when an individual is working toward a goal. Olympic athletes report a loss of joy at the end of an event, even if they have garnered a prize.

Quo Vadis losing the way

The ability to be awake to my own life is and has been my focus for several years. How do I stay in a place of contentment even as the seasons change, through the trajectory of plans, effort and achievement? How do I allow emotions, deep grieving memories like forest monsters be recognized and acknowledged? Can I remain aware of what I hold in my body and of what I hold in the grinding fine mill of my brain?

Feel, release. Listen, release.

When I wake up the dreams are tangled around me like dark sheets. For decades I would have nightmares about being killed. The residual fear of my father coming in my room would be presented to me in dreams. My subconscious would be saying, ” Deal with this. Feel this.”

For decades I would awaken sobbing with my heart already shattered.

Through my vision quests; through my sitting at the feet of Shamans, teachers; through my listening to broadcasts from life coaches; through my reading DIY reconstruct your life books I have come to a place where there is an opening.

My eyes unclench at the start of day. I am encased in sadness like a gray, smudging cloud and then I move to gratitude. I put my hand on my heart and thank it for being so committed to staying alive. My heart has kept me here. I thank my heart for being so open and child like. The spirit I am wants to be in love, to share love, to be innocent and expectant. “Thank you, heart,” I say.

Seeing the love

I lay my warm hand on the place where I held cancer. The place where I have growths removed every five years and I say, “You are healthy. You are fully alive. You live in freedom. You are beautiful. Thank you body.”

As I swing my feet over the edge of the bed, I envision jumping off of the edge of a ledge into the day.

“What kind of a day will you have?” I ask myself.

“Any kind of day you create,” I answer.

“Oh great. Then, it will be wonderful and full of love.”

How do I know my focused study is working? Because there are times when I do not hear a dozen crows and fifteen monkies all chattering in my mind at once.
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How do I know my dedication to feeling and healing is effective?

As I walked along the boardwalk a little boy under the age of two was being pushed in his stroller by his parents. He was wearing a wonderful, expensive fedora. I did not smile at him. I did not stop and make faces at him.

I only thought, “Dude. I see your spirit. You are one rocking dude.” He broke into a smile and put his hand up to high five me. His parents stopped, looked at him. They looked at me and were puzzled. And then we all laughed.

I went to the bank and behind the counter was an attractive, thin, very stylish new bank clerk. His name tag said: Dave.

“Dave,” I said, “are you new here?”

“No,” he responded, ” I usually work in another bank.”

I thought how much I liked him daring to be so trim so stylish so unmundane. And then I saw the gigantic engagement ring on his left hand.

“Oh,” I said, “aren’t you the lucky one.”

“I know,” he said, ” and it isn’t because of the ring.”

We smiled together about his love, his claiming who he is in the world, my recognizing how wonderful he was. We just stood smiling together.

As I walked down the street, I saw a car enwrapped in love. On the windshield were two generous bouquets of gladiiolas. An aluminum heart balloon saying, “I love you,” was on the windshield. And balloons, balloons so pink and plasticy were floating from all of the wiper blades.

I am so grateful when I see the bravery of love. I am so lifted up when I see two people kiss on a street corner, exchanging tenderness. My heart sings when a baby waves at me.

The nightmare world of helplessness, having my bones broken and my spirit invaded are giving way. These days I step out into a world of surprising, magical moments of love. Thank you Dave for wearing your diamond and sparkling bright.

It is not a new season. It will not slip away like summer. It is where I plant my feet. Now.

My thoughts still attach to the narrative trajectory… anticipation, tension, release but I am thankful that I can be aware of what is appearing on my “reality screen.” And sometimes, I can even switch the channel.

Naropa Buddhist University: What is the Summer Writing Program?

Posted on July 27, 2012 by admin

When I arrived in Boulder, the journey of several days was over. I had opened up to change, to challenge and to creating a new future for myself. The journey was about releasing fear, bodily tension and watching the anxious, limiting thoughts arise.

Every time I passed a semi-truck, I talked to myself about how wide my lane was, how protect I was by universal energy. I thanked the driver for safeguarding me and being aware of the presence of my 2003 golden Nissan with the Buddha on the dash board.

“Drop your tongue down,” I would tell myself. To release the energy in my jaw, to keep my face from clamping shut in fear, the tongue drop works beautifully. “Soft hands, ” I would tell myself. My hands upon the wheel would loosen and I noticed the tension in my neck and back would lessen. The car engine, the universal field were the power and it wasn’t my grabbing instinct that was keeping me safe.

The tomtom got me to Naropa and from there I asked directions to Snow Lions. The mix up was amazing. I had been assigned three different room numbers over a few weeks. But I got the contract to fill out for my room and was told to come back after three.

Moving my suitcase into my room seemed rather awkward. It was full (because I am always packed for survival on the moon, after a nuclear war or stranded on an island). So I left the suitcase in my car trunk as a chest of drawers and stuffed underwear, makeup and jewelry into my back pack. Vital survival items. Oh and the four dresses and three pairs of shoes. Also very important for a Leo.

The Snow Lions was not an up to date, meticulously clean environment; however, my university friends tell me this is typical. My OCD started kicking in right away. Walking past the two large white lions at the entry way, I thought about where I could get glue to reattach one of the corners that had been knocked off. I eyed the central patio area and wondered how long it would take me to sweep the area clean. I had to quell the OCD fairey’s voice.

“Just do what you came here to do, ” I told myself. “Let everything else go. Let it go.”

I was in the dorm for two days before I figured out how to use the magnetized fob thing to get me in the door. I tried making one of the room keys work. So for the first two days, I stood outside the door and waited for someone else to open the door until I could observe how to work the gizmo on my own. What a metaphor for the last two years. Standing in front of a door and just not being able to figure out how to work it. Yes. That is it!

The beds were small with a thin mattress but I didn’t care. The classes were inspiring. The people that surrounded me were creative spirits who had made a voyage out of their lives. Some were from small towns in Alabama, Texas, California. Some had grown up with racial discrimination with learning disabilities, with an angry household and yet each of these people had kept writing, had kept learning and had honed his or her skills. I felt as if my entire body was on fire.

Tracie Morris was the instructor for my section and when the short, fit African-American woman walked into the room we were in for a surprise. Her power revealed itself over the week. She was unfailingly kind and sensitive to each of the students in our group. There was no attempt to establish status. Her knowledge of writing, of performing, of the academic background of all that she presented simply poured out of her as she answered our questions. Twenty minutes into class, I felt as if I were in an Alice in Wonderland experience. Tracie’s stature just kept growing. At the end of the week, I captured some pictures of her and was astounded at the fact that she is fairly short. We lost that sense of her early on.

Her compassion and commitment to others is what most struck me. She genuinely wants to best for those around her. In my thirty years as a teacher, I can honestly say that I was blessed to be in a class with such a natural excellent teacher. She informed us that her meditative practice had taken much of the “edge” off of her personality. However, one knows that if it is needed she will step up and defend her beliefs with whatever it takes.

What did she teach me? She taught me that stature, status, reputation are irrelevant. She taught me that what is most important is to network with other souls on the same path as myself. Being open to working closely with others with an attitude of humility, is the quickest way to become better at the skills I have been given. Leave the ego behind and edit that sucker. Slice and dice. Go for the gut. Punch it out. But at the end of the performance, don’t leave them bleeding. Offer an after dinner mint with sweetness on the lips to complete the experience.

Be there for others, Tracie showed through example. Be fully and completely in the moment. Listen to others. Take classes. This woman has many prestigious degrees and yet she is constantly taking classes. Learn. Sit at the feet of others. Be open.

She taught us about breathing so there is power behind our words. She taught us about breathing so there is a strong connection to body passion in our words. She taught us about breathing so we can hear what our bodies are experiencing.
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One of her exercises was to connect with an organ and talk to it. Many in my class connected with the liver: seat of anger. seat of stored grief. seat of unfair treatment. Poets…. yes it makes sense. Poets are called to speak out the grief and beauty of life. It makes sense.

My pancreas talked to me. According to Louis Hay the Pancreas is affected when life has lost its sweetness, when one is rejected. I have been like a Victorian heroine these last two years. Trailing through mind fog trying to find my purpose, passion and power, I picture myself in wafting gowns locked in a stone fenced territory. My pancreas I envisioned as a kind of meat baby, curled in fear under my heart.

This was a very powerful exercise and surprisingly clear in the message that we all experienced. After the visualization and breathing exercise we each wrote a poem message to the organ that was “talking” to each of us. The poems were powerful, lucid.

Tracie completed her lesson to us through her performance later in the week. Her rendering of “I’ve got you under my skin” with the voices of those sexually abused at Penn State was electrifying. She brought us to our emotional knees. I kept thinking it was more than I could take and yet it went deeper. She was merciless in her mercy.

Another influence on all of us was to spend the afternoon listening to panels or presentations by other artists. There was never a sense of the usual academic hierarchy. And I noted how incredibly effective it is to have someone stand before me who had simply made a choice to be who he or she wanted to be. To strike out into the world and make the heart’s statement without waiting for validation had been a choice. Thurston Moore of Sonic Youth put together his band and ruthlessly toured the world. Find others, say what you have to say, keep moving!

Laurie Anderson was so simple, direct, unassuming in person as she stood on stage in front of us. And then she performed. It was watching a kitten become a dragon. Her power and presence was transformative. She had one number in which she described her obsessive experience with a ouija board. In her first life…. pause… she was a raccoon. In her second life…. so gentle the voice…. she was a hat. The people in my row were laughing together. We looked at one another, we bent over with laughter. It opened us up. It opened us up to saying whatever came to mind, to standing on a stage saying whatever came to mind, to one another, to the flow of energy in the audience, to and from the stage. Laurie is a catalyst. She creates magic. Period. Period.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gXyisdc6ggc&list=UU1sbb545hr0EwWCwEsntUNA&index=5&feature=plcp

The other teachers each took the stage: Caroline Bergvall, Toi Derracotte, Jena Osman, Bhanu Kapil, Bobbie Louise Hawkins, Brad O’Sullivan, Claudia Rankine, Roberto Tejada, Anne Waldman and Matvei Yankelevich. It was like watching the Olympics of creatives. They each made it look so simple.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PAIY_v8rzew&list=UU1sbb545hr0EwWCwEsntUNA&index=3&feature=plcp

The ability to take the gifts that the universe gave to you, find shelter in friends/networks and feed your flame was demonstrated for the students. Skill. Pushing through. Listening to your inner voice. Seeing setbacks as lessons. What better way to encourage students than to be authentic and open about your own journey?

I was filled with energy. I felt as if I had been hit by lightening, light en ing. When I read out my poetry in front of the school, teachers and other students came to me to tell me they liked my work. I sat in the audience with tears pouring down my face.

I was so grateful for the encouragement. I was so grateful to feel as if I was in the right place, with the right people doing what I was born to do. The stimulus was challenging and overwhelming but for the first time in almost three years I felt fully alive.

Finally, the message that Amiri Barake delivered stayed in my consciousness. Make it happen. Get out there and witness for a better world. Speak your truth. Be who you are without fear. Passion is a gift. Intensity is a gift.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wIpAOGHW8T4&list=UU1sbb545hr0EwWCwEsntUNA&index=2&feature=plcp

Thank you Anne Waldman for creating and sustaining this transformative haven. Thank you fellow Naropa students for your diversity, your imaginative genius and your loving kindness. A creative center founded on compassion and keeping oneself humble is exactly what is needed as a “spark” in today’s world. I was lucky enough to be a part of that for a short period. Gratitude.
http://naropaswp.blogspot.ca/p/week-4-course-descriptions.html

Cultural Community

Posted on March 10, 2011 by admin

Tonight I went to two events. The first was a group of people interested in working on their presence in the world through retreats, conferences and reading. The second was a group gathered together by UBC-O’s creative studies department to learn which individuals were to be awarded the top three places by guest judge Annabell Lyons. http://annabellyon.blogspot.com/
It was a joyous, relaxed evening.
At the first event, I met three people formally that I had passed in my life. We shared many experiences. One used to own a book store where I was selling art work on commission. Another taught dance in the building where I had my studio. A third was a close friend of a friend. It is interesting to see where connections can lead. It is why my daughter keeps telling me to go out the door. Staying home in my diaphanous Emily Dickens reclusiveness is not moving me on from this stuck place in my life.

Original photograph of a piece of string on the floor

At the short story competition announcement, I got to hear readings from four writer’s works. It was varied, skilled and interesting work. I had the audacity to take flyers of my poetry anthology which is for sale on LuLu and handed them out to four people. It took guts. I felt very hesitant but know that I have to start getting behind my talent if I want to make money from the work I am doing. My anthology is 36 pages of poetry written over the last year and posted to facebook.

http://www.lulu.com/product/ebook/facing-it-2010-to-2011-poetry-posted-on-facebook/15105587
My hopes are that the process of advertising my work becomes easier and more natural for me. Finding a gallery, an agent, a way to run the work I have been doing for thirty years up to a point where it begins to create it’s own energy is what will happen if I keep working to that goal.
I am going to a retreat in Victoria for the last week in March and really happy about having some time away. Life has been very lonely and quiet. Shows are coming up: Myths and Legends opens Saturday night at 273 Bernard; Digital Art show in Vernon t.b.a.; Sopa Under 8 in April. Currently, I have a show at the Unitarian Fellowship Hall which is a wonderful space to show art.
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Plans to attend the Permaculture group meeting for tomorrow night are flying around in my head. I also feel like getting out to see a movie or go to Chapters. I have been disciplined this week working on art, cleaning the house, feeding my blog. Tomorrow, I need to prepare for my course at UBC-O Continuing Studies teaching Grammar Lite. Being back in the classroom is always a rush for me. I love to react to what it is my students need. Teaching, for me, is not about feeding a baby. Open the door. Here it comes. Neither is it like teaching steps in a dance routine. People need to know what they are ready to learn. I guess the really challenging aspect of teaching is being able to deal with four or five levels at the same time. It is a challenge; however, it is a thrill to walk out of a room knowing that you have awakened confidence and curiosity in your students. I love it.

I am thinking that it is time to go through all of the boxes of ballast I have in the shed. Clothing, books and fabrics can be freed, reorganized and utilized to create some revue for me. What I am not wearing, I must sell. The separation settlement left me in a position whereby I must start doing things to dig myself out. Listening to Tony Robbins was inspiring yesterday. Tomorrow I will sit down and brain storm 200 methods of bringing in prosperity to deal with the giant debt I had to take on to be free. Now I will find a way to be free of the weight of this debt.

Recently, I created two book jackets for a client who is a poet. I also created a banner for his web site. I worked images as far as I could in Gimp then I finally broke down and downloaded a free trial of Photoshop. Some of the images I created from playing with photoshop were interesting. I am missing my Flaming Pear, Eye Candy and Painter filters that went bye bye with the multiple crashes on my computer during my dark and disheveled days this last year. My creativity is coming back and the feeling of anticipation for what will be is like the pink shoots in my flower bed. Promising.

chocolate enclosure

Why is it?

Posted on July 31, 2010 by admin

When I stop to question, “why?” it is a fairly useless exercise.

Why does my friend have sinus cancer? Why are three very sweet women I know going through emotional crises because they have chosen to fall in love with men with addictive brain patterns? Why does life sometimes feel so crowded, frenetic, unruly and at other times so starkly lonely?

can you be the eye of the storm?

It is useless to question any of it while we spend our days. But mindlessness is not the answer either. There is such a thin line between taking responsibility for one’s actions, setting the goal to change and choosing to blame one’s self.
The hardest, most complex aspect of life for me is to be comfortable with not knowing.

Do I know where I will end up living? Do I Know how I will resolve my current very challenging circumstances? Do I have a plan for what I will become?

I look skyward and all of the balloons I once held in my hand have floated off into the stratosphere.
For months I stood beneath them and cried my heart out, yearning for the definitions of self as wife to Cameron, as Artist in Kelowna, as daughter to two individuals that are no longer alive. In just a few years I have stood by the bedside of three people I have loved and who were integral parts of my life. I have held their hands, been present to their spirits as they let go of this existence. Each passing left me feeling more unanchored.

sometimes stillness is transformation

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With no place to work and make art, with no people any longer in my life who held a shared history with me I felt denuded and thrown into a wilderness. That dark night of the soul lasted five months.
I continued to function during the day because I had to but the grief would come up and overwhelm me at night. When my first marriage broke up, I could call my mother. When my mother died, I could cry into my partner’s arms. I could talk about my mother and transfer my care and concern to my step-father. Again, when he was no longer alive I could seek comfort from the man who pledged to love me.
The most difficult part of losing those you love is that you have no place to put that part of yourself any longer. Never mind not having a soft place to fall, there is no place to fall. Unless, of course, you have a spiritual practice.

winter leading nowhere

And finally this is where the last three years have lead me. I stand where I am now. I see that all that I held on to that has defined me in the past is out of my hands, flying away, irretrievable.
Can I be comfortable with the waiting, with the emptiness or opening up? It is no longer a question of “why?”. Life has become a deeper mystery. The discipline is to just sit with it and let it happen. But meanwhile, I am looking around me to find a way to keep the love flowing from my heart.

self dissolving, transforming

To survive the craziness of this time in society, I believe we have to keep the love moving. Because absolute hell on earth is to go to the dark place of bitterness. The deepest pain we can put ourselves in is to refuse to be open. There is no way out of this contract we have signed. Why is there pain? What is the point of asking? Just kiss it better yourself if you have lost “the others” and get on with it. What ever it is. And find places to give affection as you move through the day.

Why? How the heck would I know?

Expression

Never put a sock in a toaster.

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