And, in the End...

...the love you take
Is equal to the love you make.

<sup>In these final hours of 2008, it's good to recall this bit of wisdom from the Beatles. Those with whom we share moments of love and understanding are our profound mirrors and teachers. Of course, they are our friends and family, the long-term reflections of our own human frailty that we find in our lives for some strange reason. Mirrors and teachers are also fleeting strangers, like the people on the train who laughed with me about some such urban craziness. (See my 2/21/08 post.)

Where did we extend our love, forgiveness, and understanding this year? To whom? In what circumstances? How did we stretch our hearts? And what were the rewards? Conversely, where did we withhold or step back from meeting another with compassion? What did that experience give us?

My late friend Randy was fond of saying hearts break, yes, but they break OPEN to get bigger. And as we enter a new year, we can be on the lookout for how best to tend our hearts, meeting ourselves with compassion and care. When we do that, we feel safe to keep ourselves open to life and other people. So along with your resolutions, consider what shape and size you want your heart in 2009. Mine is going to be shapeshifting, but mostly roundish, so that it can roll around and play with others.

Blessings for this passing year and all the riches it has brought.</sup>

We did it!

My close family of friends started a meditation group right after 9/11/01 to allay our fears and practice peace together.  I remember Lou's intention then was to release 'against-ness'.  He wanted to let go of opposition and retaliation on a personal and global level. At last week's meditation, I expressed wonder that we'd been circling together on and off for seven years. Considering the tremendous openings for healing change in the culture, David joked, "We did it!"

And in a way we did.  Along with everyone else who took 9/11 as a call to go deeper to what's important and authentic, reach farther beyond our comfort zones, and connect with others despite differences. According to my teacher Angeles Arrien, when we use our unique gifts and talents, the Earth can heal herself. In other words, the more we humans are in balance, the less harm we do to ourselves, other beings, and our world.  

Each of us can make a unique contribution through work, service, family, relationships, creativity, healing, and spiritual practice. If you don't feel you are already contributing the way you'd like, what is stopping you? These times are calling us out to participate, so consider what you need to feel safe and supported to take baby steps forward. We need you.    

The Pause

A while back I missed my Friday morning routine of house plant watering. So my maidenhair fern, which had grown several lush arms, is now all crispy. So again I cut it back to black stubble and wait for new tender green fuzzy spirals to emerge. I have yet to nurture this plant to fullness, and yet it still comes back, as if it trusts untrustworthy me to return to this practice. 

After beating myself up about it, I see I am consistently inconsistent. I can sustain a yoga routine for a few months, then I miss a class and that's it for three years. Or only remember to take my blood pressure when my doctor's appointment is looming. Anything that is a routine routinely gets interrupted. 

But perhaps this is not a bad thing. In that time out, maybe my energies are needed elsewhere. And coming back to a practice after a break, we may be chagrined, but also refreshed and ready to commit in a way that's more fitting. After all, the point is not to become robotic and perfunctory, but to actively choose to show up.

I'm wondering if it's just me or if it's a universal human thing to break out of rhythm. The pause is a space where integration can happen naturally. My birthday today,Winter Solstice this weekend, and New Year's beyond that all say the same thing: time for another round on the great spiral of life. But they are all pause points too. Time to reflect, revisit our vision, recalibrate our trajectory. A pause to get current.  

In this winter holiday season, I hope you get a chance to slow down enough to pause and choose what's important now.

     

Z is for Zeitgeist

I've always liked the word 'zeitgeist,' meaning the spirit of the times. Some visionaries sense the zeigeist and have their finger on the pulse of what's happening now and what's needed next. Take President-elect Obama, who seems to have ridden the wave just slightly ahead of the crowd. He's not too far ahead, just clearly evoking the visionary leader in each of us that's longing to make a difference. The resonant field now offers us a new way to be as a whole, together.

In the healing arts, there's a certain zeitgeist that's been emerging for a while now. It's about human to human parity as healing partners. My intention as a healing practitioner is to collaborate and create with the inner healer of my client, making space for their own expertise about their own process. We've seen enough harm in the fixer/rescuer healer mode, what herbal medicine woman Susun Weed calls the "heroic" mode. It can be very disempowering to one identified as wounded and in need of rescue, having their own inner resources bypassed. It's just as harmful to those overidentified as the giver, the expert, if they don't see that the healing process is sacred and innate and ongoing. Something to align with and support.

   

So you might feel into what zeitgeist you're noticing in your world - could be in relationships or work or common themes in your community.  Are you aligned with the spirit of the times, holding back or running way ahead?  

Y is for YES

How do we know when we get to YES? People often say, "I just know when it's right." But what tells us this is so? As always, the body is our ally here. What we're looking for is a felt sense in the body - an image, phrase, movement, gesture, sounds, texture, sensation, emotion, any and all of these.

I once experienced that internal YES as one of those wooden ball-on-a-string toys, as if I had one inside my belly. You let the ball drop, swing it upward a little, and try to catch it with the cup in the handle you're holding. The trick is not to try too hard. When the ball lands, when it's caught itself, there's a satisfying CLICK. I experienced that sensation of things falling into their right place at the right time. That YES clicked deep in my belly. I could feel it, even almost hear it. So satisfying, content, fully present. And trusting in something beyond my trying to control the pace of things.

The shift from NO to YES is palpable. I'm paraphrasing my dear friend Howard DePorte*, a gifted mediator who says this about his clients getting to YES:

People know they've gotten to YES when they no longer feel the energy in their brain. Many people come to mediation intent on outsmarting someone, getting the advantage, winning. They sit pitched forward, ready to
do battle.

Through transformational mediation, a shift happens. People become more receptive and drop down into the heart. They often find empathy and connection with their former opponents and identify with them as fellow humans. You can actually see their shoulders relax as they sit back. Internally, they may feel more liquid and experience relief rather than resistance. With greater fluidity things move, like smiles, laughter, even tears. They tend to think better then, more creatively, because they are now thinking with the heart. Ultimately that awareness can drop even lower, from heart to belly, that other place of knowing.

*If you'd like to experience that transformation in a dispute or conflict you are having with others in your life, please contact Howard through www.pointmediation.com

So consider what felt sense let's you know it's a YES. Deciding what to eat for dinner, choosing how to spend your day off, discerning what you need to say to your colleague, making love, making art. The body will speak in different ways at different times, but it surely does speak. How do YOU know when you're at a YES?

X is for X Marks the Spot

X marks the spot. We hold a picture up at eye level on the wall, then adjust it higher or lower. We then move it laterally, until we instinctively know That's it! So we mark it, nail it, hang it. We step back and savor where and how it wanted to be all along. 

We can do right placement with objects, and we can practice it with ourselves. I moved to San Francisco somehow knowing it was the right environment for who I am and who I'm becoming. We are beings existing in space AND time, so right timing is just as important. I wrote about that some weeks back, that timing is often beyond our control. But we can try. I suspect right placement comes first, having some physical place to show up and say I am here. When we place ourselves well in space and time, with intention, life just opens up.

A friend and I are both redecorating rooms in our respective homes. Getting current by recreating our external places to match our insides. Her touchstone is that the parts and the whole should make her heart sing. This phrase and its accompanying emotions and sensations allow her to check in: Does this material's texture do it? What about that color? This style of furniture? This heart singing is an essential quality to creating a home that feels like it's really hers.  

I'm seeking to create and experience a grounded and uplifted feeling in my new healing space. That means putting in a chair rail, with a darker color below and above it all warm light and possibility. Something soft under foot, no clutter, a gauzy curtain to block out the ugly light well. The room's palette comes together, all with the sense of that grounding and uplifting.  

When placing ourselves well, we take time to check in with ourselves to find what is just right. Like Goldilocks, we assess:  too this, too that, just right. We muddle our way through by trial and error.

But how do we know we've gotten to YES?  More on that next week... 

  

W is for Wanting

It would be simple if we could just acknowledge that we want what we want.

Instead we want something and skip to the getting, as if to make the wanting itself go away. But we don't often rest in fulfillment either. We are somehow unsatisfied with the having. So we quickly find more wanting. To break this frenetic cycle, we can bring mindfulness to our wanting.

Say I have a craving for chocolate mint chip ice cream. Instead of rushing out to the corner store, I could pause as I tie my shoes and and say to the part of me that wants ice cream Yes, I know you're here. And then listen.

What do I really want? In that pause between wanting and acting, I might learn that the craving is really a longing to feel full. Hmm, curious. Just in the wondering, I find that there's more to it. Feeling full here means there'd be no space for worry about X. More curious!

So it's not about the ice cream. It's about not wanting to deal with the worry about X. This other part, this worry about X, clearly needs to be given some space of its own. So I could say Yes, here you are to that part worrying about X. I might then learn that it's trying to protect me from something bad happening. And the only way it knows how to do that is worrying. And that it wants this other outcome.

I acknowledge that wanting. Letting all the wanting be here is so powerful. And it calms down the need to take immediate action on any of them.

So acknowledging the wanting in ourselves and in parts of ourselves can open up the way to our deeper wisdom. It doesn't mean that I have to act on anything that the various parts say, unless it's good for our whole being. It is vital to validate that they want what they want, to make space for inclusion.

When a craving, a yen, a desire strikes, take some mindful time to be with it first. Let me know what unfolds.

V is for Voice

In last week's election we Americans in record numbers voiced our preference for a new direction. Choosing new leadership is just a beginning to manifesting our collective values. Mindful public policy and its skillful execution is the next challenge. In using our voice daily, not just on election day, all of us can tap the power of aligned thought and word and action.

Our words and our voice are so powerful that we can do great good or great harm with them. Mindfulness is the key. Don Miguel Ruiz's first agreement is Be impeccable with your word. Don Miguel goes on to advise: Never use the power of the word against yourself. Never repeat lies and harmful stories about yourself. Never break your word to self or others.

Notice today what non-supportive stories you tell about yourself:

"With my luck...."
"I don't know how...."
"I always...."
"I'll never...."

Notice how you do or don't use your voice when:

-You feel something's wrong.
-You see someone mistreated.
-You really want to say No, but say Yes anyway.
-It's time to ask for help.

Take care to use your voice well, to choose your thoughts, words, and actions. We all have
the power to tell our unique stories that serve our destinies.

U is for Uplifting

Within the voting booth and beyond, we are asked to choose well. The major personal and collective consideration seems to be: do we choose to act with loving intention or to react out of fear and anger? Can we be uplifted and uplifting AND stay grounded and rooted?

Visionary leaders use the power of the word to uplift and inspire people to mindful action. Imagination is so important, to dream what has not yet come into being, and to call it forth with our words and actions over time. Forty years ago the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. articulated a vision of true equality, and with Barack Obama and all of us, King's dream is taking form in an unexpected way. Obama himself has captured the imagination of many, welcoming participation with just three words: Yes, we can.

Uplifting oneself and others is not a Pollyanna, goody two shoes endeavor. Uplifting is sensing the whole, seeing the dangers, and choosing the good anyway. There's courage and rigor in choosing again and again into creative possibility. We can determine much about our lives just by where we place our attention and invest our energy.

So just notice if you spend your time and energy and thoughts on being connected, whole, uplifted or if you let yourself be bound by hopelessness and helplessness. And notice what you would prefer. You have the power to choose. In what way can you uplift yourself and someone else today?

T is for Timing

A single friend is "not looking" for a life partner. He's just living his fascinating life and staying open to finding true love along the way. He's written down every quality he prefers in a companion, so his intention is clear. Yet it's hard for him to trust his Be Happy Now policy, when he's lonely and can see nobody on the horizon. We can all sympathize with the familiar impatience and frustration of wanting, moving toward, but not yet having. 

One friend said with full trust, Oh, it's just Timing. 

Manifesting maven Rick Jarow says, "When one door closes, another opens, but all too often there is a long hallway in between." We are asked to keep the faith, act as if we already are whole because we are, and take baby steps along that long hallway. Manifesting is such a mysterious process with its own time and rhythm. 

To everything - turn, turn, turn

There is a season - turn, turn, turn

And a time for every purpose under heaven.

-lyrics by Pete Seeger, sung by The Byrds

We can be doing everything right on the way to our stated goal: clearing blocks, clarifying intention, taking daily action, receiving support. But when we're attached to a specific outcome, including a specific timetable, then we are veering away from the actual process that is happening right here, right now.

We don't even know if we're going to see the results in this lifetime. Consider Vincent Van Gogh. He only sold one painting, and yet he continues to inspire generations of artists and art lovers. Or anyone else following a life dream. Maybe the end result isn't it after all, but what we discover along the way.

Where in your life is it time to give it up to Timing?

S is for Showing Up

I'm going to help a friend pack up for a move this weekend. This is part of my m.o., showing up at a significant turning point after a long absence. Maybe it's a dramatic gesture to be just as important as the everyday reliable friends. Or it may be the healer in me responding to a cry for help. Whatever the case, I can show up for my friend it that way.

My teacher Angeles Arrien holds that Showing Up is the essential power of the Warrior, the Leader in each of us. I try to gauge how well I show up and make myself available to life. Where is it easy and where is it more of a challenge for me to be present? This year I've learned about what I prioritize based on what's been easy to commit to and where I say YES. Writing, my family, my home, certain deep friends, a new training make me say YES. And I see where it's harder to show up fully in certain aspects of my work practice and exercise routine.

The hardest thing is how often we don't show up for ourselves. Our feelings of abandonment are transformed when we can just be present and meet ourselves consciously. No fixing or healing, just meeting. I've had the great experience of being received by my own compassion in Focusing. I've felt a necessary connection made by hearing my own words and stories read to me. I've known the back and forth of therapeutic touch. My body-mind is beginning to remember how to stay rather than run off. And it feels good.

It's a lifelong process, this business of showing up. What allows you to show up - in your relationships, at work, with your creativity, with yourself?

R is for Receptivity

I was sharing with a friend a short story I'd written. She wondered how I'd come up with one particularly striking image. The truth is stranger than fiction. I pretty much wrote down exactly what I'd seen. This specificity helped ground the scene in a way, which I might never have been able to imagine. Creative people know, and we are all creative people, that a large part of our work is to live with eyes and ears open. Our receptivity and the open space we hold are essential to our capacity to synthesize and create.

When we are too full of distraction, there's nowhere for new energy to come in and stay. We become like an overflowing closet. That's when we need spring cleaning, to clear out the clutter in our minds and our internal creative space to allow the energy to flow again. This could mean literally cleaning up our writing space or art studio, sweeping the dance floor.

Or it could mean properly storing our odd thoughts, idea seeds, scraps of dialogue, or stray images. I use my laptop or my journal. Raymond Carver apparently kept his scraps in his bathrobe pocket. Jotting things down, doing sketches, playing with movement and gesture are ways to give things raw form and reassure them they can have your attention at the right time. It gives you something solid to return to.

Once those are given initial form, there's a clear arena for what wants to emerge. Again, it's listening, watching, being curious about what is going to show up. Why is it that I can trust something will come in my creating life, when the same uncertainty in other aspects of my life just makes me anxious? I think it has to do with practice. Some people, especially meditators, know about the comings and goings of ideas and energy and have a broader perspective of nonattachment.

So notice where you are receptive and where you need to clear out some space for new energy to come in.

Q is for Quality, not Quantity

I splurge in little ways to stay open and abundant. By choosing quality over quantity and taking time to savor, I give myself a greater experience of being alive and connected and present. Sometimes just a taste can open up a world.

Each step of creating an organic heirloom tomato salad can be savored. Selecting the ingredients, I can feel sense the water, earth, and sun dense in the flesh. I can smell the vines, almost feel the pricklies. At the check out counter I chat amiably with the cashier with the faded Maori chin tattoo and am grateful we have money in the bank for this and that she’s here being of kind service. In my kitchen, preparing and arranging the food I lose track of time, move efficiently and with the forehead numbness of pure intuition. In the thrall of everyday creativity.

Eating, slowly taking in this delicious fruit, is a whole mindfulness meditation. I so enjoy the natural sweetness set off by just enough salt. The golden yellow, the green stripes, and the shadowy red fill my eyes. And I laugh with my man at how outrageously good something so simple can be. How lucky we are.

A little luxury is good. Once I paid $3 for one fragrant, softball size peach in Tokyo. Totally worth the memory of peach juice in August running down my face. It didn’t cure my homesickness, but gave me a much-needed connection to the earth there.

Experimenting is good. I brought home the exotic dragonfruit to try, because I’ve never been to the dry tropical places it grows. The magenta fleshed fruit is definitely something to be eaten in appreciative company. I had the pleasure of oohing and ahhing over it with friends who’d come for Sunday brunch.

Receiving is good. The time we went housepainting up the coast, the art teacher had brought one precious truffle from her home in the south of France. Shaved finely over an angel hair pasta appetizer, it was earthy sublime.

Opt for quality over quantity and connect - to the earth and her bounty, to deep nourishment, to each other, and to the seasons. All this lived experience expands out of the relatively brief clock time needed to prepare and eat a side dish together. And that's the key, time shared. I'm convinced it is our most precious resource, how we show up awake and alive to this moment with each other. Here I’m talking about food, but for you it could be something else. Where do you choose quality over quantity?

P is for Perception

From my father I inherited the ability to see what's wrong. A pathologist, he spent most of his life in front of a microscope hunting down the cause of diseases. But I was made for the more elusive task of being Medicine and seeing beauty. It takes a lot of practice to choose moment to moment to focus and build on what's right in the world and in myself. 

On a beautiful hike yesterday I watched my mind do its habitual thing. Tree stumps and ugly military bunkers bummed me out, so that I didn't really take in the serene views of the bay and the city and the lovely sailboats. I was too busy imagining horrible things - my cat dead upon our return home, my partner mangled in a bike accident, gloom and doom. Each time I became aware of my tragic daydreams, I physically made an X in the air, a sign to the Universe that I'm not putting any more energy into manifesting those thoughts.

Try it now. Let a worst case scenario come up in your mind's eye. X it out and say 'that doesn't have to happen.' Then imagine something yummy, productive, helpful, ideal. Does it make you smile or laugh? Spend some time with that imagining and mark it with a + plus sign. Say 'thank you' for it already manifesting.

When I'm feeling grateful and open and willing to play, the world opens up with wonders. What lens are you using to perceive your world? 

O is for Openings

In a recent movement workshop, we were instructed to walk, skip, leap in whatever direction at whatever rate through the studio. I sped up. Nearing a wall, I'd push off with my hands and ricochet in another direction. Walking fast backwards, we were coached to say "thank you" if we and another collided. It didn't happen. Without knowing each others' ever changing trajectories, without disrupting my instinctive arc, I kept finding the open space to move into. I left open space in my wake for others to enter.

Why doesn't this seamless hive intelligence happen on the street? I believe it's because we often tune out our awareness of being part of a larger group. Cell phones exacerbate the situation. In individualistic driver mode, we don't necessarily look for openings, but wonder why everyone isn't getting out of our way. In our public life we don't have the same agreements or intentions as in a movement workshop.

It made me remember other larger groups, other dance spaces filled with forty or fifty people zipping across the room, nobody colliding. It's as if we were all aware of being in relationship to the whole. My small 't' taoist friend Howard often says that he follows the openings, looking for where there's already flow and movement in his life. That's what we all were doing in the larger dancing group and so the whole group body flowed.

I like that, being welcomed forward by the seemingly empty space or life openings. Opportunity knocks and we answer or we don't. Nature abhors a vacuum, so invites us to fill it momentarily by our stepping forward or leaping into it. What openings are beckoning for you? What invitations do you ignore or resist? Do you get stuck in setting your trajectory to where your way is blocked?

N is for Nourishment

I'm convinced that self-care is the Achilles heel of so many of us in the healing arts. And parents raising young ones. And teachers. And anyone dedicated to service. I'm confounded by how loving, patient, giving, accepting we can be in our daily work with others, while forgetting to extend basic nurture to ourselves. Without sustaining ourselves with consistent deep care, our work is truly unsustainable.

So in search of elusive balance, this year I've been following what nourishes me. Keeping up my own creative practice and playing well with others is vital. Yes, it's true. I am my own kindergartener! This has led me to join a writers workshop, create and teach a dreams and collage workshop with a friend, make occasional art dates, take movement exploration classes, and give myself a retreat with kindred spirits. It continues to be a year of rich inner life, which has served me well.

A nutritionist I know calls those things that most feed us 'primary nutrition.' So not just food, air, water, rest. It may be hanging with people who know you best and love you anyway. Being your sensual self. Hula hooping, old car souping up, refining your barbecue sauce recipe, learning more Italian. It could be something no one's ever heard of, yet is important to you.

How do you know what feeds you? Follow the soul longing. What would you regret not being and not doing at the end of your life? Which people, places, things inspire you? Who and what helps you feel aligned with your higher purpose, even if you don't quite know what that is?

Now that I'm tending to what's important, I'm getting a clearer sense of what is enough. I don't have to chase after every retreat or training or book or experience to complete me. I can discern and follow what nourishes me. And filling myself with my true life, I'm reaching the tipping point of naturally spilling out in generous service to others.

M is for the Great Mother

On a recent walk I passed a tall wooden fence with a bougainvillea poofing out over the top, creating a leafy roof a few inches above my head. I could not see the very top where magenta blossoms were reaching for the sun. Most people are taller than me, so I felt this as a rarely occupied place of refuge on a busy neighborhood sidewalk. I passed under it quickly, then something made me return and stand under this bushy vine's canopy.

I pulled the earbuds from my ears and turned off the MP3 player. I swept my troubles away to be recycled into more fruitful energy. That spot smelled earthy and green and the dark stillness pulsed and carressed me. My skull felt like it could breathe better, like during a Reiki treatment or craniosacral therapy. The soles of my feet spread and took root. It was being held by the energy of the Divine Mother, a strong nurturing feminine presence or the plant's calling out those qualities in me.

It could be that the boug's longing to climb up and over the fence of the front yard of the unseen house was what made it so strong a protective presence. Having reached more freedom, it could hold itself up as it spread out thickly and offered shelter. Don't we all know people like that, men and women who have climbed up through addiction or hard times to stand firm and offer a space of comfort and leadership for others? The best healers are like that, alchemizing compassionate service to others out of their own struggles to be free.

I carry the Great Mother essence in me strongly, even though I have no children. As an artist and healer it's part of my journey to know that nurture for myself and to offer it up in the form of beauty, attention, caring. No matter our sex and gender, how do we bring nurture forward in this wounded world? Even when our own personal mothers did not have what they needed to be able to offer us whole and consistent nurturing, we can learn from nature and other mothers how to share Love Medicine. We can celebrate the seeming chaotic wholeness in our ever changing lives. Just by taking a moment to feel our body as part of the greater body of the Mother, the earth, this world, this belonging.

How do you experience the Divine Mother?

L is for Luck

I was surprised to find myself engaged in deep conversation with my seat mate for the whole duration of the flight. Usually I travel in my own cocoon of solitude. Something in me recognized Wayne as an 'important stranger' and this meeting as just the Medicine I needed. Perhaps you know people like Wayne, or maybe you are like him - uplifting, grateful, blessed, curious, open, willing. Essentially happy. It's contagious - even now when I think of our unexpected meeting, I am all those things too.

Wayne told me he wakes up thinking, "Please, God, let me help just one person today." He really means it, and I felt happy to receive help arising out of his solid intention. I'd been wondering how to find a great general contractor for my parents, whose home we are de-cluttering and prepping for eventual sale. Wayne owns many rental properties in that area and highly recommends his own meticulous contractor. I gratefully took the referral.

What luck, right? I never stated the intention to find a contractor, just put it on my back burner to 'figure out' later. With natural ease a great lead found me. Just because I was open to it.

Wayne and I are kindred spirits: went to the same university years apart, and both of our career paths have led to more joyful purpose. He's inspired by his wife's courage facing cancer and looks for and thankfully receives the miracles of her healing. He passes on hope in the telling of her courage. We shared about experiences caring for parents in assisted living and how illness can strengthen family ties. We agreed that it is the greatest gift to be able to serve from contentment, joy, and satisfaction. I walked away feeling grateful and happy, offering blessings back to his wife and family.

So here's what I think about luck. Wayne, like other friends aligned with their divine life 's purpose, make their own luck with their intentions. They show up to serve others for the sheer joy of it. He seems to expect to find common ground, anticipating the discovery of just how he's already connected to a new acquaintance. A natural networker looking to serve. I've decided this is a key to my happiness, setting the intention to connect with people and being open to what connections are revealed. Finding another in the flow of giving and receiving. Let me know how luck and intention have served you. I'd love to hear your stories.

K is for kinfolk

I'm on a family visit, helping out my ailing parents find more supportive living arrangements. I could not be here and be truly of service to my mom and dad without the loving support of My People. Most immediately, I mean my beloved younger sister and her wild and wonderful husband, my brother-in-law. We plan these trips together to offer mutual support and have fun and kick ass on cleaning our family's homestead to prepare it for sale. My brother and older sister do the same, forming the elder sibs team. Not only am I lucky enough to be related by blood and by marriage to these amazing people, I also get to enjoy them as my chosen kith and kin. Friends who are also relatives are a double blessing.

What would we do without our kinfolk, those people close to us, whose souls sing with ours? When I stop to think of the circles of kin I have, it's like the water rippling out from the center of a lake, where I've cast a stone of longing for belonging.  My man, my mate, is my main anchor back home. My parents, with whom I feel closest than I ever have, are another anchor for me now.  (Perhaps it's because I'm now interested in being of service to them, rather than obsessing about what I didn't get from them when I was a young one. Surprisingly enough, I am acting like a grown up! Watch out, it may happen to the best of us!) My friends, my clients, my colleagues, my teachers, my ex-friends - all these ripples of kin surround me, support me, and I carry them all in my ever enlarging heart.  

Of course, this leads me back to my favorite theme, gratitude. I'm learning to let in the support of my kith and kin, to belong, to feel connected in the giving and receiving flow of Us. Who do you count as Your People? Make sure you let them know often that you love and appreciate them. It'll bring a smile, a tear, a heart opening laugh. Try it and let me know.

J is for Juice

It's hard to do anything when you've run out of juice. My cell phone needed a new battery, had a hard time staying recharged. We are like that, sometimes needing a brand new reservoir for our liveliness.

It's good to inquire where our juice, our life energy, our oomph really lives in us. Is it living in a far mountain cave, dodging the snow leopards? Is it so far beneath the surface it hasn't seen the sun in years? What we call depression, what indigenous people call soul loss, can feel like this. 

To retrieve parts of our soul, we can turn to the natural world, even if you're in the city.  The elements rebalance us. 

Water: drinking lots of good clean water helps you filter out the toxins of daily life and literally restores your body's flow of water in, water out. Taking mindful baths or showers washes away whatever clings to you from daily exchanges. Floating in water helps us receive the support that's always here for us. Just listening to the waves and tides retunes us to our own rhythm of gathering force and letting go. 

Earth: just feeling the physical support as you sit is enormously restorative.  Notice your feet on the ground and the chair rising to meet your bottom and your back. Rest into that contact and support. I like the image of the earth mama raising her giant palms to meet the soles of my feet with every step. If you're able, taking a walk or hike is powerfully grounding and lets us return to the divine source in us. You know how refreshing it is to eat good root vegetables, how it literally keeps us in the here and now.

Fire: being out in sunlight gives you energy, lightens your mood, dances well with your biochemistry. Being around warm and loving people, feeling our heart fire, can be incredibly healing and rejuvenating. Playing with simple creativity engages heart fire. Ritually burning what we don't need anymore is helpful, writing down habits, patterns, beliefs that are ready to be transformed and burning the paper can powerfully make space for more helpful ways of being.

Air: Tibetan Buddhist tonglen breath practice transforms our demons into allies. It goes something roughly like this: holding an image of the divine within you, breathe in something that you'd like to transform. Say it's your lifelong anger at your brother. Breathe it in, give it to say your inner Quan Yin or Jesus, then let it go on the exhale with a blessing to yourself from your inner divine. Then do it again and  breathe out a blessing to your brother. Repeat as needed, sending out blessings to your brother repeatedly and to others who come to mind. Forgive little and big things. Transforming anger makes space for fresh energy and lightness. Don't be surprised if your brother calls, just because he was thinking of you. 

These are some ways to recharge your battery and find your juice again. Let me know about your favorite ways to juice up.

I is for the big 'I'

Each of us is a vast universe, with many facets, parts, impulses. So what do we mean when we say 'I'? As in:

• I'm exhausted.
  
• I'm really upset with you right now. I'm furious!
  
• I don't know what to do, and I'm starting to panic.

Here we are talking about the small 'I,' a voice within us that is not the whole story. It's helpful to ask ourselves in those moments, "Is all of me exhausted, or is this just one part of me speaking at the moment?" Checking inward, notice where you feel the exhausted part hanging out. It helps to contain it and make it tangible. What's the physical sensation, emotion, image, sound, memory, or movement? What's it here to let you know?

Wait a minute, just who is this part going to feel safe to share with? Enter the big 'I', the most wise and compassionate self who can accept everything because it is everything. Imagine your best, most trusted person who listens so attentively and multiply by a thousand. Total acceptance, compassion, openness, curiosity, interest, engagement, spaciousness, patience, empathy. No judgment. In fact if there's judgment or impatience or snarky remarks, that's another part horning in on the action.

So often with one part arises its counterpart.  So in the case of "I'm furious!" there's the part that feels furious and perhaps another part that makes it not ok to express fury. "That's not ladylike." Or "Getting angry doesn't help." Or "What are you complaining about now?" Anything but the big 'I' conveying to this part, "So, I hear you saying that you're furious."  And waiting for more it wants to say about all that, which it will probably do because - big sigh of relief - the big 'I' is actually listening. We become totally trustworthy when we step into being the big 'I'.

The big 'I' is big enough to contain within it any internal conflicts. Our inherent wholeness, who we really are, has no reason to judge the judging parts, pick favorites, or pit one against another. If you find yourself siding with one or another, it's time to step back further, recognize yet another part that is something other than total acceptance. 

So next time the small you is suffering, see if you can step back into the big 'I' and be there with the part that is suffering. Witnessing, listening, empathizing, reflecting back what we're given, is much better than fixing. Practicing being the big 'I' gives us opportunities to experience our wholeness.

H is for Humility

I was once given a sacred instrument for prayer, rather it was bestowed upon me. The bestower jokingly said, "Earn This." If you ever saw Saving Private Ryan you know these words and their enormity. It's no joke to be deemed worthy of having a sacred thing given to you. It's overwhelming and scary sometimes. It's daunting to consider how you could possibly live up to the expectation of being/doing enough to carry the gift forward. Truly humbling.

The parent given a child to raise, the artist with her gift, the one who fears his own power. All humbled. Do we/they have the courage to know our worth and embody it?

This life is so big, deep, vast, wide, and graced. Do you ever list everything in your life that is good? Do you pray?
You can spend a lot a lot a lot of time in prayer just saying thanks, which is something I used to do with the aforementioned sacred instrument. In the end, you have to say "and thanks for everyone and everything else in my heart." It is humbling to recognize the immensity of our hearts and all that touches us. The word 'humble' is related to 'human' and 'humus.' Bringing you to your knees, prostrate even, down to earth. Close to all the people, places, things that hold you up.

Recently I came up against this familiar painful sense of not feeling worthy of all the amazingness in my life. I heard a little voice in me agree that you can never do enough. This overwhelming fear of failing has been sitting on my joy for a while. YOU CAN NEVER DO ENOUGH. Hearing this was sobering, it was the bald truth, and I felt the meditation bell moment of accepting it. And then in the face of that truth, the little voice went on to say: BUT YOU CAN TRY.

It reminds me of TaKeTiNa, a fun and challenging whole body learning through rhythm. TaKeTiNa is about community, call and response, bicameral brain coordination, stress reduction, and many other things. But the whole point in learning these increasingly complex polyrhythms the indigenous way is this: you are bound to fail, to fall out of rhythm. It's human, humbling.

The trick is to let yourself fail and fall out. By listening and going back to the basics, your bodymind is caught up by the group, and you fall back into rhythm again. The being out of sync and being exactly on the beat have their own rhythm. Your unique pulse of learning and integrating. It is bliss to be completely at one with others in song, motion, blood and bones in joy. And can you be kind to yourself, laugh at yourself when you're thinking and thus falling out?

What humbles you?

G is for Go

A friend of mine likes to remind himself about pacing: Slow, Flow, and Go. It's a good teaching for me to come back to exactly where I am right now, before I go rushing off ungrounded.

Slowing down to acknowledge how things are with you now is a kind of gentleness towards yourself. Yesterday in a movement exploration class I found myself trying to do things right, pushing, going too fast. Working way too hard to try to get into ease and flow. But pressure brings constriction, the opposite of flow.

I wasn't giving myself time to rest in the physical support that was there. The floor meeting my hand, the chair holding up my hip, the breath and sounds that help extend and suspend the limbs. I couldn't feel any of that, just frustration. I wasn't letting myself rest in what did feel good and nourishing. I was missing the moment.

So that's the pushing the river. On the other hand is inertia, forgetting there's always one step we can take. We can get self-indulgent, fall into our helplessness and hopelessness. Sometimes the best action we can take is grounding in the body and be present with what's here, even if it's terrible pain and discomfort. Can we just stand it, since it too is part of us? Making effort for the good is honoring where you are right now and supporting where you want to be.

We've all had enough practice bulldozing our way through what we call resistance, with mixed results. What if we could just take a moment to be really present and notice what is here and what is needed next? So where do you Slow, Flow, and Go? And where are you stuck?

E is for Emptiness, F is for Fullness

Facing the blank canvas, the big nothing can be terrifying. In a culture that prizes mastery over the Mystery, experiencing emptiness can make us truly uncomfortable. Other cultures make room for emptiness. Think about zen gardens, where the 'negative' space hums in relation to the rocks and trees. Consider the Navajo people who view their land, not as mesas lost in vast areas of nothing, but large potent areas delineated by land formations. The interval or what's in between is full of possibility.

In our lives when it seems like nothing is happening, the Mystery is moving. It might not be apparent, like a stream that goes underground for a span, then emerges where we're not looking. How do we hang out with the Emptiness?

Can we be thankful for the letting go, the making room for what comes next?

Fullness is a fearful tendency in our culture. We fill our homes with stuff, we fill our bodies with stuff, we fill our days with activity. When there's no discernment about what is enough, we over-consume and take on too much. People who want a relationship are sometimes so busy avoiding being lonely that they forget to make room for another person to enter.

There is another sense of fullness, the image of a cup spilling over. To be filled with so much joy that it has to be shared, or so much sorrow that it naturally moves out with tears. Our body-minds know how to self-regulate if we pay attention.

Where are you on the spectrum of emptiness to fullness?

D is for Dedicating Merit

Somewhere along the way I learned to Dedicate the Merit. Dedicating Merit is a practice of generosity, connection, and blessing. Buddhist in origin, it's about making effort for the good, and offering the benefits of that effort to others.

I used to be part of a sound healing collective, where we'd take turns doing improvised ceremonial healings for each other, using shamanic voice and all kinds of instruments. Wonderful compositions were created uniquely for each person. We each received the benefit of this vibrational restoration. And at the closing circle we always named those to whom we wanted to send the benefit of these healings. Some people would direct this extra goodness to loved ones or the earth or people they were struggling with.

Dedicating merit can be an everyday act. All the effort of my climbing hills and stairways in my neighborhood this morning generated the merit of a healthier body, more energy, clearer mind. I receive that for myself AND dedicate the merit to those who are not able to take such walks, like my friend recovering from ankle surgery. I dedicate the merit and give it out to her and those unable to enjoy the yellow monarch butterfly, the beautiful unknown plants, the friendly dogs and their people, the heatwave. And the way the ground rises to meet me tired feet.

What merit would you like to dedicate today? And to whom?

C is for Commitment

I wear two simple silver rings. On my left hand is a ring with a medicine wheel on it, to remind me to return to the sacred center even while traveling through the cycles of life. It reminds me of my wedding ceremony with all the celebrants in a sacred circle. In each cardinal direction sat representatives of the distinct life phases on the medicine wheel. I remember the red, round altar of candles on the floor, with our tobacco prayer ties spiraling out from the center, lit by our wedding participants' candles.

On my right hand is a spoon ring, with one end a spiral for water. Traveling along the ring, there's a sunburst for fire, smooth space for air, and finally markings that feel like seeds, plants, and earth. I remember nature and the vital forces within and outside of me.

Both rings remind me of commitment. It is a challenge to balance commitment to my sacred marriage and commitment to my sacred work. And really they are the same, to stay connected to what is truly important - the sacred and how it manifests in all I set sacred intention to. When I forget to wear them, my hands feel naked and vulnerable.

What reminds you of your commitments?

B is for Being With What Is

The core of many spiritual practices is learning to BE WITH WHAT IS. Some call it acceptance or surrender or letting go of our attachment to how we want things to be. When life's big challenges loom large, it takes courage to show up and stay present with whatever vexes us.

As a big fan of Focusing, I am learning to sit with It. Stepping into Presence allows me to be with anything that comes up and wants my attention. By maintaining the compassionate, open, and curious stance of my most loving and wise Self, I can really hear Its concerns and extend empathy. Often just being heard allows this something to relax or shift.


The story goes that Tibetan saint Milarepa invited the demons of anger, greed, fear to come into his meditation cave and have tea. The point is to make space for what's here anyway, to invite it to be here in a more compassionate space. By being with what is, we get to stop fighting ourselves. And that is one way to see and bring beauty into the world.


For more info, see www.FocusingResources.com

A is for Absorption

Jumping back on the runaway horse of my blog, I want to write about absorption.

I recently had the chance to play with my one-year old friend Kaia. She's just finding her legs, enjoying her rootedness in standing and walking/falling with first steps. The moments of being with her while she crawled, sat, climbed, clambered, and stood in a little rocking chair totally absorbed me. It took my full awareness and responsiveness to prevent her from taking a dive, and yet I gave her lots of room to explore.

In describing this to other friends, they reflected back that I am that way with clients and with friends in deep discussion. I'm a 'spotter,' one said. It's like a dance. I move with, providing contact and/or supportive space for what wants to happen next.

In this absorption I can easily lose track of time and sense of separation. Being in that creative, responsive flow, being in the zone, is being one with another. In those moments I'm fully alive and bring that aliveness and trust in the process to another.

How do you experience absorption?

Next entry starts with a 'B'

Pregnant Pause

This spring has left me exhausted and preoccupied by the generational shift. My parents are going into assisted living, and we siblings need to take care of them now. My routine, such as it is, has fallen apart. This is a good thing, an opportunity to get current with how I want to be as a grown up and master of my fate.

The pregnant pause, I've been calling it. This falling out of rhythm to fall back in. Athletes course correct and it happens minutely every time you turn the steering wheel of your life. It's usually asking me to show up for my life and giving me an opening to do so. In journaling, Focusing, and other deep inquiry, I'm making a loose net bag to gather and carry the jumble of my life.


PS: On my street the Ruby Slippers I wrote about in the spring have run off, but same-sex weddings are here to stay. Not that marriage is for everyone, but civil rights certainly are.

A Valentine for Orange Man

We were riveted by you as we rode home on BART on Valentine's Day. You gave us color therapy and laughing yoga, made the whole train car laugh. You were way better than a box of chocolates, although perhaps equally nutty.

We couldn't overlook you, a tall muscled man in bright ORANGE nylon piped shorts and matching hoodie, orange translucent knee socks, and your bright orange backpack. The tennis racket's handle stuck out with faded pink tape. You came bopping into the center of our train car, your hood barely containing your oversize earphones and permed poodle hair.

Who wouldn't love you, a tall, athletic secret Asian man. With your zebra skateboard and unbounding energy. You were kung fu-ing, boxing, and jiving all by yourself in the open space by the train doors. The tall talmudic Berkeley cyclist next to you lowered his head to get out of your way or not be laughing in your face. The dressed to the nines daters across the aisle ducked their heads and guffawed into their hands. We all wondered if you were part of the Jamie Kennedy experience or some other hidden camera deal.

My love & I watched you openly, artists appreciating your bravado, brio, and brawn. You did pull ups on the hang-on-don't-fall-over bar, and push ups with your orange butt and too much information in the air. The man in the seat ahead of us held his phone out to capture your solo, but I haven't found you on YouTube yet.

Orange Man, you lit up our night. At West Oakland, my love asked the spirits to watch over you as you picked up your board and exited. You didn't hear when I started the big round of applause as the train sped on. Some might have been laughing at you in judgment. But we felt the relief of being human, together. Appreciating that still, some people know how to let their freak flag fly. Go Orange!

Ruby Slipper Stories

I live in the Castro in the heart of San Francisco, a neighborhood rooted in gay liberation. My heart soars every time I see the pair of small ruby slippers that sparkle in mid air, dangling from the telephone wire crossing my street. No stinky old sneakers for us! Some kind person with good aim rocketed them there last year.

The ruby slippers remind us in the age of increasing gentrification: honor the soul of this place. Remember refuge and belonging. Never give up the freedom to live out loud. Make room for others’ authenticity. Enjoy the humble magic in being who you truly are. Those we lost to AIDS, our too young Ancestors, say there’s no time to waste.

We need stories like water, like air. The Wizard of Oz and The Red Shoes both tell the tale of the soul’s longing for an authentic life. You’ve never seen the Wizard of Oz until you’ve seen it in the grand Castro Theater, among costumed audience members who shout out their favorite lines. Who doesn’t identify with Dorothy’s desperate search for home? In The Red Shoes the poor little girl ‘rescued’ by the rich old lady desires only her tattered handmade slippers. She becomes obsessed trying to recapture what came from her own heart and soul.

There’s no place like home. I’ve found it here among my Tales of the City diversified family. I’ve also found my heart, my mind, and my courage. I even work in the neighborhood, where director Gus Van Sant and team are filming Harvey Milk’s story. He was the first openly gay city supervisor, who was later assassinated along with Mayor George Moscone in 1978. A new generation of people, for whom sexual identity is not a big deal, need to know that this current openness came from a continuing long struggle to transcend fear. We need Harvey’s story and his guiding wisdom as an Ancestor, to keep inviting people to be who they are.

Water of life

Today our toilet was blowing steam from beneath the closed lid, the tank having mysteriously filled with hot hot hot water and sending out burnt vapor. It sounded and looked like a hell mouth opening up!

It gave me a chance to remember that we are all connected in this building: us tenants, our contractor landlord and his errant knight plumber, and the downstairs ceramic artists who alchemize out of earth, water, air, and fire. We take for granted that most of the time healthy veins and arteries keep things moving in our dear 1870's building.

Recently an oil tanker ran into the Bay Bridge, causing a nasty spill into San Francisco Bay and our coastal waters. People came out in droves to rescue oiled birds and clean up beaches they love so much. Feeling spurred people to action.

Hillary Clinton notably showed great emotion in New Hampshire the other day. For someone so controlled and often sharp edged, she revealed her human frailty by speaking from the heart and nearly crying. That has been the demise of other politicians, but letting people see her real, unscripted self won her some votes.

And here winter rainstorms and high winds have conspired to uproot our trees, wash away embankments, and keep some of us in the dark while PG & E wires us up again. What are we taking for granted in our fast lives? For some, candle light means we talk close and get enough sleep. For others, it's a reminder that technology is one thing, forces of nature another.

Thanks to the water for teaching me about the flow of emotion, how it needs to be released at regular intervals.