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“Isle, a childhood friend of mine, once found a raspberry in the camp and carried it in her pocket all day to present to me that night on a leaf.
Imagine a world in which your entire possession is one raspberry and you give it to your friend.”
-Quote from the New England Holocaust Memorial in Boston
Last night I had a dream. It was not pleasant. I will spare details, but it took place in a concentration camp. Perhaps this dream originated on a recent trip to Northern France where I spent time traveling amidst WWI battlesites where some 1.5 million men were killed in a terribly bloody war. Perhaps that had an impact on my delicate mental and emotional landscape. Most likely, and I’m glad for it. I am reminded that the human psyche is a highly liquid medium, capable of great manipulation, inspiration and influence. I think of war propaganda and the commercials spliced between Saturday morning cartoons and the impact that these barrage of informational bullets have on us overtime.
I can tolerate war and accept it even. It has been a part of our human experience since the beginning and we are learning to manage ourselves as a species to mitigate its impact and lessen its presence. Pain and suffering still exists in this realm of life action but it’s impact has been significantly diminished. I understand the warrior nature of men and their pursuit of glory in protecting what is theirs and what matters to them, be that women, children, land or natural resources. That is not likely to go away, although the face of this expression may change.
What pains me in my thoughts is not the war itself with its death and demolition, but rather the deadening of the human spirit. The dimming of the human flame, not in death, but in life. I never pity the dead. I exalt them. There is peace where they are. My heart breaks for the living who have been snuffed to mere shells of the vibrant and dynamic beings they once were.
Nowhere was this more systematic than in the Holocaust, and other periods of highly organized torture and execution throughout human history. A grim subject upon which to reflect, but a valuable place to look from time to time. To check in with ourselves and with life and make sure that we are present to our own presence on this planet. Our own health and in tact limbs. Our own living families and endless oceanic expanse of choices and possibilities.
For those who died casualties of war, the tortured ones, I do not mourn their death. I mourn their death before death. The wilt of their essence before the flame went out. The numbing of their sweet smile. I want them to know, to feel my love for them and my gratitude for their role in the unfolding of the future. Their light glowed and then left us, and my light glows brightly now in their memory. I think of the vibrant life flames of my young students, ablaze with the future before them. Thank you. For me and for them. For humanity. You now exist as pure human spirit, and I envision you circling us with delight as we live our time here on Earth. I am grateful to you.
(The following is a guided meditation that I wrote from an experience that I had while traveling in China in a small village called Jin Ping)
Close your eyes, breathe deeply, relax.
In the imaginative eye of your mind, you find yourself ascending a gently sloping hill, following a path lined with Banana trees and dense bamboo. A makeshift bamboo gate sits just at the rise, closed to some unknown space beyond. As you arrive at the gate a well worn elderly women of great antiquity silently beckons you forward with a toothless smile. She bids you passage thru the gate and your eyes meet the deep wisdom within hers as you pass her on your way. She is you, the feminine, welcoming you home.
Walking thru the bamboo threshold you arrive at the precipice of an emerald state of expanding peace. Before your eyes stretches endless terraces of rice paddies, green, like the deepest spring grass. From your feet, the terraces build upward and out towards mountains veiled in tropical mist. You stand atop one scalloped edge of earth, containing a shallow pool of cyan water, silently seeping from one reservoir to the next.
You are bathed in green light all around you, breathing an intoxicating sea of warm air that rises from thick jungle clinging to the distant mountains. Like a little girl, you hop from the edge of one scalloped pool to the next, balancing on the damp earth as you are drawn deeper into the watery fields of rice. You reach the center of what seems to be a grand ampitheater of emerald beauty, surrounded on all sides by green mountains, steep and lush.
In this centered space, the terraced fields radiate outward from a solitary stone, an ancient volcanic relic, pitted with time and pulsing with vortex power. You sit upon her and settle into yourself as a part of the enchantment swirling all around you. You become the stone, silent and connected to the flow of the mother. Tapped in to the intricate network of criss-crossing energetic fibers, pulsating above, below, within and without you and every thing.
You feel the warm tropical humidity on your bare skin like a soft blanket, enveloping you and taking your body to a perfect balance of internal and external temperature. You have no concept of cold, no thought of being hot. Your body is at peace and you float in the water-saturated air, buoyant and heady.
In a dreamlike state you see tiny glimmers of iridescence flashing on and off across the fields. Tiny wings, the color of crystal, come into view and you notice that the green fields are alive with bright blue dragonflies, hovering all around. One alights on your drawn up knee, and you ponder each other’s perfection. The pools of the rice paddies, like gently cascading fountains catch the sun in their mirrored surfaces and beam metallic. Below the surface of the pool at your feet swim tiny, rainbow hued tetra fish, curiously swimming to the shore of their world to inspect your presence.
Everywhere, you see green. You feel green, taste it and breathe it deeply in. From the fringe of jungle you hear the conversation of birds, harmonizing sweetly. Within the dense cloak of humidity floats the intoxicating aroma of some unseen tropical flower, jasmine or plumeria perhaps. As you sit in this space, you begin to experience a profound sense of peace that washes over you in waves of blue and green. Your heart space feels deep rejuvination as though the reservoir of your soul was being filled to the brim with sweet water. As you gaze out upon the terraced world before you, a gentle rain begins to fall, warm and delightful. The warm water falling from the sky becomes one with the rivers of liquid life flowing within you. There is no distinction. As above, so below. As within, so without. You are but one beautiful collage of elements loomed together in the grand matrix of the universe. The air is alive with a gentle vibrating hum that you feel throughout your every cell. You find the confines of your mortal body dissolved and become transparent in form, melting into the latticework of the universe. And the scene of Earthly beauty, which you behold before you, melts away to reveal a more intricately woven layer beneath, extending deeper, into multiple dimemsions of time and space
You see the whole, and you see yourself as but one miraculous strand within it. One prism in the multi-faceted eye of a dragonfly. You are, in every cell, every atom, pure peace. Divine love.
Now slowly, with grace, you return from the universal perspective back to the scene of beauty before your eyes. You gaze out at the world around you, holding the peaceful essence within your heart. You are fulfilled. Standing, you acknowlede gratitude for the opportunity to have visited a place of such holiness. You walk away from the stone, out of the center towards the gate. Before thru passing the bamboo threshold, you turn and drink in one last memory of the emerald perfection. Take with you the essence of this experience. Return to your lives full of beauty, energy, healing, peace, love and the understanding that you are one with all.
Sit with this in your heart for a moment. Breath with it. When you hear the bell, open your eyes.
Temple Burn
I stand in the middle of the Nevada desert holding the hand of my dear friend Carsten. Thousands surround us as we wait and listen in silence while the flames at the base of the Temple begin to lick higher. The Temple. A giant wooden effigy erected in the middle of a dry desert lake bed. A temporary confessional where for the past week people of all walks paid homage to their own humanity by adorning her walls with their hearts. Small tokens of remembrance and surrender. Photos of loved ones lost, of children, friendships or lovers. Declarations, apologies, forgiveness, love, longing, sadness, rage, anger, shame, regret. All flavors of emotion are expressed within her walls and she takes it all. She listens to the stories. She hears the prayers. She catches the falling tears and braces herself against the fist. She holds it all in her sweet gentle beams and floorboards like a treasure and swells with the weight of the past.
Tonight she burns, and with her goes all the pain. All the stories. I stand in the middle of the Nevada desert holding the hand of my dear friend Carsten and tears stream down my face as I watch it all go up. Smoke fills the air with prayers and release and I feel the shift in the space. Complete reverent silence, save for a distant electronic drip. Poignant and perfect.
Carsten squeezes my hand tightly and flames reflect off the tears that roll down his gentle face as we share this moment of love for our species. For our people. The Human Family. Being alive takes great courage. It takes such immense courage to maneuver the maze of the human experience. The losses, the failures, the pain that dips us into valleys and canyons of darkness. Yet we always rise, like unwavering Phoenix lights we always rise and walk forward. We carry the weight of our unique paths and smile anyway, although our hearts are deeply fractured.
As the flames from the burning temple glow across the desert and the smoke bends in whirling twisters upward into the midnight sky, I feel the world exhale a great release. She takes it all away and up. She burns it all.
It is hauntingly beautiful. Sacredly beautiful. I stand in the middle of the Nevada desert holding the hand of my dear friend Carsten, watching a temple representing the sorrows of humanity burn and I feel one with all.
Noa
Wild Horses
Driving home last night my head bobbled up and down and side to side with wild thoughts of doubt and perplexity. Looking to the past for clues on how to approach a budding relationship rarely delivers, and the future is yet unspoken, so its wisdom and insight lies unseen. All there is to do is be calm, as the central point of entry for the pebble dropped into the rippling water of a life scenario. Plop. The circles radiate outward and I want to chase them to and fro, to figure it all out, but instead I sit. There are tactics for dealing with such ripples to maintain inner sanctum. I turn on the classical music station. The rain-like dripping of a piano solo takes the edge off. Suddenly, I know exactly who to speak with: My Therapist.
I exit the freeway and head towards him. It’s late, but I know that even unannounced he will greet me warmly. I haven’t been to see him in years, although he is always there, awaiting my arrival. I pull into the parking lot and my headlights flash on many pairs of large doe eyes. The horses.
I greet them with a pat on the nose as I walk directly to Noa. My Therapist is lying down in his stall slumbering. He sits up and watches my approach as I walk over and sit down in the dirt beside him. With golden mane and his pale yellow coat he looks like a unicorn in the moonlight. I hold his velvet face in my hands and breath in the smell of comfort. The smell of horses. He gums my hands playfully and sniffs the smells of dog from my clothes. I scratch and massage him all over like the fat king that he is and he basks in the attention.
Behind him I kneel and drape myself over his huge belly like a polar bear cub and he lets me. A visit to my gigantic, beastly therapist was all that I needed to set my heart alight again and free my little sparrow spirit from the confines of confusion. With gratitude for his presence in my life I hug him goodbye, and exit his office. I visit his associates before heading back to my car: Cracker Jack, Sierra, Trouble, Cloudy and Sassy. They all greet me with equal warmth and playfulness.
Nothing soothes my heart like the presence of horses, and it never fails, no matter where I find myself. From Colorado to Mexico, Switzerland and China, I have always, always found peace near them.
Let us take a moment to be grateful, and to remember from whence we came. To blink back into the light tunnel of the past and see the tiny buds and shoots we once were, and to be grateful for the ripened lives we live. We met on a branch eon ago as swollen globes of orange persimmon pulp swaying and laughing together as birds scratched in our hair and children grabbed for us just out of their reach. We fell to the rich loamy soil with a thud and melted away into granules of family and friendships, picked up and carried tenderly in the canines of a coyote we were deposited along the banks of the San Juan Creek. We sat there, looking side to side and smiling at each other as creek frogs chirruped and spit water into our faces. The rains came and caught the hem of our wisteria garments and carried us seaward through cattails and the slender legs of snowy egrets who glanced down at us like great feathered dinosaurs with Mohawks. We became frothy bubbles of browns and greens, coalescing in the eddies and bends of life’s flow and in our dreams we rode tractors thru orchards and barbequed sweet corn. We tracked horned toads and hunted for avocados drooping like lanterns. We slumbered at the base of great grandmother oaks like kittens and we listened together to the mournful soul of the Barn Owl as she cried for those who have gone on ahead. Our journey has been long and lazy like the golden trickle of the Ganges, and we are caught up in this current of family and memories, winding the years around our fingers and weaving them into a labyrinthine cat’s cradle of love. We have floated far downstream and there is no turning back, save for in our hearts and minds, and where we are headed I am grateful to travel with you. Give thanks for the story of your life, and for the characters who share in its perfect unfolding.
The sun burns away behind the silhouette of Catalina Island and the sky looks like a giant hunk of Labradorite, infused with the hue of that crazy flourescent pink crayon that looks good enough to eat but never colors the color you would expect.
Black volcanic clouds hang in what appears to be a glowing magma sea and I can’t help but imagine for a moment the swirling primordial inferno that was the Earth at it’s inception. How far she has come, sloughing off her epoch cells like raindrops from a shaking dog, the side to side motion of her evolution releasing species and cultural empires alike.
I sit on my patio, margarita in hand, silicious stone sky before me, framed by palms. Goodnight day.
I am walking in an orchard. It is Autumn and the wind is soft and brisk on my neck exposed above a scarf and sweater. Persimmon trees, growing sparse of leaves and fruit, yet still hung with a small collection of bright orange balls and withered paper line my walk. Peace lives in my heart like a solitary cloud as I walk beside two babies and a man. The image is bathed in golden light and there is an air of nostalgia, like the hint of cinnamon on the breeze. I hold a little boys hand. He is blond and wears a small red sweater. He is beautiful and perfect and I love him like I love God. He is the most divine jewel I have ever touched and he is mine. Free of spirit and loving in heart, like a small angel he walks beside me. He holds the hand of his little brother, with soft brown curls crowning a face of gentle eyes. These are my babies and I am in love with them deeper than any love before. Holding this sacred space is my great love, my partner, my best friend and my husband. Together we created this golden family. Together we walk in wonder and awe of our gifts. Eachother and our children. We are at peace, overflowing love and fullfilled in this moment of our lives.
It’s 2am and I’m hauling ass down the freeway, head thrown back and howling this Spanish pop song that I love. I’m sweaty and happy, having just salsa danced the night away with friends at Tapas. The city all around me sleeps but I feel alive.
I see lights up ahead and slow a bit, but not quick enough because I almost tag this cop going about 30mph as he stands blocking the middle of the slow lane holding a flare. I come so close to hitting him it’s absurd, but he just stands there, unfazed and intent on slowing traffic to a halt. There is a buzz of lights flashing all around and I wonder what the hell happened. It’s late and I want to get home.
Then I see the car. Crushed beyond recognition and propped upside down against a cement pilaster, the entire top half demolished. No human being could have survived that. I see medics and police officers and firefighters, gurneys, rescue equipment but no bodies. Then I see the blood dripping from the center divider wall. The red of it hits my eyes like a massive wave. It impacts me deeply.
I think to myself that was someone. I start to cry. That was someone. There is no evidence to indicate who that someone might have been. My brain can not even muster an imagination of that someone being a woman, man, mother, father, child, brother, sister, friend. All I can think of is that was someone, and that is enough for me to care.
I’m hiking up Junction Creek in Durango, Colorado. Bailey the Wonder Dog walks beside me, my best friend with four legs with whom I am pleased to share this afternoon. A most perfect companion on a day I wish to spend in peaceful silence. We walk. The trail is narrow and fringed purple with blooming alfalfa that smells like honey. Pine trees form a mottled canopy that blocks the summer sun. A ubiquitous hum of cicadas on the breeze complements the white noise perfection of Junction Creek as it rushes along. It is a perfect day. Friendly mountain bikers and hikers cross our path from time to time, but for the most part the trail and the creek are ours.
Our cruising pace is best described as an amble. In no hurry, noticing every detail of the landscape. Soaking it in with a naturalist eye, small details come into focus and the woodland world matrix envelopes us. I begin to converse with the woods and chatter to the creek via internal dialogue with myself. A sense of gratitude fills my every breath and I am deliberate and conscious with each inhale and exhale. Breathe in a delicious oxygenic prayer directly expelled from the soil, herbs, shrubbery and trees. Breathe out a carbon monoxide offering of alms to the saintly blue spruce minarets lining my pilgrimage. Quite pleased with my life I offer thanks to the spirit of its genesis. I am greeted with a cool breeze upon my face. Smiling with love for the diverse wonders of life on this planet I offer thanks to the spirit of creation. I am gifted with a cavalcade of yellow swallowtail butterflies lighting overhead. Seated by the creek, feet emerged in snow melt coolness I close my eyes and think of my beloved family and friends, offering thanks for their lives. I am visited by the whirring curiosity of a hummingbird. I was once told that hummingbirds represent the dancing joy of God. I close my eyes and laughter wells up inside my heart. I am present to the divine workings of the natural world, large and small, inside and outside. Magic. Thunder sounds in the distance.The raucous boom grows closer and my pulse quicken. Indigenous peoples of North America believe that the Great Spirit dwells in the clouds. The Thunder Gods. I hear their booming voices, drawing closer. They seek me. Raindrops begin to fall, fat like tadpoles. Here and there they glitter upon leaves and my bare skin until more and more unite to form a sheet of cool, cleansing sky water. Let go they coax. Let go. The water beads upon my shoulders and runs down the contour of my chest forming rivers of goodbye. Goodbye to hidden sadness, doubt, worry, guilt, anger. Goodbye to all that is not love. Rain soaks my clothes, into my skin, pooling with my blood, percolating through bone and diluting my cells. I let go and tears slide down my cheek, salty rain from the cumulous clouds of my mind and heart. I am one with all and I smile through the tears and through the rain. Bailey walks silently beside me as the rain thins to mist and we near the end of the trail.
