i hurry rushing flushing bluster of nerves i pause from stacking the tank tops on the shelf behind the door of knotty pine, that slides, a bit rough on its track
stop what am i doing? for whom and i changing what just was? who am i trying to be?
my healing vacation of quasi-awakening in traumatic shifts of the self coming to a close. they’re already in the car. my mother driving him home to me, his mother an artist when he is away
i slide empty canvases and masterpieces just the same inside a brown paper box awaiting life, when she comes again
since becoming a mother, i have been trying to find my other mother way but no. i have to make my own way of mothering, because i am terrified of the other mothering the one without unconditional love offering freedom to be creative
somehow there has to be space for art in momming it now is who-i-aming, so expand i must in my mothering i choose to make space for the artist, the child in a home without freedom to create, to be seen in her brightness and her glory
to the sweetness within my mothering i offer kindness to you, who will not be understood some of us cannot hold space for no art in our hearts, lest not in our eyes of the children artisting in our homes
is that what you’re wearing? (she asks) yes, mom
i hurry rushing flushing bluster of nerves pause from stacking painted tank top, black sweatshirt on a shelf that sits behind a heavy splintered door made of knotty pine which doesn’t slide any longer, broken now and laying rough within its metal creaking track
stop what am i doing? for whom am i putting all this away? who am i trying to be?
my healing vacation of quasi-awakening, traumatic shifts of the self coming to a close. they’re already in the car. my mother driving him
home, to his mothering artist when he is away
i slide empty canvases and dried lumpy creations from core inside a brown paper box awaiting life, when she comes again
since becoming a mother, i have been trying to find another mother way which, it doesn’t work it hurts more than helps, i know it cannot be true, because i am terrified of the other mothering she doesn’t have unconditional love, or give freedom to be creating
somehow there has to be space for me, the artst in me, within all of my mothering it is who-i-aming, so i must be expanding i choose to make space hold space offer grace for the child in this home full of life in her space in all she creates her brightness and her glory
and to sweet attempts and perfect failings within all of our untrue mothering i offer kindness to you, who won’t be understood some cannot hold space for art in our hearts, lest not in the eyes of children within our homes
when we’re in the presence of UNCONDITIONAL LOVE our hearts experience joy and expansion, which is UNCONDITIONAL LOVE and within experiencing it, we’e free to be as WE NATURALLY ARE, LOVE
and so, you say (baba ram dass)
THE HEART will lead your authentic EXPANSION if we allow it to SEEK ITSELF over and over and over AGAIN SEEKING, finding itself THE SOURCE
so then, you say (baba ram dass)
in the presence of UNCONDITIONAL LOVE our SELF is experiencing its SELF WE ARE FULLY ALIVE WE ARE WITHIN LOVE WE ARE LOVE LOVE IS LOVE
so then, you say (baba ram dass)
(baba ram dass) two things, maybe three
1) Let yourself BE IN UNCONDITIONAL LOVE
2) Know the LOVE is also YOU and ENDLESS and INFINITE and is is what is, so just RELAX
3) Don’t attach LOVE to an object or experience. Once it has been felt, ever, really felt between people, animals, places, situations, EVER, it is ALWAYS a part of YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS. BE GRATEFUL FOR THE LOVE AND let it go with GRACE. Period.
a new type of thinking is essential if mankind is to survive and move toward higher levels
YES! 100 AHO snaps~
what we’ve been doing over and over the up down up down chatty kathy kitty katty nonsense looping our minds on loop will never work has never worked
let it go, new path takers reflect for a moment
did tibetans find the way OUT of it the suffering, the madness, the cycles of nature, #thehorriblebeautyofitall by thinking, the same way? no. they did not.
let it go, new path takers reflect for a moment
can you, can we find the way OUT of it the suffering, the madness, the cycles of nature, #thehorriblebeautyofitall by thinking, the same way? no. i we you can not.
look around you, the laws, the customs, the what the fuck is ok by law now? and what are we doing in every instance of taking and making if not to be creating more unease predicaments within which we enslave our simple selves all our cells and our hands and homes
within whom to we hold the power and preciousness of our sacred human gift of choice?
the invitation is here can we please all level up if not all, what about you, and me for all, to restore the cosmic harmon(e)y
gyan only knows what happened to the essence of einstein, or the insighted awareness of baba ram das, or the actual souls within the actual fully earth-realized and conscious united beings of ramana maharshi, or paramahansa yogananda, or jesus christ, or buddha, or my baby buddha before he takes on the colors and the pains and the human condition of man.
i offer myself and my insights and the light of this beautiful god to you all
surrender a new way of thinking is here, jaar
(hafiz) oh thou who are trying to learn the marvel of love through the copybook of reason, i am very much afraid you will never see the point
I caught my shadow on the single-lane asphalt road with broken rocky shoulders that drew a line south in the Thar, save a few curves of sanddunes drifting across the surface. My head was tightly wrapped in an emerald green pashmina from Jaipur, the scarf tail dancing behind our bodies roughly one hundred kilometers from the Pakistan border. It was 95 degrees at ten am. Before we’d set off that morning I covered my son with the usual heavy gray cotton flap of his baby carrier, attached him tightly to my body, and drove down the slippery stone slabs of the fort first gate. It was the first time we’d ride here just the two of us.
The path was edged with desert cacti who wore silken flowers of faded fuchsia and tiny white pearls. The road cut through fields of harvested cumin, gathered into stone-topped drying piles amongst scattered mounds of sandstone boulders. The road curved through one small village of people who lived by shaping them. I smelled dirt. There were sandstone homes, carved beautifully, but most were square squatty concrete buildings, some with bright white lime and turquoise facades.
Muslim shepherds in sweat-stained dhotis with bulging inner pockets, slender frames, walked slowly behind dreadlocked sheep and black goats with twisted horns and rectangle eyes. Six or seven golden and burnt black camels in shade, sometimes alone, like the saggy backed bony cows who occasionally wore 15-inch horns. We passed by dung and clay huts with straw circle tops. Kids chased our scooter, which made me nervous, but happy to be seen. I smiled at the older humans, being, waiting for me to pass.
I longed to be a beautiful woman in a movie, the kind who poetry and novels are written about, dressed with a green scarf round her head, tied at the neck, pair of wheels under her, upon an open road.
Going deeper into the desert, I continued toward the Shakti temple an hour from town.
My dreams were now alive in the shadows on the ground.
If your eyes are still open
when the birds begin to sing
pour the tea
open the book of love songs
wrap your shoulders in a shawl
on your balcony
watch the sun change
from muted gray to lavender and peach
to soft faded blue
and notice the fir trees
and mountain paths
and terraces of wheat and rock
and prayer flags fluttering
in the barely moving wind
and hear the dogs beckoning
to join the bell-wearing donkeys
and the day
and sip, sip, sip
Moon child, my curly-haired moon child, Lay your self open, bold and full of breath, alive, on that still-warm concrete roof, between the Ganga and the hills, and ask me what it is you long for…
But do not ask, ever again, for a heart made of different clay. For I poured my Divine Self into your being — I wanted you this way.
I wanted you to cry those tears, to surrender then resurface, to dance in most pure ecstacy, despite your person’s fears.
I wanted you to find your comfort in the trees and on the shores, to climb up into mountain meadows when you couldn’t hear me any more.
I wanted you to lose it all, to break and say goodbye, to the life you thought you lived, full of fantasies not made for freedom, that couldn’t help but make you cry.
I wanted you to dive so deep into your darkest blues, and only then get a glimpse of Self, in the will-less space of softened ego, without that name, without that mind, without much of what you thought you knew.
I am pleased that you’re still with me, crawling onward toward the light, but now, accept this grace, embrace pure courage, burn what lingers of fictitious flesh still keeping you afright.
Stop resisting, my dear moon child, trust the flow you feel. Release into this moment, for what is is mystic magic, a story sage and seer know as real.
But you’ll breathe it into life solely when you fall in love, with that not-so-broken human heart made of cosmic clay, that needs you to stop doubting, start freeing, and fully soar above.
You have the power, you carry the light, each moment has prepared you. So take one final surrendering pause, then release, my curly-haired moon child, and with love become the truth.
So do not ask, ever again, for a heart made of different clay. For I poured my Divine Self into your being — I created you this way.
written after spending time in San Marcos, Guatemala, on the incredibly magical Lago Atitlan… ~spring 2013.
I just came across this hurried set of notes I wrote in San Marcos (on Lake Atitlan) in Guatemala. This was just days after participating in the Mayan fire ceremony with Bri (my soul sister from New Jersey I met on a bus from Managua to Guatemala City). I wasn’t going to go to this ceremony, opting to let Bri experience it herself, but I am so grateful I did. I feel my life will never be the same after hearing some insights into the Mayan astrological sign for my life…
I need to take time to edit this into a readable story, but for now, the notes must suffice.
I know now that I’m meant to write and I’m meant to share and I’m meant to travel and I’m meant to create bonds and relationships between people and communities. I’m meant to share knowledge of what I know is truth (what this is I’m still unsure). I’m meant to be bonded with another and my full energy and spirit can only shine when I am making time for dance and play and creativity, and when I’m able to find change and sunrises. I also need to keep in balance the giving and receiving.
My energy nawal is No’j, which is the Mayan symbol for wisdom and turning intelligence into action.
I’m rooted in Toj, which is a symbol of balance.
My destiny is ruled by Kan, which is the creation nawal and full of sexual energy and relationships.
I have Akabal and Batz on my sides, signifying change and creativity.
The fire ceremony I experienced a few days ago was magic. Words will not be able to adequately describe what I felt during the 5 hours Bri and I spent with Jennifer and Sondri. We were told the ancient Mayan creation story about the two sacred snakes creating the human race four times, and it wasn’t until the fourth time that the human race was able to give gratitude to the creators. There were four races of people — red, black, yellow, and white, each having a correlation with an element. Red were the fire people, white were the winds, black was the water, and yellow was the earth (the corn).
Jennifer also told us about the tale of the two brothers who became the sun and moon after defeating the lords of the underworld and being brought from the underworld by faith from their grandmother.
She also told us that true paradise can only be found within, and it comes when we genuinely feel respect for all things. Everything deserves respect, she said.
We sat around the alter of No’j, my nawal, which just coincidentally happened to be on the land at which they were staying. Sondri prepared a fire circle while we’d been speaking, and we all lit it and took care of the fire together. We gave items to the fire (candles, leaves, broken sticks) as needed.
We called in the energies from each of the 20 nawals, some of which Bri and I did (I called in No’J for example) and the others were done by Jennifer and Sondri.
We sometimes used playful ways to call in the energies, like when we called in B’atz (which is symbolized by the monkey) we all made monkey sounds to show we were playful and respecting the energy we wanted.
There were sometimes we called out our names because our names have power and deserve energy.
There were times we held hands and used our elements – mine was/is Earth and the west (my actual nawal direction is east).
Sondri explained that everything is teaching us something. When the fire goes out, that means we were either proceeding too slow or that we needed to pay it more attention.
This event was quite moving for me, and for Bri. Bri ended up staying in the little magical lake town for a couple months after I left actually.
“Wear gratitude like a cloak and it will feed your entire life.” – Rumi
Just one year ago, I sat with tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat on a comfortable, puffy, oh-so-spoiled striped yellow bed at my best friend’s house. The two of us and another girlfriend of ours, and my much-too-furry-and-fat golden retriever, shared a one-bedroom apartment in a hip suburban-Detroit neighborhood. In theory, this was perfect (two broke girls + 1 even-more-broke girl(me) + a dog? We were in made-for-television heaven!)!
You see, I had just returned to Michigan, unplanned and unprepared, after four months abroad, and decided to weasel my way into this cozy home and create a fun, bohemian life for a few months. Well, that didn’t turn out so well.
Within a few weeks of living with this blonde yogi/PR-impassioned/pretty princess and uber-motivated/fiery ginger/goddess pair, I was more lost than ever before. What the fuck was I doing? Who were these women who had somehow transformed from my friends into enlightened beings who were living lives that were somehow sooooo much better than mine, who had it all figured out, who were taking me in just as they would a lost, sad, cute curly-haired little puppy? (Turns out, they weren’t purposely making me jealous, but rather they were just regular, albeit amazing, humans with direction and ambition in a world that seemed to have lost all cardinal points to me.)
So I left. I backed out before things had a chance to get better. I went north. I took another fruitless job in an isolated place, openly allowing myself to wallow and wither away…
But it’s not a tragic story in the end, you see. It’s actually an amazing, enchanted tale full of love and luck and magic!
What started just over a year ago as a period of complete confusion and disappearing dreams turned into a year of trials and tests and grace and absolute blessed goodness!
Who started just over a year ago as a lost child grasping at stranded strings has turned into a focused, inspired, ambitious, balanced woman living on faith and intuition, and loving each moment!
Tomorrow I will be leading my first set of yoga classes in Michigan.
What?! I have somehow transformed from a lost soul looking for guidance, to someone who will be providing guidance and hope and (hopefully) inspiration to sister and brother souls looking for peace and happiness — the same peace and happiness I was looking for, the same that I would never find out there, but rather the kind one can only find within.
So today, I sit sipping mint tea. Happy. In this moment. There’s a set of centering stone rings on my tan fingers, a streak of henna in my hair, a sparkling gem in my nose, and a big smile on my face…
A year ago, I had tears in my eyes. Tears of sadness, depression, anger, confusion..
Today, I still have tears in my eyes. But now, these tears couldn’t come from a more beautiful place. These are tears of gratitude! Tears of strength! Tears of passion and power and hope and honesty! Tears of joy, and tears of truth.
Today, there are tears in my eyes but my throat is free, and my voice is strong, and I can proudly say I’m happy to be where I am, to have experienced all that I have, and to be headed toward a mysterious place that can only be full of blessings and exciting, welcomed challenges.
Life is good, you know. And life is ever-changing. And anything is possible, always.
Give thanks today for the blessings of yesterday, of now, and of each tomorrow to come.
Thank you, Universe. So very much. xxoo
And thank you, above-mentioned soul sisters for all the kindness and love you showered on this curly-haired puppy left out in the rain on her own (truth be told — she let herself out and then stubbornly refused to come back in. what a silly puppy she was!). I love you, so very much!