one of my favorite things to do is to go out at midnight and take a walk to the wooden bridge across the street from my house on Ideal Park Road. I stand there, in the moonlight, watching the Esopus run by. this ritual has become a way for me to release thoughts, let out ideas, scream, or be quiet... that spot across the street from my house is one of my favorite refuges.
tonight... in my pink nighty. Ugg boots and the long black puffy winter coat that has been patiently waiting for a frosty night to make it's seasonal debut, I wondered under the waxing moon with the dog in tow. I walked slowly down the gravel driveway, looking up at the stars and the moon that was once full. the crisp air lightly pierced my exposed skin, a sensation I relish because it's telling me that winter is coming.
when I got to the bridge, I began to ramble aloud. I know no one is technically listening, but it feels good to just get out what's on my mind. in the summer, the fireflies are listening, now that the cold weather is upon us, I imagine I'm sharing my ramblings with hibernating bears or the moon itself. tonight, my heart slowly split as I walked down to my favorite place. looking up at the billowing clouds that danced around the moon, the stream rumbling fiercely with the continued run off from the storm, I cried.
after 4 days of powerless cabin fever, we emerged to a changed world where people we actually know are missing, suffering, challenged, displaced. it's not like Katrina and NOLA, where it seemed so far away, this storm ravaged NYC, my home town. somehow, this one feels very personal. I feel powerless in a different way tonight, because I can't figure out what to do next, where to go, who to help or how to fix it. there's panic, marshall law, looting, vandalism and friends being challenged by the ravaged city.
the effects of this tragedy, which I wasn't sure of for days and days, is all being revealed to me now that I have my beloved internet access again. the images, articles and stories are graphic. women losing babies in a tidal wave, people gauging each other for gas, streets filled with drifting beaches, cars washed up onto people's homes and reports of neighborhoods I love destroyed.
I've thought about how I tried so desperately to move back to NYC this summer, how I was determined to live on the waterfront of Brooklyn. now, with a sense of some relief, I'm selfishly glad that plan misfired.
as I reach out to friends, we commiserate on the challenges of things... bits of my heart feel as though I'm shredding it with a giant cheese grater. large chunks of my soul just pulling away uncomfortably from the very flesh it should be attached to. and ... I confess, I am immensely sad right now.
it was impossible to nurture myself while being a mom, caring for the kiddo, and worrying about the world. tonight, on my bridge under the moonlight, I let it out and I cried. alone, as I always am, I swelled with the pain that the world has been forever changed, my home town, my friends, and family I care so deeply for are struggling. somehow I can literally feel the very darkness and suffering others are going through, and wish so badly I could figure out how to make it better.
the greatest challenge for me is thinking about the what ifs. what if we had it bad up here, who would come to our aid? who would help me? it is moments like this, as much as I know that I have such a strong network of friends, I am very isolated, there is no emergency somebody who would check on me. no one to help, or just be here with me.
these are the times that it feels as though there is a giant spotlight on the sheer fact that I am alone, doing all of this on my own with no one to come to my rescue.
I wonder how many NYCers feel this same way. if I've learned anything, it isn't geography that defines being alone, it is a lifestyle. a choice we make to save us from having to do the tough stuff, share our vulnerability and 'need' for another person with anyone else.
the power came back on at my house last night, and with it I stayed up for hours on my Facebook and cruised the web fumbling to reconnect with my electronic connections that fulfill my sense of being connected. if the black out taught me anything, I can live without this electronic dependency, the issue is, I don't want to disconnect from the false sense of security I have in knowing there's this network of people who take up the space that I've fostered so that I can be detached from the world.
yup, the tears are flowing. my heart is wrenching. and I know the answer to kill this pain and loneliness, there is really only one solution . be in service to those who need help. I'm going to find a way to volunteer this week. if I offer myself ... the ability to give to those who need ... will be the nurturing and replenishment I truly seek.
To learn more about how you can get involved in volunteering and helping, check out Occupy Sandy Relief
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Saturday, August 18, 2012
tales from the Ashram...
For the past two weeks, I've been formulating my next blog post in my head... trying to put together the words to describe the dismal private pity party I've been hosting for myself. This summer has been a wild roller coaster to put it mildly, and many of the things I carved into expectations didn't come to fruition. Once again, I went out there a gutsy warrior, and failed by making some really bad choices. Where did I end up? Right back where I started. Or did I?
There's something cyclical afoot ... each June, as my birthday comes, I make a declaration that I'm going to make things very different. I put plans into motion, and set an intention to radically change my life... and each year, those radical plans end in "disaster" and "failing." Inevitably, I end up crawling back to my life, humbled.
This summer has been no different. Once again, I've repeated the quest that ended in failure.
I can't say that I feel royally defeated, because of the clarity I have about the imperative to have a certain quality of life, I haven't backed down on myself. In fact, I've picked up the pieces and quickly got back into my upstate swing of things. A year ago, heartbreak was the catalyst for a year long crisis of faith and, well, I totally gave up on me. I don't feel this same defeat right now. Just a bump in the path, a big crazy speed bump and a pot hole that literally dislodged some things.
I'm writing this post from Ananda Ashram. If you haven't been here before, the best way to describe it is... a yoga camp for spiritual seekers with a magical vibe and chillaxed atmosphere. I came here once before, last year just after hitting a large life sized pothole that left me broken. I wasn't really planning on coming here this weekend, in fact it was a spontaneous last minute decision ... literally, I booked this trip on Thursday night.
On Friday, I ended my harrowing week emotionally exhausted. Complaining to anyone who would hear, "I'm fried, I'm beat." I wasn't sure I was really up for coming here. I knew I 'd be surrounded by a bunch of yogi's getting their dose of hari krishna vibes and I wasn't entirely sure I was up for the woo woo chatter. So if I wasn't in the mood for the hippie dippie new ageness... why come here? Because I lead this choice with my heart rather than my mind, and my heart knew I needed a moment of retreat and renewal. To concede, I needed a good helping of what these people have... a little bit of crazy, and a bunch of answers to life's big questions.
The highlight of the weekend thus far, is the amount of quality time I'm having with older women. While I'm feeling immensely let down in my relationship with my mother... the universe has decided that I needed a bunch of wacky old ladies to share their wisdom, guidance, love and stories about their journey. While I've tried to keep to myself, the universe has made it a point to put this fabulous woman in my path. In my dorm room, I share dwelling with a woman who has experience great love and the loss of her great life love. At lunch I sat alone, thinking I would dine in silence, instead I was joined by a woman who insisted on sharing her journey of 40 years on the path. A lady sat with me and shared her vision of love for me, that she saw my struggle and advised me how to open my heart to possibility. On my way to yoga class in the afternoon, I met another woman who spoke honestly about her relationship with her daughter and gave me a rendition of her greatest lessons. At dinner I met a woman who is a spiritual therapist who shared her story of loss and renewal after Hurricane Irene. While writing this blog, two different women came to talk to me about their journey. All of these woman in their senior years have been imparting their wisdom, their openness, and their love upon me, some stranger. It's like they were put in my path to give me what I need, the love of an elder.
I don't feel like I've been filling the expansive hole left by not having a parent, but more like I met the right teachers I needed to meet this weekend. Lay women with life wisdom. The work hasn't been in the classroom, or on the cushion or the mat... but in the company of women who felt compelled to share bits of their journey with me.
So a few lessons I got from them:
There's something cyclical afoot ... each June, as my birthday comes, I make a declaration that I'm going to make things very different. I put plans into motion, and set an intention to radically change my life... and each year, those radical plans end in "disaster" and "failing." Inevitably, I end up crawling back to my life, humbled.
This summer has been no different. Once again, I've repeated the quest that ended in failure.
I can't say that I feel royally defeated, because of the clarity I have about the imperative to have a certain quality of life, I haven't backed down on myself. In fact, I've picked up the pieces and quickly got back into my upstate swing of things. A year ago, heartbreak was the catalyst for a year long crisis of faith and, well, I totally gave up on me. I don't feel this same defeat right now. Just a bump in the path, a big crazy speed bump and a pot hole that literally dislodged some things.
I'm writing this post from Ananda Ashram. If you haven't been here before, the best way to describe it is... a yoga camp for spiritual seekers with a magical vibe and chillaxed atmosphere. I came here once before, last year just after hitting a large life sized pothole that left me broken. I wasn't really planning on coming here this weekend, in fact it was a spontaneous last minute decision ... literally, I booked this trip on Thursday night.
On Friday, I ended my harrowing week emotionally exhausted. Complaining to anyone who would hear, "I'm fried, I'm beat." I wasn't sure I was really up for coming here. I knew I 'd be surrounded by a bunch of yogi's getting their dose of hari krishna vibes and I wasn't entirely sure I was up for the woo woo chatter. So if I wasn't in the mood for the hippie dippie new ageness... why come here? Because I lead this choice with my heart rather than my mind, and my heart knew I needed a moment of retreat and renewal. To concede, I needed a good helping of what these people have... a little bit of crazy, and a bunch of answers to life's big questions.
The highlight of the weekend thus far, is the amount of quality time I'm having with older women. While I'm feeling immensely let down in my relationship with my mother... the universe has decided that I needed a bunch of wacky old ladies to share their wisdom, guidance, love and stories about their journey. While I've tried to keep to myself, the universe has made it a point to put this fabulous woman in my path. In my dorm room, I share dwelling with a woman who has experience great love and the loss of her great life love. At lunch I sat alone, thinking I would dine in silence, instead I was joined by a woman who insisted on sharing her journey of 40 years on the path. A lady sat with me and shared her vision of love for me, that she saw my struggle and advised me how to open my heart to possibility. On my way to yoga class in the afternoon, I met another woman who spoke honestly about her relationship with her daughter and gave me a rendition of her greatest lessons. At dinner I met a woman who is a spiritual therapist who shared her story of loss and renewal after Hurricane Irene. While writing this blog, two different women came to talk to me about their journey. All of these woman in their senior years have been imparting their wisdom, their openness, and their love upon me, some stranger. It's like they were put in my path to give me what I need, the love of an elder.
I don't feel like I've been filling the expansive hole left by not having a parent, but more like I met the right teachers I needed to meet this weekend. Lay women with life wisdom. The work hasn't been in the classroom, or on the cushion or the mat... but in the company of women who felt compelled to share bits of their journey with me.
So a few lessons I got from them:
- Expectations will never serve you, when you let go of your preferences, you'll enjoy life more fully.
- Meditation (quieting of the mind) is essential for mental and physical health.
- When you truly love yourself, you open your heart to possibility of being loved by others in all capacities.
- Everything and everyone you meet has a lesson for you. (one said everything happens for a reason but I don't totally prescribe to that philosophy. however, I like translating this as there are lessons to be learned and connections to be made with every human being on this earth)
- You can always start again. It's never too late to start over.
- The practice never ends, there are always new lessons to learn.
I still have one more day here, to chillax and enjoy the delicious vibes of this place, and for that I am grateful. The most important thing I need to take away from here is the value of taking good care of me, because when I do, I can feel like 'this'. Rested, refreshed and capable of showing up for my life. Honestly, it has been months (since my mom's stroke and maybe more) since I felt like I was showing up for myself. I deserve to be accountable to myself, I deserve to be well cared for by ... myself.
Monday, July 16, 2012
shake the disease
for a long time, I believed that my mother hated me, despised me and wished me dead. I didn't make this up, she literally would scream, "I wish you were never born" so many times througout my lifetime. this made it pretty easy to come to this conclusion. On other nights, in a sobby voice, she'd whimper, "do you love me?"
my response was always, "yes mommy, I do love you. of course I do."
the stroke. some early morning in march, I get a call... it's not a surprise I had been trying to reach my mom through a busy signal for a few days. they were rushing her to the emergency room.
my mother was in the hospital in critical condition, and there we were (my sister and I) in her home. in her house without her in it. it felt weird, like she had died, like we were uninvited guests, like her ghost was everywhere. the place was so uncomfortable. looking for answers, trying to find my way I opened a drawer in her room and found an envelope, legal in size with a label from an attorney's office. it was her living will, her proxy and well...
the cover letter explicitly stated that I was evil, harmful, and that I would get nothing. she left everything to my sister and her ex-husband (my father) and a paultry trust for my son which he would get when he turned 23. nothing. her last words to me, embroiled on a page, spiteful, scathing, spitting words that I can see running past my eyelids day after day. she had printed out copies of my blogs (including pages from this one), other things she had googled, such as pages from a novella I wrote as evidence that I was deserving of one thing.. her hatred of me. (she will probably add a copy of this entry as more proof)
despite the fact that I read this document that pronounced me disowned, I continued to care for her day after day in the hospital. she couldn't move, barely speak, communicate clearly. I knew, my job as her daughter, was to keep her in a state of comfort, to wipe her down, feed her food, do whatever she needed to grasp onto bits of dignity and get cared for. yes, her will that explicity said I'm this horrible child existed, but my unconditional love for her prevailed. it still does.
I went to see my mother today, I brought her sumptious bagles and smoked fish, flowers, cleaned parts of her house, did errands. over coffee, we shared personal feelings and I let her know things that I felt were important. we spoke of her relationship to my son, the challenges I face as a single parent, and in that moment, I felt her mommy'ness. she was listening. we tackled a big job of cleaning up her jewelry drawer. I lovingly took apart the boxes of chains, trinkets, baubles and such and organized them in a way that made is easy for her to find the things she can still put on by herself. she gave me things, chunky earings, charm bracelets... much to my surprise. at the end of the organization, I offered to move the jewelry box so that it would be easier for her to reach, and moved a stack of neatly piled tank tops. in that instant, her face grimmaced, she shook and screamed... her emotional state automatically turned from calm and happy to this evil scary yelling mess. she couldn't handle it, I had made an unauthorized change in her wardrobe. while I assured her that I would make the pile perfect on the new shelf, it was too late.. she lost it.
screaming at me, calling me horrific insults, slurring and getting physical... the feelings that are all too familiar began to arise.
normally, I'd fight back, slam the box down on the ground, slam a door, yell back... but this time... I didn't!
mindfully, I completed the task of making her shelves neat as she raved besides me. I watched her, looked into her eyes and practiced metta, compassion and equinimity. I spoke back calmly. once the things were nicely arranged, I contined this state of mindfulness. I could feel the feelings, but I had the strength not to react. I didn't need to, it wouldn't change the fact that my mother is sick. not just physically sick, but mentally. it's not just brain dammage she endured, she is mentally ill.
my mother suffers from deep depression, mental illness, something I never understood before. I learned this while she was in the hospital. of course, to an outsider, this may have always been obvious. to me, I just saw a mother who hates me. I don't think she does, it's more that she is living in such a dark place, she can't be the mother I want, the one I deserved but never got.
you would think while hearing her scream horrific things about my hideious looks, my zoftic size, my lack of intelligence, what a horrible mother I am, and countless other things that roll so easily off her vitriolic tongue that I would react. well, a different version of me would.
because I now have the knowledge that she's sick, I am able to understand that she's in too much pain to know any better. she thinks it is ok to be this way, because that's all she knows. she's never gotten treatment, or therapy or taken any steps to get better. there's medication, a pile of drugs that are and are not prescribed, but this isn't the way out. sadly, I just see her deteriorating emotionally more and more, her illness engulfing her every fiber.
as my mother was physically pushing me out the door and yelling at me, in the way she usually does, I had an awakening... I didn't have to react. I didn't have to let it in. as I walked out ... calmly, I said, "I forgive you, mommy, I forgive you."
my response was always, "yes mommy, I do love you. of course I do."
the stroke. some early morning in march, I get a call... it's not a surprise I had been trying to reach my mom through a busy signal for a few days. they were rushing her to the emergency room.
my mother was in the hospital in critical condition, and there we were (my sister and I) in her home. in her house without her in it. it felt weird, like she had died, like we were uninvited guests, like her ghost was everywhere. the place was so uncomfortable. looking for answers, trying to find my way I opened a drawer in her room and found an envelope, legal in size with a label from an attorney's office. it was her living will, her proxy and well...
the cover letter explicitly stated that I was evil, harmful, and that I would get nothing. she left everything to my sister and her ex-husband (my father) and a paultry trust for my son which he would get when he turned 23. nothing. her last words to me, embroiled on a page, spiteful, scathing, spitting words that I can see running past my eyelids day after day. she had printed out copies of my blogs (including pages from this one), other things she had googled, such as pages from a novella I wrote as evidence that I was deserving of one thing.. her hatred of me. (she will probably add a copy of this entry as more proof)
despite the fact that I read this document that pronounced me disowned, I continued to care for her day after day in the hospital. she couldn't move, barely speak, communicate clearly. I knew, my job as her daughter, was to keep her in a state of comfort, to wipe her down, feed her food, do whatever she needed to grasp onto bits of dignity and get cared for. yes, her will that explicity said I'm this horrible child existed, but my unconditional love for her prevailed. it still does.
I went to see my mother today, I brought her sumptious bagles and smoked fish, flowers, cleaned parts of her house, did errands. over coffee, we shared personal feelings and I let her know things that I felt were important. we spoke of her relationship to my son, the challenges I face as a single parent, and in that moment, I felt her mommy'ness. she was listening. we tackled a big job of cleaning up her jewelry drawer. I lovingly took apart the boxes of chains, trinkets, baubles and such and organized them in a way that made is easy for her to find the things she can still put on by herself. she gave me things, chunky earings, charm bracelets... much to my surprise. at the end of the organization, I offered to move the jewelry box so that it would be easier for her to reach, and moved a stack of neatly piled tank tops. in that instant, her face grimmaced, she shook and screamed... her emotional state automatically turned from calm and happy to this evil scary yelling mess. she couldn't handle it, I had made an unauthorized change in her wardrobe. while I assured her that I would make the pile perfect on the new shelf, it was too late.. she lost it.
screaming at me, calling me horrific insults, slurring and getting physical... the feelings that are all too familiar began to arise.
normally, I'd fight back, slam the box down on the ground, slam a door, yell back... but this time... I didn't!
mindfully, I completed the task of making her shelves neat as she raved besides me. I watched her, looked into her eyes and practiced metta, compassion and equinimity. I spoke back calmly. once the things were nicely arranged, I contined this state of mindfulness. I could feel the feelings, but I had the strength not to react. I didn't need to, it wouldn't change the fact that my mother is sick. not just physically sick, but mentally. it's not just brain dammage she endured, she is mentally ill.
my mother suffers from deep depression, mental illness, something I never understood before. I learned this while she was in the hospital. of course, to an outsider, this may have always been obvious. to me, I just saw a mother who hates me. I don't think she does, it's more that she is living in such a dark place, she can't be the mother I want, the one I deserved but never got.
you would think while hearing her scream horrific things about my hideious looks, my zoftic size, my lack of intelligence, what a horrible mother I am, and countless other things that roll so easily off her vitriolic tongue that I would react. well, a different version of me would.
because I now have the knowledge that she's sick, I am able to understand that she's in too much pain to know any better. she thinks it is ok to be this way, because that's all she knows. she's never gotten treatment, or therapy or taken any steps to get better. there's medication, a pile of drugs that are and are not prescribed, but this isn't the way out. sadly, I just see her deteriorating emotionally more and more, her illness engulfing her every fiber.
as my mother was physically pushing me out the door and yelling at me, in the way she usually does, I had an awakening... I didn't have to react. I didn't have to let it in. as I walked out ... calmly, I said, "I forgive you, mommy, I forgive you."
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Motherhood is My Greatest REFUGE
Just as we got to the gates of the Insight Meditation Center, I looked at all the kids playing in the yard and figured, "that must not be it." and kept driving down Pleasant Road. What retreat center would be filled with that many children? Oh, the one hosting the annual Family Buddhist Retreat. I turned around and sure enough, that was exactly where we needed to be.
Walking into the front door of IMS for the first time, I was overcome by a shyness and awkward feeling.... we are a long way from anything familiar. These people... I don't know any of them...who are they? will I fit in? OMG, I don't fit here at all... It wasn't Zman I was worried about... it was me. Looking around at the excitement, the people who knew each other, catching up on life's details ... I found myself retreating... sitting quietly, turning my social uncomfortability into a mindfulness practice.
We gathered for the first time as a group in the hall. Each of us had claimed our spot for the week. Sitting close to the front and off to the side meant easy access to the escape hatch and we didn't have to see all the people we don't know. Safe. We held hands, participated in the singing, and hoped that the week would be healing for our challenged relationship. Yeah, you should know... the Zman and I struggle a lot in our relationship. It is filled with lots of challenges. We agreed to set intentions to cure things, be honest, share and find our way back to the sweet spot where laughter between us reigns supreme.
That anonymity didn't last long, we were asked to STAND UP (omg) in front of all the sangha, and when the teacher asked if someone would be our buddy family... there was no response. Oh, we're them, those people no one wants to like. Oh us? But that lasted for only a few more moments, and I made my first connection ... we found our buddies.
The topic of the weekend was Refuge. Over the course of the retreat, I accepted and trusted that I could take refuge in my new found sangha, and when I made that choice to trust... possibilities began to emerge. I made authentic connections that lead to meaningful discussions. It took a day or two to accept, we were exactly where we needed to be... among our sangha. I met so many amazing people who had so much to teach me and commiserate about the challenges we face as parents on the path. The conversations that evolved over the course of the retreat illuminated so much for me. I never expected to find those connections when I arrived at IMS on Saturday afternoon. In my heart, I know I have found refuge in this sangha for which I'm immensely greatful.
In my one on one work with one of the teachers, I allowed her to take me to one of the darkest places I go... and realized, I do have the ability to be mindful in the greatest states of anger. My practice serves me better than I realize, and I should create more openings for mindfulness in even the darkest of moments.
There is refuge in my mindfulness. There is refuge on my cushion. There is refuge in others. There is refuge in my heart. I can be safe, happy and free in the dharma. There is room for me in practice... and for the first time in a long time.. I felt I belong.
Belonging in the Buddhist community has been something I've struggled with immensely. After some dharma drama last year, the demise of the DPXHV group and the issues that arose ... I let my delusion punish me and teach me that I'm not worthy of the practice. This is not the case. I'd like to proudly say, the dharma isn't something that is deserved, it is earned and wow, I HAVE EARNED IT!
I also fully recognize, that I'm a total newb, that my green state of being makes me nothing more than a student. I have plenty of time to savor and learn, grow and bloom. No need to rush when there are so many gifts to be received in the practice.
Over the course of five days... I learned so much... I didn't expect the personal work to be there, but it was. I chose to be rigorously honest, and open myself to this new 'net'... and take Refuge in this new found sangha. What a gift!
Some things I've uncovered... Joy is a choice ... and something both my son and I want to cultivate in our daily lives. We choose Joy!!!
Using my angry scary mommy voice is not a useful or skillful tool. I can find other ways to be softer and still get across the message without the excessive force of my great intensity. There is a way to present clear intention without the intention to force 'fear'.
My perception that arises from assumptions is not accurate. I am causing harm by assuming I know better than anyont else. In many instances, I can easily arrive at an idea that I know what is best in a situation... but when I let go .. listen, absorb and take time to get all the information... I can discover.. I have much to learn.
I was reminded in a dharma talk about the perils of our attachment to sense pleasures, and was given permission to begin again anytime I want to. We talked about that idea of having a safe space in which to practice, and the value of reminding people of their gifts rather than exposing how they disappoint us. These clues, lessons and reminders earmarked places in my citta and my hope and intention is to utilize them the next time those feelings of discomfort arise.
My son is one of my greatest teachers. From him I continue to learn so much. He is my true refuge. To him, I show deep gratitude for teaching me the true meaning of Metta and giving me a purpose of service I never knew I'd be able to perform.
Walking into the front door of IMS for the first time, I was overcome by a shyness and awkward feeling.... we are a long way from anything familiar. These people... I don't know any of them...who are they? will I fit in? OMG, I don't fit here at all... It wasn't Zman I was worried about... it was me. Looking around at the excitement, the people who knew each other, catching up on life's details ... I found myself retreating... sitting quietly, turning my social uncomfortability into a mindfulness practice.
We gathered for the first time as a group in the hall. Each of us had claimed our spot for the week. Sitting close to the front and off to the side meant easy access to the escape hatch and we didn't have to see all the people we don't know. Safe. We held hands, participated in the singing, and hoped that the week would be healing for our challenged relationship. Yeah, you should know... the Zman and I struggle a lot in our relationship. It is filled with lots of challenges. We agreed to set intentions to cure things, be honest, share and find our way back to the sweet spot where laughter between us reigns supreme.
That anonymity didn't last long, we were asked to STAND UP (omg) in front of all the sangha, and when the teacher asked if someone would be our buddy family... there was no response. Oh, we're them, those people no one wants to like. Oh us? But that lasted for only a few more moments, and I made my first connection ... we found our buddies.
The topic of the weekend was Refuge. Over the course of the retreat, I accepted and trusted that I could take refuge in my new found sangha, and when I made that choice to trust... possibilities began to emerge. I made authentic connections that lead to meaningful discussions. It took a day or two to accept, we were exactly where we needed to be... among our sangha. I met so many amazing people who had so much to teach me and commiserate about the challenges we face as parents on the path. The conversations that evolved over the course of the retreat illuminated so much for me. I never expected to find those connections when I arrived at IMS on Saturday afternoon. In my heart, I know I have found refuge in this sangha for which I'm immensely greatful.
In my one on one work with one of the teachers, I allowed her to take me to one of the darkest places I go... and realized, I do have the ability to be mindful in the greatest states of anger. My practice serves me better than I realize, and I should create more openings for mindfulness in even the darkest of moments.
There is refuge in my mindfulness. There is refuge on my cushion. There is refuge in others. There is refuge in my heart. I can be safe, happy and free in the dharma. There is room for me in practice... and for the first time in a long time.. I felt I belong.
Belonging in the Buddhist community has been something I've struggled with immensely. After some dharma drama last year, the demise of the DPXHV group and the issues that arose ... I let my delusion punish me and teach me that I'm not worthy of the practice. This is not the case. I'd like to proudly say, the dharma isn't something that is deserved, it is earned and wow, I HAVE EARNED IT!
I also fully recognize, that I'm a total newb, that my green state of being makes me nothing more than a student. I have plenty of time to savor and learn, grow and bloom. No need to rush when there are so many gifts to be received in the practice.
Over the course of five days... I learned so much... I didn't expect the personal work to be there, but it was. I chose to be rigorously honest, and open myself to this new 'net'... and take Refuge in this new found sangha. What a gift!
Some things I've uncovered... Joy is a choice ... and something both my son and I want to cultivate in our daily lives. We choose Joy!!!
Using my angry scary mommy voice is not a useful or skillful tool. I can find other ways to be softer and still get across the message without the excessive force of my great intensity. There is a way to present clear intention without the intention to force 'fear'.
My perception that arises from assumptions is not accurate. I am causing harm by assuming I know better than anyont else. In many instances, I can easily arrive at an idea that I know what is best in a situation... but when I let go .. listen, absorb and take time to get all the information... I can discover.. I have much to learn.
I was reminded in a dharma talk about the perils of our attachment to sense pleasures, and was given permission to begin again anytime I want to. We talked about that idea of having a safe space in which to practice, and the value of reminding people of their gifts rather than exposing how they disappoint us. These clues, lessons and reminders earmarked places in my citta and my hope and intention is to utilize them the next time those feelings of discomfort arise.
My son is one of my greatest teachers. From him I continue to learn so much. He is my true refuge. To him, I show deep gratitude for teaching me the true meaning of Metta and giving me a purpose of service I never knew I'd be able to perform.
Friday, May 18, 2012
geraniums smell so nice
the week before mother's day, stopped at the farm stand to get some plants to adorn the entrance of our home. nothing fancy, just some pansies and geraniums and a hanging pot of petunias.
this was the first time I put a plant into a pot since my divorce. weird.
as a drove home, back of the car loaded with fruits, fresh local dairy products and a couple of small boxes with plants, the most amazing scent wafted through the car. it was the geraniums. the scent was as pungent and soothing as any of the other times I've inhaled that distinctive fragrance.
time travel backwards, 1980ish, Bridgehampton NY...
it was our first summer in the new house on Mecox Bay. previously, we had rented homes around the Hamptons in the summer, but this was the first summer I'd have my own room, my own stuff, a place for my stuffed animals and toys, a room that was mine to decorate how I like. we were very familiar with the area, the stops we made along the way for hot dogs, ice cream and ... the Green Thumb farm stand. as my dad picked out local eats from the conveyor belt, my mother would meticulously pick the annual geraniums that would adorn the pots in front of our house. each year they were carefully selected in either deep salmon, or bright red.
as we arrived the week before Memorial Day to ready the house for the summer, my mother would plant the geraniums that would flourish all summer long. she cared for them lovingly with miracle grow, water, and care. they would happily respond by blooming straight through to the first frosts. the expressive scent wafted through my nose each and every time we entered our house, it was a signal that summer had arrived. while I could share all kinds of memories, something about my mother's summer geraniums brought me a little feeling of arrival, that I had made it to the sweetness of summer days.
when I grew up, and became a dweller of my own abodes, I'd do the same thing ... each spring, I'd plant pots of flowers around the entrance of my apartment, and always loved to make sure there were crimson geraniums to nurture throughout the season. I did this from apartment to apartment, city to city, dwelling to dwelling... and when I got engaged and moved in with my husband, and our house, and the houses after until... we got divorced. for the next years, I've kept a few pots, thinking one day I'd fill them with flowers in the spring, but never did. I've always felt this state of 'divorce' was temporary, and that I'd have someone to plant for... someday.
well, there isn't anyone new, no visitors per say but I just instinctively knew, this year, I was planting geraniums. they are in the pots outside, soaking in sun, permiating their scent, beaconing summer. I planted them for me, to bring me that feeling I remember from so long ago, when my mom was still capable of nurturing something. and now, I'm nurturing myself.
as a drove home, back of the car loaded with fruits, fresh local dairy products and a couple of small boxes with plants, the most amazing scent wafted through the car. it was the geraniums. the scent was as pungent and soothing as any of the other times I've inhaled that distinctive fragrance.
time travel backwards, 1980ish, Bridgehampton NY...
it was our first summer in the new house on Mecox Bay. previously, we had rented homes around the Hamptons in the summer, but this was the first summer I'd have my own room, my own stuff, a place for my stuffed animals and toys, a room that was mine to decorate how I like. we were very familiar with the area, the stops we made along the way for hot dogs, ice cream and ... the Green Thumb farm stand. as my dad picked out local eats from the conveyor belt, my mother would meticulously pick the annual geraniums that would adorn the pots in front of our house. each year they were carefully selected in either deep salmon, or bright red.
as we arrived the week before Memorial Day to ready the house for the summer, my mother would plant the geraniums that would flourish all summer long. she cared for them lovingly with miracle grow, water, and care. they would happily respond by blooming straight through to the first frosts. the expressive scent wafted through my nose each and every time we entered our house, it was a signal that summer had arrived. while I could share all kinds of memories, something about my mother's summer geraniums brought me a little feeling of arrival, that I had made it to the sweetness of summer days.
when I grew up, and became a dweller of my own abodes, I'd do the same thing ... each spring, I'd plant pots of flowers around the entrance of my apartment, and always loved to make sure there were crimson geraniums to nurture throughout the season. I did this from apartment to apartment, city to city, dwelling to dwelling... and when I got engaged and moved in with my husband, and our house, and the houses after until... we got divorced. for the next years, I've kept a few pots, thinking one day I'd fill them with flowers in the spring, but never did. I've always felt this state of 'divorce' was temporary, and that I'd have someone to plant for... someday.
well, there isn't anyone new, no visitors per say but I just instinctively knew, this year, I was planting geraniums. they are in the pots outside, soaking in sun, permiating their scent, beaconing summer. I planted them for me, to bring me that feeling I remember from so long ago, when my mom was still capable of nurturing something. and now, I'm nurturing myself.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
begin the begin
so I spent the day fully aware that I publicly declared that I'm taking the Real Happiness 28 day challenge... there were times throughout the day that I'd say to myself, "ok, I'm gonna sit for 10 minutes at 11am" and at two different points I pulled my chair back from my desk declaring, "ok, now I'm going to sit" only to get sucked back into my work vortex.
all day, I knew, I had to sit, come on, I got the book, I told all these people, I've been tweeting it and posting it... I had to sit.
after putting my son to bed, I put my cushion on the floor, turned off all the lights and ... I did it. for the first time in months, I put my butt on my cushion, and sat.
it was so nice. I gave myself permission to let go and just breathe... what a gift, to just be.
like Sharon Salzberg said, I can begin anytime. this isn't remedial practice, it is the practice. NOT PRACTICING WAS PART OF MY PRACTICE!!! what an awakening, to discover that I can come back anytime. well, to realize I never went anywhere. I'm just in my life, and tonight, I gave myself permission to pause.
I can start again at anytime. not just with meditation, with anything. with things that are healthy and nurturing just as easily as with the decisions which are detrimental, that lead me to pain.
I deserve the dharma just as much as any other human on this planet. this may be a mundane, yet adorable statement, but the truth is.... I felt abandoned, and undeserving of my spirituality. and tonight, I turned a corner, well, I didn't do much, I just .... sat the frack down... and gave myself 30 minutes of being still and just being.
Day #1. I sat.
all day, I knew, I had to sit, come on, I got the book, I told all these people, I've been tweeting it and posting it... I had to sit.
after putting my son to bed, I put my cushion on the floor, turned off all the lights and ... I did it. for the first time in months, I put my butt on my cushion, and sat.
it was so nice. I gave myself permission to let go and just breathe... what a gift, to just be.
like Sharon Salzberg said, I can begin anytime. this isn't remedial practice, it is the practice. NOT PRACTICING WAS PART OF MY PRACTICE!!! what an awakening, to discover that I can come back anytime. well, to realize I never went anywhere. I'm just in my life, and tonight, I gave myself permission to pause.
I can start again at anytime. not just with meditation, with anything. with things that are healthy and nurturing just as easily as with the decisions which are detrimental, that lead me to pain.
I deserve the dharma just as much as any other human on this planet. this may be a mundane, yet adorable statement, but the truth is.... I felt abandoned, and undeserving of my spirituality. and tonight, I turned a corner, well, I didn't do much, I just .... sat the frack down... and gave myself 30 minutes of being still and just being.
Day #1. I sat.
depriving myself of the deprivation
it is interesting... to look at how excess brought me... to a place of indulgence... that lead to a gluttonous downward spiral. if you've read any of my posts, you're well aware of some of my darkness.
so... over the past few years, I chipped away at the indulgence, which was really a barrier between me and my truth. I stopped getting high. I stopped drinking. I stopped intentionally self-destructing. I stopped dating. I quelled my craving. I practiced letting go. I practiced cutting the cord between me and my cravings and wanting. clearing the decks of the things that seemed toxic, I made way to have a really intimate relationship.
that person I got close to, is myself. I found a raw child, with her development frozen in time by self-numbing and hiding from her own reality.
in this process ... delusion dissolved, not all of it, but a fair amount. under the layers of silt, I found myself. removing these things felt like deprivation, but once I let go of wanting... freedom emerged.
I suppose, I've done what monks do. as a laywoman practitioner, I'll never really be able to experience extended retreats, or take residence in a monastery. instead, I found a little place far away, cleared out the toxins and people and removed myself as much as I could from society as I know it, so that I could mend what was left of me.
I'm grateful for the years in the lil cabin. the practice I've taken on thus far. despite the fact that I have fallen off my self-care track, I know that I'm still caring for myself in ways I never did just a few years ago.
tomorrow, I embark on a 28 day commitment to sit, practice and discover Real Happiness with an electronic sangha. I've cleared the way, prepared my room, washed the dishes, straightened up. tomorrow, I have the opportunity to start the day any way I want. tomorrow, I will wake up and choose joy. the best part is, my four years of dharma study and practice have taught me that I know how. it is something I can do. I will do. I'm doing it.
not sure what the next 28 days will bring, but I know that I am ready to end my deprivation practice. not that I need to be gluttonous, but I'm enjoying my dance back to a more normal way of life. if I'm being cryptic, I guess here's the part where I confess, I broke my sobriety. I've been very quiet about it, mainly because I don't want to draw attention to it. it's not a big deal. well, I suppose it is, but it's really not. nothing changed when I drank that first sip of sake at the noodle bar. no one died. nothing tragic happened. no fireworks went off, or alarms. it was a lovely moment between two friends, sharing dinner. it was... well.. um, normal.
all this deprivation, has separated me from 'life' in a different way. I swung from one end of the spectrum to the other. deprivation was not the middle way, well, at least, it doesn't feel like it for me.
I don't know what is next... but I am ready to break the seals of things I've held myself back from. I'm done separating myself from society. of course, I know that I love myself enough to not want to injure myself, or do anything that could jeopardize how far I've come. but if Real Happiness is the quest, the end goal, then my next chapter is to step back into LIFE, busy active real life filled with all kinds of fulfilling experiences.
I'll document my 28 day journey..... stay tuned.
so... over the past few years, I chipped away at the indulgence, which was really a barrier between me and my truth. I stopped getting high. I stopped drinking. I stopped intentionally self-destructing. I stopped dating. I quelled my craving. I practiced letting go. I practiced cutting the cord between me and my cravings and wanting. clearing the decks of the things that seemed toxic, I made way to have a really intimate relationship.
that person I got close to, is myself. I found a raw child, with her development frozen in time by self-numbing and hiding from her own reality.
in this process ... delusion dissolved, not all of it, but a fair amount. under the layers of silt, I found myself. removing these things felt like deprivation, but once I let go of wanting... freedom emerged.
I suppose, I've done what monks do. as a laywoman practitioner, I'll never really be able to experience extended retreats, or take residence in a monastery. instead, I found a little place far away, cleared out the toxins and people and removed myself as much as I could from society as I know it, so that I could mend what was left of me.
I'm grateful for the years in the lil cabin. the practice I've taken on thus far. despite the fact that I have fallen off my self-care track, I know that I'm still caring for myself in ways I never did just a few years ago.
tomorrow, I embark on a 28 day commitment to sit, practice and discover Real Happiness with an electronic sangha. I've cleared the way, prepared my room, washed the dishes, straightened up. tomorrow, I have the opportunity to start the day any way I want. tomorrow, I will wake up and choose joy. the best part is, my four years of dharma study and practice have taught me that I know how. it is something I can do. I will do. I'm doing it.
not sure what the next 28 days will bring, but I know that I am ready to end my deprivation practice. not that I need to be gluttonous, but I'm enjoying my dance back to a more normal way of life. if I'm being cryptic, I guess here's the part where I confess, I broke my sobriety. I've been very quiet about it, mainly because I don't want to draw attention to it. it's not a big deal. well, I suppose it is, but it's really not. nothing changed when I drank that first sip of sake at the noodle bar. no one died. nothing tragic happened. no fireworks went off, or alarms. it was a lovely moment between two friends, sharing dinner. it was... well.. um, normal.
all this deprivation, has separated me from 'life' in a different way. I swung from one end of the spectrum to the other. deprivation was not the middle way, well, at least, it doesn't feel like it for me.
I don't know what is next... but I am ready to break the seals of things I've held myself back from. I'm done separating myself from society. of course, I know that I love myself enough to not want to injure myself, or do anything that could jeopardize how far I've come. but if Real Happiness is the quest, the end goal, then my next chapter is to step back into LIFE, busy active real life filled with all kinds of fulfilling experiences.
I'll document my 28 day journey..... stay tuned.
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