In my rhythm of days at the still-alive age of 31, on different days I want different things. I always have one nervous eye on the slumbering travel monster in my cave, and am careful not to wake it lest it spirit me away. On many days I am happy and want to keep focusing on the immediate (god, love, light, kindness, pleasure, food, water, tea, whatever). Some days I secretly conspire with myself in planning hypothetical aspects of my still-hypothetical new career. Some days, such as this morning, I'd rather change course suddenly and have a baby than ever travel again. But most days, I carefully angle the monitor away from the travel dragon so that I won't wake it while I compulsively read ads online for teaching jobs in Saudi Arabia, Oman, India, Brazil, France, and Portugal... one third of me wishing I could get back on the road by September!
But I angle that monitor away from the dragon. I don't coax and cajole it to wake up gently, I don't ask it to bend down and make room for my knapsack so I can climb up on its back and tickle it between the wings. I really want to teach myself to stay put instead of escaping. It doesn't mean I won't travel again... but it means I don't want those wheels to start turning that are so hard to stop. If I were to allow myself to plan a future trip or apply for another overseas job, then in my mind, that plan would become my escape from having to figure out how to just stay put. I don't want to give myself such an escape at the moment. I've never been able to let myself become so "light" without floating away, and I need to endure the tension so that I can be "light" and be grounded at the same time. It's so important for my health, and not just on the physical level. Yes, as of April, I can digest all my food, unassisted. Now I just need to be able to digest my experiences, be where I am, and not expel everything in my haste to make it to the next spot. I am cultivating myself!
2010-06-13
2010-03-25
Procrastination
I was given a Venus Flytrap Planting Kit in 1998. I really intended to water it and make it grow, so I took the unopened package with me to the thirteen plus places I lived in across two continents over the following twelve years. Yeah. Finally this past winter, I got around to planting it. Then, I didn't water it enough, the peat pellet dried out, and I threw it away.
2010-03-18
Disgusting Love
"So, you want to share our reflections after you do your music thing," I paraphrase his words.
"Yes," says his voice, his face, and his eyes. I put my lips on his mouth and we kiss. He's getting over a cold but I'm not afraid of catching it because I'm sure it's the same one I just had.
Isn't there something disgusting about love? All the sharing, all the swapping? The saliva, the thoughts, the feelings... ugh! In a cleaner, more sanitized environment, one could potentially avoid saliva, thoughts, and feelings altogether. Or at least hope to. In this wretched state we call love, spit and complexities are inevitable.
Still, the spit and the heartache come prepackaged with someone who'll share them - someone who will benefit from them. You offer your lover the opportunity to take care of god's own flesh every time you have a cold or some hurt feelings. You know you can't hope to avoid the pains. You're gonna get them, but you're gonna get some sweet perks too.
"Yes," says his voice, his face, and his eyes. I put my lips on his mouth and we kiss. He's getting over a cold but I'm not afraid of catching it because I'm sure it's the same one I just had.
Isn't there something disgusting about love? All the sharing, all the swapping? The saliva, the thoughts, the feelings... ugh! In a cleaner, more sanitized environment, one could potentially avoid saliva, thoughts, and feelings altogether. Or at least hope to. In this wretched state we call love, spit and complexities are inevitable.
Still, the spit and the heartache come prepackaged with someone who'll share them - someone who will benefit from them. You offer your lover the opportunity to take care of god's own flesh every time you have a cold or some hurt feelings. You know you can't hope to avoid the pains. You're gonna get them, but you're gonna get some sweet perks too.
2010-01-30
The Healing Powers of Love
On my way home from a yoga of healing class, pondering a comment Deborah had made to me about “the Light of understanding that can be given rather than figured out,” two thoughts about Love suddenly struck me:
1. In love, I love my lover’s good qualities so much that if I am able to keep doing so, then someday these good qualities will eventually become a part of me. [Interjecting voice: But all these good qualities will comes from inside you anyway! Me: Yes! And when someday they become a part of me, then I will really know that they came from within!]
2. In love, I love my lover’s weak areas so much that if I am able to keep doing so, someday those weak areas will know how much they are loved, and they will become strong areas too.
And these two benefits are reciprocal! We can provide/receive these benefits for/from each other. The opportunity to provide them is itself a gift that we receive. Loving someone’s weak areas, or having one’s own weak areas loved, is a beautiful opportunity to access the “understanding that can be given rather than figured out,” both as a receiver and as a giver.
Andrew pointed out to me that this “understanding” is part of the guru-disciple relationship. As I’ve expressed it, I know it to be part of the lover-lover relationship too. There is only one Light, and a personal link-up to the Light, whether it is an internal link-up like the Divine Light Invocation or an external link-up like a lover or a guru, is a link-up to that same Light that will eventually be found within. It seems paradoxical to discover something within by connecting to something external, but it’s a paradox to dwell in joyfully, not a paradox to figure out! Love the Light, and love your link-up to the Light! Love your guru, love your lover… he or she is also Light, and eventually each side of the equation [within = without] will be simplified to the point that only the truth will be there, pure and unspoken, Light = Light, where the equals sign is Love. Om Namah Shivaya!
I suppose that with external link-ups to the Light, however, there are things that could go wrong. This would be why metaphysical and spiritual literature abounds with cautions around choosing the right guru… and modern times have provided an even greater emphasis on the cautions involved in choosing the right lover. It’s kind of like doing acid! Self-transformation and personal evolution can be painful and traumatizing if attempted under unsuitable conditions… You don’t want to start giving all this understanding and then unleashing your god-given self-transformative loving function if you are just going to be abandoned, do you? Ah, Fear! Ever the antagonist of Love!
Is that why we are cautioned so strongly about choosing the right guru, and even more strongly about choosing the right lover? “Choosing” seems like such a modern word, flippant and fickle in a culture where marriages last for five years and fifty types of toothpaste vie for our attention at the drugstore, all in disposable throw-away tubes. I’d rather not think I “chose” my lover in this particular way – instead I tried to verify with myself that my actions towards this particular person were in alignment with my dharma. Hm. In any case…
Maybe in some previous era it was more of a given that people took the lover relationship seriously, just as the guru relationship would have been taken more seriously. One can never totally depend on anyone outside oneself, but for lovers and gurus to help us we need commitment at least. Like students and gurus, lovers also throw their karma in together. There are foolish ways to do this and there are potentially enlightening ways to do this. Couples can throw their karma in together unconsciously, sharing their lives without appreciating the magnitude of the potential in what they are doing, and missing out on the higher opportunities. Couples can share themselves with each other in an escapist way, avoiding who they are on their own. Couples can share themselves selfishly, with no real commitment, just to see what they can “get” out of one relationship before they move on to another.
Couples can also enter into relationship with the commitment to give and receive, the conscious intention to mutually purify and be purified through offerings of love and understanding, accepting the grace that is given. I don’t know if commitment has to be about ‘forever’ – though one of the highest achievements I can aspire to in this lifetime would be to give love to my lover, allowing the healing powers of love to embrace us over decades, as we grow old. Commitment to the present (at the very least), to giving and receiving with an open heart here and now, can provide the space for the healing powers of love to begin to unfold. Just like a guru, a lover whose intent is truly to love provides his or her partner with a pathway for healing and self-transformation, and gives the partner the opportunity to provide the same.
I’m sure that’s why marriage was once thought to be sacred – it wasn’t always just about subjugating women as the property of men, and maintaining the socio-economic status quo – it has always had in it a spiritual potential because it involved the relationship of lovers. Marriage ceremonies themselves were potentially ways to clarify and offer the intentions of the relationship, and to sanctify the relationship by placing it into a sacred context. Yet there are so many lovers and so many marriages, but not a lot of real love. It seems so wasteful. I want people to realize what a gift they have when they hold each other in their arms, and not to squander the opportunity. I want people to unlock the healing powers of love! I want to unlock the healing powers of love!
1. In love, I love my lover’s good qualities so much that if I am able to keep doing so, then someday these good qualities will eventually become a part of me. [Interjecting voice: But all these good qualities will comes from inside you anyway! Me: Yes! And when someday they become a part of me, then I will really know that they came from within!]
2. In love, I love my lover’s weak areas so much that if I am able to keep doing so, someday those weak areas will know how much they are loved, and they will become strong areas too.
And these two benefits are reciprocal! We can provide/receive these benefits for/from each other. The opportunity to provide them is itself a gift that we receive. Loving someone’s weak areas, or having one’s own weak areas loved, is a beautiful opportunity to access the “understanding that can be given rather than figured out,” both as a receiver and as a giver.
Andrew pointed out to me that this “understanding” is part of the guru-disciple relationship. As I’ve expressed it, I know it to be part of the lover-lover relationship too. There is only one Light, and a personal link-up to the Light, whether it is an internal link-up like the Divine Light Invocation or an external link-up like a lover or a guru, is a link-up to that same Light that will eventually be found within. It seems paradoxical to discover something within by connecting to something external, but it’s a paradox to dwell in joyfully, not a paradox to figure out! Love the Light, and love your link-up to the Light! Love your guru, love your lover… he or she is also Light, and eventually each side of the equation [within = without] will be simplified to the point that only the truth will be there, pure and unspoken, Light = Light, where the equals sign is Love. Om Namah Shivaya!
I suppose that with external link-ups to the Light, however, there are things that could go wrong. This would be why metaphysical and spiritual literature abounds with cautions around choosing the right guru… and modern times have provided an even greater emphasis on the cautions involved in choosing the right lover. It’s kind of like doing acid! Self-transformation and personal evolution can be painful and traumatizing if attempted under unsuitable conditions… You don’t want to start giving all this understanding and then unleashing your god-given self-transformative loving function if you are just going to be abandoned, do you? Ah, Fear! Ever the antagonist of Love!
Is that why we are cautioned so strongly about choosing the right guru, and even more strongly about choosing the right lover? “Choosing” seems like such a modern word, flippant and fickle in a culture where marriages last for five years and fifty types of toothpaste vie for our attention at the drugstore, all in disposable throw-away tubes. I’d rather not think I “chose” my lover in this particular way – instead I tried to verify with myself that my actions towards this particular person were in alignment with my dharma. Hm. In any case…
Maybe in some previous era it was more of a given that people took the lover relationship seriously, just as the guru relationship would have been taken more seriously. One can never totally depend on anyone outside oneself, but for lovers and gurus to help us we need commitment at least. Like students and gurus, lovers also throw their karma in together. There are foolish ways to do this and there are potentially enlightening ways to do this. Couples can throw their karma in together unconsciously, sharing their lives without appreciating the magnitude of the potential in what they are doing, and missing out on the higher opportunities. Couples can share themselves with each other in an escapist way, avoiding who they are on their own. Couples can share themselves selfishly, with no real commitment, just to see what they can “get” out of one relationship before they move on to another.
Couples can also enter into relationship with the commitment to give and receive, the conscious intention to mutually purify and be purified through offerings of love and understanding, accepting the grace that is given. I don’t know if commitment has to be about ‘forever’ – though one of the highest achievements I can aspire to in this lifetime would be to give love to my lover, allowing the healing powers of love to embrace us over decades, as we grow old. Commitment to the present (at the very least), to giving and receiving with an open heart here and now, can provide the space for the healing powers of love to begin to unfold. Just like a guru, a lover whose intent is truly to love provides his or her partner with a pathway for healing and self-transformation, and gives the partner the opportunity to provide the same.
I’m sure that’s why marriage was once thought to be sacred – it wasn’t always just about subjugating women as the property of men, and maintaining the socio-economic status quo – it has always had in it a spiritual potential because it involved the relationship of lovers. Marriage ceremonies themselves were potentially ways to clarify and offer the intentions of the relationship, and to sanctify the relationship by placing it into a sacred context. Yet there are so many lovers and so many marriages, but not a lot of real love. It seems so wasteful. I want people to realize what a gift they have when they hold each other in their arms, and not to squander the opportunity. I want people to unlock the healing powers of love! I want to unlock the healing powers of love!
2009-06-30
Back at the Ashram
Today was one of those sublime, glorious, beautiful days.
In the orchard this morning, I was thinning the apples to help the fruit grow better. I was lost in the arms of the trees. The three-dimensional juxtaposition on my field of vision of the many branches of varying distances, all seeming to move at different rates when I turned my head, as well as the veins of the leaves glowing at me backlit by the sun, illuminated with tiny reflective hairs at their edges, all combined to give me that feeling of awe that Reality Itself is all around me and that I am really here, really alive on this planet.
Thinning the apples, as an activity, also gave me some reflections. Taking off the apples that are diseased or that aren't getting enough light allows the tree to channel the energy more efficiently, for better fruit. That is pretty much what I am trying to do with myself, here, only ideally without attachment to the fruit!
Sometimes, there would be two or more apples in the terminal growth that all looked strong and healthy and good, but I would have to choose just one to keep. I'd have to make a choice. It reminded me of how, in my life, I often try almost compulsively to keep as many options open as possible, sometimes going out of my way or wasting energy to do so. With the apples, I have to have confidence that whichever one I choose to keep will be the right one, and in life it's faith that reminds me I'm safe and protected, even without every door open. I don't really need that many escape routes from myself, after all, and besides, if I spend all my time holding all those doors open, how will I ever walk through one?
In the orchard this morning, I was thinning the apples to help the fruit grow better. I was lost in the arms of the trees. The three-dimensional juxtaposition on my field of vision of the many branches of varying distances, all seeming to move at different rates when I turned my head, as well as the veins of the leaves glowing at me backlit by the sun, illuminated with tiny reflective hairs at their edges, all combined to give me that feeling of awe that Reality Itself is all around me and that I am really here, really alive on this planet.
Thinning the apples, as an activity, also gave me some reflections. Taking off the apples that are diseased or that aren't getting enough light allows the tree to channel the energy more efficiently, for better fruit. That is pretty much what I am trying to do with myself, here, only ideally without attachment to the fruit!
Sometimes, there would be two or more apples in the terminal growth that all looked strong and healthy and good, but I would have to choose just one to keep. I'd have to make a choice. It reminded me of how, in my life, I often try almost compulsively to keep as many options open as possible, sometimes going out of my way or wasting energy to do so. With the apples, I have to have confidence that whichever one I choose to keep will be the right one, and in life it's faith that reminds me I'm safe and protected, even without every door open. I don't really need that many escape routes from myself, after all, and besides, if I spend all my time holding all those doors open, how will I ever walk through one?
2009-06-16
Desperate Poetry Before The End Of Time
desperate poetry before the end of time
kneel, poets, before the end of time!
kneel, poets, surrender to your defeat!
at the far edge of a still expanding universe
lurks the inevitable heat-death of all creation
reality will melt and words will lose their reference
when language itself pales and trembles before god!
his molten flaming dance subjugates all grammar
as he stomps on the crushed skulls of tense and number,
snaps under his slender feet the fragile grasp of every clause,
scatters word order like dust across the stage
this dance, the ultimate act of god, destroying, destroying absolutely
surrender, poets!
admit that your words and language
the very grammar of your minds
will always be outdone
you may weave words to deceive
to make believe knowledge
some primitive security
but you will all be slain
when the inexorable inexpressible
onslaught of reality
carries you away
surrender, poets!
and admit that you, yes you
you love this killer
reality’s final breakdown will be a grammatically challenged moment that never subsides, a moment of perception that can literally never be named or ever even approximate being named because what it signifies is the end of time and the end of space and the end of life and the end of everything which has a meaning, a moment we can only hint at, because naming it would mean knowing it, and knowing it would mean that even faith would evaporate, and the self would be decapitated. then even if god’s words still existed, we’d have nothing to speak them through or with. even these pronouns, we, and verbs, have, would evaporate, poof poof! like people mysteriously fading from photographs in those time-travel movies you saw as a child.
memories disappear, meanings dissolve, minds unravel
your words slow to a crawl, kick once, then are still
god is all
kneel, poets, before the end of time!
kneel, poets, surrender to your defeat!
at the far edge of a still expanding universe
lurks the inevitable heat-death of all creation
reality will melt and words will lose their reference
when language itself pales and trembles before god!
his molten flaming dance subjugates all grammar
as he stomps on the crushed skulls of tense and number,
snaps under his slender feet the fragile grasp of every clause,
scatters word order like dust across the stage
this dance, the ultimate act of god, destroying, destroying absolutely
surrender, poets!
admit that your words and language
the very grammar of your minds
will always be outdone
you may weave words to deceive
to make believe knowledge
some primitive security
but you will all be slain
when the inexorable inexpressible
onslaught of reality
carries you away
surrender, poets!
and admit that you, yes you
you love this killer
reality’s final breakdown will be a grammatically challenged moment that never subsides, a moment of perception that can literally never be named or ever even approximate being named because what it signifies is the end of time and the end of space and the end of life and the end of everything which has a meaning, a moment we can only hint at, because naming it would mean knowing it, and knowing it would mean that even faith would evaporate, and the self would be decapitated. then even if god’s words still existed, we’d have nothing to speak them through or with. even these pronouns, we, and verbs, have, would evaporate, poof poof! like people mysteriously fading from photographs in those time-travel movies you saw as a child.
memories disappear, meanings dissolve, minds unravel
your words slow to a crawl, kick once, then are still
god is all
2009-06-06
West Oakland: "The Animals Don't Wake Up Until Later"
Early Monday morning I walked from Jack London Square Station for an hour to the place in West Oakland where I was planning to stay. The place had been hooked up for me through a friend of a friend's friend. I have since decided that three degrees of separation is too many.
I didn't know I was going into fifty cent's neighbourhood, I didn't know West Oakland was basically a ghetto! I just walked there innocently singing om dum durgaya namaha, jaya durga ma to a melody I'd invented on the train that morning. Everyone greeted me just like on Sesame Street. The twirling children in the schoolyards were laughing and adorable, and my heart was melting in the sun reflected off the shining white teeth in the smiles of their little brown faces.
"The animals don't wake up until later," said an old man to me. Whatever, I thought, this place is lovely. But the morning sun hides all ills, making each day seem fresh and new. Later comes later.
The house where I was supposed to stay had eleven people in it. Eleven people of varying degrees of negativity with varying amounts of steel stuck through various body parts, various jobs as (macabre?) circus performers, and code names like "Trinity" (as usual). None of them, it turned out, actually knew I was coming, so I had to explain myself to the three pit bulls at the door. The mug from which I drank my bhoomi amalaki had a graphic of a skull and the word "havoc" written with blood dripping from each letter in that font usually appearing on Halloween products. This seemed emblematic of the household overall.
The room where I stayed had parts of dead animals strewn across the floor - taxidermied parts, not decomposing or anything, but still! - and was painted with chaotic red and green swirls that looked like tangled yarn stuck all over the walls... except for where the visual cacaphony coalesced into the semi-recognizable figures of that cultural cliche, the gray alien. And when I moved the dirty cloth off the head of the mattress, underneath was a humongous veiny dildo and at least five used condoms. Fuck!
The leader of this den went over the stories of every house on the block for me, dealer-dealer-whorehouse, dealer-dealer-whorehouse. This one saw his father kill his mother with a knife, that one sells her body to send her son to school... then I was briefed with the rules and tactics for negotiating the streets and their denizens if coming home after dinner. "If [complex social cue], then [apply social skill set beyond my comprehension]."
(And I'm thinking: Yeah, you anarchist kids are so fucking cool for living in hell! Yeah you are really proving your solidarity, good for you. But you can't fool me. The glee with which you recount these stories of horrors not your own betrays your tourist mentality. The truth is you are a child of privilege and you are slumming it, motivated partly by guilt it's true, but still, partly for kicks and for ego... and so I now apply that criticism most stinging to the young and idealistic: You Will Grow Out Of It!)
And they judge me cool for seeming to take it all in stride. Every item of clothing I own is brightly coloured and my face is a smile, in contrast to their affected scowls and unwashed, unravelling, black garments. Yet still I am judged cool because I am unruffled. Externally at any rate. I realized this was a test I had to pass, so I pretended that I didn't give a shit about anything.
But, dear reader, in fact I am SO cool that what I really give no shit for is seeming cool. Test still freshly passed, I quickly outed myself as a totally uncool enjoyer of life: "So where do i go to look for clues left for me by the beatniks and the hippies?" Shocked eyes stared at me. "Not for me personally of course. I mean clues in the general sense... inspiration. I'm not crazy." A glimmer of light seemed to dawn. (And I think to myself: how can you live without inspiration?!)
I left my backpack in the dildo room and lit through the neighbourhood to rapid-transit myself across the Bay to San Francisco, the former capital of music, peace, and love...
I didn't know I was going into fifty cent's neighbourhood, I didn't know West Oakland was basically a ghetto! I just walked there innocently singing om dum durgaya namaha, jaya durga ma to a melody I'd invented on the train that morning. Everyone greeted me just like on Sesame Street. The twirling children in the schoolyards were laughing and adorable, and my heart was melting in the sun reflected off the shining white teeth in the smiles of their little brown faces.
"The animals don't wake up until later," said an old man to me. Whatever, I thought, this place is lovely. But the morning sun hides all ills, making each day seem fresh and new. Later comes later.
The house where I was supposed to stay had eleven people in it. Eleven people of varying degrees of negativity with varying amounts of steel stuck through various body parts, various jobs as (macabre?) circus performers, and code names like "Trinity" (as usual). None of them, it turned out, actually knew I was coming, so I had to explain myself to the three pit bulls at the door. The mug from which I drank my bhoomi amalaki had a graphic of a skull and the word "havoc" written with blood dripping from each letter in that font usually appearing on Halloween products. This seemed emblematic of the household overall.
The room where I stayed had parts of dead animals strewn across the floor - taxidermied parts, not decomposing or anything, but still! - and was painted with chaotic red and green swirls that looked like tangled yarn stuck all over the walls... except for where the visual cacaphony coalesced into the semi-recognizable figures of that cultural cliche, the gray alien. And when I moved the dirty cloth off the head of the mattress, underneath was a humongous veiny dildo and at least five used condoms. Fuck!
The leader of this den went over the stories of every house on the block for me, dealer-dealer-whorehouse, dealer-dealer-whorehouse. This one saw his father kill his mother with a knife, that one sells her body to send her son to school... then I was briefed with the rules and tactics for negotiating the streets and their denizens if coming home after dinner. "If [complex social cue], then [apply social skill set beyond my comprehension]."
(And I'm thinking: Yeah, you anarchist kids are so fucking cool for living in hell! Yeah you are really proving your solidarity, good for you. But you can't fool me. The glee with which you recount these stories of horrors not your own betrays your tourist mentality. The truth is you are a child of privilege and you are slumming it, motivated partly by guilt it's true, but still, partly for kicks and for ego... and so I now apply that criticism most stinging to the young and idealistic: You Will Grow Out Of It!)
And they judge me cool for seeming to take it all in stride. Every item of clothing I own is brightly coloured and my face is a smile, in contrast to their affected scowls and unwashed, unravelling, black garments. Yet still I am judged cool because I am unruffled. Externally at any rate. I realized this was a test I had to pass, so I pretended that I didn't give a shit about anything.
But, dear reader, in fact I am SO cool that what I really give no shit for is seeming cool. Test still freshly passed, I quickly outed myself as a totally uncool enjoyer of life: "So where do i go to look for clues left for me by the beatniks and the hippies?" Shocked eyes stared at me. "Not for me personally of course. I mean clues in the general sense... inspiration. I'm not crazy." A glimmer of light seemed to dawn. (And I think to myself: how can you live without inspiration?!)
I left my backpack in the dildo room and lit through the neighbourhood to rapid-transit myself across the Bay to San Francisco, the former capital of music, peace, and love...
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