There's A Change A-Coming!

 The moon streamed straight across our land last night and illuminated my path. It doesn’t always appear like that. Sometimes as I walk outside, the black of the night is blinding. Then I have to stop and adjust to the darkness. But last night, the moon shone and my path was clear. This moon’s new path reminds me that the season is changing. With it brings adventure.

I am aware of the change everywhere. Our garden, recently dripping with fruit, is shrivelling and shrinking. Slowly I respond by placing layers of manure collected from a nearby horse farm, covered with another layer of compost collected from our many wonderful meals here, and then a hefty layer of sea weed from our beaches atop the tired soil. This will keep the soil warm, clean and enriched. Next spring it will be ready and healthy for growing new seedlings.

Our summertime has been eventful and serene. I have learned a lot about gardening, meditation and Yoga, learning and teaching, people, and myself. It has been a time of growth for me. I have put time into being alone, sitting quietly and focussing on my own power and strength. I realize the benefit that provides for others and for myself in my relationships and in my life.

The changing of the seasons brings on new adventures. We have decided to sell our house in Toronto and focus on building a house here on Gabriola. That’s a big step for us! We love living outside and a bit off the grid. We revel in the beauty and simplicity of our yurt, and welcome the challenges that come along with having to venture outside for everything else. It rationalizes our travel in the winter months and provides for easy transition through the seasons. I’m not quite ready to give up living like this.

At the same time, circumstances encouraged us to sell, and the cosmic direction just seemed to present itself. We are moving on, I suppose… slowly. We’re guessing it will take us 3 years to build our home here, considering the fact that we don’t want rush, we’re not ready to make a drastic change, and we still have the ability and desire to keep going. Building a house lends some sense of permanency. We’ll be more ready for that in 3 years.  

Change is exciting! For some, I know, change is abhorrent. I know many people who like things just the way they are. They prefer staying home to exploring the outside world. They resist travelling and like to keep things orderly, predictable, and sound. I like that too sometimes, I have to admit. That’s what summers, for me, are about. I enjoy watching the sunflowers grow tall, and the zucchini plants spread across the garden floor. The calm air keeps everything still. Nothing moves. Just the upward growth, the sounds of sunshine, and the energy of visitors that surround.

But I have to say, change brings newness to my life. It inspires inner growth and outreach. It provides new inspiration for learning and seeking and satisfying the curiosity that drives my mind and spirit.

New adventures keep me interested and excited. The unknown keeps me aware. I am forever delving into the depths of my soul to discover new ways of being and seeking love and compassion everywhere.

So bring it on, change! I’m ready. As I keep my mind’s eye on the silent path of the moon.

 

Selichot

Tonight begins the period of Selichot in the Jewish practise. Selichot, in Hebrew, means forgiveness. Selichot service begins a time that spans from Rosh Hashana to Yom Kippur. Metaphorically, the Gates of Heaven open up to welcome prayers of praise, appreciation, supplication and forgiveness. It is a time to reflect, with absolute humility, before God, and ask forgiveness for any wrongdoings we might have committed during the year. During these 10 days of ongoing contemplation, the Gates of Heaven remain open. The final service of Yom Kippur, Neilah, provides one last opportunity to be heard before the gates close. Prayers, music, poetry, prose and meditations, bring us deep within ourselves and focus on forgiveness and appreciation and change. These are the Days of Awe.

As I think about Selichot this year and connect with its’ meaning for me, I recognize the possibilities of awareness available to me. My Jewish background, recently enhanced with Yoga, meditation and Sanskrit chants, enhances my spiritual practise. Recognizing similarities between these different practises is rewarding. For instance, in Jewish prayer, we say “Amen” at the end of the prayer. That is a way to say: “Really and truly - I really mean it”. At the end of a Hindu chant, the final words are Shanti, Shanti, Shanti. The first recitation of Shanti is about self, the second is for family and close relations, and the third is for the universe. May we all find peace within, in our relationships, and in our world.

So Selichot for me this year is about the following:

Shanti #1- ultimately, I have to love myself. I reflect on my own integrity and find the love and compassion within that helps me accept and unconditionally love others. When I truly love myself, it is natural to reach out to others with love and compassion. I no longer feel the need to sympathize or even empathize with others. Just to listen and find compassion. There they too might find forgiveness.

Shanti #2- India Arie says in one of her songs “No one can hurt you like your kin”. I am finding more and more that when I hurt in my heart it is usually related to my immediate family. My role as mother, daughter, sister, wife, and cousin brings me my greatest joys, and my deepest pain.

I have made many mistakes in my various familial roles. At times I have been too young, too ignorant, or even too selfish to know how to ‘do the right thing’ with those whom I care about the most. Maybe, at times, I tried too hard, and created bad outcomes that might have been better to leave alone. Perhaps I have spoken words that were hurtful, and allowed my emotions to reign. I might even have caused damage that has become difficult to repair.

I can only ask for forgiveness. I cannot expect forgiveness because I might not receive forgiveness from those I ask.  Again, I return to my own integrity. When others might stay angry with me, I have only myself as a reminder that I am a good person, that I love with openness and compassion and that it is never my intention to hurt my loved ones. That doesn’t mean I don’t. It just means I try not to, and sometimes I do anyway! For this, I am truly sorry. To move through this, I have to forgive myself, even if others don’t forgive me when I ask.

Shanti #3- I feel responsible for others in this world. I leave my arms and heart open for people who have difficulty trusting the world around them. I want to be a constant source of love and strength, obvious and bright, so others experience unconditional acceptance. That doesn’t mean that ‘everything is all right’. Sometimes it’s the love that could motivate an alcoholic to stop drinking, or a student to work more diligently, or a daughter or son to consider alternative behaviours in life. My quest to be ‘my brother’s (or sister’s)’ keeper is meant with only the best intentions. Even this has sometimes caused others pain. Sometimes those closest to me feel abandoned and forgotten.

Ultimately I seek love and compassion and want to be a loving and compassionate person. I strive to forego judgement and focus on the behaviour, not the person. “I don’t like what you’re doing, and I love you anyway!”

As we settle in to these Days of Awe I want to begin my transformation with simplicity. If I have done anything in this world that has hurt anyone or anything, I am truly sorry. I love myself enough to know that I can’t know everything. What I know for certain is that I am not perfect. I have made, make, and probably will continue to make big mistakes. I want to strive to be a good person, to find love within, to share it unconditionally with those closest to me, and to do what I can in this world to make it a better place.

Shana Tova, and G’mar Chatima Tova to everyone and everything, everywhere! Shanti, Shanti, Shanti.

Staying Grounded

Tomorrow is the first day of June, 2013! I have certainly been neglecting my blog lately! Writing has not been something that keeps me grounded right now.


So what has been keeping me grounded? 

The ground mostly! I’ve been pulling and digging and cutting and raking and moving and cleaning. Living outside means that everywhere I look is a place for organization and beauty. Possibilities are limitless. The boundaries become self-imposed. Each day I establish exactly which area and how much of that area, I will ‘tidy up’. After the Winter, the grounds need to be cleared. Trees shed their extra weight all over the ground. There’s a thick blanket of fir cones, needles, broken bark that I either mix in with the soil or gather with a lawn rake for burning. It’s what I call “cleaning the dirt.” It’s endless, if I want it to be. I don’t. I concentrate on the little patches of gardens that we have established over the years and the small clusters of space for sitting and meditation. We decorate our outside as if each area is a room for inhabiting. With no walls, our living space is endless. So is keeping it neat and tidy. It is exterior decorating as opposed to interior.


I have moved from ‘looking for work’ to ‘looking for work that needs to be done’. I watch for job opportunities for teaching and facilitating and respond to them professionally. I am realizing that there is a great deal that can be done right here on the Island. Homeschooling parents who struggle with the task of educating their children, young adults who leave school before they have completed their diploma, middle school students who benefit from someone to help them through the coursework that simply has no relevance to their lives. I spend hours a week with young people who need help. An old Principal friend of mine (and mentor) once taught me, that if you want to be hired for a job, it’s best to be doing the job first. That makes sense to me. I intend to do the job I want to be doing right here on the island. 

Yoga! I find my daily practise grounds me; to my self, to my natural surroundings and to my purpose. In the warmth of our yurt, in front of the burning wood stove, and facing outside our window, I meditate through the asanas, stretching, flexing, bending, twisting, and breathing. These (and others) are all practises that I want to strengthen in my life and learn to integrate into a neatly woven and beautiful pattern. To become more flexible in my thinking, and to ‘stretch’ my self further than what is typically comfortable for me are concepts that I get to focus on during my asana practise. Becoming less rigid and learning how to twist will help me become less sensitive. I don’t break as easily and others can feel confident in my strength and support. That takes exercise. I want to be strong for others and give compassionately and securely! 


My varied relationships with others, keeps me grounded in my world. Maintaining connections with family members, building friendships, and caring for others around me is gratifying. I do truly believe that we need to take care of each other. Cooking and delivering soup to a sick friend or driving someone to the doctor’s for a treatment or spending an evening with friend who recovers from surgery are all ways of making this little world just a bit more pleasant and beautiful. I am in the process of organizing a group of people to care for a friend who is has serious health challenges. We are trying to help him maintain normalcy of life in his own home, here on Gabriola. There are enough loving people around to make it work. I feel inspired to work diligently in my own small world, and, as I travel, share my skills and talents with others as the need becomes evident.

I am hoping to write more, although I am reluctant to make promises I might not keep! Stay tuned….just in case!

My Mother's Hands

My mother’s hands were slim and tapered and were soft as velvet. It was a sign of being feminine and petite she used to tell me. “Your manicure reflects the type of person you are”, she used to say. Hers were sleek, softened with hand cream, meticulously primed and precisely shaped.

Mom used her nails as an insignia. They were unusually hard and extremely strong. She would intentionally tap them on the tabletop to accentuate the beat in a rhythm or create the pattern for a rhyme. It was her way of getting attention.

My mother’s nails shone vibrant colours. As the times changed, so did the hue. Red, brown, white, green polish covered the smooth sloping curve of the enamel. Her nails conformed to the era.

Sometimes, her hands looked smooth and supple and I knew she was calm and rested. When she had time to ‘do her nails’ they reflected the attention that she was able to give them. Sitting close to a table with emery board in hand, she strategically placed a Kleenex sheet close by to clean up any mistakes as she worked. The two small bottles of polish sat nearby…one clear for the undercoat and nail hardener, the other whatever colour she had chosen for the week.

My mom grew up wealthy in a time when wealth was unusual for a Jewish immigrant family. Her father provided well for her and her older sisters and mother. As a furrier, his emigration from Poland proved to be lucrative. He got here earlier than most of the Jews of his time, and as a young man, learned the trade of buying and selling furs. He knew how to mingle with and socialize with those of influence and wealth. He knew how to look polished and sculpted and to gain acceptance from a culture that relied on first impressions and that formed opinions based on visual presence. Morris learned to do what was necessary to fit in.

And money was important. Rose, my mother’s mother, wore wealth on the outside of her body. Proudly she walked through the streets of New York wearing furs and diamonds. Her solid, strong, poised body reflected a false pride through her adornment. She wore her wealth with ease, hiding the inner poverty that plagued her soul.  My mother’s mother taught her to glide through her world without having to deal with the inner issues of life.

 

The Depression crashed my mother’s family’s world. As my mother grew up, manicured fingers and polished nails helped disguise the ragged, bruised and bleeding state of their lives. What could not be displayed on the outside remained buried.

My mother learned to stuff her worries within. “Make sure that you don’t get involved.” “Keep your secrets to yourself.” “Mind your own business.” “Blend in with the crowd.” “Don’t make a scene.” “Present yourself well.” That’s why my mother’s hands always looked so delicate and vulnerable and tense.  So was she. The manicure could not hide what I knew to be true.

Years have passed. My mother’s hands tell another story.  They lay quietly in her lap. The palms face upward and her fingers are spread as an offering to the heavens. She sits upright in her cushioned seat, both feet planted firmly on the floor in front of her. Her eyes are gently closed as her head tilts slightly down.

When I ask mom now what she is doing when she is in this posture, she quietly answers “Nothing”. “Are you sleeping?” I persist. “No,” she says. “Are you thinking, then?” “No,” she continues.

“Then what are you doing, mom?”

“Nothing,” she insists.

I have come to understand what my mother does as she sits quietly all day. She sits content in a state of calm and meditation. She is happy. For the first time in her life, my mother is satisfied to simply sit. She no longer needs to paint her nails and show something to the world. She doesn’t have to be doing something all the time. And she need not present her self.

My mother’s hands no longer shine with colour. They don’t wave the way they used to and the pale dry flesh is blotched with brown spots of age. The skin around the nails is soft and smooth, and the cuticles no longer bleed and crack. She doesn’t paint her nails with bright colours any more. My mother’s hands lay natural and soft. The skin hangs loosely on her knuckles. They are beautiful and real…my mother’s hands. Just the way God intended them to be. Just the way she is.

Passover in Our Yurt- 2013

We’ve been back now almost two weeks. It feels like we are just starting to gather the edges of our parachute together after landing.

seder in our yurt

Gabriola welcomes us with a wide embrace. The rains subside after the first few days and the sun begins to shine brightly on the day our friends from Toronto arrive to be with us for Passover. Though we haven’t really had the time to settle in, I feel the comfort in the familiarity of our forest home. As I wander, I notice which trees have survived the relatively mild winter, and which have fallen. I begin to plan a clean up and preparation for planting. Living outside means that our home is never clean, and that it is always clean. It’s Nature. It is what it is!

I’m realizing how easily my spiritual expression emerges in my daily life. So much of who I am is expressed in my relationship with my natural surroundings. I think I’ve always been this way, and, in my attempt to not think so much, I make more opportunity to experience. I think my relationship with India and Indians has further inspired that.

We lost our seder plate this year. Typically the seder plate holds the same items, no matter on whose table it sits. There is an egg symbolizing new birth, eternity, beginnings and endings. There’s karpas (a green vegetable) to remind us that Spring is here and it is a time of new growth. There’s maror (bitter herbs) to represent the suffering that our people experienced while being enslaved in Egypt. Charoset (a mixture of dried fruits, nuts, red wine and honey) symbolizes the mortar that the Jews had to make in order to build the pyramids. And, matzah, the bread of affliction and simplicity.

This year to replace our lost seder plate, we invited tour guests to begin our seder with a scavenger hunt in search of personal meaning to the traditional components of the plate that sits on the table all evening.

By early afternoon on Monday, everyone coming had arrived on the island. We gathered together to burn the chometz (last bits of bread) and begin the eight days of Passover, a holiday dedicated to freedom. We presented everyone with a list of words for consideration for finding items to add relevance to our seder plate.  Simplicity, Opening, Sacrifice/Letting Go, Building/Creativity, Bitterness, Celebrating, were all concepts that we created derived from the original meanings.

For the next two hours all of us carried on with our day. We cooked and went for walks. We set the table for seder. We talked together and sat, and all through the day, with the list of words in our thoughts, we collected items that we each considered to be representations of the words on the list. Each item got added to the seder plate.

Paul, Micah, Seyna, Maeve, Lindsay, me,
Jacquie, Gabriella, Elyse and Baruch

The seder plate that evening was a reflection of our own personal understanding of the meaning of Passover. We had fresh flowers and entwined branches from trees.  Twigs with new buds and seeds dug up by animals from last year’s planting. There was a clay statue of a dancing woman and an avocado pit. Sparkles and dust, and shells from the ocean, each representing meaning. It was traditional in a way, and personal and alive. Using the Haggadah to follow the order of the seder, we were all involved. Each person participated fully.

Isn’t that what it’s all about? Recently I had a conversation with someone about organized religion.  “How can I be thankful for freedom when there are so many enslaved people in the world?” he questioned.

Plagues?

Our world is not perfect. There are bad things that happen everywhere, and people who do bad things.

In my life, I can only strive to be a good person. I want to live with love for myself, for my family, for my community and for my world. I want to give compassionately, intentionally and openly. I want to continue to learn, teach and explore. I want to work towards fairness, peace, and happiness for everyone, all over our Mother Earth. I don’t have to be Jewish to do that. I don’t have to be Hindu or Buddhist or Muslim. And, I could be them all! I just need adhere to the basic criteria of being a good person. Religion, then, becomes a way of practising those skills.

I am grateful for these next few days of Passover. As I restrict my diet for the next 8 days, I am mindful that there are people in the world who are not free. I remain grateful for the opportunities to give of my time, energy, wisdom and love, to connect with others to encourage change toward fairness and respect and eliminate suffering everywhere. I appreciate the many friends and acquaintances I have throughout the world and the amazing technology that allows us to connect and maintain those relationships. I feel strong and eager and intend to keep healthy so I can continue to learn and teach and give. I am energized and inspired by my family, who each, in their own way feeds me with love and the security of support and confidence. And, as I sat down at the seder table that night, I gave thanks for the bounty of my life. Chag Sameach to all!   

Keeping On Keeping On

Birthday dinner and Shivarathri

Auspicious, a little, that our last night in India is in Fort Cochi, back to where we started. It is Shivarathri tonight, an annual Hindu festival dedicated to Shiva and celebrated by thousands of people by fasting all day and staying up all night. We spend the night, also celebrating Aji’s birthday. A wonderful dinner out on the water, a drive to Aluva to spend time with Sajee’s family and then a short car ride to the airport for our 19 hour flight back to New York.

It is difficult to leave, and yet, as always, I know that what (and who) awaits me at my next destination is where (and with whom) I want to be. My life is like that. I love where I am, and I love where I’m going. If I don’t like it... I leave. I can do that now. I’ve ‘earned’ it!

Landing in NY we are met by Sandy our friend from Brooklyn. Louise and I have been friends from childhood. Sandy and she open up their home to us each time we come to NY. It is one of our homes away from home. We just chill and relax when we’re here and usually manage to get together with a group of childhood friends for a dinner or something. It usually precedes a few days’ visit with my mom in Connecticut. We spend days with mom in her nursing home and then evenings with my brother, Michael and sister in law, Lisa. These family times are meaningful and rich! I appreciate being able to have them. After those days we are back at Louise and Sandy’s before our trip back home.

Shira, me, Paul and Julia (Howie's at work)

This time, after a wonderful dinner together with friends in Brooklyn, Sandy drives us to the bus station for an overnight bus to Montreal. Our daughter Julia lives there with her boyfriend, Howie. Shira, who lives in Toronto, came in for the weekend. It was another weekend of family. We slept a lot, hung out talking together, went to several yoga classes and just had a wonderful ‘home’ time. Living on the west coast, we grab at every opportunity to spend time with our ‘East coast’ kids. This has been a treat!

Howie and Julz

Next, we flew to Vancouver to spend the night at our daughter Jacquie’s house. We got to spend (at least) 20 minutes with her during her busy schedule of school and work and cross fit training before our ferry ride to Gabriola. It has been 88 days since we left Gabriola Island.

Our experiences during these months of travelling have been abundant. Each day has offered some form of excitement, some kind of learning, another opportunity to make sense of my world. It has been a time of adventure, openness and erudition. I have met and developed unique relationships with so many people, become familiar with places that are rich in culture and spirituality, and firmed up connections for possible work and deeper learning opportunities.

Our trip finishes exactly where it started, like a fan that opens and closes providing symmetry to its’ design. And as the fan expands, the two opposing sides get filled in with the story. I can only feel a deep sense of gratitude, an immense appreciation and such wonder for this incredible world in which we live. There is so much out there to explore and learn.

This morning, our daughter, Jacquie, asks me “So…what’s your plan now?” I ponder that question deeply. I actually want to not plan right now. My work, my play, my family, my self, remain my focus for now. I’m interested in learning more how not to do and to just be. I want to continue to work towards a future of compassion, support and consideration for all beings in the world and to let that inspire the way I live. I want to practise this with every breath I take. And I want to shift towards a more positive, happy life, for my family, my universe and myself.

Last 'sit' on the water in Fort Cochin

For now, however, I think I’ll just settle back in my little yurt on Gabriola Island, make a fire in the wood stove, and rest for a while. I want to be ready for action when the time is right. Shanti, Shanti, Shanti!

The Holy City

Shiva Temple at Banaras University

Om Nama Shivaya!

How can I even begin to understand the devotional integrity of the Hindu people? Ingrained in their very being, it seems, is the devout connection with God. It is expressed everywhere in the country, evident on the busy streets of the cities and in the little laneways of the villages. Farmers stop while reaping their crops, to pray. Deities are found throughout and people stop to connect with God regularly during the day.

The Shiva Temple lies in the midst of Banaras Hindu University in Varanasi. Here there are many rooms that provide opportunity for ritual and prayer.

I sit back on a small carpet against a wall on the floor to observe the devotees enter the small pooja room. They ring the bell that hangs from the threshold as they enter. Then they place their hands together at their heart as they bow their heads in reverence. In a sort of processional, each person walks slowly around the deity platform several times until they make personal contact with the priest who places a red bindi on the forehead of each person. Sometimes participants bring offerings of garlands of flowers. Coconuts, spices, grapes are all gifts for the Gods.

I watch with utmost respect and curiosity. “How many times does each person walk around? What is the significance of each gift to the gods?  What do the various colours represent?”

The priest notices me in the background and he beckons me to come closer. Without a word, he puts his finger in red ash and places a bindi on my forehead. He throws a garland of marigolds around my neck.  I feel a deep sense of welcome and acceptance. He wants to answer all my questions.

The Temple stands in the middle of the university and many students are hanging out on the grounds, studying, doing homework and gathering together in small groups. Mind, body and spirit are tightly integrated here, and I sense that.  Even as I write, several people approach me and ask, “What are you doing?’ “I’m writing,” I answer. “Trying to understand”. “Understand what” some of them ask. “I’m trying to understand what’s in my heart.”

The Ganges after dark

The Durga Temple, just a few kilometres away, offers a whole other experience. Loud bells clanging, numerous smoke pits burning and incense present everywhere, it offers a quite intense sensory experience. Here there is more activity… more movement. It reflects, to some degree, the character of Durga; active destroyer of evil, represented with 6 arms and the colour black. I am guided by a slight Hindi woman who offers me her elbow and wants to show me here world of prayer. I am once again immersed in another world. She and I speak for a while. She tells me she feels so comfortable here, in prayer, amidst the hectic activity of the temple.

Peaceful Paddle on The Ganges

The Ganges is a holy water and holy things happen here too. Raj takes us out in his rowboat so that we can participate in the sunset ceremony at the shore of the (Shiva) Temple. The Arti ceremony offers classical music, elaborate costume and devotional chanting. Boats pack into the shore and people crowd the shoreline to watch and listen.

Paul and I light a candle that is placed in the middle of a garland of flowers. We say a prayer and carefully place the small tray in the flowing Ganges. “What did you pray for”? Paul asks me when we are done. “I prayed for peace in my family”. I answer. “Me too!” he says.

These are the final days of Kumbha Mela, a festival that occurs every 3 years, this year in Allahabad, in Uttar Prudesh. The Naga Babas have come to Varanasi to camp out, smoke chillum, and invite visitors into their small tents to share their beliefs and life style choices. They remain here until Sunday, when the festival of Shivarathri happens. For me, it’s a bit intense. Men’s naked bodies, rubbed completely with ash that is supposed to remind us of the ashes of Lord Shiva. I wonder, “How come it’s okay for these men to be parading around naked, and it’s not okay for a woman to expose even her head?”  I am definitely having problems with the gender issues that are evident here.

Naga Babbas Camping Out

The Naga Baba scene reminds me of my annual Bonnaroo festival in Manchester Tennessee, just without the music. Freaks, drugs and bizarre behaviours are completely acceptable here. I don’t really pick up the spiritual energy. It’s more like a show, and I’m a part of it.

Tall buildings, almost like a solid wall of concrete in various designs and colours comprise the architecture of the old city. They provide a solid backdrop to the sacred Ghats where Hindu people come to bathe and revel in the spirit of the holy waters. As we glide through the river I feel like player piece in a board game. The visual surroundings are a bit surreal, the motion of the paddling creates a dreamlike sensation, and the variety of sounds intensifies the experience. Varanasi… another world, indeed!

Raj our rower

Early morning on the Ganges