Inspiration

Seeking ‘en-lightenment?’ Riches? Power? Peace? Love? Health? Consider the sounds/meaning of words uttered without thought. (“I’m so tired.” “I’m afraid I’m sick.” “There’s not enough hours in the day.” “If only I had more money.”) Consider what the ears are taking in, the eyes tracking. The unconscious streams of opinion, bullshit, and nonsense are having their way with us, and as the character Howard Beale shouts in 1973, in the movie Network, “I’m mad as hell and I can’t take it any more!” How many layers of meaning and understanding are attached to sound, to each word? More and more we are assaulted by vibrations of din, and (mis)information. Our core is mentally, emotionally, even psychically changed by this. It’s one thing to sit, swallowing pages of a book, munching pleasurably on each word, entirely different to listen to telephone pitches, TV ads, u-tube, Ipod, endless gameboys, never mind traffic, daily chatting, and kids yelling…the staff of life. Much of this is at high volume, often with dramatic emphasis and emotional rendering. You wonder why we ‘can’t get it together?’ Consider one word, “mom.” There’s the word itself, with its ancient seed sound, ‘Ma,’ and subconscious associations. There are emotional layers mixing past and present which confuses its generic worth. Then there’s context…ie how much of you is involved when hearing, “Mom,” and how much is simply outer contextual layering? What word did you actually hear when you listened to “Mom?” You heard something different than me, and therein lies some of the mystery, confusion, and magic of language. ‘The word’ is a beautiful thing, especially divine speech, or Saraswati. It is our direct link to creativity, and the mastery of much else in life. Our chakra centers are deeply affected by light and sound, especially when used together. In……

We entered the Chinese New Year of the tiger, the metal tiger, to be specific, when we celebrated the charismatic New Moon on Valentine’s day. This New Moon of entry into the tiger’s year, packed enough juju to fill everyone’s pockets with passion. Every 12 years are Tiger years in the Chinese tradition, and they are often ones of chaotic social disorder, and change, which give birth to new understanding of power, passions, and ‘steely determination.’ The White Tiger is one of the four sacred animals of Chinese Astrology, ruling over the West, calling up symbols of competition, use of daring and strength, especially for commercial gain, and a willingness to fight for beliefs. It can also hold oppressive, and, or reactionary energy, those holding on to the status quo, VS the revolutionaries. The white metal is symbolic not only of resilience, but of wealth, and is therefore an opportune year for the entrepreneur willing to risk. It is an energy favoring new products that become accepted standards, with time. Think big! Think small! Think creatively! Those who embody their passion with dignity, their daring with an even temper, and their power, with fairness, will do well in this tiger-time. The Valentine New Moon was about stirring our passionate life, awakening deep desires of the heart. Now that seed is planted, observe it grow by thinking outside the box, pushing boundaries, and walking through fears of not being enough as you dare to act out of character. The tiger walks with you! Asana: Vyaghrasana/Tiger Pose, or Eka Hasta Vyaghrasana/One armed tiger. Begin simply breathing into the extension and contraction of Tiger. Come onto hands and knees, exhale pulling R knee in toward forehead, inhale as you extend R leg back and up. Repeat 5 times, and do other side. For……

I wrote this ‘Breath’ for a couple of long standing, who are enduring the death of one. I felt myself in their place, in their depth of love and loss. I wept with the carelessness of my loving, my wonton assumptions that it/we/I would always be wonderfully thus. Now this letter is for all of us that we may hold our hearts more mindfully, purposefully, as beacon’s of desire to be present for the gift of loving. This Valentine’s is on a new moon day with a mandate to carry what and who really matter deeply into the matrix of our choices, to make decisions to love wisely, creating and following heart’s desires, no matter what. I write to remind myself that these days of glory will not come again. Forgive my leaving. Forgive my pretending life, in facing unspeakable death. Forgive every moment lost to fully loving you. Forgive my not knowing we would run out of time. Forgive my breaking heart. I ask you…do not carry me forward as I am in this moment; broken, ill, inept. Rather, see me lifted as a fiery baton, swirling mad circles, or a flag, wiggled and free with wind. When you see a parade march by, I am the drum-major’s beat pumping the oomPaPa, What remains of these years coroneted by our love is up to you. For my part, I take with me shared meals built sacred by quiet hours of Grace, my chair just so to yours. My cup, your cup, filled with daily nectar, sipped patiently, unknowingly, through sharp words, silly ideas, and tender smiles. We drank all we could. We did all we knew how. How can regret remain? As last moments drip down, one by one, we splurge, spending and shaping each one for eternity, almost……

February 5, 2010 #260 What a bizarre and curious thing is love; mis-matching partners with mis-shapen hearts; aligning the terrifying and the boring, the exacting and sloppy, the imaginary and all too real. Wowsa, sign me up for that conundrum! Indeed. If we ever knew the wild ride we were in for when we stepped up for love, I fear only the foolish would sign on the dotted line. But as the song says, “love is all there is.” We signed on when we grew a heart. Maybe we’d love more realistically if we got yearning and demands out of the away. Perhaps we’d love more intelligently if we knew who we were, never mind who they are. And there might be softer curves to the hard landing when love leaves, if we didn’t expect so much. Alas, such is not love. Love was really made for our foolish, weak, un-intelligent, ugly, boorish, fearful voices, for without its tender mercies we would not accept the odd, mis-aligned selves that show up as our lovers, friends, children, parents, and partners, those who hold up mirrors to what ails us. Love grows as weirdly vulnerable and profoundly radical as our own mis-shapen heart allows. How else can we be brave/foolish enough to offer them to another? Asana: Salamba Sirsasana/Head Stand, the king of poses. If you are nervous about falling, practice in a corner to help correct alignment, and offer feelings of safety, otherwise, come onto knees center floor, interlock fingers, cupping back of head in palms, with elbows under the shoulders, crown of head on floor. Straighten legs, moving hips over shoulders, and lift straight legs one at a time, or bend knees and roll up. Stretch legs strongly up, keep eyes open, and maintain weight on head, not arms. Breathing……

‘Obsession’ has become merely an expensive perfume, whereas in the good old days, it connected us to the persuasions of the devil. “Impelled by evil spirits” was one of Webster’s explanations for being obsessed. Perhaps in becoming modern the devil loses its teeth? Or, has it sunk them into our soft necks where we daub perfume’s vanity? Be it devilish, or vain, it is time to be obsessed about something; a dream, a cause, a vision, and find some serious teeth to sink into it. The trick is to not be obsessed by an outsider, as in ‘the devil made me do it,’ rather from within. It is the moment to be driven by desires that turn us toward what we love and believe in. We must be obsessed to ‘dream the impossible dream,’ then like Quixote, pursue our Dulcinea, (our sweetness) tilting with every windmill in the way. We are riding an emotionally and economically desiccated period, and obsession is such an extravagant energy. Like salmon, we have to fight against the river drying up, and persevere to plant eggs and dreams. In times of fear, there is frugality, or vice versa, and in that fear grow moldy questions: “Will I be enough?” “Will I have enough?” “If I fail, will I lose what I have?” With that contraction, failure knocks. Personally, I’d rather be obsessed than fearful. I’d rather be gnarly with mis-placed courage, than mewly. I’d rather let tears break open my heart of dreams than sit in the dark and hope the devil don’t find me. You? Asana: Purvottanasana/Front Body Stretch Pose. Sit, bring the feet in, hands on floor by hips, fingers toward the feet. Take a breath, pushing down through palms and feet, lift body up, forming a long bridge head to toe. Make……

I have been thinking about how we tell our stories. Who lies beneath the plot-line? What is the paradigm creating each hour? day? Year? Who do I think I am? Is it legitimate? What is it I want to be? How much does my intention count toward manifestation? Is it all absurdly random? Why this life, not yours? What is my value? Am I spending my life force, my prana well? What does it depend upon? How long is my story? What is my role in the universe? Is that my Daimon or Dharma? As usual, I have no answers, and in fact, would appreciate some from you. How are you approaching your story? If you were to sit with me, spinning a fantastic yarn of your life, would I hear of you ‘becoming magical?’ Or did you already become ‘it?’ Would your plot reveal your essence? Or, if you are a poor spinner of yarns, am I confused, and do not see you for who you are? Perhaps it’s not you, it’s me. My ears are wax-clogged from our past, and old ideas about you. Does this hinder, or help you? Blind me, or expose your truth? The Sanskrit word for scripture is Shruti, which means what has been heard at the level of the spiritual heart, not merely what has been read in a book. Shruti reveals the essence of truth, and includes not just speaking or telling, but listening. Perhaps we cannot tell our stories, only listen to them? Perhaps our secrets, our essence, our daimon and our dharma can only be revealed from the spiritual heart, that space of non-judgment, non-ego, non result. Perhaps my greedy author desires her story told so she knows she has importance, she matters, she exists….”ME ME ME!” She could have……