Taking a bite out of life

Never eat anything bigger than your head. But if you tend to take on more than you can chew, you might take a lesson from the seagull I saw yesterday. Three starfish arms dangled from his open yellow beak, his lunch stuck mid-swallow.


First he tosses back a large purple red starfish that could do all sorts of wrestling holds on his head. Imagine gulping an octopus the size of a large pizza! A sea star isn't nearly as wily or wiggly as an octopus, but you get the picture. It goes down part way, and immediately the gull must be thinking, "Oh crap! What have I done?" Biter's remorse. We all know that bitter taste.


He tries to swallow. This thing is lodged! He tries again to stretch his neck and swallow, to no avail. To anthropomorphize, maybe embarrassment gives way to a tamped-down panic. "I'm glad none of my friends are around to see this! Just stay cool. Everything's fine. Oh crap!" We who watch this gripping drama through the binoculars start to think this amusement might turn tragic.


The seagull manages to fly to a rock close to us. Those three arms still dangle. "Should I drop it before I choke to death?" Here's a great illustration of how we all on occasion have a hard time Just Letting It Go. Well-trained dogs are smarter than us at times.


He finally lets out a cry that must be distress, and we take heart that his airway isn't totally blocked. Another gull arrives, but does not seem to have any emergency room techniques. He must have eaten already, for he shows no interest in the strange meat.


Now we start to think that the distress call was actually boasting, the gull warning off the newcomer. "Get away, it's mine. All mine!" He easily coughs up the starfish onto the rock, to our great relief.


But no, he will not let it go for even a minute. He pokes at it some more with his beak. After the starfish is tenderized or a better grip is taken, the first seagull tosses back the starfish. Again the three arms dangle. He throws his head back. He does it again and again, and by some miracle the five arms go down. His neck bulges alarmingly with that spiky fist in there.


It's like a Rohrscharch test. Is it perseverance that wins the day? Or being willing to be foolish?


Is it important to do it yourself by trial and error?


Am I taking on something with too many directions?


A friend was sobered that one mis-step could suddenly mean life or death.


I take this away: it's time to be quiet and digest the immense nourishment I've been given. Really receive it.


What do seagull and starfish say to you?

Polishing our Edges

Many of us are lone rangers longing for community, yet wary of being swallowed up by a group. I enjoy my solo time and working one-on-one with people. Yet a deep longing for belonging keeps me joining circles just to learn how to be in community.

My teaching partner Dan has concluded that every group, no matter what the stated common goal, is really about learning how to be oneself in a group. Spiritual teacher and right livelihood guide Rick Jarow goes on to say that work itself may be just an elaborate excuse for us to mend our common karma. My biodynamic craniosacral therapy teacher Gary names our group identity plainly: we as a training group are tending to traumas big and small held in our individual 'social nervous systems' and that of the group as a whole.

In other words, we need each other and we need practice. How else can we learn to communicate, cooperate, and resolve conflict?

People drawn to monastic life have their edges 'polished' by living and working in close, communal quarters. It's easy to be spiritual with your own practice and nobody around to ruffle your feathers. But we serve each other best as mirrors and teachers. What a gift when I become aware of my reaction to X's behavior. Now we're in spiritual practice! My noticing wakes me to what must be my own area of next growth and healing. I bow to X for being a perfect reflection for me.

Any well-facilitated group can be a strong, fluid container that gives breathing room for each individual and encourages cross-pollination. That's how I like to lead and hold space, and how I like to participate. I feel safe to be open and purely myself, excited to learn with the group. I get over my shyness and play well with others.

Our human frailties arise quickly in groups. Alliances are bound to happen as we are drawn to and repelled by certain others. But how do we form bonds, not cliques? Do we understand that everyone is here in this particular group for a reason? Can we enlarge our compassion, inclusion and our willingness to be with someone different? Especially if we don't like him/her? What do we do when we feel exiled? Do we hold leadership or sit back? What do we do with our judgments?

All these questions apply to our inner relationships as well. The more self-compassion we have, the easier it is to meet another openly. And the more we allow our edges to be polished in community, without losing ourselves in group think and group speak, the more we can be truly present with ourselves just as we are.

Call and Response

Always the world is calling to us with beauty, with love. Are you there? it asks. Are you alive? Do we take time to see, hear, taste, touch, smell what the world offers? If we are at least a little sentient and awake, how do we respond? We need to share our stories: Yes, I'm here. Yes, I'm alive.

My body is still resonant from a recent kirtan led by Jai Uttal and friends. We friends and strangers gather to sing and chant Hindu devotional songs. The meaning of all the songs is the same: I love Creation, Creation loves me; YAY Universe; thanks to the Gods/Goddesses. And because it is call and response, you just listen and receive this passionate music and respond with the purity of your heart. The room was alive with all kinds of voices. From afar the meditation hall must have pulsed like a giant heart.

Each round builds in energy, and the group entrains. The full-bodied ecstatic waves of energy are so wonderful to feel as air and sound travel throughout my cells. One cannot sit still. We are literally moved. The silence is full and delicious during meditation between songs. And the frogs outside harmonize with us throughout.

Yes, I'm here. Yes, I'm alive. Yes, I'm grateful. Yes, it's wonderful to be together. Out loud and in silence. Yes, this is my body. Yes, this is us.