Expanding

tomatoes

2012-01-24T20:18:00.017-07:00

I dreamed of tornadoes again last night.

As I child, I was so afraid of these whirling powers, I asked they be referred to as tomatoes.

I only went through one, in preschool, but there were several other drills and sirens that sent us into the school hallways, butts in the air and hands over our necks, or at home in bathtub, mattress overhead, worried about the animals.

And ever since, when there's breakdown/ chaos/ fear/ unresolved stress I pretend doesn't exist, I dream of tornadoes.

This dream was not shocking enough to wake me and I only remember one thin, white funnel... and panic. Then a gentle sense of angst when I awoke, so subtle.

It's not surprising. I am currently sleeping on a hardwood floor with a thermarest and two blankets for padding and it's cedar season, so I wake 5-10 times a night either sore or stuffed up. This does not take away from the deep gratitude I have for this opportunity to be in this room, surrounded by these great people, in this beautiful house, in this amazing city. But it does take away from my sleep and that always takes away from my sense of, well, sanity. Then there's the French lessons, French immersion, trying to appear professional for the wine world (and never really know if I've succeeded or walked away a total food), listening to wine podcasts, writing, learning now to bring traffic to a blog (not this one, thank gods), social networking, a big interview looming, uncertain future until February 10th etc and whatever.

I was going to keep listing seeming-hardships, but it's really not interesting.

What's been fascinating in this time are the questions that arise from the sort of stress that produces tomatoes, and whether or not it's worth it. Re-evaluating (as always) what really is important to my life.

I think one of the greatest pressures we put on ourselves comes from the myth that we are irreplaceable in our tasks, that we are the only ones who can do what we do, and if we don't do it, there will be a hole in the Universe. And, certainly, that we only have one shot. It's true that we all have our special talents and discovering those, then living them, makes for the best we can make of this life. But it's also true that the world does not rest on our shoulders, and if our original plans do not come to fruition, we still have plenty of options for complete and utter happiness.

I went to Fiesta Mart today to buy Manchego cheese. That store, and all its international product, is a magic wonderland in-and-of-itself and I was feeling a slight high as I stepped out its sliding doors into a grey-cum-misty dusk. The awaiting scene pulled the corners of my mouth into an involuntary smile. Grackles. I know they can be pests, but I don't care; I loved them tonight. Thousands had come to roost all over Fiesta's parking lot, building and surrounding powerlines. The trees in the lot were bare of leaves, but instead appeared to be growing birds from the tips of their branches. Grackles spread out in evenly spaced rows along the electrical wires, creating the strange optical illusion of floating black picket fences.

And the noise! Chittering, chattering, calling and screeching, they shuffled in their places to sing (or croak); every now and then, entire flocks, hundreds of birds, alighted into the grey to swirl overhead.

The air in my lungs became sweeter and I felt a sharp shot of happiness, straight up my body into the air overhead.

And in that moment, some small, deep part of me knew the pressure I was putting on myself was born from the fabricated myth of my own importance. That there is so much beauty in the world. And the greatest shame is missing sweet opportunities to bathe in it, and that those opportunities become evident when we realize what a small role we really play.

There's so much soaring freedom in this reality.

The Wine Roads of Texas... blog

2012-01-19T08:15:00.006-07:00

www.thewineroadsoftexas.com

It's just another blog in the universe of information highways. But, man, I want to use it, do something with it, have it as an excuse to meet with people, do interviews, take pictures, feed fuel to my curiosity.

Because I am learning that really is one of my greatest motivations in life: curiosity. I got in trouble repeatedly as a kid for wandering off- across the alley to pick pecans, across the street to look at a neighbor's yard, in the grocery store to, I dunno, check the green beans or something. Then academically, and even in my personal life, picking a topic and needling the heck out of it, trying to find out what it's made of. And doing all these things on impulse with relatively quick results. It seems like this blog will be the perfect format for this energy- short entries based on a chunk of research, then the chance to move onto the next spark of mystery.

If you feel so inclined, please click above and, if you are really feeling generous, please choose to "follow". It would be great to have you there.

Foam

2011-12-26T22:47:00.006-07:00

Please, let me introduce you to a close friend of mine.

My trusty steed.

She has about 160,000 miles, a radiator leak and a slight oil burn. She pulls to the right enough to hurt my wrist while driving long distances. She's missing two hubcaps, one on each side, so that it looks like gaping black holes over the tires. She was sideswiped on an Indian reservation during a costume party and has a huge gash on her passenger door; the key no longer unlocks it on that side. She was pushed into a ditch a month later and needs two people to open her hood; she has a crooked grin for the same reason. Her tags are expired and I've been jumping through hoops for months to get her registered in Texas. Her insides smell a little like shoes (that's entirely my fault). I've invested almost twice her purchase price in fixing bits and pieces, towing and legal costs.

She has a tape deck.

She also gets between 34-40 mpg and is almost unfailingly reliable (except for a strange battery incident no one can explain). And despite all the heck and neglect I've put her through, she starts, runs smoothly, makes it up hills and passes semis. I live out of her and have had more than one good night's sleep in her. If needed, she can hold pretty much everything I own outside of my parents' house. She made it to Montana from Texas, then to southern Colorado, back to Montana again, and a successful Oregon/ Montana roundtrip in 4 days and returned me again to Texas; all of this in 5 months. I even actually like her tape deck because it makes books on tapes a literal and inexpensive investment.

I have never been so attached to a vehicle in all my life. Only Ol' Blue has come close.

And I will be relying on her to help me complete the research for this book. She'll be an important character in the whole adventure and it feels important to introduce her now.

Ladies and Gentlemen: Foam.

mission statement

2011-12-26T13:29:00.007-07:00

Good to see I keep writing about the same stuff over and over again.

Fear and love, the world's two great opposites. Tempting to say *one* of the world's great opposites, but this dichotomy is perhaps our greatest motivator as a species. One or the other seems to always been pushing our course.

It's handy to learn opposites and how they interact... like learning that water puts out fire. Then when a blaze is consuming your thoughts, you know some options for putting it out.

Earlier today, I mentioned to a friend the fears that been distracting and paralyzing me lately, specifically related to this book The Wine Roads of Texas. I'm certainly afraid of failing. Afraid not to have enough money. Afraid my approach to research projects in school isn't going to work here. Afraid of being revealed as a farce. Afraid my writing is just silly, pedestrian dribble.

"Have you written a mission statement, declaration of purpose, an argument in defense of your love?"

Good question, kiddo. No, I haven't. I've been much too busy throwing logs on the fire of this fear to bother looking for any water to quell it.

I have 10 minutes before work. What can be done with that time?

Why am I doing this? What is my love rushing towards?

1) I am here because I love people. I love talking to them, learning their stories, basking in their glow as they share their passions. This project generously provides those opportunities as I talk to winery owners and wine makers about what they do and why.

2) I love travel and I really enjoy it at the speed of a car trip on back roads. And, even as I long to leave this continent again, I feel extremely honored to be doing such travel in my home.

3) I want to write beyond this blog and its self-centered yammering. This project gives me the chance to write about others and to enjoy the process of describing them.

4) This project gives me the opportunity to write, period. I am tearing up with emotion as I state this because it is so scary and left-field: I love writing. I just really relish the process and even love how much I hate every frustratingly self-conscious hiccup and hand-ringing roadblock. I love that I hate what I write but I have to do it anyway, and that I don't even know why any of this is the case.

5) I love the people this project is enabling me to meet and the new rush of energy in my life, even though I'm not sure I'm ready. Even though I'm sure I'm not ready.

6) I love organizing research projects and the way one idea leads to 20 others. I even really like making spreadsheets and to-do lists and using them for a brief second before drifting off into daydream land again. Then returning to them and thanking my past-self for being wise enough to create them in the first place.

7) I am here because I love doing slightly stupid things, like taking a 1993 Mazda Protege on a really long trip, while living out of it on a shoestring. I think the whole thing is kind of funny and enjoy praying to the gods for any shred of luck they can spare.

8) I love that I am staring my own sense of potential in the face and begging it to forgive me and take me under its wing, to be gentle with me. I love how scary that is and how much I look forward to looking back on this fearful encounter as a memory.

So, mission statement:
I am here for my love of people, for my love of writing and of travel; here to test myself and not to judge on whether there is success or failure, but rather if I stick with this daring, lofty thing long enough to see one way or the other. I am here for the moment, but also out of curiosity for the hindsight that will follow in a year or so. And I'm here because doing slightly stupid things is entertaining in the long-run, even if just to myself.

Still scared, but no longer paralyzed.

heart surrender

2011-12-15T00:24:00.003-07:00

Did you know in yoga, when you place your prayer shaped hands to your heart, you are symbolically surrendering to it? To your heart, you are giving up all your will and thought and knowing and you letting go? I just learned that this week, after 12 years of practice.

How beautiful is that? To surrender to your heart? How good it feels within your arteries and in the push of beating blood in your veins.

And how hard it is to hear that, and also know the world's rules.

Lately, this has been my miss-matched-mess lesson. How to balance that surrender, the purest happiness of my higher self, and its reception in the world. How this degrapsing frees me in my goals and dreams, and loses me to people. And to the process of "growing up".

There are games in this world. With rules. By rules, that means lines and you have to color between them. My crayons never make good marks within those lines and not because I am particularly rebellious. Just too busy looking up or at the world around me and sighing in awe. Have you ever done this? Been lost in your little private car dance and passed your exit ramp? Been too busy singing your new favorite song that you missed the ringing of an important phone call? Not sure perhaps if sometimes your private joy blocks you from something very important and concrete and "real"? Good heavens, which is more important anyway?

I feel like I am losing something this way, but I can't quite figure what it is.

If you tuned in right now to that operating system, that heart of yours that yearns for all those lofty, difficult things in life, what would she say? What is he really pushing through your capillaries? Are you meant to go to Greece? Should you be spinning underneath the great orb of moon on a dew soaked lawn, laughing and scaring your neighbors a little? Are you supposed to speak only the barest truth when recounting a chapter of your life to a stranger, no filter, no mask? What is that surrender to you? And what do you have to lose, giving in to this beautiful power of your most tender being?

There's so much I don't know about this life.

Please, come here and teach me.

grace

2011-12-06T00:11:00.008-07:00

Let me tell you, I've gotten off track before. But never has it been so shocking as the contrast this time around, when I was so ON track before diverting. Peace, peace, focus and joy turned doubt, distraction, worry and panic. Just slightly, but even a speck of those emotions after such bliss is jolting.

There's one particular problem I've created for myself in this diversion that's created the most distraction and messed the most with my confidence. I've been searching for a solution nearly every minute of the last few days which is an awful lot more (useless) thinking than I usually experience. Every time I thought I had come to a possible solution, it didn't sit right with me and I felt the need to ask someone else for advice. I almost never do that for important decisions. There is a button inside me that just clicks and points me towards the right path.

************************************

My passenger side headlight went out today. But I noticed it too late to buy a new one before work, meaning I would have to drive at night when it was obvious. Which means I might attract a cop, who would surely notice that my car's registration has been out since JUNE. Which is exactly what happened not 5 minutes after I left work.

I saw him right as I pulled onto the highway and noticed that he slowed when I came into his rearview. I tried to stay behind him and looked for roads to turn off onto, but he just edged over to the shoulder, let me pass and threw his lights. I thanked every drop of water in the sky that the bartender hadn't bothered to serve me before I left the bar. Then I thought of my registration and knew my time had come.

I was very polite with him, using 'Sir' and looking him in the eye. He asked how long I had been in Texas and I told him, then told him I had been in Glacier National Park all summer, hoping it would help later when he noticed my registration. First he threatened to check if I had any warnings about my headlight; if I was lying to him about when I noticed it, I'd be getting a ticket. This told me he was serious and perhaps on a revenue run.

As he looked at all my documents, he noticed there were at least three addresses in use; he asked about each one and I actually apologized for not getting an apartment yet. I saw him glance around my car a few times. It definitely looked lived out of it tonight. My undergraduate research taught me you can certainly get in trouble for being homeless and I knew I looked all kinds of suspicious. Slowly he put together my story of moving here, trying to register my car, trying to get a Texas license, being transient, where I worked, why I was here. He asked for evidence that I was trying to register my car and I praised every kelvin of heat coming from my floorboard that I had paperwork for reordering its title. He told me he would be doing some research, then walked back to his car.

I felt so calm. My mind had stopped working on its silly problem and I just stared out into the rain. For a brief moment I thought of taking a picture of the lights behind me and sending it to a friend who hates authority, but I decided to just rest instead and maybe muse on how much my ticket would be and what I'd be giving up to pay it.

He returned after ten minutes and said he was giving me a warning for the headlight and one for the registration and made a point to inform me it would not go on my driving record. The next breath felt so sweet in my lungs. I thanked every cell in his hands as they passed me the sheet to sign. Then I thanked him directly, telling him I know he didn't have to give me a warning for the registration, but I really appreciated that he did. I looked him in the eye and I meant it. He stammered when he said "You're welcome" and I hope he felt the tidal wave of my gratitude.

As I pulled back onto the highway, the solution to my problem popped into my head in simple sentences and I felt no more need for advice. My mind shut up its yammering around the subject and a sudden flow of bliss coursed through my veins. This time, I thanked whatever it was that watched over me tonight, and thanked the officer again for his blessing. It was all the more motivation to get back on track and to do it with joy. So much grace in this life.

I win

2011-12-04T15:37:00.014-07:00

It's the small victories.

******************************

My favorite radio station is town is kgsr. My favorite radio station in the world is kgsr. When I lived away from Austin, I streamed it over my laptops, talked about it, fantasized about it. It's the station that points me towards my newest music crush and it's what I crank up on the way home when I am winding through this city's beautiful neighborhoods, hand out the window, letting it dance in the wind. When I arrive home during their 10-11pm new music hour, I sit in my car on the street for the last 20 minutes, engine off, eyes closed and head on the steering wheel with the speakers cranking, letting every note soak into my skin like tiny beads of water.

I like this station.

They are turning 21 years old next week. That's my lucky number. And they are throwing a huge party, featuring some of my new grooveshark favorites including Givers and Mat Kearny. I saw myself at that party all this week, like without a doubt. Every time "Hey Mama" blared out my speakers, I was in the new ACL Moody Theater venue, shakin' it like Africa, filled with the unblocked bliss that sort of groovin' can give you. And every time they announced the contest for tickets, I'd think, "Oh yeah, I need to go ahead and get those." It was going to happen. Period.

On my way to the coffee shop today, I decided to detour to the latest location for their ticket raffle. I brought in a book on Texas wineries and sat on a stool, drinking water like a Sunday afternoon prude and being approached by random people wondering what and why I was reading in an arcade bar. Had some interesting conversations, about writing especially, and just bided my time. As the minutes ticked by, my faith wavered. I admitted that I don't really know for sure that my gut feelings will manifest in reality...that my visions and inclinations are just that, in my head and gut. There were so many people at this bar and they were only choosing 10 winners. Who was I to think this was "meant to be"? Sure enough, though, soon after those thoughts elbowed their way into my quiet flow of fortitude, a text message on my phone lit up, telling me congratulations and I had won; please come claim my wristbands before 4pm. They took a picture of me with the yellow bands and reminded me not to lose them (an important reminder in my world).

Horrah!

This is happens so much these days. "Knowing" something in my gut and it materializing. Both good (and bad, unfortunately). But true nonetheless.

It all makes me think about to a conversation I had with this incredible 19 year old girl I've been close to for years. She told me that it was time for her to start taking her spirituality more seriously because she was ready to become a more powerful person in her life, ready to be able to make things happen. How wise is that?! I'm not sure if quieting the fluctuations of the mind makes it more possible to MOVE things in the world, or if it leaves the arteries of the mind and heart open, to HEAR possibilities. Either way, I'm pretty impressed with this little facet of the Universe.

Mat Kearney- Hey Mama. Heard it yet? If not, click that purple and get ready to do some seat dancing.

New Years Resolutions, one month warm up

2011-12-03T14:18:00.006-07:00

I never have the steam to restart at New Years. The holidays, the amount I have to work during the holidays, the endless Christmas music, beginning of cedar season in Austin, all leave me plumb out of energy. So I'm starting a month early and giving myself something to work on during my least favorite month of the year, December.

It's good timing too, because I've been goofing off a little. Or maybe a lot. It's a natural self-destructive/ procrastination response I learned for myself in school. I secured an incredible life opportunity, and immediately went to scaring myself about not being able to finish it. That fear is helpful, in a strange way. The project itself is so wonderful and real and intimidating on its own, but I felt like perhaps I had to up the ante a bit. Spend extra money on buying new clothes. Spent my extra time meeting new people instead of focusing on the many, many tasks at hand. Indulging in some general ADD activities and not controlling my mind properly. And I think I did it just long enough to begin feeling of panicked and realize that maybe, yes, I have gotten something out of my system. These activities actually feel stale now. And I am ready to hit the restart button again.

Goals:
1) Learn one new thing about wine every day.
2) Write 3 blogs a week. My writing is so rusty, I don't even think to myself in its language any more.
3) Focus on the book. It is now my priority.
4) Be self-referring and fearless and faithful in the world.
5) Find French podcasts and listen to them.
6) Go to the gym or do yoga at least twice a week; Run at least twice a week.
7) Keep $100 in my checking account and put everything else into savings. I need to feel the loss of moving money from my goal amount, instead of just not having it there in the first place.
8) Maintain meditation.
9) Eat fresher foods for natural energy.

That's enough. A list I can look at every day, especially in these next 21 days, and create a new form in my life. I can't wait to see how it grows and morphs and breathes!

becoming women

2011-11-09T14:45:00.000-07:00

I had this beautiful family at one of my tables last week, in to celebrate their mother's birthday- two little girls, mom and dad. The 13 year old girl was wearing makeup and her mothers heels. Everything looked just a little to big for her young, petite frame, but she tried to carry herself with dignity, not act too childlike. She ordered the carpacio for an appetizer and the osso buco for dinner, she opened and closed her menu carefully and tried not to laugh too loudly. And I folded her napkin at least 6 times as she got up to go to the bathroom. She hadn't drank that much water. I was pretty sure all those trips were really to the mirror, where she tried to take in this new way of being- face paint and height and a grown-up skirt. I grinned, remembering how strange and almost wonderous (if it weren't for all the self-consciousness) that time in life had been. Ah, the youth.

Today, I am going to a somewhat big event and I am so nervous about making a good impression. I've heard looks matter and am not sure many people will be taking pictures, so I bit the bullet and got an appointment to have my makeup done at the mall, some all-mineral line. The girl was this tiny, lovely thing with huge fake eye lashes and a natural application of cosmetics to her face. I told her what I was doing, how long it would last, the color of my shirt and that I was nervous. She took to the task right away, asking me all the time if I liked this and that, should my eyes be smokier, would I like more blush? Her small, cool hands smelled of cigarette smoke, faded by a handwashing, and she had this confident way of flicking the application brushes around that made me relax and trust her talent. In the store, it looked pretty normal, my face. But when I got into the daylight and my car and I practically screamed to see myself in the mirror. It was just so OBVIOUS! I promised myself not to destroy whatever whoever created that day so I just ran my hands over a few places, trying to blend a bit, then reminded myself that people wear makeup all the time and that I wouldn't look like a freak to others. I kept pulling the mirror down at stoplights and looking at my face. Women look like this all the time, models pile on the stuff. Relax. You look normal.

When I got to the cheap little taco place where I am now eating lunch, I was tempted to go to the bathroom just to look in the mirror once again. And it reminded me of that little girl; my emotions softened. Both of us trying so hard to comprehend this new way of being, trying so hard to be women.

words of affirmation

2011-10-27T18:16:00.002-06:00

panic: I'm in over my head.

remember: your favorite dreams are of drowning. you always learn how to breathe the water.

bird woman falls

2011-10-24T14:58:00.008-06:00

I am sitting in a favorite Austin coffee shop, zooming through the to-dos necessary to reach a dream. A to-do list for my dream! Is there anything more fun than this? I submit that there is not!

But with that dream comes an unexpected amount of worry. Maybe one could even call it anxiety. And for me, this time, primarily around money.

I do hate money, oh so much. I simply don't "get" it. I don't hunger for it or worship it... actually there's just not a spot in my brain reserved for it. And that goes for its material counterparts as well: clothing, car, place to sleep, jewelry... or whatever other physical objects people use money to attain (excepting food... but I feel food is closer to experience than 'material'). All this was confirmed by an astrologer last week (don't ask, long story). Some planet is in some house and it proves that I have very little concept of money or the material world. But does that mean I'll always have to struggle with it?

Starting this book, The Wine Roads of Texas, is like fulfilling a destiny. It's woken me up in the middle of the night for about a year now, followed me around, whispering in my ear. *I* didn't come up with this idea to work under its original author, IT did (either the book, or the Universe). But, as with any and all dreams that are meant to happen, it comes with one large challenge, that feels completely insurmountable. I am paid nothing to do this, not even gas money. I will have a small portion of the royalties after its published. This means I have to fully support myself while I travel around the state- credit card bills, phone bill, insurances, food, gas and all.

At first I brainstormed all the ways I could get more money: unemployment for the time I was between Glacier National Park and the restaurant in Austin (a horribly challenging set of Vogon loops, extra complicated by applying across state), refund for a crap-battery repair that showed me how much small I am than the man; I even tried to brainstorm a way to hold a raffle for a copy of the book and a bottle of Texas wine that matched the winners' tastes... but I couldn't ask for that, from anyone. I can't ask anyone else for the funds. It's not within my nature.

So I decided to work for it at the restaurant here. I've shaved off every extra spending I can think of, even limiting my coffee or eating out to what I can scrounge from change in my car. I have committed myself to homelessness. I set my mind to earning a lot here, working often and with passion- being a sheer *magnet* for money. Bring it to me, Siena! Then I came into work and I was handed 3 awful shifts in a row. The Rangers being in the World Series, combined with local high school homecoming night and just a bad luck of the draw, I started to panic. Not only was it not above and beyond expectations, it was way below the necessary amount needed just to survive without the book's requirements as well.

This is a waterfall in Glacier National Park and I do so love the sign. It highlights that beautiful moment when you are soaring on faith and momentum and untarnished joy, then a little breath of doubt graces your wings and sends you into a tail spin. My last bad shift, I panicked. All the work on meditation and recognition of worthless thoughts went out the window and were replaced by crippling fear. I want this so badly. I have never been so close to such a big dream made of so many aspects of myself. So the second those thoughts flooded in, I lost my composure and I haven't fully regained it since.

This is okay.

This is supposed to happen.

If I can't beat off the fear, I can at least be stubborn enough to limp through it, to 'fake it till you make it.' All I know to do is keep sending positive energy out in the world and keep pushing this vision, even making it bigger. All it's teaching me is this isn't going to be easy and I'm going to have to be willing to puff-chest it up to my lessons, be willing to expand.

new favorite song, 1:24 minutes long

2011-09-28T18:29:00.003-06:00

By current favorite band.

So Much Beauty in Dirt- Modest Mouse

Out of breath and out of cash,
find yourself watching M.A.S.H.,
every night on the couch.
Woman says let's take a drive down south,
roll down the windows and open our mouths
taste where we are and play the music loud.
Stop the car,
lay on the grass,
the planets spin and we watch space pass.
Walk a direction,
see where we get.
I never knew nothin' so there's nothin' to forget.
Get real drunk and ride our bikes.

There's so much beauty it could make you cry.
There's so much beauty it could make you cry.
There's so much beauty it could make you cry.
There's so much beauty it could make you cry.

The rich get money but never what they want.
Find ourselves a new place to haunt.
Climb up the fire escape do it 'til the ground looks far away.
Go night swimming,
leave our clothes on the ground,
when you get busted you should just stand there proud.
It's the truth we all been wrong make it up and let's move on.
Playing cards we all get to act sly

There's so much beauty it could make you cry.
There's so much beauty it could make you cry.
There's so much beauty it could make you cry.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

writing sample

2011-09-24T17:07:00.000-06:00

I hated it the moment I hit "send."

Oliver Meister is a happy blend of hermit and host. Warm, with an air of mischievous rebellion, nothing about Oliver feels particularly predictable. A German man with wild, curly blond hair and a penchant for tie-dyed shirts, you can believe he once toured the world on his bicycle, exploring its most exotic reaches before settling in the tiny town of Pole Bridge, Montana and running the North Fork hostel. He welcomes guests into his house year round and shows them, with endless patience, how to live in its rustic conditions. Despite its isolated location, the air of the place is communal and calls for story-telling around its large kitchen table or backyard fire pit. Oliver started coming to the North Fork hostel 20 years ago and explains, "It was one of the few places I returned to again and again that never changed. When I bought it 9 years ago, I kept it the same, because that is how I fell in love with it."

And by that, he means he kept its old-fashioned design and homey atmosphere. Old wooden walls and an eclectic collection of knick-knacks, pillows and old gadgets gives it the feel of cozy orderliness. Its only electricity comes from solar panels and a gas-powered generator. These are used for a water pump, the occasional electric light in a shower room and two switches: one for a power strip and one for the satellite wifi. Everything else is propane, wood or mechanical: the fridge, the oven and stove, the toaster, the heaters, the little propane lanterns placed strategically on the walls and ceilings throughout the house. The only toilet is in an unheated outhouse, 50 feet from the main building and it is recommended you bring your own flashlight to move about the property at night. Every new person who comes through is taught how to use each of these technologies so they can be comfortable, and so they don't light the entire place on fire. For all that is not explained verbally, there are maps and signs and instructions posted on the walls and even in the outhouse: Changing the toilet paper roll does not cause brain damage! And if it is cleaned and prepped, you may also use the wood-fired hot tub (a large wooden barrel) in the front. Although it was not working when I visited, it looks to be quite a treat on a starry night.

You have a choice of lodging options: dorm beds downstairs or up in a shoe-free loft. There are two small couples' rooms in this same loft that fit a bed and night stand. Or you can choose one of the remote structures that surrounds the house: cabins, a small RV trailer with a porch (affectionately named the Green Zucchini) or, if the weather is warm enough, an 18 foot teepee on the front lawn. If you have come prepared, you can pitch a tent on the property and use the house for your cooking and showering needs.

Pricing:
$7 camping (if you have arrived by bike or foot)
$14 camping (if you have arrived by automobile)
$20 bunk bed
$40 couples room and Green Zucchini
$45 cabins
$60 teepees

Towels and sheets not included but personal sleeping bags are allowed inside. Linen rentals available. All kitchen, shower, wifi and outhouse use are included.

Visa/ Mastercard and cash accepted. Reservations available online at www.nfhostel.com

two Suedes, politics and some German wine

2011-09-21T22:17:00.005-06:00

I kind of just want to leave the title and not write anything. It says enough...

I'm studying for this sommelier test, yes? And it's a phenomenal amount of information... I practically need to step it up to grad school level commitment; 4 hours of focused study today barely got me through Burgundy. How people with jobs are getting ready for this class, I have no clue.

Except maybe, JUST maybe, they are participating in the learning process. By that, I mean tasting the wines. This occurred to me today and I decided to see what the local Polebridge Mercantile might have to offer. Perhaps a California Pinot Noir or an Australian Shiraz. And, or, as I've been craving, for no good reason whatsoever (except perhaps because I am staying with a German man), a German Riesling (I find these sorts of out-of-the-way Polebridge-ish type places to be manifesting vortexes. Best to just hope for the best).

So I walked a full 1/4 mile to this lovely two story, red wood, bakery-based store, the center of this town, with all my books and set myself to study, and peruse their wine. Much, MUCH to my surprise, there were two German bottles on the shelf, both for $3. I asked the store clerk why they were so inexpensive and she said it must be a mistake. Turns out the owner got them for cheap and decided to pass them on as such. I bought them and took them back to the hostel. Oliver (the owner) said he'd help me try them. Then a Swedish couple arrived and they agreed to assist as well (after their beer and double shot of Scotch.) (I say Swedish because that's where they live. Truly, the man is Irish and the woman, 1/2 German). I broke out my wine book and began to decode the labels:

Auslese Rheinhessen- a select harvest wine, picked when the grapes are very ripe (the riper the grapes, higher on German hierarchy the wine. It's such a cold region, they assert riper grapes mean a better year or better South-facing slope {according to my wine book}); picked in select bunches and somewhat expensive ($3?!); made only in the best years when the summers are warm enough, from the Rheinhessen region. Variety of grape: unknown.

Riesling Pflaz- Riesling varietal from the Pfalz region. Quality is so-so.

Both are 10% alcohol, somewhat high for Germany.

I opened them as the Swedes cooked their dinner (bacon, tomato, eggs and sausage all in one pan. THAT'S multitasking) and Oliver took some Riesling with me. We all cheered our separate beverages. One sip and I opened the propane fridge for my sharp cheddar and raspberry jam: this was a *sweet* wine. But good. There was acidity too and a very beautiful undercurrent of green apple. After shoveling cheese and jam into my mouth with one ounce of Riesling, I tried the other bottle. Even sweeter, heavier and more complex- honesysuckle, red apple and... gasoline? We all began talking. About health care, Obama, corporations, income, taxes, television, good radio, school loans and the like. It was easy, we all agreed and built upon our varying points of view. After 40 minutes of conversation, I learned the Swedish woman (Eva) was a dentist and her husband, Dan, was an anesthetician. They talked about their professions like they were English degrees. I felt my mind expand. More wine was poured and by now, everyone was drinking it, giving their input, woven with table conversation. My head when light, then hot and happy. The wine became a part of the learning, a part of the social, a part of my food and all my senses- the feel of the tiny juice glass to my teeth and lips, the cool sensation of the thick wine across my tongue, the sounds of conversation, the apple notes in my nose and the sweetness on my taste buds. They became a part of me, and me, perhaps, a part of them.

Not likely, any time soon, that I'll be forgetting Auslese or why this classification of wine is so coveted for its complexity. Or how a Riesling can be both sweet and biting, not just cloying like they often are from California. Wrapping oneself in the experience brands the memory in a whole new way. I still have 4 regions in France, all of Spain, Italy and the entire New World to cover. Yikes! This might take some planning and a few new friends...

eggs and bacon

2011-09-20T11:11:00.002-06:00

Oliver, the owner of the North Fork Hostel, taught me how to make coffee this morning, using the hand-grinder clamped on to the side of the cabinet. I added my Fair-Trade organic, fresh roasted coffee beans (whose purchase supports the local grizzly bear population, I'll have you know!) and inhaled the dark, nutty scents as it slowly, mechanically became thin espresso dust. Then he showed me how to properly fill the stove-top espresso maker and which gas burner to set it on. He said it would make a "Woosh!" sound as the steam shot up through the grounds and became a thick, delicious bomb of morning happiness (or that's how I defined it in my head, anyway).

I have been imagining this breakfast for weeks, maybe months now. Yesterday I bought farm-fresh eggs of all different colors and sizes and natural, uncured bacon (not local, but I hope to change that at the farmers market). All those days, stumbling into the employee dining room in the mornings at Many Glacier and eyeing the flacci, light yellow "eggs" that were squeezed from a bag onto the flat-top grill, always sent me into at least 10 minutes of fantasy for this very morning:

First, I would heat the cast iron skillet until it warmed up my hovering hand. Then I would lay 3 (or maybe even 4!) thick strips of bacon on the black surface and watch the edges start to bubble. I would inhale. My eyes would roll back in my head. The bacon would cook slowly, so as not to burn, and so I could savor their natural aromatherapy, doing a little happy dance by the stove. Then I would scoop the finished pieces onto a plate and cover them, to keep them warm. There wouldn't be much grease in the pan, because it is good meat, but there would be enough to support the eggs. I'd crack them with a sharp-edged spatula and celebrate their orangey yolks, bobbing just a little in the bacon grease. They would receive a pinch of salt and some fresh black pepper before I flipped them over to bring them to medium. One egg might even break a little and allow its firm yolk to spill gently into the white.

I seldom imagined eating the meal. That was a given. It was the preparation I missed, and the choice of fresh ingredients, the way those dance together in heat. The way these small details wake up your senses in the morning and remind you the little delights of being alive. I got that wish this morning, with the added bonus of aspens peaking outside the window. Their beautiful pallet of yellow and green made a swaying painting, framed by the natural wood window sills of this house. The sky was one big cloud so that, save the ticking clock on the wall, one would have no idea what time it was. A German girl and I worked through a broken English conversation about travel, National Parks and bacon grease as I scooted around the kitchen in my dream.

And now with a full belly and a mug of cinnamoned coffee, it's time to begin studying for another dream. I am taking my first level in Master Court of Sommeliers October 2nd, and I need to learn a phenomenal amount of information before I can even walk through those doors. I prayed this morning for concentration and ability to absorb the material. I picture the day as a combination of sitting in this beautiful kitchen, curling up by the wood-burning stove with the cat (also named Oliver), and laying out on the 70's couch in the screened porch when the weather becomes warmer this afternoon. I'll make a lentil soup for lunch and have that for dinner as well, maybe with more eggs and some toast with jelly. And I'll go for a run in my barefoot shoes. If I am lucky, I will achieve what my meditation teacher asks us to consider every day: Be grateful for what you have and that you have tried your best.

respite

2011-09-18T21:49:00.004-06:00

It's time now for a rest.

I have been working full time and playing overtime, swimming in a sea of social and losing touch with my quiet self. I don't have much endurance for that kind of energy and I am, admittedly, fairly worn out. Thirsty, the way I crave a deep yoga class and a routine meditation. And the chance to sit quietly and read without anyone around me feeling restless. Other things I now look forward to:

1) The freedom to go to bed early and rise at the same time every day, if I damn well please.
2) Or stay up late sipping wine and eating cheese and apples while I study.
3) Having private thoughts about the world that can be as positive as I wish, without feeling the need to say anything interesting at all.
4) Pulling inside for a moment and releasing into the flow of the Universe again.
5) Unpacking memory and emotion and giving them room to breathe.
6) Being uncomfortable in my own skin as I process, without eyes watching me or mouths waiting for interaction.
7) Running, crunches and the healthy diet that helps me feel satiated.
8) Room to sit in thought with people from home and other places in my life; write a few letters; send an awful lot of overdue emails.

This transition- from existing with 100 people I barely knew, but who filled my every moment of living- to being anonymous again...is strange and completely unfamiliar. Nearly culture shock. I am so grateful my introduction comes in form of retreat.

sweet dreams

2011-09-16T22:44:00.005-06:00

I sang a lullaby to a friend today, went through all her rooms and locked all her doors, secured all her windows. Outside the mountains stood as sentinels and the lake lapped a languid rhythm at her shore.

I've been searching for ghosts in this hotel, hoping for the sounds of children running or to sense a spirit in a room. I thought the place would be haunted with all her years and that she would share that with me... but all I really feel is her quiet soul.

She'll be 97 years old this winter. 97 years of standing in snow, covering her 4th story windows and blowing over her roof. 97 years of visitor after visitor, coffee brewing in her basement, and the sun beating on her brown, wooden sides. 97 years of bridging civilization and the rest of our American wild.

I felt an deep honor to be her final checker, the last one to go deliberately through every room and be sure she is safe, closed down, tucked in and ready for a long rest.

Sweet dreams, Many Glacier and all your quiet ghosts.

---The Double---

2011-09-13T23:07:00.002-06:00

Resulting piece from the practice before:

She weaves and jumps with full momentum across the stones in the stream, flaunting her girlish charm in her grace. The scene before her spreads wide and chaotic. Evening moths flutter randomly in her headlamp-light and she bites at the air with her hands, shooing the winged ghosts from their delicate scent trail. When she reaches the other side of the water, she leans along a tree trunk and contemplates her unplanned summer; the left corner of her mouth twitches with stories. She folds forward to touch her leg, pokes at an unshaven hair, and takes a moment to adore her carelessness, her freedom in it. Popping upright again, she stretches her arms wide and a laugh explodes from her ribs. As with any day, she believes the best is yet to come.

Personal feedback and realizations:
I didn't describe the person so much as a scene because many of the descriptors from the other people referred to solid objects. That makes for overblown writing. And, in the end, I described myself AGAIN. Great exercise and realization, and great recognition that I need a lot more practice.

doubling up- writing excercise

2011-09-11T20:49:00.006-06:00

Write two paragraph-long character sketches of two people you know well. Wait a day, then write another long paragraph sketch that is a combination of the two earlier paragraphs. In other words, write a character sketch that takes elements from these two people you know to create a third, fictional character. What is a character sketch? Telling details, characteristic tics and gestures, interesting contradictions (a hit-man who can't stand to see an any animal harmed- like the Michael Palin character in 'A Fish Called Wanda'), what Aristotle called consistent inconsistencies. The key here is to use the two pieces of writing, not the two people you've written about. Fit together the two paragraphs of prose into one character sketch, making sense out of the combination somehow. 400 words.

There's a clear distinction between the moments when she is thinking about herself, and the moments when she's not. When she is contemplating her place in the world, she tugs at her short hair, pulling it up and fluffing it out. Her shoulders slump forward and she leans on things- doorjams, desks, walls and brooms. Her lips pull to the side, always to the right, and she bites the bottom one in a chewing motion. When she forgets- forgets she is talking, forgets to worry, forgets other people might see her vulnerability- her eyes open wide and she smirks with her mouth, pokes clever fun at boys and snaps witty comments with her hands and fingers. Her voice loses its natural volume control and phrases explode loudly and randomly from her abdomen; so does her laugh. Regardless of how she's feeling, she always eats with her mouth open.

He weaves about his life like a moth, zig-zagging between scents: there's a final goal but the path looks like stones scattered across a stream. He talks in circles between these points and his plans, and one can never really tell how he relates to others in his life, at least not by his stories of them. In every direction he moves, he uses full momentum, seeing only the newest scene, as though it is all that ever existed, and the power of this passion is his charm: unplanned and accidental. His left leg is always twitching when he sits- in a barstool, on a chair, folding napkins, standing before a run while stretching his arms. He can adore and mock someone in the same breath, same sentence, same glint of an eye.

character

2011-09-11T20:13:00.005-06:00

A few days ago, I was asked to submit some "personality pieces." At first, I thought this meant some pieces that reflected my personality as a writer... or a person... or a spirit moving about in the world. You know, something completely ego-centered and self-indulgent, like pretty much the entirety of this blog. But nope! Turns out it means pieces about OTHER people's personalities. Out of the oh, nearly 400 entries here, only two are about other people. TWO. And neither are good for submission because I didn't spend that long on sharpening them. Who has a couple of thumbs and is completely self-centered? THIS girl. Right here.

So what is there to say about that? It's time to grow. Time to expand. Time to wonder why that hasn't been the focus of my writing, think about what I need to do to make it so, and find out all the gorgeous ways I might benefit from a shift in paradigm.

Probably hasn't been the focus of my writing because it's not the focus of my thinking. Not that I don't think about other people; I'd say I'm nearly obsessed. Balancing all the social relations in our lives is what makes us such intelligent people, puts so many folds in our primate brains. We use most of our noggin-energy thinking about how we fit into our social web, how people are related to each other (both in terms of blood, but also in terms of personal connections), the right ways to behave in public, so-in-so's name and what not to say around them, or even the topic of your last conversation together. Think about all the energy you use on these things. It's a lot.

So I get that. But it's not what I can put into writing, at least not this kind of writing. Instead of describing them to myself in my head, as I would describe them to someone else on paper, I focus almost entirely on our social dance together- where we connect and where we miss and why all that happens. But stepping out of that dance and describing who other people are and what makes them tick requires cementing some fluidity and STATING something. "He's the sort of guy who needs to be taken for a walk every day, a puppy straining on the leash of his responsibilities." Or "She holds the corners of her mouth at a 3/4 grin in the mornings, laughing, I assume, at her last night's dreams."

Both of those are about people I work with here and I have never thought to describe them before. It was beautiful to sit, hold them in my mind, let them hover and celebrate them for a moment...

When I write, I try to imagine my mind/intuition-heart as an internal room or landscape and try to describe where the furniture is placed, or how the clouds move across prairies of thought and reaction. So to make this change, I need to change my subject of description. That difficult. Because I'm the only one who gets to describe the couch in my internal living room and I can't get that wrong. I can mess up describing someone else, read them incorrectly. This'll take some bravery.

I think it's also connected to natural inclination. In the Myer's and Briggs personality test, my last letter is a P, for perceptive. My mom, and several other people in my life, are J's, for judgmental. And those people are extremely good at reading other people upon first meetings. My mom can hone in on someone's nature within minutes. I'm too busy dancing to do that correctly. That'll have to change, at least for a few months.

Because, as I am starting to see, writing might be like acting. You don't get to just do whatever the heck you want. You have to try on different roles, open up yourself in different ways, let your water run down different avenues. And thank heavens because I'll take anything and everything to get out of my little self-indulgent corner and open up into something new. It'll require some guidance. Time to head to the writing book for ideas and really, really difficult exercises that scare the crap out of me...

chicken writer and a suggested exercise- tumblr blog

2011-09-10T14:11:00.001-06:00

I am a damn chicken when it comes to writing. Utterly scared… of what, I’m not sure… of producing shit, I imagine. Being accepted in that wine journal has kept me from writing a single word of the paper… or rather I have kept me from writing a single word of it. These words, they run around in my head, sometimes forming foamy sentences, then fade a minute later and I am back with my empty page. Heck, I haven’t even gotten to the empty page part yet.

So, fine. If I can’t write crap for that, I can write crap for this blog. Bought a handful of writing books last month. And reading about writing has to be one of the most productive ways to avoid the activity. But it’s time to quit being such a lilly coward and woman up to the task. I promised myself I would pick a random suggested writing exercise and stick to it, no matter what it said.

*I deliberately and consciously give myself permission to write utter junk*

Writing exercise from “The 3am Epiphany”. #14: No Ideas, But in Things: “Write a very brief story told only in images— concrete, visually efficient movements and details… 300 words.”

The table was an absolute mess when they left. Stiff, white napkins were strewn about, making sloppy tents. All twenty-three chairs faced in different directions and two had been knocked over, their legs shooting out like improper ladies off their barstools. Springs in one fallen chair popped through the bottom of flimsy grey fabric. The wine had been poured on the tablecloth in purply-red spots, splotches, blotches and streaks. It even clung to the bottom of the glasses, forming a translucent and colorful haze on their bases. Bread, pulled apart hastily, left crumbs on the table top, worn chair covers, and all the way across the cold concrete floor. Dessert plates were smeared with hardened chocolate sauce and licked forks lay every which way; one, placed in a water glass, had knocked the whole thing over, spilling and soaking some crumbs, and dousing one particularly run-down chair. Olive oil, salt and pepper all added minor accents to the scene. He sighed and approached the table, scratching his head. His hand swept in front of him, across his body and dropped to his side. He looked around for someone to recognize his plight and rush to help, but the room was empty and, except for the tinny sounds of jazz musak, quiet. One hand touched the faded soaked chair and another reached for a discarded napkin; he dabbed viciously at the worn fabric and sighed again. Rising from his knees, he suddenly giggled and reached for a glass, still half filled with wine. Swirling it above his head in a mad arch, he flung it towards the facing brick wall. It shattered and wine exploded in a big, read stain. Next he reached for a plate caked in chocolate and gripped it like a frisbee. His eyes squinted and his tongue popped out between his lips. Giggling again, he hurled it towards the wall, his eyes following as it bounced off, chips flying in three directions. He swiveled slowly on his heel and turned to face the table again.

That was like pulling freakin’ teeth!! Took me a 1/2 hour. A very, very good indication of what I need to practice more.

The Dalai Lama's 75th Blissday- tumblr blog

2011-09-10T14:06:00.001-06:00

One of the greatest things I’ll ever claim to have done in my life was attending the Dalai Lama’s 75th birthday in McLeod Ganj. Not because I was *there* at this incredible event. Honestly, it was cold and awkward- we crowded under covers meant for sunny days, jumbled together as we tried to avoid the rain coming through the breaks in the tent peaks. We could barely see him and couldn’t understand a lick of the Tibetan he spoke. We left before it was over. I am glad I was there, but what made it so amazing were the days surrounding it. I came into the town with angst and left in sweetness.

Never in my life have I ever felt such effortless bliss. We were staying at a monastery for $3 a night, sleeping on straw beds. The first day we arrived, I remember falling in love with a one-eyed cat, learning how to walk the narrow streets without jumping at car horns, inches from my back. Then, after the event, wandering the mountains nearby, rejoicing in waterfalls and discovering a tiny cafe, tucked into the rock folds. We climbed up a stumbling path and found inspiring places to read to each other from the Dalai Lama’s book. We danced on cafe terraces while we waited for the food. We tried on foreign clothing, and laughed while we bargained. We helped refugees practice English and spent a full day in museums, crying over the plight of the Tibetans, then discovering how they are using art to triumph. We met great travelers and savored new voices, cheering at the World Cup broadcasts. The world felt easy, sleep was deep, mornings were peaceful. All, from what I can tell… all from the presence of one man dedicated to love, in its purest form.

One of the greatest things I’ve ever done in my life was to be near that and to feel it.

The other greatest thing I can do is try to dedicate my life similarly.

Lofty goals are always worth the dream.

THIS moment

2011-09-06T00:53:00.004-06:00

I am sitting in my room after working a very long shift. In the hallway a group of coworkers/ dormmates/ friends are talking. "Jack" (Yang) a Chinese guy who works as a dining attendant is trying to say "Son"- it sounds like "Some" because the N is very difficult for him. This is cracking up my neighbor, Sarah. Every time he gets it right, she said, "Yes, that's it!" and every time his lips come together to form and "mmm..." sound, she laughs. One of those breath-first laughs, with a long, high pitched exhales, following by the stacato giggle. It makes me smile just to hear it. She always laughs a lot when she's tired and we all feel like the funniest people in the world on those days.

I'm alone in my dorm room now, a true luxury usually only enjoyed by managers. My roommate left a few days ago. Oh, and the internet is working, another rare luxury. To my left, 3 feet from my desk are my work shoes and socks and I can smell them from here. They will be sleeping in the hallway,yet again, tonight. To my right, I just saw a small, gray mouse skuttle across the floor. Truth be told, I think the thing is terribly cute. It's kind of fat, with round ears. Another girl set traps and killed hers. I kind of think of mine as a friend. My roommate said she saw it climb the wall, but I don't believe it. Or I choose not to, anyway.

My little heater is clicking on and off and that sweet warmth, paired with my box red wine in a Chinet plastic cup on the desk, is making me sleepy. I know I am tired because I keep taking a mouthful of wine, holding it over my tongue and writing, only to realize several sentences later that it's still there, and that I need to swallow. The hallway has emptied out and all I can hear now are quiet coughs coming from the room across the hall. Most people have probably moved downstairs to the girls' side lobby (because we have the couches), outside to our porch, or to the "Pub"- our designated hangout spot that greatly resembles an unfinished basement. It's a cold walk from here and I won't be joining. We have a week left, as a group. Then it's down to just 12 of us, closing down the hotel. I know I should live up every night as best as I can, connect as much as possible with anyone and everyone, but I have already started the transition. I finally have a plan, and my mind is half there.

Polebridge

2011-09-02T11:32:00.015-06:00

Ahhh... in the gorgeous escape of Polebridge, MT. This place came recommended to me a good, oh, 17 times in the last few months.

I'm sitting on a 70's couch, in a screened-in porch of a log cabin hostel, looking out on two teepees, a wood-lit hot tub, a rack of kayaks and some incredible purple-blue mountains, shrouded in clouds. Summer is over. The switch flipped two nights ago- we went to bed at 70 degrees and woke up in the 50's, thick fog obscuring familiar views. Even though there is some warmth in the sun, the air's weight is different and the aspens are beginning to quake yellow. Time for a retreat.

There's no electricity here, none from a distant source, anyway. We saw some huge solar panels on the way in and the electrical lights and wifi of this hostel run off of batteries, but there's no 'hum' anywhere. It's a filling quiet. When I used to visit my parents in Big Bend, I had to prepare for that type of silence. It was a void, so powerful your ears rang with all their leftover noise. It took me days to get used to, every time. But here, the quiet is gentle, filled with tree sounds and, if you are in the right place, water.

We slept in a loft of bunk beds made from tree trunks and read by the light filament of a gas lantern. I had very vivid dreams, populated mostly by people that I know and love; woke up grinning, their faces bright in my mind. We were going to stay in the Green Zucchini, an oblong trailer bug at the back of the property, with a poka-dotted rocking chair on the porch. But there's no heat and the loft was empty and so cozy... I think a summer night in the Zucchini would be perfect, but it's autumn now anyway.

It's seems a bit silly to demand a retreat from the national park, I guess. People come to us for just that- pristine, majestic mountains teeming with wild-ness. It's home of work for me, though, and a hundred people I know quite well (and love) and see all the time.

There's also a sharpness, a dangerousness to those mountains. And, I hate to admit it, now that the peaks are friends of mine, a claustrophobia. You are forever being watched by their snowy faces and there's very little horizon for your thoughts to skip down. It's almost an invasion of your mind's own privacy. Here, the mountains rest at a happy distance, and a fire in the 1980's has destroyed most of the trees. They are standing-ghosts in the national forest, but have been cleared for firewood in this private land, leaving wide-open-space. I don't know why that fuels my creativity or sense of peace, but it does.

I came with one other girl, Danielle. She is so comfortable in her own skin, our connection feels easy, an effortless flow of conversation and silence. And she has a great laugh. I'm grateful for the way it balances absolute solitude and a shared experience.

We head back to the Park today. I am hoping this short respite reignites a fire in these last couple of weeks, helps me to interact more genuinely with tourists and more embracingly with coworkers. This summer is a great journey with impermanence, of which the greatest lesson is savoring.

No moral to this story today an no great care in writing. Just a ramble of current place and time.

disappointment

2011-08-30T02:44:00.005-06:00

I was only spanked once as a child, so the story goes. In my memory, it was not at all. My parents had a different way of dealing with punishment and, whether or not they intended it, the phrase, "I am very disappointed in you" was the worst possible sentencing. I remember crying for hours in my room, repeating this phrase in my head. I guess I was a people pleaser from an early age.

*******

Today, I worked two shifts, the first beginning at 6am. The shift before had ended at 11pm. There are a few benefits to this arrangement we call "clopining". First, the mountains are gorgeous in a sunrise, and I have the privilege of seeing that. And two, I have tables from the night before in my breakfast section and get to develop a brief sense of "regulars." Today I had a large table of 8 people return from before, and although I vaguely remember them being a little difficult, I was happy to see their faces again. I recalled one woman in particular was full of smiles and had sang loudly, off-key to the piano player and I liked her immensely. The rest had an odd vibe and tipped erratically. This morning, they trickled in over a 30 minute period and ordered all different arrangements of our buffet. With 6 other tables, they were a bit of a blur, but I tried to make conversation as I could. One man asked a common question when I returned to take he and his wife's drink order,

"Oh, where in Texas are you from?"

"Austin."

"Did you got to UT?" The conversation was progressing predictably.

"Yes, I did my undergraduate there."

"Are you getting ready for graduate school now?"

"I finished grad school a couple of years ago."

"What are you going to do with your degree?"

My common joke: "You're looking at it!"

Then before I could say "just kidding" (although I'm not really kidding) or explain myself further, he laid down,

"Ah, as a parent, I'd be very disappointed."

WHAM! A huge blunt object hit me upside the head. That's what it felt like anyway. The emotional reaction was so deep, and so old, and so overwhelming, I lost my sense of balance in the room. I'd like to think if I had not been so tired, if I had a different hormonal state, if I weren't feeling overwhelmed by being busy and a series of other stars were in alignment, my reaction would have been quick, witty, and maybe even biting. I relive the options now:

"Well, it was between this and stripping, but as I am sure you know, it's not always wisest to follow the money."

"Hum... at least my parents aren't narcissists, so I don't have to worry about that."

"You'd be disappointed that your child is happy in her life?"

Instead what came out was, "That's not a very nice thing to say to anyone. Did you say you wanted coffee?"

The table immediately chastised him and I think he tried to make up for it by asking more about my degree. My head was humming *wha wha wahhhmm" and I couldn't reenter the conversation.

"What did you get your degree in?"

"Did you want coffee?"

"What was your degree in?"

"Do you want some coffee, sir?"

"Yes, what did you study?"

"Nutritional anthropology. I am writing a paper for the anthro of wine journal and trying to get into the business. I'll be right back with your drinks, sir."

Then, as anyone who knows me well might predict, I started crying.

And I couldn't stop, as the restaurant just got busier and busier.

Lots of other jobs probably have the option of taking a break, even a bathroom break, when you need it. This one does not. People need their refills and their plates cleared and their checks run, often all at the same time. And they need it done by a predictable person with the single emotion of happy servitude. That is the work, 40 hours a week. I tried to pull it together, using a technique called "brain spotting," standing in the server station looking for a visual location to help be contain my emotions, but that phrase would repeat itself over and over again my head and I was literally swarmed in heat and the need for emotive relief. All my tables looked concerned when I got near them and later in the bathroom, I saw why. Make-up gone, red eyes, blotchy skin: scary and uncontainable. I am not unfamiliar with this predicament, but I do so hate the embarrassment.

When he asked to pay, I told him in a shaky voice he would need to remind me what they had. He came to the computer and when I handed him a $14 check, he threw down and $20 and walked away. I think he felt bad. Honestly, I hope he did. But there's no way we'd ever have the full conversation I'd like with him, about why I chose the path I'm on, about how I don't regret a single step of it, and about how one of the things I fear the most is the disappointment from my parents. I know they support me, and I know they understand that, in everything I do, I honestly try my best to try my best.

But I think I am part of that lost generation that doesn't know what we are supposed to work towards. There's no corporate loyalty. I don't want a suburban home. And I honestly don't know what I want to DO yet. I am miserable in an office and I need a job that challenges me in every aspect: social, physical, intellectual and maybe like today, emotional. It doesn't have to give me societal accolades; I got over that in grad school. Restaurant work has always done these other things for me and, as long as I can make ends meet, I'm happy to do it. When someone tells me I am good waitress, I am filled with genuine pride because it's something I am truly invested in. I don't try to live off the dole and I don't ever dread going to my job. I know I don't have to defend myself, but one can't help but give in to a little internal ego fit every now and then.

music/ mountain

2011-08-29T05:50:00.002-06:00

Everything changed listening to "Two Step" in LeeAnn's little S-10 truck. From the first strains, that song snaked up my spinal chord, wove itself through my neurons and lodged down in some deep primal recess of my brain. I remember we were headed shoe shopping and had to sit in the parking lot and listen to till the end of the song. We may have even rewound the cassette to listen one more time. I was like some wired addict walking around Payless Shoes, itching to get back to the truck and listen and listen and listen. I wanted to know every note, to let it unlock parts of my very breath and heartbeat.

"Say my love, I came to you with best intentions..."

Music had never done that for me before. All the instruments breaking apart and slamming together to dance like hip-locked lovers. It opened caverns in my mind and I became dedicated to knowing a band that could do that. Every album, every song, endless live recordings. I embraced them totally and trusted there was wisdom and potential in every nook and cranny of their creation.

I loved DMB till I got to college. Then things started to look different. Everybody loved them and play the albums all the time- out dorm windows, in restaurants, in the car- the world felt saturated; everyone owned a piece of the magic. And I no longer got to hold it in a sacred space. I'd be in a bad mood, and it would come on somewhere. Good mood, the same. The emotion I had invested in individual songs started to flatten out and become a mushy gray. The whole abandonment took years, like my abandonment of a solely Christian God, or any major paradigm shift. The band changed too and so did the overall fan base- away from peace loving, tie-dyed dancing hippies, to khaki wearing young business majors and corporate upstarts. It was shocking because the band's lyrical messages didn't match that lifestyle; it, in fact, rallied against it. I was left with a shadow of some magic I once held and the empty hole that first pure experience carved.

My friend Priyanka once told me she never let herself really get into music because she was afraid of having heart broken (this has since changed for her). She had a legitimate concern. This first heartbreak was difficult, knowing I could no longer rely on this band to produce poignant music that would open my life into new aspects of itself. But unlike human relationships, musical ones don't have to be monogamous to feel safe... and there are plenty of fish in the sea. Wilco, Patty Griffin. Gregory Alan Isakov. I have fallen in love over and over again in different colors and flavors. My list will grow infinitely.

Today I returned to this first lover and listened to a chunk of songs again on one of the most epic roads in this fine country and... I felt first love again. Going to the Sun Road through Glacier National Park, my current summer home, has scenery swallowed in mountain peaks. I have been a stranger to these mountains, or they to me, more accurately. I don't know their names and I don't spend time memorizing their features. My dedication is to the ocean, my first true and effortless love.

But a shift is coming on.

It started yesterday cresting a summit and rushing onto the crown of the continent and feeling, all of a sudden, an inability, but deep desire, to take it all in. Something in that embracing is facilitating these memories. I don't understand it all, but the flow of energy is very welcomed. I needed something to take my by the shoulders as I sit in this waiting room, and jostle me right awake. Snap-quick, like listening to that song, I am now considering these mountains as a part of my soul, the way I do the pulsing ocean. I used to think I could just truly love one, but now I see there's more room in my being for them both. I don't think they'll be jealous of each other.

home again

2011-08-21T00:29:00.005-06:00

Ahhh... back in the familiar land of blogspot and I don't think I'll be leaving any time soon. Funny how that goes: you don't know what you've got till it's gone, grass is always greener and all that jazz. I moved over to Tumblr because the design fascinated me, and I ran across a really interesting writer who got his start there. But I missed so many blogspot things: the ability to put as many spaces as I wanted between my paragraphs, the opportunity for folks to leave comments, often and effective saving, and the chance to follow anyone's blog, no matter what provider they use. Got to hand it to Google again- they do it better.

Plus, after writing in here almost every day for a year in grad school, the format is so comforting and, because of that... inspiring? I think I am finally getting to a point in my life now when familiar can spur creativity, too (or at least getting to a point where I can admit it). And it looks almost like a rough draft here, which is great, because that's the truth. The other format made me feel as though I could say nothing unless it were well polished, but that just ain't going to happen, not from this little writer. Guess it's better to produce crap out of determination, than nothing at all out of fear/ intimidation.

Going to move the blogs I wrote on Tumblr over soon, but I'll start by posting some new blogs first. Horray! So good to be home.

balls in the air

2011-02-24T01:12:00.003-07:00

I've put too many up there again. Just not this talented of a juggler, nor do enough hours exist in the day:

1) work (enough to pay bills and save)
2) meditation
3) yoga
4) cardio/ working out
5) self-education on wine
6) project on wine for presentation in June
7) personal writing
8) keeping up with friends
9) cooking
10) keeping things somewhat clean/ brushing my teeth, cleaning the cat box etc

I've dropped a few of them, specifically personal writing. But I have started a new blog on Tumblr, a very advanced and well designed site.

itsastretch.tumblr.com (creative, I know)

My first posts will be old ones from this blog that speak to me in some way. Slowly working towards that.

Oh yeah...

11) sleep

Going to give that one a shot.

another letter to a girl

2011-02-24T01:11:00.001-07:00

It doesn't matter her exact situation, really. Or who she is. It felt really good to just talk to myself for a while and realize I've gone somewhere in my thoughts:

Hey Girl

Sorry, girlie, I work a lot. Had a 15 hour day today and am just now looking at email. I can guarantee you that I'm not the best person to rely upon for regular advice/ counseling on this. Boy can attest that sometimes I just can't show. So please forgive, but I will respond as best as I can now.

I think, darling, that it is time to let go. Breakups are like mourning, almost like losing someone to death. The symptoms are similar and the stages are the same (http://www.recover-from-grief.com/7-stages-of-grief.html). You are not only losing a person, in these sense of them being outside of you. You are faced with the part of your identity and concept of self that was tied into them; we are made of the people we know and love. Some of that fear and panic and sadness is that part of you realizing it has to remake itself into something new- something not-Boy. You don't know what it'll be, who you're new and growing self is, and that's a naturally scary place for the human psyche: groundlessness. But you have to be brave and have faith that you will become more of who you want to be, that you will develop new parts of yourself either on your own, or through new connections to other people.

And another part, always another part of it, is the ego. It hurts so, so badly when the other person moves on or when they decide to put their energies elsewhere. I know this sounds crackass and ridiculous, but as much as you can, try not to take it personally. Seriously. A lot of this is circumstance, where yall live and your ages. Boy's brain, and your own, are changing in ways neither of you can control and it's natural for him to thirst for the world right now, especially as he is coming out of school. I know it feels perhaps like he doesn't want 'you' anymore, but it's not fully the Girl-how-she-defines-herself-and-moves-in-the-world-you, it's a more complex connection of Boy to his concept of self. I don't know how to describe that better without sounding completely removed and overly psychological- but the point is- be gentle on yourself here. Like #4 on the brainstroming list. It's very important not to beat yourself up with things he's not even saying, and even if there are things he is saying, it's not important. You are the best judge and cheerleader for you; package up any negative messages/thoughts you don't want, that don't serve you and give them back- perhaps to Boy or maybe just to the ether. Be easy on yourself.

It's okay that you still love him and it's okay that you miss him. It might get much more intense, then easier, then really freakin' hard again and so on. Have you heard of/ read Eat Pray Love? There's a lovely part where her close friend talks to her during some deep heartbreak over her soul mate of sorts and he is tell her to give it up.

"But I love him."
"So love him."
"But I miss him."
"So miss him. Send him some love and light every time you think about him, then drop it."

You will have to find a lot of coping strategies and a lot of bravery, but keep moving forward. When you feel angry, get angry and know that it is a stage you are supposed to be in, but also that it will pass, like a storm. When you're sad, buckle down and scream and cry and double over on your knees and let it move through you, then, when you are done, get up and take a shower, have a bowl of ice cream, watch a stupid movie and feel things slowly loosening. Parts of it will suck and feel absolutely unbearable, but they are- you are strong enough for this. And it will pass and you will become someone you don't even know yourself yet, and it will be beautiful. I promise. Okay? I promise.

In the meantime, I think you are right in thinking it's best if yall don't talk right now. My friend taught me this simple method: write down all the hours of the day on a piece of paper. For each one you don't write/call/text etc Boy, cross it off. When you sleep, cross off 8, or whatever. Keep doing it till you can move to whole days. Etc. The physical record helps immensely. And if that can include not hearing about things having to do with Boy, try that too (like this new girl- let it go. This next chapter is all about you; he will do whatever he feels drawn to, just as you will too).

I don't know if Boy will succeed in his dreams, but it doesn't really matter in the big picture. The joy is in the journey and the growth is in the dreaming. I've had so many schemes in my life that have occupied hours, days, weeks, months of planning, that never came to fruition. Something else came along or something didn't come through or whatever. Doesn't matter. I've lived my life without a second to waste, even those that felt unfufilled were and still are undeniably precious and perfect. And I know that I could die on the way to work tomorrow and be fine in those last seconds because I was always moving forward, even when it didn't feel that way. What matters in these dreams is that he is alive in this. It'll go where it does and he'll do what he'll do. I'm proud of him no matter the outcome. And, even though we don't know each other, I am proud of you. I can tell you are a brilliant and driven woman who has an incredible journey still in her. Absolutely adventure :)

Below is a poem my counselor gave to me during one point of remaking myself, returning from a 4 month backpacking trip, right after Boy's dad did whatever it was he does with girls, the beginning of grad school, living a dream and completely free. We are riddles, even to ourselves. Now is a beautiful and perfect time for you to explore your own:

I wish you the best, beautiful Girl. Keep writing if/when you need and I'll respond as best I can. I don't know if any of this is useful but know I send it with the deepest hope for your happiness.

Margaret

Reassurance

I must love the questions
themselves
as Rilke said
like locked rooms
full of treasure
to which my blind
and groping key
does not yet fit

and await the answers
as unsealed
letters
mailed with dubious intent
and written in a very foreign
tongue.

and in the hourly making
of myself
no thought of Time
to force, to squeeze
the space
I grow into.
-Alice Walker

date with an old friend

2011-02-08T19:22:00.004-07:00

I took myself on a date tonight. The whole nine yards.

Got my hair cut, bought a new dress, got my eyebrows waxed. Then I went home and pulled a hot bath with smelly-good salts and shaved my legs. While I got ready- pulling out makeup I seldom use, applying teeth whitening strips, trying on different jewelry, painting my toenails- I played fun, spritely music (Octopus Project) and really enjoyed myself. I wanted to be in a good mood when I hit the door.

Because this is an important date.

We've been friends for so long (and like any close people, enemies too) and now we are settling into a comfortable and enlightening rhythm, learning something new every time we hang out. I love us together and I wanted it to be a special night.

I headed to work and enjoyed a three course meal- big salad with bacon and apples, black mission figs stuffed with cheese and wrapped in prosciutto, then the "La Bomba", a flourless chocolate tort heated and served with local vanilla goat's milk gelato and grappa soaked cherries. All accompanied by the Byron pinot noir- subtle enough to blend with each dish, but powerful enough to show up for a performance. Next up is a movie at my favorite theater, the Alamo Drafthouse. We're going to see the King's Speech because the reviews are raving and the preview moved me, as few do. I look forward to settling into the seat with perhaps another glass of wine, and not saying a single thing to a single soul.

Just me, myself and I.

This solitary time is so rare. I just realized that my parents have been married almost twice as long as they have been single. That's amazing and beautiful, and also reminded me that while I have some time to do whatever I want, nearly whenever I want, I should take full advantage and savor every second.

So that's me tonight, full from delicious food, satisfied with spectacular wine, shaved legs and doing exactly what I please.

Hello you. So glad we've met.

Writing Down the Bones

2011-02-03T09:42:00.002-07:00

My book came! And it's so inspiring, I cannot read it unless I am in a place where I can write immediately. Best of all, she weaves writing practice in with meditation wisdoms; perfect serendipity. As promised to myself, I will do whatever she recommends (although will not post all of it here).

First order of business: messiness. Free writing with no backspace or editing. I like this very much, even though it is intimidating. Every time I buy a journal, I use the first page to write intentions for its purpose. In the last couple of years I've always included how ugly it's going to be, all the crap I'll write inside it, the pages I will tear out. It gives permission to be raw and takes away pen-freezing expectations. She talks about this a lot.

First exercise is called First Thoughts

The rules:

1) Keep your hand moving. (Don't pause to reread the line you have just written. That's stalling and trying to get control of what you're saying.)
2) Don't cross out. (That is editing as you write. Even if you write something you didn't mean to write, leave it.)
3) Don't worry about spelling, punctuation, grammar. (Don't even care about staying within the margines and lines on the page.)
4) Lose control.
5) Don't think. Don't get logical.
6) Go for the jugular. (If something comes up in your writing that is scary or naked, dive right into it. It probably has lots of energy.)

The point of the practice is to burn away to First Thoughts, "a place where are writing what your mind actually sees and feels, not what it thinks it should see and feel. It's a great opportunity to see the oddities of your mind."

I like her personal example immensely:

"For instance, the phrase 'I cut the daisy from my throat' shot through my mind. Now my second thought, carefully tutored in 1 + 1 = 2 logic, in politeness, fear and embarrassment at the natural would say, 'That's ridiculous. You sound suicidal. Don't show yourself cutting your throat. Someone will think you are crazy.' And instead, if we give the censor its way, we write, 'My throat was a little sore, so I didn't say anything.' Proper and boring."

I cut the daisy from my throat.

Okay then, time for a little dive into the mind. Can't wait to see what all is in there...

nourishment

2011-02-02T11:48:00.008-07:00

Finished the last of my cleanse this morning and decided to eat two meals before work tonight. The first was this soup- a beautiful combination of veggies and spices sprinkled with nutritional yeast and served over quinoi. Later it'll be a great gluten-free muesli with added nuts, raisins, dried peaches and peanut butter. I'll take another vitamin and nutrient packed juice with me to work- spinach, apples, carrots, ginger, tumeric, and whatever else I can find hanging around my fridge! So excited to be back into juicing again. Such a marvelous way to get so much good food into your system at once and, at home, it's so affordable.

That's one of the many changes I'm happy to make in my life after this detox. Before, my roommate described me as being in the C diet- coffee, cereal, cheese and chocolate. And whereas all of those things are incredibly delicious, they were severely lacking as staple foods. Now I feel more confident with greens, as well as more enthusiastic about cooking.

But most of all, I am reconnected with the idea of nourishment.

Really thinking about my stomach and intestines and how that system is so vital for the rest of my body, down to the ways all my little cells build and destroy, clear out and create anew. It all comes from the food I put into my mouth. There is a difference between appetite and hunger and they rule you differently. Appetite is impulse and habit, connected to what you are used to. Eat fat and sugar and you will crave just that. Eat salads, veggies, whole grains and occasional healthy meats, and your body will search those out. Hunger is a healthy measure of when to eat, and controlling your appetite will ensure that what you reach for is actual nourishment for the whole system. It was good to recognize this again and readjust my appetite.

So before this soup, I took some time to meditate on all its beauty and worth and gifts to my body and to give thanks for its taste. Another corkscrew in life's spiral- touching the same place again, but one small level up.

PS So... went to the store to buy "healthy" Smores materials, since it's below freezing here and we have a fireplace in the apartment. Ended up purchasing 3 types of chocolate and eating two of them in the car on the drive back, some paired with the gluten free graham crackers I had bought. Kept thinking, "This is a bad idea for your stomach and you're going to get a headache before you go into work! You should easy back in with all whole foods and lots of greens and homemade soups..." I felt the tummy gurgles right away and my mind started to wander already, untethered from its peaceful, grounded state; totally did it to myself.

Ha! Ah, I love being human.

japa mala gift

2011-02-02T00:04:00.002-07:00

Spent time writing letters the last two nights. The last paragraph of one:

"There are all sorts of superstitions involving the japa malas- don't let it touch the ground or the energy runs out, keep it in a cloth bag to protect it from evil energies etc. Believe what you want. In my humble opinion, the whole point of meditation is to understand (or try to understand) how you are connected to every atom, molecule, breeze, butterfly and black hole- every exploding star, cat's breath and ribosome in every single cell- and how it is all God. It is all divine. Meditation quiets the mind, calms the ego, and leaves room for this realization. So if it's all God, why does it matter if you mala touches the ground? It's God touching God. So do with it what you like. The real point of its journey was to let you know that I thought of you in each of these places and wished for you blessings, happiness, and plenty of unique and beautiful journeys of your own. Much love.

juice and bliss

2011-01-31T23:16:00.006-07:00

So I am in the final days of the detox. The portion with our yoga group ended yesterday and I started my own hybrid liquid cleanse today; it'll only go through Wednesday. It's a sort of Master Cleanse meets Apple Cider Vinegar meets "Winter Wake Up" meets the detox we just finished. Much more intense because now hunger plays a role, not just appetite (and it's very good to recognize the difference again). I don't want to do this long; 10 days seems a little crazy to me, and a bit unhealthy. Just a few days to help my system finish flushing, and apparently it needs it.

I'd love to try something like this in a retreat center, with no real daily obligations, but it's been very interesting doing it in real life- ripples. I worked a double today (not the smartest day to start this portion of the detox) and was highly amused to watch my reactions to the world. This morning, for example, I was really subtly angry for most of lunch. It was semi-directed, but only because other people were around. Since there was seemingly no reason for the rage, I could see it as just an emotion, rising up from somewhere deep. And happily, it felt somewhat novel; I think I went through a phase where it was my immediate reaction to all frustrations. Then that subsided and I felt sad on my break. Then just sort of lost but grounded during the dinner shift- resigned in a way- which was okay as well. One coworker said I seemed to be in remarkably good spirits considering, which was also interesting.

Because I feel a bliss growing inside of me, but I don't feel it rising up through my heart and across my shoulders, up my neck and into my face. I am not smiling much, my eyes are not twinkling. That was something I generally lost in October. I hope that continues to change though and that this new bliss continues to deepen and grow strong roots that resist upheaval. I can wait for it to grow upwards while that happens. Time to sit back on my cushion again.

focus

2011-01-31T23:02:00.004-07:00

It's been so much easier lately! I don't know when I developed ADD, but for a while now, it's been remarkably difficult to sit and focus on just one thing for a significant amount of time. In grad school, I would constantly flip and back forth from facebook and email to my readings, then pick at my socks, take a walk to the water fountain, stare at the wall. It was maddening, but I couldn't make myself stop. And lately it's been multi-tasking all the time, so that I can't finish just one task before moving on to the next: cut one carrot, turn on the stove, wash a dish, start the hot water, pull something out of the fridge, move the laundry to the dryer, cut another carrot. Really inefficient and internally unsettling. The last few days, though, there's been a deep shift, also internal. I've been starting projects and really enjoying them; my mind wanders less and I don't have to remind myself to pay attention.

It's as though there was once a raging whirlpool- moving, moving, moving, but going nowhere. And now, it's become a stiller pond. I can't see the reflections of the mountains in its waters yet, but I can throw in a rock and watch the ripples.

I can't say how amazed and grateful I am for this.

Letter to a girl

2011-01-31T00:32:00.004-07:00

I know we haven't met yet, but I thought I'd send you a gift from India.

This was purchased in McLeod Ganj, home of the Dalai Lama and some 10,000 Tibetan refugees who have run for their lives leaving family, home and everything they own for a 40 day trek on foot over the Himalayas. Many lose limbs to frostbite and several die on the journey. When they reach India, they often settle here to be near the Dalai Lama. There is a temple in the middle of town filled with prayer wheels. It is said that if you spin one, you say the prayer written on it. And you know what the wheels read? (roughly translated into English):

"I pray for the happiness of all sentient beings."

They flee their homes, risking life and limb, starvation and poverty, and arrive to pray for our happiness- yours, mine, Zach's, my cat's, the bird outside your window, the Chinese who persecute them, all the Amazonian bugs and the biggest blue whale in the deepest sea.

Incredible.

This is a journal made completely from scratch, by hand, even the paper. It helps provide work for the refugees who struggle to find jobs and this particular one is made by women who are doing all they can to clothe and feed their families.

You're on an incredible journey too! On your own, meeting new people, taking difficult classes, dreaming new dreams, making your mark. I don't know if you write or draw or make scrapbooks or collages, but in case you do, and especially in this new chapter of your life, perhaps this can be a vehicle of your expression.

I wish you all the best and hope we get to meet some day!

compassion practice

2011-01-28T21:52:00.003-07:00

Customers can get quite nosy about a server's personal life details I revealed way more than I expected to in Marathon, my first fine dining position. For some reason, folks find your personal story to be a part of their souvenir collection. One question that comes up has to do with your background, followed quickly by inquires into your personal goals, because nobody dreams of just being a waitress... right? So when I revealed that I have a degree in anthropology, they would ask,

"And what are you going to do with that?"

"Well... you're looking at it."

I was only half joking. Waiting tables is one of the best exposures to daily anthropology on the planet. You are given windows into people's lives for short periods, seeing their personalities, listening to discourse, watching nervous habits and balancing interactions. It's one of my favorite ways I've applied the degree so far.

And now, I am seeing a new benefit: a venue in which to practice compassion.

As I have been doing this meditation, I have found myself more grounded on the floor, more able to listen attentively as people fret over what to order and what to eat, as well as details in their lives. They tell me about their daughters getting married and plans for building a church; they have fights, come in to spoil themselves to recover from a breakup, and get engaged or celebrate an anniversary; they introduce me to their children proudly and tell me about their parents accomplishments; they have business meeting and talk about things that infuriate me; they sit quietly in peace of a long relationship or awkwardness of a first date. They come from so many places in their lives and sit before me to enjoy a meal, and it's been, in the last week or so, this new place in which I get to actively practice compassion and appreciate them openly for it all. Every person is an opportunity to listen more carefully, ask more caring questions and just refill their water with a hope for their deepest happiness in mind. Who knew work could be so fulfilling?

I am love

2011-01-27T10:46:00.005-07:00

I found a new meditation. The Gayatri has been wonderful and I will continue to do it, especially in the sun. I understand much better- after having practiced it yesterday in a warm, dry, sun drenched creek bed in the Greenbelt- why it is an honor to that sort of energy. But alone in my room, I wanted to try something new.

Steven, my meditation leader and sort of adopted guru (he doesn't know that though), introduced So Hum on Tuesday and I fell in love with it. It actually means, "I am love." So (I Am) on the inhale, and Hum (Love) on the exhale. I aimed to do it 108 times this morning, but think I might have passed the stop bead and did it 216; it was so engrossing. Either way is great. The first little bit, I just thought the words, filled up with as much air as possible, exhaled as much as possible and worked on imagining a little flame in my chest.

Then, after some time, I started to imagine people in my life. There have been so many precious folks going through tough things lately and I haven't been able to show up fully for all of them. Part of it is because life is busy right now, and especially this week when I've been focusing on the cleanse. And part of it is because I am in a generally selfish state in my life overall. It's been hard for me to have several hour+ conversations with people in a week and I've not been able to connect with everyone. So I started picturing all these beautiful folks in my life and with each round, sent them love, imagining their very heart and spirit and souls and energies they put into the world and feeling immense gratitude. Then it expanded to others with whom I either have a steady connection (like my parents), and those with whom I am estranged at this point in time. On some, I did several rounds- those in my family who were closest to my uncle Paul's death; my parents who embody love so perfectly, I am forever humbled by their compassion; some people with whom I've been spending a lot of mind and heart time with lately, even if I can't talk to them.

Came out of it with my chest feeling warm and many more people to whom I want send gratitude and love. I think this shall be my daily meditation for a while. It's the best I can do until it's possible to be the support, lend the ear, reach out and speak so we can heal, or just show up to lunch. I miss them all.

So Hum
So Hum
So Hum

I send you love.

bad monkey

2011-01-26T09:29:00.005-07:00

Yesterday was a focus on the body. Went to a gentle yoga class, got a great green drink at Whole Foods, received acupuncture and massage, visited an all-gluten-free bakery and had a really beautiful sandwich, went back to yoga followed by meditation, sat in the steam room, then in a baking soda bath, then tried to go to bed early, but did not succeed. It was my last day being sick, my only full day off for I don't know how long, and I wanted to use every last second of it.

And my ego was a big ole pain in the butt.

Maybe because I was sitting with it for a little chunk of the day. Maybe because my body was stronger. I'm not sure. But it was driving me nuts! First it took credit for getting better and demanded I do everything I've missed out on for the last week and a half-- running, a harder yoga class, weights, push-ups, crunches, and why not just fast for the whole day? It'll help clear the system more quickly. I knew these were bad ideas and I'd just end up sick again, but it reminded me that my tummy was getting flabby and I was developing those handles over my hips again. Better to just take care of it all right away. *sigh*

Then it pulled all its little tricks in yoga and in meditation. Lifting me up with silly congratulations and putting me down for not being perfect (and for not being able to shut it up, strangely enough). It judged other people in the class and looked for affirmation, then sulked when I didn't get it. It ran back in my memory bank for all sorts of histories, good and bad, then had imaginary discussions and even fights with different people in my life. All I wanted was to sit in a calm space and think about the higher good. It was like a monkey, running around the room, pulling stuff off the walls and screeching.

I was exhausted by the end.

The question is, how to deal? There are a few theories. One is annihilation: get rid of it entirely. Thinking, let it go. Dismiss it. You can do this somewhat violently, scolding it, pushing it out the door and telling it to go play somewhere else. Or gently, hoping your kind approach lulls it into a sweet sleep.

Or, as our instructor pointed out yesterday, perhaps you think about it uniting. Uniting with that part that is quiet and connected to the bigger self, the Universe, the Brahman, or however you want to think of it. Perhaps give it a role in the process?

"Here, we are going to do the So Hum (I am love) mantra now. I would like for you to go down to the heart center and see how things are there. Start a fire if you can."

Will that keep it busy? I like the idea, but I don't know how to put it into practice.

The only thing I know is effective is to humble it. This morning, I sat down to do 36 rounds of the Gayatri, the most I've ever done by myself. The ego was screeching and yelping and I couldn't get through even one round focusing entirely. I stopped, did some concentration exercises, then returned with a sort of broken spirit. "I will just do what I can today and hope that is enough for now." Something about that realization, calmed my monkey thoughts just a bit, like if I didn't pay much attention to them or put any emotional charge (frustration, anger, even lulling) into the equation they didn't hold as much power. I don't know. Nothing to do but keep trying.

abstract

2011-01-25T15:37:00.005-07:00

I am working on an abstract for a paper in a new journal, The Anthropology of Wine. I haven't written the paper yet (because it requires an awful lot of research) and I don't even know if it'll be accepted, but just writing 200 words about what the paper *might* cover has shown me that writing can really be... a task. The second sentence is ridiculous already. *sigh* So far:
(Oh and PS: "affect" generally means "emotion"; still trying to use the word correctly)

Cactus, Cows, Willie and Wine: Tasting in the Texas Hill Country

This paper examines the construction of knowledge and affect in tasting rooms of wine estates in the Texas Hill Country. Through the writer’s participant observation and ethnographic research with owners, wine makers, tasting room attendants and customers, it considers who visits these ranch side wineries, who works at them and how they interact and think of each other, and of the wine.

As the second fastest-growing wine region in the nation (following Napa), and as the largest AVA out of any single state, the number of Texas Hill Country wineries has grown almost 5 times since 2003 and receive between 3 and 5 million visitors a year.

Visits to vineyards and wineries shape the way people conceive of wine, how the talk about it and how they buy it; the very act of tasting functions as an educational milieu. As Texas continues to grow in the industry, producing first-class wines and drawing millions of visitors, its tasting rooms work to develop an ethos that reflects the Central Texas region: quality without pretension. By considering the structure of discourse and affect, the author explores how she wants to pull her hair out writing this stuff…

aRRRg- back to the drawing board...

effervecent skin

2011-01-24T23:03:00.006-07:00

I just got out of an alkalizing bath- meaning it was sprinkled with baking soda- and my skin is tingling. It could have been the water, or perhaps the "brushing" treatment I gave myself before going in. Part of the detox involves taking a soft brush to your skin and moving in a circular motion from the feet to the heart, then from the head down to the heart again. It is supposed to stimulate your lymphatic system. I did it last night but sloppily; took more time with it today and it feels amazing!

In fact, I feel generally amazing overall. Walking out of work today I caught my first glimpse of real energy returning. Part is probably the end of this cold, but some might have to do with the healthy, rich nutrients I've been limiting myself to the past two days.

And man, that limiting has been a challenge. You'd think two days would be nothing, but I watched my appetite jump all over the place at work today. Everything I wasn't supposed to eat looked good- the chocolate torte, a creamy pasta with mushrooms, the chicken on portabella with a crema poured on top, the coffee, a glass of milk, the sugar packets. Every time I realized this craving, there would be a slight delay and I'd realize it was forbidden. That made me want it even more. This happened during my short Master Cleanse attempt (3 days) in Denver and I saw, for the first time, that there is a real difference between hunger and appetite. I wasn't hungry. I had a 3 course meal plus dessert before coming into work. I had just developed such an appetite for fat and sugar, I was craving it madly.

It didn't used to be this way. I 'fell of the wagon', or rather took off the restraints for awhile and let myself have pretty much whatever wouldn't make me sick. It spoke to me emotionally and I'm glad I took that trip: ate a lot of things I had missed out on, experimented some, rediscovered which meats I like and which ones I don't care for. Put on some much needed weight. I'm glad I know what that feels like. And I'm glad I am rediscovering how a different approach feels too. Because then I can choose, and that's much more powerful than limiting myself to one perspective.

I cannot wait for tomorrow! Especially if I wake up with the kind of energy I feel building in my body now. Yoga again, finally! And searching out an all-natural gluten free cafe someone told me about. Maybe even a run! Plus acupuncture and massage. Things are getting exiting now. Day Three: Bring It!

midday two

2011-01-24T13:05:00.003-07:00

So... detox takes time. I had planned to get up at 6:45am to do yoga at the studio, but was sleeping so deeply and still felt sick, so thought it was better to rest and recover. Grateful for that choice and for good, healthy, deep drug-free sleep.

I got up an hour before work and started the "oil pulling." It's an exercise of swishing a tablespoon of sesame oil around in your mouth for 10-15 minutes. It's supposed to purify your mouth, clear tartar, and remove mucus. I am sure the experience may be somewhat pleasant if you can taste it (sesame is yummy) but my congestion didn't allow that yet, so it was just the sensation of rolling oil around. I did my best not to gag. Got to the kitchen and realized I should have left more time. Things I had to prep and drink:

- raw vitamin C mixture
- special fiber blend
- chia seed mixture (water, chia seeds soaked over night and lemon)
- hot lemon water
- berry smoothie (with a leaky blender)
- skin detox tea (something I am adding in for myself)

Then eat my cereal. That's a lot of beverages! I had to take the smoothie and detox with me in the car and just make the lemon water at work. Plus I am trying desperately to clear my head so I attempted to steam my face over boiling garlic water while preparing a netti pot. I ran out the door at the last minute, then remembered the road in front of our restaurant is under construction with a detour, so I was late anyway. Rushed in the back door, face unwashed, no makeup, sleeping gunk still in my eye, carrying my two drinks and coughing up salt water.

Not how I imagined a detox.
________________________

This deeper desire to meditation grew in India. It's so chaotic there, so many people, so much noise and pollution and stimulus, I think it makes you want to pull away and into yourself. At least it did that for me. And making these decisions to meditate, to try a detox, to do more yoga- were born of a realization: I kept thinking- if I ever go back to India, it'll be for a retreat; I'll do one of those 28 day Aruveydic cleanses then go to an ashram; I will leave more balanced and have great clarity in my life.

But why not just do it now?

In the midst of the hustle and bustle, inconvenient construction and a leaky blender, sit down. Or at least just tune in. It is, of course, not the same as large expanses of free-time, others making your food and giving you massages, being exposed to regular spiritual lessons and being surrounded by people in the same mindset- but it's good practice. It's the real stuff. I can't tune out much here; work doesn't allow for it and my social world doesn't much either. But that is what makes this raw and applicable. I do hope my following mornings are less rushed and messy, but it's okay if they are not. I will just continue to do my best to grow the calm center amidst the my own chaos and take whatever lessons and clarity it brings.

the Joy of Cooking

2011-01-23T16:39:00.008-07:00

While the vegetable stew simmers and the kale wilts in lemon juice, sit down... and write.

Such a pleasure to start the detox today. I have the whole day off and the whole house to myself- not sure the last time that happened but the timing couldn't be better. Cold medicine wearing off, it was mighty hard to get moving this morning. I missed meditation to sleep and spent the first part of the morning staring off into space and petting Chloe, something she doesn't receive nearly enough. I have a lot of things I should be doing in my free time, but it's awfully difficult to pass an opportunity to make another being so happy.

The only thing that got me moving was the chance for one of my favorite activities: grocery shopping. I'll easily spend two hours in a good store, hunting down my shopping list and wandering the aisles. I even go into them when I have nothing to buy, just to walk around and think about possibilities. Sometimes I think I'd go to farmers markets more, if the joy weren't so intense. Healthy grocery stores fill the cup right just.

I started in the produce section and followed requirements for recipes. The result was so colorful!

By the time I got to the checkout stand with teas, mixes for a new truly gluten free cereal, a water bottle, fresh-made juice, spices etc., it was one of the biggest baskets I had ever bought at this store. And it still totaled less than my budgeted amount, I guess because so much of it was fresh and thus less expensive. The only thing that got me to leave that lovely experience was the eagerness to cook it all.

There's so much joy in the process! Taking everything out of the bags to admire again, washing all the fruits so they are readily available to eat, chopping, heating the oil, releasing warmth and fragrance into the air. No music so the foods themselves can sing. Why don't I do this more often?

Following two recipes, tonight's dinner is a raw kale and avocado salad and a hearty veggie stew with an interesting mix of spices (cardamon seeds, cloves, pablano peppers, fresh rosemary, garlic and onions) that surprisingly works. Then an apple with some honey and cinnamon for dessert. Then some cleaning.

Because this detox isn't just for the body, it's also for my external environment and mental space. Although there have been large spikes of happiness in my life lately, I know I am running "a low depression fever," symptom-ed partially by the lack of desire to clean or organize and also the lack of desire to cook. Day one: readdress those basics.

detox

2011-01-23T00:08:00.001-07:00

I start a detox tomorrow. I am also starting to research a paper on wine in the Texas Hill Country. And I'm sick.

So last night I took cold medication for the first time in at least a year. I finally slept after days of uneasy rest *and* got to remove some truly scary things from my head this morning. But felt extremely groggy. My friend Jess knew some people who could help with this wine paper, so I picked her up, grabbed a cup of coffee and drove out to Spicewood Vineyards. We did a wine tasting.

I arrived at my detox meeting not long after- high on caffeine, groggy from cold medication, and tipsy on wine. Mardi GRAS!! A good time and indicator to start the detox.

It's not a fast- it's going vegan and as raw as possible, plus taking cleansing supplements, which I expect will make me feel exhausted and awful, at least for a few days as toxins are leeched from my organs. No coffee, sugar, dairy, meat, chocolate (yikes), alcohol etc. Just pure homemade fresh foods. I also have two weeks unlimited yoga at the studio leading this, so lots of stretching, followed by meditation.

I've been prepping for it mentally for a while and people keep pointing out- it's only 8 days. Which is true. The detox itself is short, but I see it as a gateway into a changed and healthier lifestyle, not just physically, but mentally too. Less drinking, less reliance on coffee, more vegetables and deep greens, slowing down more, getting up earlier, having real stamina. (But after these days, I will still eat chocolate every morning; I'm not masochistic).

- I don't want to lose weight; I want the energy to work out.
- I don't want to use expensive, harsh facial treatments for my breakouts; I want the toxins and nastiness that causes them to cease.
- I don't want to drink to unwind after a rushed night of work; I want to be able to tap into my own inner peace and cool my thoughts from within.
These are just a few of my hopes.

So I've signed off facebook for the duration, primarily in hopes that I will write more instead. And I plan to withdraw generally from social engagements, simply so I have more down time to relax and listen to myself. I don't think I'll be completely healed- physically, emotionally, mentally etc- after. But I think it'll start to shift perspective and show me a new angle on life. Out with the bad, in with the good.

the Gayatri

2011-01-19T22:52:00.004-07:00

I sat facing the sun today and closed my eyes. 9 Oms then 27 rounds of the Gayatri. It's associated with the sun and speaks of holy radiance we all adore. As I did my best to focus on the exact pronounciation, the English meaning and the beads in my hands, I could see, almost literally, warm orange parts of myself open up. It was the coolest thing! And I had a realization:

My counselor once told me that it is okay to take up space in the world.

But there's no way I could ever really do that until I learned how to take up space in myself.

practice

2011-01-17T15:07:00.002-07:00

Just got off the phone with a friend. He's a coworker/ waiter but his real self-identity is in music. We discussed practice- setting goals, devising ways to change up your creative and growth experiences, and devotion.

It made me want to write.

Previously, when I wrote regularly, I made it an every day commitment, even when I cheated and wrote just a little. It shaped my thought processes, helped me hear myself and was... fun. But I didn't do much to grow outside of that routine. So I just hit "order" on a book called Writing Down the Bones. Whatever it says, I'll try it.

Now there are three balls in the air: work, yoga/meditation and writing.

on the way from the bathroom...sit down

2011-01-15T22:37:00.013-07:00

A Zen priestess once told our group a story. She said a pupil asked his teacher when the best time to meditate was. The teacher replied,

"You know that moment on the way to the bathroom to brush your teeth?"

"Yes..."

"Sit down."

I think writing can be the same sometimes. Out of a bath, not quite dry. Sit down.

I'm not even sure what I want to say. So many thoughts in the tub, but they all dripped off with the water. I guess, as the theme lately has been spirituality, there's this. I am so grateful lately for my slowly growing center. Although chaos still swirls around it, the moment-to-moment of my life is so very different from even a few months ago. I hunger for more, despite thinking it could perhaps be impossible. I remember at the end of my quest in (only) Christianity, I felt this way sometimes, but the dogma wouldn't and couldn't give me direction. All I knew to do was think about God all the time, and sometimes hold my palms facing upwards in Lord's prayer, hoping somehow to *feel* something... like God's hands in mine.

And there's a part of this poem:

All this talk of nectar and bliss is starting to piss me off
I don't know about you, my friend
but my path to God ain't no sweet waft of incense.
It's a cat set loose in a pigeon pen
and I'm the cat- but also them who yell like hell when they get pinned.

My path to God is a worker's uprising,
won't be peace until they unionize.
Their picket is so fearsome
the National Guard won't go near them....

A man, a customer of mine, almost died in my section last night. Not to be overly dramatic, but he choked so thoroughly on a piece of steak, one of the men with whom he was meeting for business had to give him the Heimlich maneuver. I don't see any of it, thank goodness. But just hearing the recount by the table, looking at the stain down his shirt where he had spewed, and listening to talk from other staff, this phrase flashed in my head:

A new lease on life.

I had to go to the back station and stare at my tea cup for a moment, to think. Do we *lease* life? Is that like remortgaging your house? He was in a business meeting, with two Chinese men who were quite business like, and their conversation could not and did not turn personal. He asked me to wrap up the rest of his meal and I wondered, as he sat there talking numbers and software, if his mind was racing around his life dropping flowers at the feet of all for which he was grateful.

They are almost related, these things. But it might in the part of the brain that lies outside language and fires in the color purple as we dream.

Rain outside the window and I've finally dripped dry. Cannot wait for meditation tomorrow.

ego chatter

2011-01-04T23:10:00.015-07:00

I've been spending a lot of time alone lately. I find it's what I crave most in my free moments, when I have them- spans of time to just sit with myself. This is a phase. They are all phases. Soon enough, I am sure, I'll start to crave social interaction and will blossom back out into the world again. But, for now, this is the state of affairs.

And in that, the meditation. The greatest gift I've received so far is being able to enjoy a few instants without ego, where the world is still and some space is created. THEN being able to hear when the ego chimes in again. It's so funny, this little voice and chatter. It almost never says anything useful.

For example.

I do not dress to impress for yoga class- don't want to worry about how my ass looks or if my mascara is smearing. My clothes are loose and frumpy, and I tend to skip the makeup. Today I looked like I had dressed at a fire sale... in the dark. Maroon and gray "Rajasthani" pants that hang like a sack, topped with a bright orange tank top, black sports bra. It was terrifically comfortable and let me sweat nicely in the hot room. There were moments of focused reflection, awareness of tiny muscles shifting in my knees and the space between my ribs... then there were these little thoughts-

- You look like a freak and are weirding out the people around you.
- Wow, you are doing more chaturangas than anyone around you. You're better at this than they are and clearly have been practicing longer.
- Yeah, yeah, this pose really hurts but you should push it further so the instructor can see how you good you are. Don't show your weaknesses!
- Good job on holding your back leg straight on this one! The instructor won't be impressed though because he can't see it in these huge pants.

And so on. I know they sound petty- and they are. I hear them most loudly when I am close to a quiet mind; the first time I sat in meditation for over an hour, I met with the Buddhist nun after and she asked my impressions. I said I learned I was a narcissistic, judgmental person because, around the moments of quiet, these sorts of thoughts arose. She laughed and said we all are and that I had made progress- ha! But now... I don't know. Maybe she was right. I think, even a month ago, those thoughts would get the best of me and become little threads and stories and I'd get all lost in them. Recently though it's been easier to see them for what they are- my most scared and ridiculous part, my "little me" trying to protect itself and get attention. I can laugh better at it now and gently refocus on the details that recenter the mind to the present moment.

Trick now is to bring this to work, in the car, on a walk to mailbox, and to the grocery store. Little by little, mistake and chatter, clanging around. It's all a journey anyway.

these days

2010-12-29T23:29:00.007-07:00

In the bath tonight, a little glass of Beaujolais and my book, kitty nearby in her bed and good music on the grooveshark, it hit me: these, right now, are some of the best, most fruitful, ever changing, beautifully open, transforming days of my life. Not that there won't be many, many more in the mix, but these right now will rank high. Relatively free from ties, stress, or persistent obligation, finances falling into place in their meager, humble way, time for a leisurely bath with no nagging thoughts that I should be doing something more productive (*except* maybe organize my newly disassembled room, and catching up with those very important folks I haven't had time for lately)... it's a beautiful space.

Part of it is the exact circumstances of my life right now... and part of it is state of mind. This gives me great hope that future, different circumstances (seemingly more stressful, frightening, nerve wracking) can be felt in a similar way.

Reading "Eat, Pray, Love" again, I came across this wonderful passage:

“I like it when science and devotion find places of intersection. I found an article in The New York Times recently about a team of neurologists who had wired up a volunteer Tibetan monk for experimental brain-scanning. They wanted to see what happens to a transcendent mind, scientifically speaking, during moments of enlightenment. In the mind of a normal thinking person, an electrical storm of thoughts and impulses whirls constantly, registering on a brain scam as yellow and red flashes. The more angry or impassioned the subject becomes, the hotter and deeper those red flashes burn. But mystics across time and cultures have described a stilling of the brain during mediation, and say that the ultimate union with God is a blue light which they can feel radiating from the center of their skulls. In Yogic tradition, this is called “the blue pearl,” and it is the goal of every seeker to find it. Sure enough, this Tibetan monk, monitored during meditation, was able to quiet his mind so completely that no red or yellow flashes could be seen. In fact, all the neurological energy of this gentleman pooled and collected at last in the center of his brain – you could see it happening right there on the monitor – into a small, cool, blue pearl of light. Just like the Yogis have always described it.”

Meditation, breathing, yoga and a determination to react differently to life lately have helped this make more sense. My light is not blue, by any means. At its very, very, tip-top best moments, it might appear purple or fuchsia- red with a tiny touch of azul. But in that, there is a hint of space, a moment of pause and breath, and room to actually deeply relax. And this, this right here is what's giving such a beautiful sensation... that these days lately, these weeks, despite their seeming murkiness, are bright winking stars in my universe, forming important constellations that will tell me about my life. I will feel grateful for them, looking back, trying to understand my path of existence. But it feels awfully amazing and full to feel grateful for them now, too.

2010-12-18T01:02:00.001-07:00

It is a small but persistent driving force in my life, to know you exist.

dream journal

2010-12-02T07:08:00.002-07:00

I used to keep a dream journal, in hopes that I would remember my dreams better, and perhaps even become lucid. Just woke up from the middle of one, which rarely happens anymore, so I thought I'd write it down.

I was riding my bike home in some rural area with a lot of hills and trees. I had a sense there was farmland behind these trees. And behind me was an overweight fellow, also on a bike, lost. I helped him find his way to the proper intersection so he could go back home. During that time, he was partially flirting with me and partially bragging about how many women he was seeing/ speaking to/ etc. I took his flirting as a mild compliment and wished him the best.

Other things happened that took up, in my head, the span of a few weeks.

Then I was riding home again and realized that things started to become unfamiliar. I was going up hills I wasn't accustomed to and seeing buildings I had never seen before. I had been very lost in thought and figured I missed my turnoff. I decided to turn around at the bottom of a hill and get the exercise from riding up the whole thing again. But at the bottom of the hill was a lovely little village, set on blue-green water.

It ended up being the town of the gentleman who was previously lost. I ran into him as I was searching for a place to turn around. Unfortunately, lots of the dream has faded here. Somewhere in the midst of it, a red haired woman came into the scene. She was spicy and had a potentially bad reputation, but I could tell she was playing into a little because she felt helpless against the power of gossip and judgment; it seemed she actually didn't deserve the title.

The last scene of the dream was stunning. They had a little theater there- could be used for both movies and plays. I went with the whole village to watch a movie about the ocean, or set on the ocean about ships or something. And I went with the sense of being accepted by a group, becoming part of something bigger than myself. The building was set low, almost at sea level and the backdrop to the theater was all glass and arranged so that you could see out of one long glass wall and one short one, beyond which was the blue-green ocean. Movie screens dropped down from the ceiling, but only partially obstructed the view. The movie began to play and a large ship with a broad, red stripe started to appear on the horizon of the actual ocean, moving towards the shore. There must have been shipping yards near or in the village. It wasn't ominous, just stately and it added to the movie immensely. Everyone was very excited about the good fortune of a real ship approaching during their film. And somewhere in the background, maybe in the back of the theater, this overweight man and the woman with the red hair were falling in love, almost despite themselves. There was a sense that they were being pulled by forces beyond their control and starting to see their lives changing, just in a few moments. Then my alarm went off.

remover of obstacles

2010-11-14T12:59:00.005-07:00

I went to a peace meditation today.

It was early and all that got me out of bed was a promise I made to a friend to take her to her bike. The chilly air of fall in my room, combined with the warm fuzzy body of my cat helped me reset my alarm twice before pulling myself out from the covers.

But it was absolutely worth every ounce of effort.

Every Sunday morning this lovely Irish man conducts peace meditation at a yoga studio on the East Side. I don't know where or how he was trained, but his Sanskrit is perfect and his aura is radiating. He phrases things sweetly and you get the sense that he has true, egoless compassion for everyone in the room with him. I've only been once before and decided it was a good day to return, for no other reason than novelty and curiosity.

Most other meditations I've participated in are silent, a calming of the mind. This version is Bhakti yoga and is lead through chanting and some pranayama (controlled breathing exercises).

Today we worked with Ganesh, the remover of obstacles. He said if we weren't comfortable thinking of Ganesh as an element of the divine, we could think of it as a sort of energy; my mind was balancing somewhere between the image of a one-tusked elephant and a ball of warm, brown light. After a concentration exercise and very controlled breathing, we set into the chant associated with Ganesh (I dare not try to spell it here). We began quietly, grew in volume and intensity, then decrescendo-ed down to a squeak, then a whisper, then took it inside, repeating the lines over and over and over again while attempted to focus between our eyebrows. Throughout the whole practice, we were giving light attention to the obstacle we wished to unblock, particularly an obstacle on our spiritual path. My mind, although repeating the mantra, also ran all over my head, pulling out song lyrics, imaginary conversations, hopes, pieces of my to-do list, people's faces, fears, rationalizations- you name it. And I just kept trying to sit correctly, breathe intentionally and hear myself in Sanskrit. It was challenging but something cleared. At the end, he invited us to turn our palms upwards and send the healing energy we built up in our hearts out to someone who needs it. There is one magnificent woman in my life who needs it more than anyone I've known. Her body yes, but mostly I prayed for her heart and her freedom to be happy. I gave it everything I had and prayed for just a tiny ripple in the Universe around her. Who knows if this stuff works, but it does nothing but good to try.

Leaving the room, I felt like I had taken some powerful drug; couldn't even access the language portion of my mind very well. I got a paper cup of tea and saw that the meditation leader also offered spiritual healing sessions, by donation. We set up one two Tuesdays from now and I will spend 1/2 focusing on me, and 1/2 giving whatever I can to this magnificent woman. My overall goal is, I guess, to keep removing obstacles and increasing a sense of light- lightness in my life (as in not heavy), but also glowing and energy and compassion and generosity. Why not see how far this can go?

happiness

2010-10-31T18:14:00.005-06:00

Had a really wonderful conversation with a friend over brunch today. We discussed a variety of topics and touched lightly on the concept/ place for happiness in one's life. It was interesting timing in a way. I had a dream this week that the Dalai Lama died. Thank heavens this wasn't true, but for my subconscious, I think it was symbolic, a death of a sort of happiness in this period of my life. And it really got me thinking about what that effervescence means and why we don't have it all the time.

Physical theories aside- chemicals in the brain and habits that lay down neural pathways- I think we are not happy all the time because happiness comes at a sacrifice. There's a certain fulfillment that comes through the gravity of melancholy, a certain groundedness. And, as my friend suggested, a sort of safety... from skidding off the rails or being sucked out of your soaring high and into a jet plane engine. But what does that safety really mean? What are we safe from- the drop of a roller coaster ride? Being somehow attached to unrealistic visions of the world? I'm not entirely sure I know yet. I do know I am at a place where I have to pay attention to other emotions for a while so that I can process my life more fully and not have subconscious flare-ups and nightmares. And it takes a certain courage to look those other options in the face, then walk towards them willingly, opening up new levels of life and new ways to feel the world. But I don't want to stay there. These last couple of years in my life exposed me to a sort of happy bubbling-up I enjoyed as a base state and that I look forward to returning to again...soon, hopefully.

Post Script: Went to candlelight Kundalini yoga tonight, a class designed to highlight intense pranayamas and chanting, ending with a meditation via a powerful gong. It was incredible! I left there feeling less blocked, more grounded, palpably content and comfortably quiet. Our mind-body connection is phenomenal.

potential running

2010-09-20T20:20:00.010-06:00

One day last winter, this very wise young girl I know and I were discussing what to do with our lives. She is easy to be honest and deep with, so I found myself admitting that I was afraid of my own potential and that I almost always shoot below the mark in my goals out of, well, two fears.

The first is rejection- common, I am sure.

And the other is potential. She understood right away, even though it is a concept difficult to explain. Is it because potential = possibility and if we reach our potential, we run out of possibility? Or are we afraid that road to potential is much shorter than we hope? We fear that speeding down it with all the dreams and talents and energy we have stored inside of us might lead only to disappointment. That road might lead us to see that we not really capable of all we think we are. So not even trying for our deepest dream allows that potential to hang safely in the future, gleaming and always... possible.

Then, this brilliant young lady made a beautiful analogy:

Maybe potential is like running. Maybe one day you run your best and you just go a mile. The next day you run again and you do that mile, but a bit faster. And you just continue on like that, running every day and, over time, find that you are going further and faster with every attempt. Maybe then potential is flexible and the simple act of reaching for it helps you expand its possibility, so that nothing is ever really reached, only reached for, the very act of which make us bigger people.

So I am one step closer now to dreaming, to daring to set my sights... somewhere

fog on the road home

2010-09-17T23:12:00.009-06:00

One of my happiest friends told me last year that she had been diagnosed with a long-running depression. But instead of the type that keeps you in bed, she has a nervous variety, the kind that keeps you constantly moving... running, I suppose, from those gravity-thoughts that put lead in your shoes. At first, I had a hard time accepting this about her but here, in my own manic state lately, I've started to get a sense of what she meant. Going out almost every night, not reading much, my new room still in disarray. And tonight, leaving work, I didn't want to go home alone to an empty house. I wanted to text every person I know and ask where they were, so I could join and continue on. This is, in some ways, a joie de la vivre. But, in others, and in a way I know well, this is also a form of running, when really, I should be grounding.

Nothing here is new or unpredicted. I knew in moving to Austin that I would go through a series of phases, including some deeper, darker recesses that would be difficult to look at. I would see my short-comings, join groups I didn't really belong in, make stupid decisions, say stupid things, go through whole chunks of life with blinders on, and miss whole days dreaming about stuff that would never actually happen... you know, blunder. And I would do it relatively alone, and that would mean something.

As I was curving up the hills towards my new apartment, thinking about who to write and who to join, a patch of fog crossed the road. Subtle and gray and thin, nothing outwardly phenomenal. But with it, somehow, came a deep breath and this sudden image of being a girl watching her own movie. And whereas this watching is not as valuable as living my own movie forefront, I understood that this brief patch of objectivity is a phase, as with anything.

Like in Zen Buddhism where they say: you first see that there are mountains, and then you realize there are no mountains, then you can see mountains again. You are in your movie, you are watching your movie, then you are in your movie again, aware. You know where your toes are, and how your hands grip the wheel, and you experience, just for a few precious seconds in time, what a thin, gray fog can feel like on your fingers and the breeze on your arm out the window, dipping and riding the evening air.

settling in

2010-09-15T19:29:00.006-06:00

The next chapter has begun. I am writing from the floor/ my bed pallet of my new room, gazing out the window on my right to the little hill and leads up to a mess of tree roots that make up my view. I love it. On my left is my wine-club pinot grigio I brought down from Denver, and a little bowl of apples and sharp cheddar. They really bring out the honey finish on this wine. I LOVE IT!

I found a job as well. It's at a beautiful restaurant dedicated to traditional Tuscan food. I finally found some pictures of it; there aren't any on their website, which really is a shame

And a place to live with a great roomie. We have an interesting mural in the living room:

In a city with great art:

And as clumsy as this entry is, and as lazy as my writing has been, I am so happy to be here.

new apartment

2010-08-27T09:21:00.008-06:00

I’ve been in Austin since Sunday, and think I found an apartment today. Everyone said not to rush the decision, which is smart. Because it is where I will be living for a year or something. And because I have no money right now. But, I found one nonetheless, and put down a deposit check. It’s perfect, for me.

Part of a gentrification community (hey, it’s Austin), the units are being remodeled but the complex is old and interesting enough to boast character. The apartment is a 1-1 and will have faux wood floors, a new black gas stove and a stainless steel fridge. The windows are huge and sectioned in a way that makes me think of Europe, just the way I like it. The bathroom is so-so, but nobody is perfect. And I can afford it, which is also perfect (well... I *will* be able to afford it when I find a J-O-B). The best part, though, is that so many were empty, I got to pick which one I wanted! It’s down to two now, one upstairs and one downstairs. The manager said they’ll focus on remodeling both and let me choose. Both face a little grass courtyard surrounded by apartments. My neighbors will include an older Hispanic gentleman wearing a cowboy hat, and an older black gentleman who plays dominoes with a friend out front. A few newly remodeled apartments are now occupied and they have tons of plants out front. Hippy/artists. I love it, simply love it!

So I am going to get a discount journal tomorrow, to start chronicling this journey in a private way. It’ll start with drawings of how I want to decorate the place, both inside and out. The manager met me while I was all fancied up and on the way to turn in job applications. I think mistook me to be a metrosexual, or whatever they are called. He pointed out the proximity of Best Buy and went on and on about “The Domain”, some expensive outdoor shopping mall. I think he pictured me moving in some clean-line furniture and big screen TV. I couldn’t help but think, “Buddy, you will be sorely disappointed when you see my choice of decoration.” It’ll be fabulous.

Outside, I, too, hope for many plants, including an herb box and whatever other food I can coax to grow in containers at this point in the year. There will be a wooden bench/ chair/ loveseat thingy with cushions and a small table nearby where I can set my morning coffee. He said (matching) patio furniture was fine but mismatched chairs were not. Hehe, we'll see. What if my old wooden loveseat matches another old, wooden chair? Or the cushions match the fabric on an overstuffed reading recliner? All of this will, of course, be either from garage sales or free.

Inside will be bohemian with a portion of the living room on the floor with pillows and low-lying tables. Last time I lived by myself, I gave up a TV for the first time but kept the entertainment system and painted the wall behind it a green I really loved. Soothing but optimistic. I figured it would be great to sit on the couch and face a wall like that, and it was. Then had a similar green colored runner on the dining table in the breakfast nook, where most mornings I would eat my bacon and eggs, listening to the soundtrack of Amelie. Chloe would sit in the chair across the table and clean herself joyously while occasionally telling me a story from her dreams or about how she wanted to catch that squirrel in the tree by our balcony. I look forward to similar moments again.

I look forward to sketching these scenes soon, with crayons if I can find my stash. I won't lie, leaving Denver was hard. Or parts of it, anyway. And it is still difficult, in some ways, to be away. But these little opportunities for creative expression light a fire in my gut; it reminds me we all deserve happiness and have it available at our fingertips, at any moment, despite all circumstances, if we are just willing to work for it.

Other benefits to this dwelling:
1) It is right around the corner from an improv comedy theater that has discount classes in exchange for working an "internship"- taking tickets, being in the tech booth etc. HECK yes!!
2) And is around the corner from a beauty school where I could get discount perms to help young girls practice their skills. Joking. They do have to learn pedicures though...
3) It's right on the edge of Hyde Park, a wonderful older neighborhood where a lot of people ride bikes and have thick shade trees in their front yards
4) Super easy access to I-35
5) Near an I love Video, one of the best video stores on the planet
6) Near an authentico Mexican food restaurant WITH patio
7) A continually growing collection of new neighbors. I'll get to be an "old-timer" by default and have the excuse to bring the newbies cookies and invite them over for tea. I like that.

Post Script: This new apartment did not pan out. I discovered the Austin Police Department site that shows all crimes committed within a 250-1000 meter radius of any address. The ones in this area, just in the last three months, were of shocking number and type. I've returned several times and both during the day and night and realized I was the only one of my type (single white female) and that a neighborhood record of rape and aggravated assault was probably not the best choice for me. I am looking at apartments further up the road, in a neighborhood I do truly adore (North Loop) and hope they fill the bill. It'll be but a short bike ride away from this wonderland, so I should have no problem returning any time I please.

off Facebook

2010-08-26T09:24:00.003-06:00

I got off Facebook last week. Gave my password to a good friend and asked her to change it. Strange how something I wouldn’t touch 4 years ago suddenly filled this huge part of my life... and fed an addiction for passive social entertainment. It’s really the perfect venue for the introverted extrovert/ socially awkward like myself, complete with the option for lots of observation opportunities and time to think about what you’re saying. One of these elements, the status update, is what I am missing the most.

Before, when I started this blog, I thought about what I’d say in my next entry pretty much all day. I’d narrate my own life to myself. Before you judge, understand that this sort of third party narration is a filler for other thoughts. Our minds are like hyper monkeys, jumping all over the place, all day long. A lot of times, they jump to the negative reaches of consciousness- imagining fights, reliving past hurts, worrying. I found that quietly narrating the present to myself not only controlled those other thoughts, it helped me appreciate the here and now much more.

As I wrote less often in the blog and spent more time on Facebook, those narrations took the form of status updates. The ideal update for me is short, descriptive, with just a touch of mystery. Say the moment, but not everything about it. I thought it left the canvas open enough so people could hear themselves as well, and helped them respond to my post with something similar in their own life. I love this kind of interaction more than any other.

So in the last days, since I’ve been off, my mind has continued these sentence narrations and is driving me crazy. As the blog has to become my new observer voice, I felt perhaps I could write them here and ease the pressure of extroversion. None of them are particularly profound and maybe only two are worth posting, but I have to start this blog up again somewhere.

- thank Gods, good radio. Finally.

- nearly passed out in her car. Heat is fun.

- believes she is channeling her nomadic ancestors

- sticky, nasty sweaty, happy.

- loves Austin

- loves free yoga

- is afraid of finding a roommate

- loves a 90 degree cool front

- is thinning her blood

- is thickening her body and likes it

- can't think of a better feeling than being home and still full of potential

Etc.

I will resume updating my status in a few months, I am sure. Facebook has become my main medium of communication with several people in my life and I may need to contact them in November for a conference. Until then, I am hoping that this internal voice makes the slow transition from choppy sentences to longer observations, helping me to once again notice and appreciate the small details of daily life.

luxury

2010-08-04T22:40:00.004-06:00

I came home after my first day of work tonight and busted down the doors of luxury. Slipped into a hot bath, accompanied by a glass of slightly chilled boutique red wine, sharp Australian cheddar slices and bits of 80% dark chocolate. Oh, and a British chicklet novel. Traded out sips of wine with bites of rich foods and even got out of the bath to toast a slice of bread and refill my glass. Luxury at its finest.

And do I feel guilty? Yes. And more than ever before. More so, even, than returning from Madagascar where I gave two starving children a lollypop in the park because I thought my money would go to someone "behind the scenes." I still see the look in their eyes- disappointment and desperation- at least once a week and it's been 8 years since that moment. I could have been their daily bread and instead I gave them absolute shite.

And this time around as well. Was I as generous as I could have been? No. Did I have money to give lavishly? Absolutely not. But did I buy things for myself? Indeed. A necklace I lost, clothing I'll probably never wear (in public) again. That money could have been somebody's food. In that moment of opportunity for direct generosity, I failed once again. But why the guilt now, over this bath, wine and cheese?

I understand that humans are naturally selfish. For whatever reason we are programmed, in varying degrees, to consider ourselves first. And I am thinking about that selfishness now, red from a hot bath that would have been a whole family's ration of water for a day. But I feel somehow, that because these things are available to me, and the division of power doesn't mean that my personal lack is their direct gain... that somehow, if I just treasure this luxury, this opportunity, and feel truly grateful, it'll even out my karma.

Excuses.

Kerala

2010-08-01T13:17:00.001-06:00

It's as wet and heavy as I had hoped. And cool. Truly monsoon. I got so excited tonight when the sky opened up and rain started pounding on the roof, walls, street, rickshaws. Time to celebrate! Tried to stick my hand out of the iron-gate-like structure they erected to contain our second floor- just to touch the rain as it streamed from the sky and off the roof- wet fingers. It feels like so long since I've been a part of really good, warm rain. It's funny the things we absorb from childhood, fall in love with and never even know. Thick rain.

I remember being so thrilled when the city flooded, having to wade in knee-high water when the car's alternator got soaked, or in restaurants where I worked, frantically sweeping water down the drains as it poured in under the doors. And all the fabulous puddle jumping and kicking and pretending to be as graceful as Singing in the Rain. It was never a question of chill- felt just like swimming in a sun-heated pool at night in mid-July. And the accompanying sounds: thunder, I thought I hated but, in the end, opened avenues of emotion in me that nothing else has been able to flow down in the same way. Then nature singing, after. Crickets, cicadas... junebugs, even, with their dreaded sticky legs and high-pitched wings, getting stuck in your hair and batting around your eyes, making you mad with frustration. Always years of excess- junebugs en masse in the evening lights, looking for the sun and being crushed *crunch! crunch!* under foot on the porch when we headed inside for more ice tea. Crickets piled inches deep in doorways, crawling up our shorts and into our instruments at band practice. Cicadas congregating so thickly your ears screamed with their wailing. The excess of life- sun, warmth, rain- and the way it chooses color for memory.

I miss that.

And love how the sheets of monsoon rains and their deafening all-encompassing roof blanket of noise make me thirsty for it again.

Trek Day 3

2010-08-01T13:04:00.001-06:00

Today was a sharp contrast, downhill and jarring. We descended the entire mountain, over 1200 meters, at a breakneck pace. I lamented my shoes with no socks. Thought it was going to be another naked feet revelry but the path was made of small stones, jagged twigs and thorns, none of which a barefoot walker wants to hit at full-speed-steep-decent. The guide was in a hurry to get home and discouraged lolly-gaggin, picture taking or a break to readjust packs (although, at the end, he stopped at every shaded place, overheated no doubt in his sheep's wool sweater). I tried to maintain positive thoughts but exhaustion and pressure and no barefeet got in my way. And even the sun, so strong it turned my UV band warning-white 3 hours before the end of the trek. I found out later, over dinner, that everyone struggled. Even with the thick forest cover and waist-high wild flowers we all fought to see the beauty through the rush and pounding legs. Who thought downhill could be so hard? We ended hot, sweaty and desperate, each for something different.

Derek, our charming Scottish companion- a beer and a cold shower.
Geno- to relax and wash her hair
Me- a bathroom and cold drinking water that I knew was clean
J- relief from his pain. He had carried 2 sicknesses down that mountain: a headache and an angry stomach. Didn't complain, just said he felt weak, but always with a smile. I could see his mind overriding his body and wished for his health, proud to know he'd make it down through more discomfort than we'd ever realize.

Trek Day 2

2010-08-01T12:42:00.003-06:00

Babbling brook. A genuine babble-freakin brook, complete with grazing sheep, green wild grasses and huge mountain sides, their snow-capped peaks showing and unshowing through the clouds, clouds that intermittently cross the valley sky and bring fog to our tent.

Today's variety was astounding. Clambering like mountain goats up granite rock slides, running barefoot across glacial snow, boulder bounding, a holy lake, so still everything was a perfect mirror reflection. We took off our shoes and scuttled down to its edge. Our guide gathered a flower offering and we thought it was such a good idea, we moved to do the same. This small glass lake is holy for the god (or guru?) Rishi Brighu who bathed in it. I don't know what he is a god for, but the local villagers bring a statue of the god to the lake to bath it when something (I assume bad) happens. The priest is filled with a spirit to tell the villagers what they did wrong and what to do right next time. As I understand it, he speaks in tongues, but everyone know what he means. Later, when I bathed my gifts in the water I ported in a bottle from the lake, I prayed for all their recipients to experience cleansing when they needed it and wisdom after an event to know what to do next. Or at least grace to receive the mystery.

But with our flower offering, we gathered yellow and purple ones, dipped them in the water, touched them to the tops of our heads, then foreheads and prayed. Geno prayed for a friend who just experienced tragedy. She kissed her offerings and tossed them into the mirrored water, watching their ripples and colored bodies slowly drift away. I kissed mine and said my favorite prayer and the only one I really know when I can think of nothing else:

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

I tossed my blossoms in and watched the ripples as they floated out and away.

Our night camp was tucked around a genuine winding, babbling brook, falling in small steps as it wound its way through the meadow. A clear night brought orange clouds, close enough to be fog. And then stars. Stars! Vivid constellations, only obscured by the Milky Way haze. Sheep, sounding like people impersionating sheep, snuck in and out of our camp, occasionally herded by lazy dogs who barked at ghosts into the night.

Himalayan Trek Day 1

2010-08-01T12:37:00.002-06:00

We are at camp, our tents rested on spongy green- not even grass. How grass used to be: a sweet mix of clover, wild ground cover, flowering plants, wild-leaf clumps and moss. It's so springy! I walked "naked feet" half the way up and it was healing, for the bones and muscles, skin, tendons, heart, soul and memory. Clambering up the path, my soles passed through meadows, over small stones, rounded rocks, cow and deer shit, boulders, streams, sinking into bogs and mud. I thought upon arrival at our 3750 meter spot, I'd have to put on my shoes and Smartwools, but the thick soil is still holding the morning sun's heat.

Horses carried our bigger personal gear, plus food and tents and such. We felt so bad for them, heaving sides, as they trod past us on the path. But now they surround the camp, free. No blankets, halters, weights, prods or people. Some are rolling in the mud, others scratching their backs on boulders, two raced each other down the mountain slope and all are tasting the sweet grasses, periodically snorting and shaking their manes. Maybe it's not such a bad job after all.

The hike up was wonderfully steep and full of wildflowers, tiny strawberries too- tart and crunchy- all so close as we leaned into the hillsides. Geno, our lovely Dutch companion, starting putting white flowers in her hair and I tucked some behind my ears. Then I noticed she had a red one and I thought I'd like some color too. We really started a collection and she challenged me a competition. It was great fun. The guide jumped in and gathers as many new ones as possible, splitting them between us. Blue, red, yellow, purple, white, orange. They wilted slowly, tucked into our hair ties and behind our ears and I laid a flower graveyard by our tent when we arrived at camp. Still colorful, just smaller.

Land of the clouds. Drips and fog are rolling in and out, trading blue sky, for puffy mountain back-drops, for full grey cover. We keep taking pictures of the same scene, ever different by the clouds' movements. 200 pictures of a steep flowered meadow, fog, blue sky or mountains. Jefferson and I traded tricked photography- jumping and cartwheels.

The fog has rolled in, thickly now, so that I can't see camp from this rock, just hear the snowmelt waterfalls, spilling down the valley walls, forming small streams and deepening the peat. Night will be here in a few hours, the sun slipping behind the clouds, behind snow-capped peaks. I'll be happy for guitar and muffled sleep.

swing

2010-07-25T08:23:00.000-06:00

There's a nice change of music playing in this patio cafe, overlooking the mountains. And across the town of split-brick buildings with shale-rock roofs, there's a simple playground with a metal slide and a 2-swing set. There's a little boy standing on one, his hat matching the bright yellow bar holding the swings, giving that thing all he's got, going so hard the chains keep buckling, the board going completely vertical so we can see its full underside.

And the modern indy waltz piping through the speakers matches his stride perfectly, putting him in a soundtracked movie.

I love life.

a real superpower

2010-07-25T08:21:00.001-06:00

We are out on the porch of a monastery's cafe in Mcleod Gang, the home of over 10,000 Tibetan refugees and His Holiness, the Dalai Lama. Unbelievably gorgeous sun, enjoying breakfast in the shadows of Tibetan prayer flags,something I finally am starting to understand. Along with "Free Tibet." I think it was something I understood at some point but then forgot, lost somewhere in the 'US kids' march for justice to save the world.

It's so hard to comprehend the juxtaposition of the Dalai Lama's campaign for happiness and the violence of the Chinese. I believe in him, in the Dalai Lama, and in his power. That people feel his presence, feel happy and at peace when he walks into a room. It gives me faith in humanity. When, in philosophical conversations with friends, the question of whether humanity was more good or more evil was breached, I always felt a tug of hope for our goodness- altruism mainly- followed by an overwhelming sinking feeling knowing how easy it is for us to harm. It's much easier to shoot a person than to heal someone from that bullet wound. Quicker to take a life than to save it.

But in feeling his power, presence, I am filled with a resurgence of that hope. If it is possible to lift an entire group of people, motivate them to do better, be better, feel better in their lives, simply by being filled with compassion, then what else can we do as humans? Where have we been spending our energy? Where have I been spending mine? I am capable of this compassion (everyone is!) I know this, but I think, before now, I didn't believe it did much of anything but make me feel good (one of the best feelings in the world!) But I am open to changing that mentality and seeing what I am capable of. In a completely humble way, maybe it's time I ask myself- *could* I really have a superpower? Could we all?

Adventures of Regurgi-girl

2010-07-06T06:26:00.002-06:00

It's one a handful of times traveling that I felt some deep and thorough fear. Our hired driver, moving us from Amritsar to Panthankot, was a madman. 10 people slammed in an 8 passanger "Tourist Vehicle" (which was much less crowded than the bus we tried to board). 3 Punjabi boys (early 20's), who arranged the ride, one Thai girl, 2 Korean boys, the driver, Jefferson and me. They had the music cranked way up on a disco-light stereo, and the back cabin light on. The Indian boys and driver were dancing to their Punjabi pop, yelling, hollaring, the driver swerving erratically: in both lanes when no cars were around, playing chicken when another vehicle threatened our space. I've been in frightening taxis before but this one took it over the edge, especially when we came up on tight turns that hugged the growing mountains. He was jerking the wheel on the them at the last minute while smoking a cigarette and dancing in his seat.

I screamed.

Twice.

The alpha male of the Indian crown asked jokingly if I was scared and-

-let me pause here for a moment and point out something. The temperature of Jefferson's skin. He's usually hot to the touch but my hand on his leg felt coolness. He wondered aloud if the driver was drunk and admitted he was quite scared too. Two things about this man- he is generally fearless and he has great intuition. That cool thigh meant something to me-

"Are you scared?"

*pushed pride and the traveler "cool" aside*
EMPHATIC "YES"

They laughed. What would it take to slow him down? I saw us going over the side and imagined being trapped in this car, bleeding to death. Where was the closest hospital? I hadn't even seen an ambulance since we arrived.

ENTER REGURGI-GIRL

When I was sick back in Rishikesh, Jefferson joked that I could have superpowers and be Regurgi-girl. Getting sick whenever I chose- how powerful could that be? I decided to test it and out and threaten with her now.

"Yes, I am scared. But also I was sick until just yesterday."

*Patted my tummy*

The driver tooked his eyes off the road for a hair raising second and looked back.

"You're going to be sick?"

He had said before that this was his own vehicle, not borrowed, so I hoped that meant some extra interest in its cleanliness.

"Not yet. But I have been sick until yesterday."

He paused. Took his foot off the gas.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I hope you feel better soon. Maybe tomorrow."

"Thank you. Me too."

The rest of the ride was easier, slower, gentler, a simple '4' on the fear factor scale. And I smiled inside. Regurgi-girl saves the day once again.

one-eyed orange cat

2010-07-06T05:59:00.008-06:00

There's one in every trip- usually surfaces suddenly, oftentimes after a bad night's sleep and is almost always tied to money or being hasseled for it... or jipped out of it. India's was today. The lead up details aren't that important, and honestly, I am a little proud of myself for lasting this long.

The moment was in a traveler cafe. It was modern/Western-run by "cool" Tibetan dudes with long hair playing Beastie Boys, Red Hot Chili Peppers and the like on a set of loud speakers. I ordered coffee and museli with fruit and curd, two things I was really looking forward to enjoying, and we were chatting with this great woman from Pennsylvania who teaches high school history and came here for a month to teach Tibetan refugees English. The food and coffee arrived and tasted awful- the stale bitter of tastebuds under antibiotic assault. Then the Beatles came on, blaring trebel. The whole experience swallowed me- Tracy from Penn talking, horns beeping, food disappointment, max music, energies in the room, my red lips and the black hair of locals, envy, other travelers' clothing, grace, backpain, suspicion, flashes of last night's journey, sugar on the table, anger. I felt panic and confusion and just sat through it, waiting, watching my reaction. The noise subsided. I gave up on breakfast. Tracy shared good information. We paid and left and life moved on.

But the anger remained. I just continued to watch it- on our search for accomodations, walking on the road. I do not know when anger became my default reaction or where it's rooted. It feels deep and linked to trust and being a woman and hope and guilt and ineffective logics and endurance and inequality and destruction and helplessness and defense and disrespect (in the most innate forms) and power and posturing and weapons and, and, and, and, and....

Each step on the road shot another thread to anger into my hand and I caught it, watching.

Here we are now, on an elevated cafe terrace, overlooking the Himalayas, a part of the monastary where we will stay the next few nights. It is relatively quiet and there's the first blue sky we have seen since the start of this trip. But most importantly, there is a one-eyed orange cat, curled up to Jefferson's back with its paws touching the top of my foot. I dare not move and disturb this blissful creature. As I look at it's striped, partially collapsed skull, I feel a deep compassion. And with each moment I allow myself this emotion, I am able to loosen my hold on all those threads. Every second I wish the best for this spirit and smile softly at its yawns, the knot in my chest detangles just a bit. I am watching. And I think I am starting to understand.

Sickness, nerves and onwards

2010-07-06T05:53:00.003-06:00

I was going to write about the sickness in Rishikesh but it's difficult to do so without being gross because it was, as most illnesses are... sick. I will say the recovery was fantastic. There's nothing like empty guys to absorb sugar and other sweet nurtients in a beautifully high fashion. I feel born again and more excited about the trip than ever before.

With the sickness, though, came a certain dullness, almost stillness. I think it's a body's defense, keeping us calm when we need it most. I have 4 aims those couple of days- sleep, make it to tha bathroom in time, stay hydrated and maintain a good mood. Simplicity made possible through stillness. Okay by me.

Now that energy is flowing back in and personal capacity is increasing, I can feel the nerves. What an interesting and unwelcome reward. Time to take note. Extra energy --> where? Where do I allow it to go? How do I gree myself from a negative reaction and harness it into the good? Watching, waiting.

Backpackeristan

2010-07-01T01:25:00.002-06:00

Finally over the jetlag- a long overnight trip with little sleep, two massages and a yoga session. And, of course, an evening in backpackeristan. I love it- can't help it. The uniform Bohemian style- the same across Belize, Thailand, Indonesia and Mexico. Of, course, here in India too. Wood furniture, worn pillows/pads, bright colors, low lights. We favor thatched roofs and a tree placed somewhere on the premise, even if it's dead and functioning as a tabletop. Add in a Bob Marley flag, and you know you are home.

This one overlooks the Ganges and one of its suspension bridges. It's at least 80 feet up and receiving rain-premonition winds, full force. They feel incredible after these scalding days- powerful, cool and ruffling. Maybe they are bringing the monsoons with their horizontal rains. I'd like to see that once on the trip- the first quenching waters- and smell its effects.

Holy. Hell.

2010-06-30T23:58:00.007-06:00

The bus we signed up for from Agra (the home of the Taj Mahal) to Delhi ended up to be an abbreviated Krsna pilgrimage. We were told we would arrive at 11pm, but rolled into Delhi at 4pm, making our 1/2 prepaid hotel room worthless. Our train tickets were also worthless. We ended up needing to hire a car from Delhi to Rishikesh for 5x what our train tickets cost. 11 hours on the bus. 6 hours in the back of a tiny hatchback car.

And we are here.

I hear people say you either love India or you hate it (I think hate is a strong word but will use it here for poetry. The proper term is probably "utter frustration"). I am experiencing both simultaneously. And not like -> hate is in the left hand and love is in the right, or I love it when I breathe in and hate it when I exhale, or I hate it in one moment and love it the next. It's both emotions at the same time and full blast, a water hose in complete release, flooding my sternum and drowning my head. I try to hold the two sensations separately in my mind, make lists of "whys", but they all bleed together... and the flood again. It's a strange, strange sensation.

We saw so much on the drive out here, most of which I don't understand. I quick list:

1)2 wedding processions, taking the groom to the bride's house. One was serenaded by a third gender individual.
2) Hive shaped piles of dung, carefully patted into circles, laid like /// on each other, from a wide base to a thin peak, the whole of which is covered in straw.
3) Fresh cane juice made by bending the cane in 1/2 over two limes, then run through three times. I chose one with salt and was absolutely shocked by the flavor. It was... not my thing. Bought another sweet and it was refreshing.
4) Sat behind a mother and grandmother with two children, all sharing two seats on the 11 hour bus ride. Then thought of all the people who are on non-AC busses, backed 200 bodies to 35 seats, and realized I am not tough at all.
5) Saw people washing in the Ganges for the first time.
6) Were followed by a troop of 20+ children, yelling at us in Hindi, or perhaps a local language. Were watching a wedding procession and looked up to find a semi-circle wall 30 people, turned towards us and staring.

There's more, I am sure, punctuating the polar extremes: wanting to stay and wanting to go on to the next thing; feeling full to feeling hungry (alternating within seconds of each other); feeling solid and confident, to feeling helpless and taken for granted. I don't understand its depths at all.

Train Delhi -> Agra, along a similar thread

2010-06-28T03:06:00.006-06:00

I keep thinking- it's so barren here. But there *are* trees lining the road, and some grass. Why don't I see them unless I look really hard?

I don't know if it's jetlag, all the reading I did on this country in school and otherwise, or experiences of past travels, but I feel at home here in India. Relaxed, relatively. Very little feels novel. This will change, I think, as the country and its noise and smells and trash, begging children and heavily milked tea intensify and magnify and become unrelenting. When I truly realize there are *so* many people here. More intense than what I felt in Paris, even, when I was hit hard with waves of humanity, and more consistently than Sumatra (despite their other similarities).

It's so difficult to imagine one human life, much less thousands, millions, billions- all crowded into this country caring, dealing, hating, saving each other. The same proportion of good to bad as in the USA, or anywhere, but with more desperation and physical discomfort (on the whole). I don't know- it feels stupid and shallow to try to define anything now, with so little knowledge of this place. The danger of thinking you've seen it all before is your arrogance keeps you from seeing it at all.

Upper-deck Delhi

2010-06-28T02:47:00.006-06:00

I am in a second story restaurant near our airport-situated hotel in Delhi. It overlooks a main highway and everything important is clogged along its access road- gas stations, restaurants, discount clothing stores, fruit stands, mega-marts, shops selling raw materials I can't even recognize. Making the (seemingly) long, horn-filled walk to a filling station for the ATM, I felt pleasantly calm. Cars were swerving to miss auto-rickshaws, swerving to miss mopeds, swerving to miss bikes, swerving to miss pedestrians with everybody yelling and kicking up dust and breathing and walking and being. I thought to myself, "I've seen worse," then realized I couldn't remember where that might have been, exactly. Maybe a combination of places- Asia and Madagascar. It's barren here, in that there is no vegetation, minus some dusty trees and scrubs of grass. The air is thick with humidity and particulates, and I feel my lungs and throat adjusting- closing up and producing extra defense to clear things out a little. I sound like a woman who's been smoking since birth. Nothing to be alarmed over.

But amongst all the peace, I understand this is just the beginning. I have been told that India is relentless and I think that is key to the all-encompassing sensation people experience coming here. Previous travel has been intense exposure in the cities, then breaks of respite in quite escapes. I am not sure how much that is possible now. When it's hot, it suck-the-life-from-you-oppressive. When it rains, you can't breathe, the water swallows your oxygen like a wet wool blanket slung over your head. Proverty drives people to do things we never think possible, like selling children; and the spirituality is so deep, it branded "enlightenment" and produces some of the most incredible human feats on this planet.

When people asked if I was ready for India, I could only think "I don't know how to be." Sitting here at its gates, I still am not sure. Prepared for break-down and realignment, I only know to steady myself for a rollercoaster unlike anything I've ever known.

Green Line

2010-06-19T19:09:00.002-06:00

I've been wondering around the city on my unlimited "Charlie Pass" for the Boston T. Except for the smell and lack of sunshine, I love pretty much everything about T trains. The noise of approach, the way they make the ground shake, their varied designs and colors, bright headlights as they zoom towards us to the station and, because I am in no hurry, the red brake lights twinkling as they dip around a dark bend into their tunneled homes.

the second thing

2010-06-19T18:59:00.004-06:00

I was going to write about all the events that led up to this hiatus in Boston, but truly, it would mostly read as a rant. How much poetry can be written about delayed visas, unresponsive consulates and the gross incompetency of FedEx?

Exactly.

The world is already riddled with thousands of other similar stories and I'd hate to replicate. So I'll just leave its retelling to someone else and label it all good luck because now I have the pleasure of this gorgeous garden down the street, fences built of old oven grates and broken pieces of wood and plants tended by elderly, first-generation Chinese women. The flowers are fantastic. Just one of the many things I would have missed if I had been whisked away to India on time.

the first thing

2010-06-17T15:53:00.002-06:00

First Thing

I am stuck in Boston for a week. That's the first thing. Everything that has led up to this change in events is the second (thing). To get by in Boston, I'd like to claim that I'm couch surfing (as in the official-thru-the-website)- it sounds so daring and Bohemian; but truly I am staying in the homes of gracious people I met before arriving- which is actually more comfortable and maybe even a bit safer. And I'm wandering around aimlessly in the most luxurious of vacation modes, guilt, guilt, guilty of not working and still being the U.S.A. But I couldn't go back to Denver because of the stipulations on my ticket. More on that later though.

I like asking directions in this town, eavesdropping too, just so I can hear the accents, male, female, local, foreign. The visual variety is equally stunning! I don't know which the ethnic background lends it, but there is a replicated look here that I particularly enjoy- forehead wrinkled in slight surprise with the eyes soft at their edges and a secret smile pulling at the mouth, the epitome of kindness and curiosity. This will be the next person I ask for directions, even if I know where I'm going.

And I am, admittedly, shocked by everyone's friendliness. I thought of the Northeast as being cutoff and shutoff, inconvenienced by other people. But folks here are making reasons to extend the conversation and they ask a lot of open questions. Or just smile and say "hello" on the street. And stare. Men and women. It's seldom I look up and don't catch somebody's eyes. Some look away immediately. Some just continue on staring. I don't know how to react- occassionally smile and sometimes glance away, pretending I didn't see them. Regardless, I believe I always look a bit bewildered.

I do have a few goals to complete while being here. One is to do some historic walking tours. I'm not that into history..there, I said it. My passion naturally draws me to the present and people's present experiences. It is difficult for me to sit with history because I don't see the windows to empathy, like the ones available in conversation. But I have always wanted to be excited about it and have always wanted to want to know about it. So perhaps now is a great opportunity, to walk among present people and look at historical buildings. Maybe the spirits of those moving past will give shadowy empathy to people who used to move about these streets. Or maybe I'll just feel history as its own thing and not force my ingrained passions onto it. Whatever happens, I am giving it a shot.

And I want to be near water. Ocean, bay, fresh- whatever is available. My soul is thirsty and a little angry with me for being in dry Colorado for so long.

There are other goals too, but they are boring, tying up bureaucratic loose ends and such. Vogon poetry.

Oh, and writing. Every day, sometimes many times in a day, until the narrative of personal dictation starts again in the back of my mind.

I feel rusty and boring right now, but we all have to start somewhere.

Second Thing

written in Carlsbad 06/09

2010-06-17T15:50:00.001-06:00

Before leaving to Madagascar, the school arranged for us to hear stories from returned study abroad students. The only one I remember was a girl who had studied in India. As she recounted her trip and especially coming home, she got very emotional. There was some deep pain because she had a hard time explaining her experience effectively, or finding people to listen to her try. She was flipping through her journal at top speed, showing us pictures children had drawn for her, or a sketch of something that struck her on the street. She told us how her mom wasn't able to get her room clean in time and she thought it was the most inane thing because her whole trip was spent sleeping on the floor ("Who CARES about sheets and a bed?!") And there was something about a boat trip on the Ganges with a group of British guys. I am not sure I caught it all because she got so worked up in the frustration, she started to cry and jump between topics sporatically.

It terrified me.

I couldn't understand her experience either, even with the visuals and passionate retellings and her angst surrounding it seemed so total. When I left for Madagascar , I vowed not to talk much about my trip at all, not the have "this one time at band camp" syndrome (don't know how dedicated I've been to that in long run...), and, hopefully, avoid the pain this girl felt. It's true that most people don't understand what one goes through on an intense trip. It's simply different months than life as lived in the US. I find most of my conversations return to the TV shows or movies people watched while I was gone. And I'm fine with that. Because, in the end, no matter the visuals or passion, these sorts of experiences are personal. And very. They strike loud chords and evoke deep changes that only really come out in an increasing weirdness against the backdrop of American culture.

But total silence isn't a real solution either (and I guess I can never claim that as my approach. ahem.) But I did find upon returning from Africa, I need to express some of my experiences and there were a few folks who wanted to hear it. So that's a small part of this blog- chatting and expressing a bit to anyone who cares to read. It's the action of sharing that matters most, not so much the reception.

affirmations and wishful day hopes

2010-05-29T13:29:00.003-06:00

I didn't come up with these, but enjoy them immensely and feel they should all the be in the same spot then, hopefully, shared widely...

May your day scrawl your name across the sky in cloudy script dripping of magic.

May your day bathe you in flower petals.

May it love you like a naked wedding ceremony and take you to the reception in the most beautiful dress.

May it run for president just so it can provide world peace as a present to you.

May it unearth Noah's Ark and put it in your backyard as a place for your kittens to play.

May your day chase you in endless song, out of one faerie form into another.

Your day is a silky, red dress. You should put that on and show off a bit.

May it understand the underlying meaning of art, music, and love and bake that shit all up into a juicy art-music-love pie for you to snack on while dancing to a jazzman's tambourine.

May your petal face feel sunny warmth and your diamond mind radiate it back to those you love.

I only want to see you save the world.

brain train

2010-05-28T21:59:00.004-06:00

I got my brain trained this week. Went to this place called the "Fast Focusing Center" because I met the woman in charge at a networking event and we got along fabulously... a bit like school girls giggling in the back of a classroom, actually. She markets her center as a way for business people to break through barriers and fears so they can be at their best (but really they deal with everyone from professional athletes, to folks fighting serious diseases. It seems we all battle similar obstacles). I was (am) really struggling with sales and thought it would be worth a shot. Like its name, it is fast, so just a few sessions can really create a difference.

And it did.

In a subtle, but massive way.

One of the first questions she asked me was if I ever went through a time in life where I experienced self-sabotage. I thought she meant something like self-abuse or deliberately spinning out of control. I have always wanted what was best for myself and believed I deserved it; just have had some self doubts and lack of confidence that got in the way. So I told her "no." She ran a little test with my arm and found quite differently. Not only had I experienced in the past, I was in self-sabatage at that exact moment.

After two full sessions, I am still not entirely sure what that means. I assume self-doubt, negative self-thought and image, as well as fear of what others think. I guess this because after a couple of hours, most of these aspects in my life are gone. Gone! Washed away, like a wave sweeping the shore free of bumps and trash and shells. There's not much to take their place. It's not like crazy-great positivity swept in. It's just like someone cleaned out the attic and now there's room to breathe. My whole head feels different. Heck, my whole life even feels a bit different.

I can't explain all her techniques. Partially because the air of mystique keeps her business strong and I respect that, but also because some of it is just too strange to describe properly. Like bending my left knee up to be slapped by my right hand, alternating with left hand to right knee, while looking to the upper right corner of the room and humming a tune. Then doing the same while looking down to the left and talking like a robot counting backwards by 2's. Then looking at an X. I'm not joking. But it did something to my brain that, she says, is a rather permanent and positive improvement. And I believe her.

I am still watching its effects and will do so for awhile before scheduling my next session. She warned that it might feel too fast. I scoffed at first because I love quick changes and paradigm shifts, but she was right. I want to enjoy it a bit and the shift is greater than I thought. I'm acting faster and laughing harder and am, well, enjoying life more overall. Less depressed, slower to negative response. Like Prosaic or something. But it's just been a few days. I look forward to seeing what else unfolds.

Eat, Pray, Love

2010-05-23T16:50:00.009-06:00

I am finally reading this book, having avoided it as cliche and over recommended. But I needed something easy and fun, and "girlie" books are a guilty pleasure. I don't know why I feel guilty about them, though. They inform and remind me of myself. But, unlike most "serious literature," they aren't a headache to get through.

So, just like Julie and Julia, I related to the character out of the gate. Only 1/2 through the first chapter, I have been starring and underlining almost every page. Phrases like:

"But what about the benefits of living harmoniously amid extremes? What if you could somehow create an expansive enough life that you could synchronize seemingly incongruous opposites into a worldview that excludes nothing?"

Right the f*ck on. YES. (#3 particularly).

So, with all the surprise of finding these female voices, expression and experiences similar to my own, I am starting to wonder why. I figure it could mean one of a few things:

1) I am much less unique than I thought and most women share the same experiences.

2) Most of humanity share the same experiences.

3) Women who think/ experience the world like I do become writers (a hopeful, egotistical option).

4) There's no way I could reach a conclusion on this and no matter what I think about it, my life is my own and these shared and compounded wisdom are, at their very least, gifts, deep pools of reflection in which to understand myself better.

And they should not be discounted as such.

Monday Part 2

2010-05-17T12:09:00.002-06:00

I am not a salesperson. And I am running out of stream to convince myself that I am or that I could become one. My nature is to be sweet, empathetic, accommodating and to serve. It just is. It's just who I am. Not pushy and not particularly motivated by money. Not deaf to people's needs/wants/objections and not good at handling rejection.

I got myself all geared up to approach as many businesses as possible, and started to cry at the first "no," just filled with dread for the next one. I wish I could get my brain reprogrammed to be someone else and to feel differently about the world. Just for this next month and a half. I don't know how to push through these feelings on my own and come out the other side with a different paradigm.

I can see the images but not feel the power.

Okay, it's only noon. What next?

Monday

2010-05-17T09:30:00.004-06:00

Spent a good deal of the weekend visualizing this week, and last night visualizing today. I could see images but not feel the power, but that's okay. It's probably because I don't know what it feels like to really do well in a selling skill. Hopefully this week will change that and I'll have a whole new perspective on my job.

I set a few rules for the week, most of which are centered around making excuses (no more!) and facing fears and also getting enough sleep and exercise. I am requiring one yoga class, probably in the lunch hour. And I slept until 9am today, which is nothing to be proud of, but I felt *SO* much better than if I had gotten up at 7:30am. Maybe working an hour and a half less with more energy is better than slogging through 11 hours tired. Let's find out.

And I realized in the midst of it all, what I really wanted was to discover something. In myself, in other people, in the way the world works. Because goals without the bigger perspective are... I don't know, sort of boring, maybe even a little nonsensical...

...and, perhaps I am hoping that at least something succeeds, even if these other goals fall a bit flat. Here's to hoping self-doubt takes a week long vacation to Antarctica.

Venezuela

2010-05-15T22:11:00.006-06:00

Just learned how to spell that today.

It is a long, semi-convoluted but wonderful story and the first evidence of manifesting. I think I am going to Venezuela this summer. And more than that, I think I am going starting in June.

But I need to make money. I need to make enough to buy a car or at least start paying my father for one, and I need to return his truck. Then I need to make enough income to cover all bills while I am gone, have enough set aside to cover the beginning of August (preferably the whole of August) and also travel money. My boss, or contractor, or whatever, with the pint glass advertising company has given me permission to sell ads at a huge discount for next week. It's going to be a power week, as Zig Zigler describes- a full week of total dedication to your job to give yourself and your business a boost. Zig says you should work up to it for a month, really work hard on it the week before, then set everything aside to insure that you succeed. I am planning tomorrow and starting Monday and still knocking doors to sell roofs in the evenings, as long as the weather holds out. But, you know, it's kinda close to Zig's model.

So tonight and tomorrow's visualizations are related to next week. Walking into potential advertisers' businesses confident and convincing. Remembering why I am excited about the product and sharing that with them. Being ready for objections and being compassionate all throughout. And following intuition to lead me to the right places and interacting with the right people. And, especially, getting enough sleep and exercise. Very important. My goal is to close one glass on Monday and the other two by the following Monday. All while enjoying it and pushing my comfort zone.

*breath*

yes.

Or as my mom says, YES!!

manifesting destiny

2010-05-10T11:34:00.002-06:00

It's been coming up all over the place- the power of manifesting. A bit like the power of prayer. Set your intentions and make them solid- write them down, print them out, post them up and focus. Or even- write them down, toss them in a closet somewhere and see what happens in a few years. As I understand it, the first method moves things a long a bit faster.

So I am going to give this a shot and spend a little time every day manifesting. I'm going to try it for one month, then look and see what has taken place. First things first though, I had to think about what I actually wanted. This was a bit challenging, but I took an hour yesterday in the park, under a tree and wrote 25 things I think I wanted with the quiet comfort that I can always change my mind. Some are too personal to share here, but a few include:

- I want to travel in July and I want to be traveling when I turn 30.
- Within the next year and a half, I want to pay off my debts and save money- both to travel and to start to put towards retirement (I know, I should've started that a lot earlier).
- I want to be able to make money while I travel.
- I want to stay healthy.
- I want to be more in touch with the spiritual on a regular basis and find peace and power there.
- I want my day-to-day actions to be meaningful and to serve others in a truly helpful way.
- I think I want to maintain this path of self-employment. It feels right in a lot of ways.
- I want to continue to meet like-minded people in my life who challenge me to grow. And I want to be open to the wisdom of these mentors as well as grounded enough to trust my own advice.
- I want to remain a good friend to people and someone both trustworthy and honest.
- I want integrity as the top personal (and business and everything) value in my life.

Lots of 'I wants.' Sounds so selfish, but I guess at the root of things, that is what we are and I am giving more okay-ness to recognizing that. So, this is my today's manifesting. Add in some working out again tomorrow, and life will start to feel a bit more balanced.

Here we go. One step at a time...

destined for great things

2010-05-07T22:01:00.005-06:00

It's really one of the best compliments you can receive, especially if you're someone who relies on the kenetic for your base energy. But what does that even mean? Great things.

It's a nice excuse to slow down a sec and remember what on earth we're working for.

For me, the greatest things would be getting to be out in the world, perhaps having a partner to work on life with and, mostly, the opportunity to feel bigger than myself. That big dream I was working towards is awfully fuzzy now, and I'm not sure what grand scheme to plug in its place. ("We're coming along a time in our lives, where the little dreams live but the big dream dies. Not for nothing, not for nothing."- Hard Times in Babylon, Eliza Gilkyson). The many choices floating around will only come into focus when they are, well, chosen. Own my own business? Perhaps. Free lance writing/ editing/ indexing/ entering that publishing world? Tempting but difficult. Paying off some major debt and going abroad with some mix of work and volunteering, so as to expand? That's a good one. Who knows? Who knows when you've reached the great things? Recognition? Money? ... Happiness? I'd dare for the latter, but I'm really not sure.

Okay, that's a lie. I am sure.

Regardless of what it ends up being in the end, the space of the in-between is best dealt with (for me) at full speed towards... something. The last week-ish has been all about sales and the business world- how to network, how to be poised, how to dress up and play the part. How to fool people into thinking you own more than 2 semi-formal professional outfits. I don't know if it's going somewhere specific, honestly, but I feel so much more fulfilled, so much happier, in that place of growth and momentum.

Great things.

thanks, google

2010-05-06T19:30:00.005-06:00

So today I read an article on the new rules of job application. I am not really looking to work for anyone else right now- 4 companies seems to be my max, but I was curious anyway. And particularly about what I might have been doing wrongly this winter. Number 4 or so on their list of job application tips was a friendly reminder that the first thing an employer might do is google you. So I did this and what's the first things to come up? My blog. And what is the ONLY line google published? A little joke sentence from 5 entries ago, written as a fake PS for a letter to 1515 Restaurant.

The whole entry looks like this:

Expanding
Margaret Shugart PS Please PLEASE hire me! I'll do anything, ANYTHING! .... Margaret Shugart: Boulder, Colorado, United States: Entering year two of the ...

Brilliant. I removed the post from my blog, but it is still the only information listed regarding my writing, and will be acting as my first impression to employers, or anyone else who searches me, until google decides differently. So, why not? Re-add that post and double the sentence in this one, so I am sure it shows up first.

Thanks google. You have a lovely sense of humor.

salesperson version 2.0

2010-04-23T17:42:00.011-06:00

No matter where I turn in this job hunt, sales seem to be the only thing I can find. I have, at this exact moment, 4 sales contract jobs.

Want a new roof (www.bigblueroofing.com)? Gottcha.

Own a small business and want to advertise on a pint glass in a local pub? Covered.

Or maybe you'd rather advertise online with a fast growing local search engine called MapAd.com? I can do that for you.

I can also sell you wine in your house after we all have a really fun party and tasting (www.wineshopathome.com/margaretshugart).
Or, I may be calling you for information to write an article, should you be the expert I need to answer my questions (www.demandstudios.com).

Why have a real job when you can work so many that your head spins around and you panic slightly about doing your own taxes (...and you can't seem to get hired anywhere)?

In all seriousness (although the above was serious too), I have found myself in a place of reinvention, mostly out of great need for rent and travel money. At a place of such desperation, I am willing to learn this skill of sales. I have done sales before, in a small town and for two well known small companies- a newspaper and a print shop. People who knew I was, who they were, and that took the 'cold' out of my cold calls. That was salesperson version 1.0. She was relaxed.

Saleperson 2.0

has to be much more polished, much more energetic and much more willing to scare the living daylights out of herself. This means knocking on strangers' doors while they are eating dinner and trying to give away free roof inspections (at some point I will be trained to actually SELL them a roof within the first 5 minutes of our meeting. Right-o). And it means calling a long self-generated list of businesses and convincing them to just put her through to the marketing manager... then at some point, getting said person to market their business on a little known website filled with misspellings and glitches. Or calling on bars and trying to give away pint glasses, in return for showing local ads, then calling businesses to buy those ads.

Am I boring you yet? Because wait, there's more!

How about begging friends to hold wine parties, knowing we are far from the generation of Tupperware parties and that these friends are completely annoyed with the offer, then listening to their long line of excuses for why it's not going to happen? And so learning to network instead.

I found an armband in the alley, next to the dumpster behind our apartment. It's super cute, so just wiped it off and put it on. Showed at an all-women's networking event, wearing it. Was the reason many women spoke to me. Several had botox and plastic surgery, discussed recovery from breast implants and how their businesses help their husband buy a second home in the mountains. Salesperson 2.0 lied about the origin of this armband, lied through her teeth. "Oh, a friend gave it to me." "She sure knew what she was doing! Looks great!" "Oh yes, indeed. Thanks! I'll let her know."

Ick.

And, on the way to an interview, Salesperson 1.0, trying to become 2.0, realized she left her shoes in her car and her coat was covered in cat hair. Hopping through the wet street in Smartwools while licking her hand to pull the cat hair off, she hoped her interviewer wasn't driving down that street on his way to the coffee shop where they were meeting.

And Salesperson 2.0 now wears designer jeans she got for $30 at a resale shop and makes sure her makeup is as perfect as possible at all times; she almost didn't leave the house when a huge zit showed up on her forehead. Salesperson 2.0 worries about how her hair looks and is starting to wear deodorant (but not antiperspirant- don't worry. Not killing myself here). Salesperson 2.0 uses her "phone voice" for long stretches in the day and pretends that she has more than one outfit to wear for her many positions. And sure as hell, Salesperson 2.0 never says more than she needs to, out of fear that they will figure out what a fraud she really is.

But more than anything else, Salesperson 2.0 wants some of the promises offered by these jobs to come true- so she can make rent- but mostly so she can become free. Free from debt and free from the shackles of a permanent stateside place. I asked the Universe for these things, as well as added confidence, at the beginning of this here 2010. I can only hope version Salesperson 2.0 is the right answer she's been getting...

reaching the bottom

2010-03-10T13:17:00.002-07:00

Being sick always has the potential to do that, doesn't it?

I am, quite honestly, fundamentally unhappy with my life at the moment. I know that is a most-unBuddhist thing to say, and of course, if I slow it all down to the pressing of the keys on the board and the snort-purr of my cat, the taste of a raisin on my tongue and the ways tears itch, I know that life is beautiful and grand and a gift in every breath. That is an undeniable truth.

But when the angle is put to wide-lense and I see the whole thing, the darkness sets in. No job. No purpose. No ability to make plans. No chance to travel. Borrowing money. Racking up the credit card debt. Spending more time in a bathrobe than I care to admit. I know that our worth as human being should not be based in our work, but as a product of this society, how could I avoid that concept seeping deep beneath my skin? I feel like I kept the good face for the most part in those first three months but it's falling now and I am reaching the bottom.

That doesn't mean anything in any permanent sense. It is a parabola like everything else in life, or an infinity sign, as the resilience community explains it. Destruction must take place for there to be a new path and that path, although it may resemble others who have formed before, has its own way of threading through the world. And I know that once I am on that path, I will forget how this ever felt so awful and I will be as in those moments as I am in these. It's the waiting that's killing me.

So the question is, do I remain patient for my fate or do I evoke large change and push the system? I have always done the latter- it's feels so much more comfortable and gives that feeling of control we (I?) crave in this world. I have been receiving many messages regarding the former though- fortune cookies, my daily email from the Universe, Tao stones someone pulled for me etc. And in every moment I feel like giving up, some (false) opportunity presents itself, keeping me here. But as the bottom becomes closer, I start to wonder about this wisdom and my eyes are roving. I'm not sure how long I can hang out as an unmoored boat with no motor...

perfect

2010-03-03T10:09:00.003-07:00

I love that moment. THAT moment on the drive home when you hear your favorite band unexpectedly on the radio and you can remember from which album but not the song title- but your heart rises to your chest and all is perfect. The way the lights change- perfect The darkness of black sky- perfect. The way your knees press together under the steering wheel, shifting gears. Every note, every house passed- perfect, perfect perfect. It's always perfect. Even the mess of living- webs of chaos, entanglement, blind running and arms flailing, spinning until the stars are rings of Saturn, giggling, not understanding it at all. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

old chairs

2010-02-23T20:17:00.002-07:00

Wilco does so many fabulous songs fabulously (a quote for the record books). "Reservations"- the lyrics are brilliant, but it's the instruments at the end that tell the story. As with many songs on Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, it's sounds like sonic randomness at first. But as you close your eyes and hone in, you can hear movement and emotion and visions.

I hear two empty rocking chairs, wooden, moving slightly in the wind. Sometimes the chairs belong to an old couple, empty because they are inside making a basil and homegrown tomato salad together, enjoying what they grew in the backyard garden. Sometimes they have passed away and that low, muffled voice filtering through the creaks and moans is the ghost of the husband, telling his wife about that piano he wanted to buy for her wedding gift- a shiny, mahogany standup. No doubt the porch is withered gray with time and rain, family gatherings and slamming doors. It looks out onto something vast and dry, Texan in the FarWest way- miles and miles for your mind to run down, nobody coming but that old Chevy delivering mail. Quiet.

Sometimes the chairs belong to a young couple, inherited from her grandmother. The deck is newly waterproofed and screened to keep the bugs at bay. They are inside now, discussing the color of yellow they should pick for the nursery, looking for the keys to the car, a trip to Home Depot. Those chairs will stand guard for them... will cuddle that little girl coming in the spring, sway her to sleep when she has a nightmare, tilt dangerously as she tests her balance, rock wildly as she remembers her first kiss. And they will be there when this couple becomes old, whispering secrets of the past.

*creeaak* *chills* *creeeaaak* *chills*
Again, again, again, I have to hear it again...

one version of the desperate plea

2010-02-05T17:02:00.004-07:00

The job market is... poor. I spoke with a server yesterday who has been in the business for about 20 years, focused primarily on fine dining. He has been searching for a job since AUGUST. AUGUST! Scoffed when I said I had been looking 2 whole weeks, the last 3 days with fervor. Before submitting a resume, I have started researching each restaurant and writing some version of the below letter...

Dear 1515 Team,

It is my pleasure to apply for a serving position at 1515 Restaurant. Restaurant work, food and wine are three of my greatest passions. Recently earning Masters in biological anthropology with an emphasis in nutrition, I am eager to continue my education in food and wine. As an upcoming student at the International Wine Guild, I will earn certification as an executive sommelier and wish to apply it directly to restaurant work. I am most impressed by Gene Tang’s selection of wine and it is clear that Chef Chuck James relishes in the details of every dish, including the quality of each ingredient. Between choosing the freshest locals meats and growing your own organic vegetables on-site, your restaurant truly values fine-crafted food. These characteristics, as well as your devotion to customer satisfaction, makes me very excited about the prospect of working for 1515 Restaurant.

In addition to professional pursuits related to food and wine, I have volunteered on organic farms in New Zealand and Hawaii, have taken several cooking classes around the world, and completed a masters thesis studying protein sources in Balinese rice fields, interviewing farmers and collecting recipes. Restaurant work is the perfect culmination of my passions. My favorite restaurant jobs have been working under talented chefs. At the Blue Javelina, where I served under Chef Kevin Stewart, we focused on fine dining service and critically acclaimed food in a relaxed atmosphere. Chef Kevin encouraged frequent wine tasting and in-depth understanding of each dish's creation. At Café Cenizo in The Gage Hotel, I had the privilege of serving under Chef Paul Petersen and received excellent training in fine dining service and wine knowledge. We tasted a new wine with every shift and discussing its characteristics as well as its pairings. Chef Paul also ensured in-depth knowledge of every dish and changed the menu frequently to reflect seasonality and availability of local products.

I believe my passion for restaurant work shows in my resume. In each of my positions, I have been trusted to work independently or promoted to a leadership role. At the Blue Javelina, I was asked to work during a staffing shortage and began with no training; oftentimes I worked as a single-server on, running the entire floor. At Café Cenizo, after one year as a server and host, I also became an assistant manager and trainer, responsible for the salad, host and server teams during my shifts. In addition, I was promoted to trainer at my first restaurant, Romeo's Italian Grill, and acted as shift leader while on the floor.

Thank you for the opportunity to apply to 1515 Restaurant. Please do not hesitate to contact me with any further questions. I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,
Margaret Shugart

PS Please PLEASE hire me! I'll do anything, ANYTHING! First born. Deal. Work 24-hours a day? I have endless stamina. Scrub your floors, scrub your house, follow you for miles on my knees to prove commitment and dedication, these are no question for me. Just give me a job. Any job. Thank you for your time and consideration.

too many choices, hey yeah

2010-01-20T10:21:00.006-07:00

I went to buy toilet paper yesterday and was totally blown away. In Target, at least, there are no more regular rolls of toilet paper. They are all double and triple rolls that come with an explanation of how many rolls it *looks* like you're getting, verses how many you are *really* getting. For example:

Charmin double rolls!
12=24 rolls!

Angel soft double soft, extra strong rolls
6=12 super duty, extra pillowy toilet paper rolls!

Snuggy soft triple rolls
buy 24 and get 72 rolls!

72 rolls. 72 rolls of toilet paper. Really?
A) Do I need 72 rolls of toilet paper and
B) Is that really the case? Or am I actually getting 24 really thick rolls that I don't have room to store and won't fit in the little space between the holder and the wall, that make me feel like I have unlimited paper and therefore am more likely to use more than I need or should, and therefore sending me back to the store sooner than if I had just bought a regular roll of paper?

Not to mention all the explanations in terms of square feet and yards of paper, extra multiplied and expanded when they are super thick and "pillowy." It took me way more time than I'd ever want to choose my brand and size and number. I paced up and down the aisle just trying to find some clue that I wasn't being ripped off and was somehow making it home with a decent amount of product for the best price; it gave me a headache. Didn't even bother looking at the unit price because what does that even mean? Is it for the 72 rolls I'm really getting, the 24 it looks like I am getting or the 360 square feet packed into each package? Just ended up getting the store brand in hopes that it was the cheapest.

In a book I read recently about bliss, the author discusses how choice between meaningful things makes us happy, but too many choices for meaningless things just adds to life's frustration and anxiety. Too many varieties of burgers, too many cold medications, too many brands of cat litter and too many ways to think about toilet paper. It is, I suppose, an outcome of capitalism and I should feel grateful for inter-company competition for my business that keeps the quality high and the price low. But it barely felt worth the 10 minutes I spent under pulsing florescent lights, contemplating this tiny fraction of my existence. Drove home with the Dave Matthews song, Typical Situation, in my slightly aching head- "It's a typical situation in these typical times, too many choices, hey yeah. Everybody's happy. Everybody's free...."
(unsure ending; edits in order)

dear girl

2010-01-16T12:05:00.004-07:00

I had recently been told of a girl who is finishing up her senior year in high school and is unsure of herself for the next step, becoming afraid to try, and of course, as we all do, becoming depressed as a result. I thought I'd write her a little letter (it's in scrap paper form below with edits coming), and while I was at it, wrap the whole thing up in a bow and send it to myself too.

You are a trapeze artist between the bars and this moment feels like a free fall but it's only the sensation before your next catch. And you'll make that catch because you are an artist, even if you don't know it yet. You are seconds away from this next world. What sucks is that you can't peer over the wall of now to see the coming moment but I *guarantee* it's there and completely different from anything you've ever known. Take the chance to have a little faith in yourself, even if you are not sure why. I see how you make Z very happy and that's a precious thing. It shows me you must be an incredible person, but I couldn't live with myself if I didn't take a moment to say you have that capacity for yourself as well- to make yourself happier than anyone else ever could. Just hang in there girl. Change is coming.

the power of intuition

2010-01-12T22:59:00.005-07:00

It's magic. And my mom possess a lot of it. If I ever had a doubt, it was shattered today.

We are up in Seattle to visit her first oncologist, way back from when she was initially diagnosed with colon cancer in 2004. He moved from MD Anderson up to Seattle Cancer Care Center and has gotten some press about his success in helping colon cancer patients (he's a specialist). A little back history:

After her first success in wiping out her cancer and being clear for three years, my mom developed two nodes in her lungs, one found last summer and one this year. This second time, they recommended chemo after the surgery. She started speaking up when the infusions made her very ill, then refused to take them altogether until she received another opinion. Additionally, when one of the doctors in Dallas recommended she take a biologic as a "maintenance dose" (meaning she stay on it a very, very long time) after her original chemo, she refused that too and moved to another hospital. There are reasons why she did these things (nausea, headaches, not wanting to be tied to a drug that is supposed to restrict blood flow for the rest of her life), but I also believe she was acting from intuition and here's why.

Today, in the doctor's office, we had a most positive experience. He had a sense of humor, was balanced and lighthearted but also clearly in the middle of the most important action in colon cancer. He conducts research on top of seeing patients and knew all the latest studies, published and not. And we learned:

1) That infusion drug she was initially given, that made her so sick, can actually be very bad when colon cancer shows up in the lungs. It worked the first time when the cancer was in the colon and the liver, but in the lungs, it can cause the tumors to grow faster because of the way they genetically mutate and the way it causes DNA damage.
2) The biologic she refused as a maintenance dose wouldn't be effective by itself. It could be prescribed for most metasticized cancers but not colon cancer. The oncologist we were seeing would also recommend maintenance chemo, a different one, but it would be a drug with a lot less side effects and that has actually shown wonderful amount of effectiveness in controlling this particular type of cancer.

All of this is great information, but what I really learned is that my mom was right. Right to get off the infusion until she saw him and right to totally turn down that other doctor's care. Whether or not she fully realized all the reasons behind the decisions, I don't know, but I think I'll ask. And ask whether or not she thinks I could ever be so lucky as to share a small piece of her gift in my genes.

New Years Resolutions

2010-01-11T21:25:00.002-07:00

Okay, a bit late in posting them, but they WERE written at the proper time. Some are on their way, many aren't yet:

1) Less car. More bike.
2) Travel around Colorado more.
3) Workout. Yoga. Bikram.
4) Write more regularly.
5) Keep taking photos at events.
6) Finish thesis. Try to publish something from it.
7) Read regularly and continue scholastic pursuits. Enjoy it.
8) Paint more. Consider carrying crayons again. Creativity for the sake of.
9) Pay attention to the things I like, even if they lay outside the realm of Cool.
10) Participate in active healing, however that might take place- time alone, meditation, a course or two, dance etc.
11) Try to keep at least one finger on the spiritual. Remember its life force.
12) More time outside.
13) Less time on the computer. Facebook specifically.
14) Do some scary performances- kazoo, singing, improv acting.
15) Send more gifts to family and friends.
16) Guitar.
17) Volunteer.
18) Remember the joys of kindness and delve into that world whole-heartedly.
19) Learn to knit or crochet.
20) More physical touch with others (in appropriate amounts and at appropriate times :)
21) Work to put self-doubt and insecurity aside and act instead out of instinct, compassion and self-respect.
22) Get really drunk in the middle of the day for no reason.
23) Try to like vodka, primarily to learn how to make a good martini.
24) Continually work on assertiveness and "taking up space in the world."

Julie and Julia

2010-01-11T13:18:00.009-07:00

I had/have no interest in seeing the movie, but for some reason a pre-publication copy of the book, filled with typos and poor editing, called to me from a local used book store this week. I looked down on the book from the start because the movie seems so pop-culture and the story strikes me as so... normal. It's not Tolstoy or Kerouac or even Morrison or Kingsolver; it's nothing anyone will likely remember in 5 years. Why waste my time? Why look so average reading it in public? Couldn't help it. Couldn't deny the pull.

I simultaneously love and hate the author and for the same reason: she reminds me of me and not in the best ways. She's 29 years old, a Texan with a penchant for living in less-than-fancy places, unsure what to do with her life, keeping a blog and started some nonsense project for no particular reason than to find meaning; she has even been linked to Sarah Bernhardt. She is emotional and waverable most with the people closest to her; she cries a lot and laughs for no reason at uncouth stuff. Her writing is average at best with spots of imagery and occasional not-so-laugh-out-loud humor and is very, very self-indulgent... much like my own. I am so annoyed that I like her and that says something very important.

Out of the many things I have understood intuitively about her journey, I have been most inspired by her slightly late New Years resolution: "To Get Over My Damned Self." In other words, to claim bits of herself that are "her" whether or not she wants to acknowledge them. I have a lot of these, A LOT, and they all point to how average and normal and stereotypical I am. I used to hate that. And now... now that grad school is over and I may be entering "the real world" as a permanent member, I am ready to claim it, to own those things that don't set me apart from anyone in particular, and that really, really light up my soul:

1) Getting excited when I see old copies of Readers Digest in a bathroom and spending way longer than I need to in there, catching up on good jokes I'll never remember and sighing happily at their quotes page.
2) Singing overly-dramatic feminine lyrics at the tops of my lungs while stuck in traffic; so into it, eyes closed and head flung back, that I miss when the light changes and get honked at, destroying my bubble of imaginary privacy in giggles.
3) Love for sitting in really, really hot tubs and drinking lots of water and doing it so long that my face turns a frightening shade of red and I feel sick and weak the rest of the day. Without the influence of others, I'll gladly spend an entire vacation centered around this one activity. Or, at home, waste a lot of good, clean water and run up an unfair bill using this precious resource for a slightly worthless high.
4) Shiny things. I love them. Am attracted to them like a fish. Earrings I don't really enjoy wearing and cheap polished metal stuff with crystals in it to hang around the house that are flashbacks to being 5- like butterflies and dolphins. Heck, add to that list fizzy bath salts, expensive chocolate, fancy kitchen doodads and really cute party dresses... and the fact that buying these things can actually fix a bad day.
5) Liking dolphins. I cannot think of anything more cliche.
6) Reading run-of-the-mill girly books I'd probably never recommend to anyone and loving every last word of them. It feels devilish after my high school career and its legacy of snobbish conversations about society's greatest works. Looking back, I took so little from that: existentialism and a few religious ideas at best. On the other hand, enjoying the empathy of a similar woman stranger in brings me a most unexpected and nourishing release and I plan to do a lot more of it.

perspective and transition

2010-01-03T18:25:00.007-07:00

So much moving underfoot right now, tectonic plates and lava,
new forms erupting violently and rocks melting back into the belly of it all.

Oh the moods, so clear when little is set in stone.

It’s lovely now, growing older and knowing how moods change so quickly, sometimes many in a day. It makes the good more enjoyable, knowing its intrinsic fleetingness, and the bad more tolerable for the same reason. In the most enlightened moments, I enjoy
sculpting them like clay, with a song or mental scene, sometimes just a deep breath that does nothing but fill my mind with nothing for three-full-glorious-seconds of letting go.

As refreshing as climbing the sky in an airplane and leaving a cloudy ground behind momentarily. What was once a fading day, light slipping from its fingers in unceremonious escape becomes a glorious burst of color caught in the horizon, reds and pinks and salmons singing praises to the stars’ night parade.

Because all that gray and longing for the sun is only a small part of the world; the sun is always there and our condition, like our perspective, is ever shifting.

sodium light circles

2009-11-14T16:57:00.005-07:00

It's snowing again and I've just removed freshly cleaned, warm flannel sheets from the dryer and put them on the bed. Been inside all day, waking up slowly and reconnecting. Music, laughter, my heart still beating fast every time he enters the room.

The sun was gone by 5pm and now the leftover skyglow mixed with electric park lights show round shadows below the trees across the street, their barren branches blue and yellow in reflection. I can just barely see the corner of one pond and its sodium light circles. Tonight is packed with a variety of fun and activities- old friends in town, new friends filling bars, snow falling to coat it all in magic. But in this moment of incense filled peace I am trying to remember, again, to breathe and make it deep, pulling out all the old junk and waking up the cool restful spirit hidden somewhere down below.

what is love?

2009-11-13T19:58:00.002-07:00

I don't usually do email forwards but I got this one from my mom today and just had to help it keep existing somewhere in the world... because it's right.

A set of kid responses to the above question.

'When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore.
So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That's love.'
Rebecca- age 8

'When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different.
You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.'
Billy - age 4

'Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.'
Karl - age 5

'Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs.'
Chrissy - age 6

'Love is what makes you smile when you're tired.'
Terri - age 4

'Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.'
Danny - age 7

'Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more.
My Mommy and Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss'
Emily - age 8

'Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen.'
Bobby - age 7

'If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate,'
Nikka - age 6

'Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday.'
Noelle - age 7

'Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well.'
Tommy - age 6

what comes next

2009-11-12T10:20:00.004-07:00

I'm ready for it. This liminal space is so itchy. Every time I realize I am in transition, I am grateful at first. Transition is the reality of our existence. Our moments of solid existence are only short-term illusions we use for security. Ah, so many nice things to learn in this rich space. That lasts a couple of days.

Then it becomes what it now, standing on tip-toes and trying to see into the next world, the what-comes-next and turning my back on what's going on now. My motivation drops, daydreaming skyrockets. Facebook usage reaches obsessive levels. And all other escapes.

So where are the daydreams rocketing to now?

1) Getting into Teach for America. Using creativity towards teaching and starting at the back of the race with a huge learning curve. I am so motivated when I feel behind but capable...not that I know I am capable of this but am hopeful, anyway.
a) the summer institute training session and the hope that it'll be in Chicago this year so I can at least enjoy not traveling those months
b) coming back and having a classroom in which to try- try to make sense, try to explain material, but most of all, try to inspire kids to step beyond what they once thought possible for themselves. I'd be so happy if just one student decided to go to college when he/she thought it wasn't in their future.
c) admittedly, making some money with which to budget, pay off credit cards and maybe even save a bit of
2) Some spring trip. Probably to Mexico and I hear Oaxaca calling. I part because I really want to go and could use some warm sunshine by then. And partly so I am not terribly jealous of my partner running free this summer. Petty, I know.
3) A "semester" without school, just a job (hopefully!!) And all the freedom in that. An improve comedy class. Roller derby. Volunteer at a soup kitchen. Guitar. Book club. Writing here once a day. Art. I bought two old windows and am itching to pour out onto them.
4) Not feeling so itchy but inside a whole new chapter instead.

Okay, well, glad to see I got a lot of work on my thesis done, graded the tests from Wednesday and studied for my exam on Monday instead of writing here and uploading new photos. Are we there yet?

trip to the dentist

2009-11-12T10:15:00.000-07:00

I just had my first procedure at the dentist in over 4 years. Was motivated to go back after working on Nubian mummies in our biological anthropology department. They had lots of sand in their diet and it wore their teeth down fast. There’s no way to explain the horror of looking at an abscess- all discolored and deep, sometimes spreading infection to the face where you see holes that were eaten away by infection. Nasty, it’s so nasty. So decided to think more about my own dental health and start with this recommended procedure. It was a type of cleaning called “scaling” where they go under your gums and clear out the tarter etc that has accumulated. It’s as charming as it sounds.

The dental assistant was Russian and a lovely woman, Ulga. She was very gentle and very sweet, apologetic for all the times she hurt me. After the first polishing, she tried to wipe off the spray of sand-like chemicals that they use on your teeth and distribute around your face with pressurized water. The sweep of her hand was so soft and caring as she called me Frosty the Snowman. Then the dentist joined us. He too was very nice. Seemed a bit dopey but not unintelligent. They renumbed my gums and set to work on the scaling, his tool making the high-pitched noise that one associates with dentist nightmares. It hurt, I won’t lie. The bottom, especially was sensitive and I kept my hands clasped at my chest. Twice the pressure tube shot off the instrument, sounding like a gun and hitting me in the chest. I screamed the first time, but just jumped the second- like an old war hero. He laughed and said it happens all the time. Hehehe. Ha. The whole scaling took maybe 10 minutes, which is apparently a new thing. Used to, before this nice loud tool, that they’d spend 3 hours on the whole mouth. They sure still charge like it’s a 3 hour procedure- $460. Ouch.

At the end, he set my chair upright again and asked if I had any questions. He said I had to start flossing deeper, as Ulga had showed me (yes it hurts) and to wash with salt water for the next couple of days. I pressed the Kleenex Ulga gave me to my mouth to wipe off the spittle and it came back all bloody. Nice. Washed my face and spit repeatedly in their bathroom then headed home. The rearview mirror in the car showed pockets of blood between my teeth- charming, indeed. The numbing is wearing off and the taste of blood is lessening. Going to get soft cheese enchiladas with a friend and stop frowning. New flossing technique and a water pic it is. Don’t care to do this again any time soon.

Lesson learned, and what I am passing onto you. Go to the dentist. Get your teeth cleaned. Regularly. It’s worth it.