Astonishment and Kula

If you click on this link it will take you to the home page for the Michael Chekhov Association, of which I am a member. http://www.michaelchekhov.org/ 

Within moments, thanks to the glory that is email, something I have a love/hate relationship with, as many of us probably do, I was connected to three MICHA colleagues over a simple question. Jessica then asked me, "have you seen the windsor video?" I had received the email about it but had put it in the dusty folder unofficially called "i'll get to it"but as I have re- started "Finding Water: The Art of Perseverance" by Julia Cameron, again, I am paying a bit more attention then usual to synchronicity and signs. 

So I obliged, and was quite moved, and instantly reconnected with something I have been disconnected from. Yesterday, in her book, Cameron mentioned how the source of our drama and discontent as artists , or creative beings (which we all are) is almost always when we aren't doing the "work." Now for some of us that work is meditation, for others writing, for others acting... it doesn't matter, but as Cameron keenly points out, "We hear so often that the artist's temperament is restless, irritable, and discontented. All of that is very true-- when we are not working. Let us get in a good day at the page or the easel and we are suddenly sunny and user-friendly. It is the blocked artist who is such a study in malcontent. Artists have an itch that nothing can scratch except work."

And I was right under the heading of the young creative she is describing in that character, blaming all of these other people, myself and situations on my frustration and blocked-ness. But I can feel myself shifting. Saw a beautiful quote on a wall at a health care practitioner's office the other day:

Those who blame others have not yet begun their education.

Those who blame themselves have begun their education.

Those who blame no one have completed their education. 

So I have been thinking a lot of about blame, and the isolation that resides inherently within it. When we move past blame there is now room for objectivity, patience, and astonishment. Michael Chekhov said, "We must not forget that one of our greatest technical abilities is astonishment." In removing blame and guilt, we find our way back to the wonderment and joy of what we can behold and take in, and in remembering that we are connected, deeply connected. And as we open ourselves to this way of seeing, it invites more of the same, and we can feel ourselves re-programming on a soul level.

Kula is a sanskrit word that translates to "family of the heart" or "family the heart chooses." I am becoming humbly and so deeply gratefully aware of the kula I am part of. It is far reaching, and all of the members don't know one another necessarily- distant relations that haven't met, but share me in common, or others in common. We are sensitive beings, more so then we often realize, or we forget our sensitivity. What we ingest on a daily basis has direct impact on our mental and spiritual well being. 

Who is your kula? how can you deepen your connection with this people? Reach out right now  via email or phone and thank those who support you, nurture you, cheer you, give you space to grow into all that you are, honor when you are taking time for yourself. 

The Art of the Human Spirit

I receive emails from time to time from friends' companies, galleries, etc all over the country, as many of us do. Often on a busy day, and as the email onslaught continues to gain momentum worldwide, I unfortunately delete these little nuggets of artistic breath without even reading them. When would i read this? There's so much to do! I'll never be able to see that...

But this one caught my eye, and reawakened why I joined said mailing lists in the first place. My two great passions are the arts and the healing arts, and one of my great loves, is to travel. Hence my intrigue and delight upon reading about this touring project that will be put on by the Moving Dock Theater Company in Chicago for one amazing performance as it makes its way through a few cities.

Still in Buffalo, I feel I was drawn here for reasons beyond what have yet been fully revealed to me, one of them to create bridges between the refugee and local populations via the arts, create spaces and dialogues for this vital work. As more of the world, and so many of its inhabitants become refugees, how can we help these people transition to very foreign cultures, and encourage them to share the richness of their own artistic traditions with us? Just a few of the questions with me tonight, and thought I'd share this piece for any who might be in Chicago, or for whom reading it may similarly inspire them.

Namaste'

http://www.wix.com/untouchablevoices/untouchablevoices

White Sails of Peace

Small actions, one at a time, that's all we need, as we walk our own individualized, yet connected paths towards inner peace.

More than a few years ago now, strange to even write that, my father gave me a "White Sails" aka "Peace Lily" or more formally as "spathiphyllum clevelandii." During the period in my life I was living in Detroit, and set upon two quests. 1) To offset the often bleak, lacking greenery landscape of this battered city with a lush green oasis inside my apartment, helping improve the air quality for my sensitive lungs all in one fell swoop. 2) To try to overcome, in my own humble way, my family's inability to keep any house plants alive. I look back on this period with great joy, everywhere I turned there were gorgeous aloe plants, spider plants, cacti, kitchen herbs and white sails, among others, and I was humming and happily propagating like mad. It was incredibly meditative and grounding to have my hands in that soil, to gently coo to the plants, to rejoice as they grew, and mourn those who did not make it. I dried my own sage to smudge the house, clipped fresh basil for pizza, and apologized and thanked grandma aloe for healing my burns. This was during a time that I cultivated hobbies. I took up knitting as well, and both my plants and my weaving brought me great peace.

And then the transitions, the upheavals that we go through continually in this earthwalk. My tenure in detroit was coming to a close, and I was moving into an indeterminate amount of time as a wandering gypsy artist. Each time I left my house, I forced myself to take something with me, to recycle, to give away... There were days it was a great joy, to look around at all that I had amassed and see which thing needed to go, why and to whom. Other days a great struggle, but I knew the outflow had to continue. I gave my plants away, eventually, to my dear friend, and many of them are still alive and well. And practicing detachment of one's belongings, although not always easy, is almost always rewarding. It reminds us that things are transient, friends, belongings, jobs, and to have faith that what we need in the future will be provided, or we will be led how to bring it into existence.

Ok, so quite the long tangent, back to the white sails. I was in love with the plant my father had given me, I remember the sheer joy when i saw the first arumlike flowers spring forth like great white cobra heads. I literally squealed. When my father passed, the plant became a strange connection beyond the veil, and it was ever so hard to part with it.

At the time of his memorial service, I remember that a family friend had gifted my sister and mother with a massive peace lily plant, not even knowing of the plant I had possessed. It started off in all its finery, lush, happy and vibrant, a poignant symbol of life, as we all dealt with the loss of my father. Over the next two years as I would go home, the plant looked less and less vibrant, I won't speculate why. As I mentioned, things have always thrived outside under the sun at my childhood home, but not inside those walls, and this plant would be no exception. I can't remember if my mother or sister insisted i took it or i offered, but somehow what was left of this peace lily traveled with me up to Buffalo. My lone plant coming to the new place I had set down roots.

And for the past two years, it has hung on for dear life, and I have not paid it the attention it needed, other than watering and finally getting some miracle grow sticks. A few months back, a friend with a green thumb, who i queried about the plant's health said, "how old is it? and you haven't replaced the soil? there are no nutrients in there!" And i cringed, guilty as charged, and thought how true that is of so many of us, still trying to get nourishment from dead soil of the self, fearful of what repotting might mean.

I cannot even count how many times I would look into the kitchen, where this plant sat, a life force exactly as old as my father has been gone, and think "i need to repot you" or "maybe i should get a friend white sail and we'll repot you together." but these thoughts remained just that, thoughts, musings.

June 16 was four years, four years?!? And today, July 1, I finally repotted the plant. I had a mystical morning and after receiving a much needed massage, found my way face to face with Urban Roots, a store I have wanted to go in since I moved here, and finally did so today. And right in the front, was a baby white sails, eager to grow and push forth those magnificent flowers. So i bought her and some organic soil and went home and gently emptied the old pot and sang to the starved roots and leaves, introduced them to their new friend and sat there so at peace with my fingers in rich earth. Who knows how they will fare, if they'll even get along and coexist, but that's part of the fun, to see what will happen, and to give them each a fighting chance.

And now I return to my day, and all the things to do that are always waiting for me, but with a different sense of peace then I have had in some time. A small action that meant so much.

Love you Dad.

Slowing the Tennis Match of the Mind

I just finished a very short, not long enough vacation, says my rational self. A deeper self says, at least you took some time to yourself, and you can already see the benefits.


i found myself, while on the short time away, observing my mental tennis. it wasn't just one match, but many, andre agassi, steffi graf and pete sampras all hammering away at the same time, with john macenroe screaming at the judge at the same time and same volume as peter connors...

but the physical distance i gifted myself from my current home of buffalo, the time in the car watching the landscape change, the vastness of the forests out the window, and then the vastness of the ocean, began to work their magic on me, and in just a few days it was just billy jean having a mellow practice match with chris evers...

i am now in the challenge of being back in buffalo, with many things looming ahead of me as i return to my schedule, but with a deeper sense that i can keep the match slow, and have the tools at hand, my breath, my yoga, my writing, music... for each of us they are different, singular and evolving, that when all resume their din at once, which is sure to happen, i can recall the breath of the ocean, or the sound of the open road, close my eyes for five minutes of vacation and return renewed and refreshed... enjoy the time between each hit of the ball, the deep inner peace that is always only a breath away.

namaste.

A Little Silence

There seems to be a theme here.

I received a cryptic and prescient text message from a friend in Colorado last Wednesday. All it read was "slippery elm." I felt that it applied to both the friend I was spending the day with, in Buffalo for a brief time while her show "sat down" at University of Buffalo's Center for the Arts, and to myself. So after seeing if Wegeman's had the little boxes full of magical dissolving lozenges for throat heath, we learned that they didn't, and headed to the Coop.

I took one and let it dissolve on my tongue, a more stubborn part of my self thinking "What do I need these for? I'm not sick.. "

Next morning, after a lovely day spent with my friend I awoke to a tightness in my throat and some pain and laughed. Got up and called to reschedule my early morning session with a client, toddled in my animal slippers ( animal, that is from the Muppet's) to the bathroom where I massaged some sandalwood oil mixed with a carrier oil on my neck and throat, had a cup of throat tea, and took some echinacea and then went back to bed. Woke up a few hours later, no pain. "I licked it!" the competitive, warrior part of me rejoiced.

No more throat pain, but some mild sniffles and breathing difficulty. I had to fill in for a friend, who runs the program in Buffalo for the baby's music class I teach, and duck into her house quickly to pick up something, her house full of boys home with the flu jumping on the couches... I put a shield of wellness around me and ducked out. The girls downstairs me have each had a fever over 102 a week apart. "I'm upstairs." I would tell myself. "I have a killer immune system."

Meanwhile, during my busy days, I would take a few minutes while enjoying a meal to thumb through a yoga magazine. This month was taking about retreats... for all budgets. One right at home, in your own home; or in another city; or the luxurious kind... I was pining for that. Like many I have been feeling that peculiar rhythm of the fall, as things sprint and then halt, and so many new projects are all happening at the same time, leaving you trying to find some balance and breath. "A retreat, that sounds nice."

"And I'm going on one, in mid-December." But it's mid-October, or was last week.

While I've been running around, trying to commune with "she who is not busy" inside, even if everything is whirring outside, there has been a part of me longing to just be home. I really love the nest I've created and I'm looking forward this year to Buffalo's long winter as a time to hibernate and do some deep reflection. Over the weekend I was looking for my keys in my bag and my hand found a little box, "what's this?" I wondered. "Slippery elm... oh good, thing I don't need that anymore!" And my digging and sprinting resumed.

Monday morning. I wake up and do my morning pages, and take a pause to notice that as my internal chatter quiets, my ears prick up and I can hear the music in everything around me. So we speak about listening, tuning in at class. Not only feeling and paying attention to one's breath, but listening to it, its actual sound of the ocean moving through you, curling and uncurling. A similar theme continued in my class that night. Learning to listen to the little voice within, making some space as we clear through the mental clutter and chatter for that much quieter voice, that wisdom that lives within us, the home of "She who is not busy" to come peacefully to the surface. Also noting that when we expand our listening sense, we also aren't ruffled as much. The cars driving by are part of the music, not an interruption. I took a long soak when I got home from teaching, spoke with a friend on the phone for a bit and turned in early.

So yesterday when I woke up and went to speak and sounded like Marge Simpson, I realized my wish had been granted inadvertently. I was on retreat. Now was my time to be quiet. To listen.

As I am writing this, sirens are moving past, and moving through me, I am sending breath to their destination...

The past few days have been a strange gift of a retreat from the universe. Long walks during this glorious fall weather. A nice long soak in the bath. Flannel pajamas and sheets. A much needed respite from the phone, as no one could understand me where I to try and talk on it. Normally I teach on Wednesday nights, but had to cancel due to lack of voice, so instead I actually was able to go take a class. What an amazing experience to listen to and receive and contribute through "audiating" (or hearing sound in one's mind/consciousness) oms and chants without making any physical sound. My voice may be shifting, and there's sometimes a light cough, but my practice was deep and meaningful, and the theme... Michelle's focus for the class was remembering that we already have everything we need inside of us, the internal to the external, letting each sequence originate from within. Closing eyes during many of the asanas, and locating that internal center again and again...

I came home after a restful and rejuvenating practice and made some ginger carrot soup with orange juice and a wild rice dish with veggies. I don't always have the time for slow cooking food in my kitchen, and it was a delightful restorative process.

Through all this I have had a smile on my face, and a lilt in my step. I am enjoying not speaking. Yes I have to sing on Saturday, and I have a rehearsal tomorrow night, but for now I can be in that "retreat" mode, even in the middle of everyday life. Barbara Brennan, author of "Hands of Light" says that "Illness is a pathway back to ourselves." I identify with this phrase. Sometimes it is easy to put more layers on top of the imbalance and blame ourselves for our being sick, rather than noticing that this is a deeper opportunity to come into balance and love and nurture ourselves in thought, word and deed.

So sick or well, see how you can retreat into yourself a bit, walk the pathway back into the self.. find a respite, however brief from the world. Maybe shut off the phone for an afternoon, or even an hour. Make a date with yourself for a bath. Meditate in the music of everyday life and sounds... walking or sitting, doesn't matter. I am going to do my best as I emerge from this real world retreat, to let some of its lessons linger and resonate and continue to surface, the most important one, to take moments each day to be quiet and still.

Namaste'

The Fall

There are moments when one feels free from one's own identification with human limitations and inadequacies. At such moments one imagines that one stands on some spot of a small planet, gazing in amazement at the cold yet profoundly moving beauty of the eternal, the unfathomable; life and death flow into one, and there is neither evolution nor destiny; only Being. - Albert Einstein

Come into this moment. That's the invitation. Again and again. Simply noting when the mind runs like a wild horse into the future, or slinks into the past snail like... just find yourself present once more. Scanning breath, energy, and thought to move past those very limitations. Enjoying the roots under your feet, the sky above and the air on your skin.

We have all had those moments, however fleeting of interconnectedness, of dissolving beyond form, and feeling "at one" with our surroundings. Perhaps on a walk, or noticing the unbridled joy of a small child in a restaurant, or the rhythm in the nature around us, within us- even the symphonic dance of cars on the highway.

When that horse or snail emerge once more, we can sometimes want to cling to the moment we just had, mourn its loss, want it back, want to recapture...

Our work is to let each moment flow into the next. Letting go of needing to nail it down, capture it, save it, savor it.
That felt so good! I want to stay here! This is a pain free place, I need to keep this!

In our ecstasy of being deeply present, we are carried away again into longing and desire, knocked off the steadiness that is found between, the very act of opening sending us spiraling.

Yet another path presents itself. Let yourself go for the ride. Learn to breathe with whatever is coming next. Allow yourself to say "yes" to each and every moment. Notice where you are saying "no" and send yourself compassion and just tap in once again. No judgment, no self-criticism. Just patient, loving and tireless observation and practice.

How long must I walk the path? When will I know? When do we get there?
The walking itself is the destination.

Consider this proverb: "Life is a bridge. Cross over it, but build no house on it." When the seasons change we are thrust palpably into the transitioning, reminded of what it feels like, smells like, tastes like. Work with this flow, with its interplay on your body as we wax and wane between cool and warm weather, as the leaves dance to the ground, as all is swirling to a slower pace and circadian rhythm.

Take some time to get outdoors, to get moving, to notice the ebb and flow of floating between form and formlessness. Notice the temporary shelters we inevitably build. Give yourself permission to dismantle them as you are ready and keep moving. Again and again and again.

Hoh.

"Creativity is the Divine Order of the Universe"

I read this quote some years ago in a seminal work many creatives and aspiring creatives have come across: Julia Cameron's "The Artist's Way." A dear friend gifted me with this life changing book, which I credit for the years I have now spent as an artist and holistic health-care practitioner. For those not familiar, the full title is "The Artist's Way: The Spiritual Path Towards Discovering and Recovering Your Creative Self."

The reader commits to 12 weeks of morning pages, artist's dates and signs a contract that reads: "I,________________, commit myself to the regular use of the basic tools. For the duration of this course, I will write Morning Pages daily and will take an Artist's Date once a week. Additionally, I commit myself to excellent self-care, adequate sleep, good food, and gentle companionship." Morning pages being a half hour to 45 minutes each morning that you write whatever it is that comes to mind upon waking, part meditation, part brain-drain, clearing the form for the day ahead, but doing it each day and watching what emerges. Artist's dates a wonderfully magical time, spent by oneself, in creative transfusion playtime and sometimes pure frivolity: a time to be like a child.

Quite a contract. A nurturing one indeed. I just signed it again. Over the years I have gifted this book, that delves into the deepest parts of our hearts and psyches, exploring our blocks, freeing and identifying deep creative yearnings, and giving voice to that inner child artist within all of us, to many friends and clients. I've led a few groups through the book, guiding their journey and providing gentle and ongoing support. And as someone who considers herself a mad scientist of self-discovery, I commit to regularly embarking on similar such journeys. I have done Ms. Cameron's second book "Walking in this World," as well as "The Vein of Gold," and other similar books by wonderful authors.

Once again, I found myself encountered with a dear soul, like we all do from time to time, wondering what to do with their deep passion in an economy and time that is not exactly nurturing dreamers and artists. So I bought this friend a copy of good old "Artist's Way," and while online, Amazon, in its precient way suggested "Finding Water: The Art of Perseverance" the third book in the trilogy. How had I missed this one? Had this come just in time for me as well?

After seeing a stirring production of "Waiting for Godot" recently, I shared drinks and a beautiful night with a bunch of artist friends. Somehow the topic turned to our shared "apologies" for being artists, that we had had to find ways to justify being creative beings, that somehow that was outside the realm of "productive memebers of society." Each of us recounted our anecdotes of times we felt our work couldn't hold a candle to more serious needed professions like science and medicine. And although we knew in our hearts this wasn't true, that OF COURSE the arts were intrinsic and vital to both personal, economic and societal well-being; that American culture, despite its best intentions, make artists feel vestigial, a luxury- something for "when times are good,"

Thusly, I decided, for solidarity with my searching friend, but also to replenish the well and optimism that can run a bit dry from time to time, to embark on a journey to stoke the embers of the creative individuality that resides in us all. Add to the mix of artist's dates and morning pages, weekly walks, solitary ones, to stoke the imagination, release, take in what's around, to listen, observe, go on "walk-about,"- all that a good walk can provide.

I'll be sharing from my journey, as I renew a sacred commitment to all that is creative, and discovering new insights. Whether you consider yourself an artist or not, know that one resides within you, and see about carving some time with him or her in the weeks to come. Feel free to pick up a copy of any of the books and join in. :-) http://www.theartistsway.com/

Namaste,
Megan