Resolution

Be less despondent

More warm-hearted

P A T I E N C E

Don’t take it personally

Be less self conscious

Make peace with the uncertainty

Let it go

Stop controlling

Write more

Talk less

Work harder

Play everyday

Dream bigger
Be fierce
Be friendly

Slowly slowly

Practice daily

Less arrogance

More acceptance

Kill the ego

Breathe deeper

Push yourself more

Rest more often

Let it go

Turn off the television

Give thanks

Pray all day

Fill up on love

Be less angry

Let yourself cry

Be strong enough

Practice mindfulness

Sink into the pose

Don’t try so hard

Let things flow

Read more books

Listen attentively

Be present

Let it go
Turn off your cell phone

Spend more time outside

Listen to your body

Respect your elders

Let them come

Be the change

Become the teacher

Set the example

Tell the truth

Show kindness

Embody compassion

Look beyond yourself

Know self sacrifice

Dig through your darkness

Embrace your weakness

Hug more people

See the good

Challenge yourself

Widen your perception

Evolve.

Almost

I.              Jonathan

You get my cheesy jokes
You say exactly what I was just thinking
No need to explain my strange tangents on the state of the world’s affairs
Or how I woke up one morning and decided to chop off my hair
That I decided just last night that I was going to India solo
And maybe Tibet if I have time

And whenever we’re together they have to stifle our laughter
You recognize me the same way rare birds know each other
You feel to me like family

If you were to ask me straight I’d own up to it
Fantasizing about events that could never happen
My hands haven’t been looking so clean
But yours have that strong nobility; pristine
What I love about you is why we could never be

This is me not noticing your expressions
A vague little smile and an extra spark in your eyes
Every time you come close enough to look into mine
We are a quiet conversation lingering in the cold
We are a tinge of sadness every time one of us has to go
We are behaving well; doing what we are told
We are all potential and never any follow through
We are subtle insinuations with a touch of flirtation
We are a goodbye hug five seconds too long

II.             Amir

You rounded the curves of the mountain 

so intimately and with such speed that

my heart was racing

We went deep into the forest

then deep within ourselves 

We undressed in rivers so clear

each pebble had a distinct color 

We saw bears and leaping squirrels

made peace with spiders and hiked up inclines

I liked you the best when

you climbed down the waterfall 

Some teenager needed to prove his salt

compared to you and followed you down  

I sat on top of the waterfall

snapping photos of you with your phone

We were quiet together

staring up at the stars

we didn’t talk about us or tomorrow

or what life would be like back in Chicago

I said I thought I should be alone for a while

and you said that only right now mattered

We packed our things silently

as though we’d worked as a team forever

I was the morning’s joyful daughter

you were eyes wide open, night owl

I rounded the curves of the mountain 

the way a man knows his way around a woman

the moment felt surreal and serene 

Our minds both blank now focused on the green

of God’s leaves and the rich reds of the cliffs

we’d climbed and pass too soon.  

III.            Ismael

I wanted to show you

Every poem I’d ever written

I wanted to explore every freckle

On your body

I wanted to sit with you

In your ocean of sadness

Like a life raft

I wanted to make you dinner

Then make you laugh

I wanted to challenge you

Push you further into

Your own self-exploration

I wanted to support everything

You’ve ever wanted for yourself

I wanted you to meet me halfway

I still think of you

While clinging to “someday”

When we’re both grown

When we’re both settled

But nothing’s ever done

And nothing’s ever perfect

You still don’t deserve

All that I still want to give you

And I still don’t care

Does that make me a masochist?

IV.           Phillip

I accidentally kissed you

I didn’t realize it really or intend to

You were slightly shocked and stuttering

Before changing the subject completely

I was all smiles with no expectations

I watch the way you move on stage

You are all open hips and an open heart

No inhibitions or false sense of self

Never met anyone with so much charm

It’s sudden and seductive in unexpected ways

There are many other women, I’m sure

Normally I’d care, but I don’t

I’m just here to say hello

A quiet confident curiosity

Share some space and time before I have to go

And that’s enough for now

V.            You

The first in a series of future “to be continueds”

A neverending ellipse

Of yet unsaid sentences…

We Live in Public

For the past few years I've gone to a documentary film festival called the True False Film Festival in Columbia, Missouri.

In 2009, I was introduced to a powerful documentary about the future of this digital landscape we live in called We Live in Public.  In the film, the protagonist, Josh Harris, a dot-com visionary who has been penned the “Nostradamus of the internet,” creates an experiment where dozens of volunteers in New York City live underground for an entire year with food, alcohol, living quarters and even a firing range all provided to them.  The catch is that everything they do is videotaped – from their showers to their sex lives.  These brave souls agreed to be filmed 24 hours a day, 7 days a week for an entire year.

Harris predicted sites like Facebook and Hulu before they ever existed.  In the film, Harris says “Years ago the lions and tigers were kings of the jungle and one day they wound up in zoos, I suspect we’re on the same track.”

I bring up this film because Harris, as crazy as he was (and oh, he was CRAZY) did have a point about the future of technology.  We currently DO live in public.  And, it’s not going away. 

Sure, you can choose to not participate in sites like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Linked In, Google Plus and the countless others I can name (wait, you’re reading my blog, right?) but when was the last time you googled something?  Ever notice how you were searching for some winter boots and then all of sudden you’re checking your Gmail account and an advertisement for winter boots comes up?  Very few people living in modern society can manage to live off the digital grid and frankly, I don’t think it’s such a horrible thing.

Social media has been blamed for many a scandal: political, business, personal etc. Yet, I have to wonder, being the optimist I am, what if we embraced living in public?  What if we aligned ourselves with those things that are honest and preserve the integrity to who we are as people?  What if we allowed our Facebook feeds and Twitter feeds to provide a glimpse into who that is and utilized these new mediums to form communities instead of feeding our ever growing narcissism? 

A social media professor once said, “If there is something that you say or do that you’d be ashamed of if it showed up online, then don’t do it and don’t say it.”  Shouldn’t we be doing that anyway?  Shouldn’t we strive to live good, ethical and honorable lives?  Is transparency so radical an idea?  We all are the first to fight for transparency when it comes to government funds and corporate board rooms, but what about ourselves?  What are we so afraid of?

We will make mistakes, quite possibly publicly, but maybe instead of judging others so harshly for their mistakes we will learn to be more empathetic and understanding of one another.

More about Harris here:

Trailer for the film:

Preserving Authenticity: as you are in anything is as you are in everything

Aside from writing poetry and practicing yoga, I have a career I very much treasure and enjoy.

When I was younger in my career I believed everything was easily categorized and could neatly fit into a box.  If I was going to work in business I needed to BE business in the narrow-minded way I saw it to be: this rigid, cold, rule-abiding clear-cut thing.  After all, I was born in the 1980s where everything was marketed to me in a neat package since inception.

I spent years feeling conflicted because I am not clear cut.  I am a mix of everything from the indigenous blood mixing with the Spanish blood in my veins to my attempts at perfecting eagle pose before a conference call to my ideas of a fun Friday night consisting of watching Shark Tank while working on a new drawing.

I wrote a rap song once (my alterego is simultaneously an MC folk singer) and one of the lines from it goes:
...but til then I'll face the struggle of living in square boxes
too many right angles don't fit my round face
but it's packaged and it's pretty and easy to place...

For too long I felt I'd have to sacrifice my creativity and all those marvelous things that make me me in order to become this great business leader that I wanted to be.

During this time I was the epitome of ambivalence: a bohemian creative type that wanted to take over the business world.  Who did I think I was?

That's precisely the best question I could have ever asked myself.  In reading a business article on leadership I came across this quote: How you do anything is how you do everything.

Business is coming of age.  It is recognizing that we as humans, employees, consumers are not this one-sided square thing.  Our motivations stem from a number of different factors: our relationships, societal norms and a sense of purpose.

And sometimes we do headstands...

My shifting consciousness on the state of business has guided me to this simple conclusion: find out who you are and be the best you you can be.  As you are in other aspects in life, you are in business.

I lived in the middle of the New Mexican desert surrounded by wolves to learn to be comfortable with always being uncomfortable.

I traveled all over the world (and counting) to understand and embody diversity.

I practice yoga because I am the greatest resource and ally I will ever have.

I listen to others because I'm a perpetual student fortunate enough to view everyone as a teacher.

I write my life lessons down because I believe in sharing.

In business, I am all of this: the risk taker, a holistic thinker, transparent, the student, the teacher, the people person who strives for connectivity in all she does.  I'm not only my title at my company.  I am guided by purpose in all things because as I am in yoga I am in business and as I am in business I am as a friend.  How you do anything is how you do everything.

Fear, Headstands and Snuggling up to Dragons

What do I fear?  What am I so afraid of?  I tried kicking up into a headstand in the center of the room half paralyzed with this “fear” thing and half completely self-aware that everyone was watching me. 

When people think about yoga they don’t necessarily consider it a daring sport, to say the least, yet, in so many ways it’s the most daring of all because it pushes you to know your greatest ally and your biggest enemy: yourself.

I’d been going to the studio regularly for a couple of months before I picked up Ana Forrest’s book, Fierce Medicine.  Ana Forrest is a contemporary yoga teacher and founder of a specific practice called Forrest Yoga.  With combined expertise in overcoming trauma, psychology and physical therapy Forrest developed a style of yoga that is both physically and emotionally rigorous. 

Forrest Yoga is a transformative experience that pushes the practitioner into a deeper awareness and understanding of his or her own psyche in a “fiercer” way than many other styles of yoga.  Forrest pushes you to keep going the moment you’re ready to sink into Child’s Pose.  Forrest pushes you to fully experience the burning in your legs during Warrior II and not to stop until you can feel that euphoric sweet spot. 

It’s no surprise that much about this practice has to do with courage and being brave of heart, but first, back to my headstand.

I’d never done a headstand before and here I was in front of all of my fellow teacher trainees in the center of the room in one.  It felt like a long time, though I’m sure I was only in it for a few seconds.  Inversions are often the scariest poses in yoga.  They literally turn your world upside down and all of your weight is balanced on your head.  You may fear that all the delicate muscles in your neck will break or perhaps that you just carry too much weight around to begin with.  My mouth tasted bitter, not quite like the iron when you bite your tongue too hard, but metallic.  My mouth tasted like fear.

Forrest says, “We have a lot of internal responses to fear.  We push it away, we deny it, we freeze, or attack (fight or flight syndrome). But there are alternate ways to responding to fear.”  Forrest’s preferred method is to go hunting for it until she finds the root of it and instead of “slaying the dragon,” she cuddles up to it and allies with it.

This, of course, is the furthest thing from my mind.  I felt the pressure on top of my head mounting.

Step 1: identify the fear.  Aside from the obvious (death from breaking my neck), I had always feared my own body.  I remembered hiking with one of my boyfriends in the dead of winter.  We crossed a river with very thin ice and had to jump huge rocks to get to the other side.  It took him all of 3 minutes to cross, jumping confidently from rock to rock.  It took me what seemed like an hour with a lot of encouragement from him on the other side. 

“Trust yourself,” my teacher whispered.  I had stopped shaking.  “Good, good now squeeze my hand.”  She had her hand between my thighs and I began to feel that burning sensation and my core strengthening through the pose.  The weight on my head lessened.

Step 2: Turn around, hunt it, stalk it.  Forrest says, “Fear is a signal.  Be alert.  Get vigilant.  It wasn’t that long ago that other humans or predators hunted us.  This means you have to take action.  You can’t just sit and meditate your problems away; many meditators become my students because their abuse or rage doesn’t go away by meditation alone.  It does teach you how to get steady though.  So get steady and now go out hunting.”

In Forrest Yoga, it’s not enough to have awareness of a trauma that happened to you that you now feel in the tightness of your hips, no, one has to be able to chase that trauma out of one’s body.  One has to be able to not back down when you’re in a pose and suddenly your breathing is shallow but take the courageous path to breathe in deeper and keep digging and once it surfaces get cozy with it.

Step 3: Stop making decisions based on fear.  This is one I’ve taken off the mat more than others through reading this book.   Forrest says, “…when I respond from that fearful or panicky place, 99 percent of the time I end up making terrible decisions…The hero’s choice is to disobey the dictates of the fear.”

When one chooses to not obey those dictates of fear, it’s empowering.  It’s as Forrest puts it, “the brave-hearted path.”  She says, “It takes a lot of courage to explore your fear.  Courage isn’t the numbed out, flinty, Clint Eastwood-esq stoicism we’re accustomed to, but instead it’s daring to experience our feelings-even if this requires painful awakening- with discernment and intelligence.”

Step 4: Find the healing within the fear.  How does one exactly do this?  What does my fear of heights say about me?  Does it say that perhaps I fear reaching new levels of success or perhaps I fear my potential or maybe I fell from a tree when I was a child?  How will snuggling up to that fear make me a better person? 

Fear is a very powerful thing when you think about it.  When you make the choice to not make any decisions based on fear you begin to realize how much it may dictate in your life, such as whether you talked to that cute guy at the cafe or not (fear of rejection) or whether you stated exactly what you thought in a business meeting (fear of communicating your truth).  Then you dig deeper.  You realize you fear your own honesty and you fear others not validating you as a person.  Dig deeper.  Maybe you never felt worthy as a child or maybe that one time you told the truth before things went wrong.

Now, what happens when that scary dragon of unworthiness creeps into my life?  How do I shift my reaction from fear to something else, and what is that something else?  Forrest has a unique approach to this: “Once you’ve faced your dragon, your next task is to ally with it.  Don’t kill the beast, you fool, because that’s your power!  This is the archetypal hero’s quest: you’ll meet the dragons and demons and fight and fight and fight them until you finally get the treasure.  Then you’ll depart that quest   irrevocably changed, with that treasure a part of you.  Every time you stalk your fear and choose life instead of oblivion, you’ll begin to reclaim the parts of you that have been blocked off.”

Step 5: Snuggle up to your fear: maybe this means confronting headstand head on (pun intended).  Maybe I won’t be able to get into headstand on my own for a while, but I’m still trying and that’s a win.  For me, snuggling up to my fear means trying even though it’s not perfect and I have to sacrifice my autonomy on the mat to go there for the moment.  Learning to be in the moment and confronting fears like turning your world upside down might be enough of a win for today. 

“I’d believed that in order to do what I was afraid of, I had to get rid of the fear first, but that turned out to be only an idea, not the truth.  You have to do something two hundred times before the fear will disperse.  Are you still afraid of something?  Just do it again.  Do it again.  Do it again.” – Ana T. Forrest

Dejame Que Me Calle con el Silencio Tuyo

Me Gustas Cuando Callas Me gustas cuando callas  porque estas como ausente, y me oyes desde lejos,  y mi voz no te toca. Parece que los ojos  se te hubieran volado y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca. Como todas las cosas estan llenas de mi alma emerges de las cosas,  llena del alma mia. Mariposa de sueno,  te pareces a mi alma, y te pareces a la palabra melancolia. Me gustas cuando callas  y estas como distante. Y estas como quejandote,  mariposa en arrullo. Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza: dejame que me calle  con el silencio tuyo. Dejame que te hable  tambien con tu silencio claro como una lampara,  simple como un anillo. Eres como la noche,  callada y constelada. Tu silencio es de estrella,  tan lejano y sencillo. Me gustas cuando callas  porque estas como ausente. Distante y dolorosa  como si hubieras muerto. Una palabra entonces,  una sonrisa bastan. Y estoy alegre,  alegre de que no sea cierto. -Pablo Neruda

I Like You When You Are Quiet I like you when you are quiet  because it is as though you are absent, and you hear me from far away,  and my voice does not touch you. It looks as though your eyes had flown away and it looks as if a kiss had sealed your mouth. Like all things are full of my soul You emerge from the things,  full of my soul. Dream butterfly,  you look like my soul, and you look like the word: melancoly I like you when you are quiet  and it is as though you are distant. It is as though you are complaining,  butterfly in lullaby. And you hear me from far away,  and my voice does not reach you: let me fall quiet with your own silence. Let me also speak to you with your silence Clear like a lamp,  simple like a ring. You are like the night,  quiet and constellated. Your silence is of a star,  so far away and solitary. I like you when you are quiet  because it is as though you are absent. Distant and painful  as though you had died. A word then, a smile is enough. And I am happy,  happy that it is not true. -English translation of Pablo Neruda Poem

I'm Still Angry

In my dreams I am victorious

I am not just a kid

My innocence abounding

Still silly and giddy

Unaware of my womanly body

I am not meeting your pretty girlfriend

The next day; glaring at my bruised wrists

Seething and terrified at the sight of you

Lumps of rage forming in my throat

You are not luring me outside

‘cause you need “to talk”

You are not forcing my body

Against the fence and reveling in my struggle

You are not telling me

Not to worry about having your baby

You are not stronger than me

With alcohol on your breath

You are not pushing your lips on mine

You are not holding my hands down hard

You are not telling me you’ve never liked American girls

Quite the way you like me

In my dreams I am victorious

I am luring you out to the alleyway

Giving you that come hither look with my eyes

I am standing provocative fingering my pocket knife

I am letting you take control while I take a slice

I am strong and fierce and oh so grown

I am aware of my surroundings despite this foreign soil

I am speaking your language succinctly

I am telling you not to worry; I don’t want your baby

You are shocked at the sight of your blood

You are humiliated in your own terror

You are wise enough to start to run

You are the same as me now; untrusting

I am not still so angry a decade later

I am not wandering in alleyways and parking lots

Looking for men that look like you as I’m fingering

my knife; seeking redemption in the form of revenge

I will always say I’m a pacifist except

In the case that I should see you again

I’ll give you that come hither look with my eyes

Lure you into an alley for a night you won’t soon forget

Come here and let me show you

Just how much I’ve grown

Just how much I’ve grown

In my dreams I am victorious

Femme Fatale

Stop by my bed tonight
Wordlessly strip down
While I sit to watch
I don’t want to speak
what I could communicate with my body
And when I’m done tonight
Don’t call or text
Just wait around ‘til I call again

You’ll think it’s something more
Than it is and I just wish
You’d not worry your pretty little
head about it
Just undress me slowly
And let me kiss you tenderly
as though I’ve known you for years

Oh, it was the wine – must have been
I have to go, or maybe there was something more?
I don’t care, I don’t know
And I wanted all of you really
But emotional investment’s so costly
So I’d just as well let you keep coming to me
Until I get close enough to snuggle
to your warm chest,
say how much I love your scent
Reach inside; rip out your pumping heart
Carelessly tossing it in the pile I’ve accumulated
and you were so special baby, special to me

All I’ve ever wanted
Was to scare the shit out of you
Be reminded of my helpless fear
When my innocence was taken so young
I would have preferred a choice in the matter
But I don’t want to talk
So come here and show me what you’ve got
Then lie there in your bliss and your quiet

while I get close enough to taste your blood

All the names you’ve called me:
The Femme Fatale, so coy, so naughty
As though it might be you that hurts me
But I alone, do a good enough job of that already
And when I’m done tonight
Don’t call or text
Just wait around ‘til I call again

Don’t worry your pretty little head about it

Don’t worry your pretty.little.head.

The Magic Between the Living and the Dead

“Have you ever seen a deer so small, it’s like the size of my dog,” Brad* said.

“I didn’t realize it was dead,” I said when we decided to get out of the car.  Its head had been smashed in.  It was the smallest fawn I’d ever seen and the blood had collected in a small puddle around its ear.  Its eyes were open and lifeless.

I stood over the body and the cars seemed fast so close to us as they swished by.  This is man and nature colliding, I thought.

“We can’t just leave it here,” Brad said.

“I’ve got my medicine bag in the car,” I said as I crossed the busy street more carefully than the doe had attempted.  We didn’t have a lighter so we prayed over the body and sprinkled sage and copal over it.  Brad closed its eyes before lifting its body and carrying it into the woods to place behind a tree.  We both squatted there and Brad and I both saw it breathing.  Brad said its body was stiff, though I hadn’t touched it. 

The sunlight crept through the trees and the shadows danced on the fawn’s belly.  The belly inflated and deflated again.  Brad and I crouched there looking at one another in disbelief.  This was magic.  This was sacred.  This was real.  We both bore witness to the miraculous dance in the time that exists between the living and the dead.

There have been many studies done where people don’t see things because they  don’t expect to see things.  How many things do we miss in our awareness because we believe it to be unbelievable or perhaps unexpected?  The mind is a very powerful thing - it can train itself to react to a very strict reality, but what happens when you begin to open those windows of consciousness? When those rules that dictate reality begin to bend so slightly? How much more aware will you be?  How much more will you see?

*The name was changed.  

The Spider Above My Head

LISTEN TO IT:

Background music: The Cinematic Orchestra, Awakening of a Woman

READ IT:

Melancholy looms over me like a spider hanging on a thread

I've been spun into its web; cocooned inside

I've been eating only the gnats and the flies

I've been faking it for the sake of congeniality

I've been acting as though my limbs don’t all connect back to me

I've been fearful of my own progress

I've been living inside my head instead of the present

I've been putting things in my body I cannot justify or defend

I've been battling my own duality

Oh Noble Tigress

Oh Regal Lioness

Remember your Divinity

I've been crossing busy streets without looking

I've been dancing in crowded bars just to feel bodies touching

I've been sneaking in fruits of pleasure from forbidden trees

I've been playing that same sad tape on repeat

I've been looking only through dirty windows

I've been acting as though that’s all that I deserve

I've been getting distracted by cheap shiny objects

I've been cocooned staring at a spider’s red under belly

Passionate Woman

Unleash that Tigress; set her free

Watch that lioness consume the decay of me

It’s my unraveling

Beautiful Warrior:

So much love all around you

Widen the periphery of your heart

And see beyond

That melancholy looming over your head

Like a spider dangling on a thread

The Mirror

I haven't been a nice person lately...to myself anyway, possibly others.

There are 8 limbs of yoga: yama, niyama, asana, pranayama, pratyahara, dharana, dhyana and samadhi.

The yamas generally mean abstinence or restraint and the niyamas have more to do with observance.  Together the yamas and the niyamas form a sort of code of conduct for yogis, similar to the 10 commandments for Christians.

The first yama is ahimsa: non-harm or non-violence. 

Yoga is a mirror

In yoga, we attempt to bring our practice from the mat into the real world. We allow the experience on the mat to be a mirror to our experiences off the mat.  

Ahimsa is not harming your own body for the sake of perfecting a pose i.e. not pushing your knee when it’s in pain.  Yet, as with everything in yoga, it’s much more than the physical practice of not being violent.  As powerful beings we are able to cause much harm by our words i.e. bullying.  Even our thoughts can cause pain and violence, especially to ourselves.

In yoga we always start right from where we are.  Ahimsa teaches that even right now, from where I am sitting in my chair writing this I can choose to practice or not practice ahimsa.    If I slouch I am harming my future self.  Taking it a step further I could choose the way of ahimsa by having compassion for myself, not judging my failures and treating myself with kindness especially in my thoughts.  When I compare myself to others it harms me.  When I am critical of others it is also self-harming – it is but a mirror to how I think of myself. 

When we are trying to change habits, like learning not to slouch or think violent thoughts about ourselves it is helpful to remember that each moment is one we've never lived before.  Right now is a fresh moment to start practicing.  

Ahimsa is important because we must have compassion for ourselves before we are able to have compassion for others.  The same goes for ahimsa, if you can’t practice ahimsa in relation to yourself, you cannot practice it off the mat or in relation to others.  

Don't we all want to be a little kinder and nicer, starting today?

When the Smoke Clears...

Her daughter has failed her in all the important things.  She is doomed to spend her life alone because she cares nothing for finding a husband.  In fact, she’s completely contrary to the idea of dating.  You can tell – look at her boots – they are old and worn and she’s had that dress for years…  Her hair is never done; she dislikes makeup and what God gave her just isn’t enough.  How will she ever marry if she can’t even get the basics down?

What a failure she’s produced!  She, after all, gave her children everything and to see them now; worse than penniless beggars, they care nothing for a better life for themselves.  What selfish spoiled brats after all she’s done for them – how can they not want the same things she wants for them?  How can they not do everything in their power to please her?

Her daughter knows that she’s nothing more than a series of measurements to her mother.  She is her salary, a husband, a dress size or in the least a good car as proof that she’s lived a good life.  These measurements become less and less important and she sits quietly through the explosions at home, smoke thickening more and more each night, waiting calmly for an approval that won’t ever come.

They both think the other just doesn’t get it, yet they understand each other all too well – it’s more of a disagreement of what constitutes a life well lived.  To her mother it’s a white picket fence, 2.5 grandchildren and a secret vengeance so her daughter will know the hell she was put through.  Her daughter couldn't care less for illusions of happiness or material success people tote around like trophies. 

She’d been so ashamed to admit how bad her devaluation had been through the years and all the damage done, but she works through it.  The tears each night come not from what she’s endured but a silent sadness for the blindness of her mother.  She knows the way you treat others is a reflection of how you treat yourself and she can only imagine how bad it’s gotten.

Oh, but she is so much like her – if you watch closely.  She was born with that killer charm and knows how to work a room with that type of joy that’s infectious.  She can’t sit still and carries around her fears in a metal locket; the one where she turns into the type of woman who takes her pain out on her loved ones; the one who’s black and white vision can never invite all the gorgeous color in or the one who can’t quite relinquish a control that was never there in the first place.

They are stuck together for life.  The mother, who only expects to be disappointed and the daughter, who’s only escape lies in seeking transcendence, sit together at the table.  One’s inflamed and angry and the other is finally learning to sit still through the turbulence.

They look each other in the eye because they are both still willing to try.  Where there is love, there is hope.

Weekend Confession

I left town without really telling anyone so it wasn’t a huge surprise that my family kept calling me.  Nor was it surprising, considering the circumstances, that I didn’t answer.

People have a tendency to fear what they don’t understand and I’d be hard pressed to explain to my Catholic family how important it was for me to be present at a sweat lodge ceremony in St. Louis, Missouri the weekend before I move.

But, remember how I promised to be more honest?  In efforts to demystify my spiritual excursions and to gain understanding and respect for my beliefs and practices I’d like to share something I’ve never shared publicly before.

The sweat lodge is a native American/indigenous ritual of purification.  This purification comes in several forms: the physical: sweating out toxins; the mental: watching that smoking mirror of consciousness; the emotional: that release of what no longer serves us and finally, the spiritual: offering prayers in the form of sweat, songs and words as a community.

I cannot do the sweat lodge justice in describing the various symbolic meanings or the precise ritual.  These things are meant to be experienced rather than read about.  Each lodge can be different depending on who is running it and what tribe they belong to.  At best, I can merely describe my own experience and what it means to me.

I placed my medicine bag on the altar after being smudged with the sweet smoke of copal.  I humbled myself on my knees and pressed my forehead to the earth before entering.  “Ometeotl,” I whispered to the earth.  The lodge was shaped like a turtle – I crawled on hands and knees clockwise with respect to the fire pit in the center before reaching my spot.  Everyone else followed suit until we were a circle symbolizing that we were all equal once we entered the earth’s womb, the temazcal.

We welcomed hot stones warmed by the morning’s fire and were sealed in complete darkness.  We prayed as the water pourer made it hotter and the air thicker. 

It is in the darkness with the support of a spiritual community that I am able to enter a different state of consciousness.  The heat induces me to see my higher self more clearly as the physical, mental and emotional toxins release from my body. 

Every time I enter the sacred temazcal I feel as though I go in a dirty towel getting dipped in water and then wrung out.  I enter so that I may become emptier of negativity and old belief systems that no longer serve me to make room to learn new truths and save space for more love and joy throughout my mind, body and spirit. 

In this type of belief system we honor the earth.  We ask the earth for wisdom and pray for her healing.  We are able to see more clearly that the damage that is done to her is done to ourselves.  The damage we do to each other is harm done to ourselves.  We learn to be more conscious of ourselves and of our actions through the lodge. 

I leave you with a beautiful poem and apologies to my family for disappearing.  I’ll tell you where I’m going next time.  I promise.  J