Vajraland: A Yogini's Dream Journal

writing

2008-07-10T07:12:00.000-07:00

I was writing a PhD thesis. I needed help getting information. I kept asking, people, everyone about things: the meaning of words, what are the meaning of these words? I was lost.

I could only get to page 64. I was singing a song about only being able to write to page 64. I had done this before. Only gotten this far and then given up.

I'm relying on my friend Quint to bring me something important. A disk with a draft of the thesis. I left it someplace and he has to bring it to me. I'm very anxious about it.

Now, a friend is selling a house. I used to live here, across the street from this house. I come to see it. I'm surprised, they have left everything in the house. It is a huge mess. I wonder if the real estate person will clean it up. I go in to look around. There was a passage way up through th back rooms before. A place you could climb into where there were hidden rooms dug into the dirt. The wall where the hole was has been adobed so the hidden rooms cannot be found any more. I tell the real estate agent about them, I think she should know they are there, in the walls of this house.

overdue assignments

2008-07-06T09:04:00.000-07:00

I'm in college. My dorm room is basically a closet with a bench. I need to get my assignments in order. I know I have projects that are due, or overdue but I don't know what they are. First I think I should start on one of my projects, but then I realize it would be better just to go through all my syllabi and find out what is due when. But I can't even get the stuff together to get started. I'm rummageing about to find my books. I fall asleep. I help someone try to climb up on a box. I keep getting distracted. A boat comes up to the edge of the building. They are taunting me. Asking me to guess who they have trapped inside. I don't want to play this game, but I know it is probably my son. Some how I trick them into letting Summer out of the boat. They are angry, but I get Summer to swim up to shore and I start spraying them with gatorade to make them go away.

playa legoland

2008-07-04T07:40:00.000-07:00

We're headed out to the burning man playa, to see how it is. It is only one week before the burn, but everything is very wet. There are huge channels and sand bridges that you have to cross to get there. It is a very dangerous crossing. We think we can't go any farther, but one of my traveling mates had designed a self creating lego bridge that gets us over the water. I know that they won't be able to pull off burning man this year because of the water. I want to go home and report to others on computer lists. But the BM Org doesn't want us to and they capture us in a hotel. The lego man is magical. He keeps doing tricks that get us out of our entrapment. But I never get home. I'm lost out on the playa now.

snippets

2008-06-30T07:41:00.000-07:00

1) I realize that I want to be teach yoga until I'm 70 or older. In the dream I think that I need to change what I am doing so that I don't wear my body out.

2) I'm a young single mom and the boys are very young. I have 3 sons in this dream. I am going to be in a play and I can bring the boys with me. That is good. We are out to eat with another person who will be in the play. She need to ask one of the service people to join the play. We have a long talk about our relationships with the different service people. We need someone who is a native spanish speaker. I tell her about the man who I enjoy talking too. I put Gabe on a swing in the restaurant. I have the seat bottom to the swing. I took it with me yesterday because I wanted to have it for him today. Someone at the restaurant gets very angry at me for taking it away. I act naive.

3) A friend that Jay travels with has sent him a very dear love note. Jay asks me if I received it as well. No, I didn't. I realize that the friend is flirting with Jay. The note is a long story about how close there are from having traveled together so much. About the bonding that occurs from travel.

4) I'm traveling through a boundary country. Living on the boundary. There is freedom here between places. I'm neither one or the other. There is a giant waterfall and a castle in the desert.

suitcase

2008-06-29T12:03:00.000-07:00

I'm traveling. I open my suitcase to get clean clothing and I only have my purple studio tshirts. Many of them, but all the same.

hair

2008-06-26T07:30:00.000-07:00

I'm a stowaway in a large corporation. I'm working here to survive. But I'm hiding and perhaps stealing my food and goods. I'm found out. I'm taken to the boss. He is a big man, mean, gnarly, a braggart. He brags about how much work he does, but I know he is claiming the work of his subordinates. But he doesn't punish or hurt me, so I am relieved. I continue to work. He steals hair from my hairbrush. When he goes to take more I have cleaned out the hair brush and he doesn't like this. He wants 200 hairs from me. He plans to weave them into something. Flatters me to get them. I realize that if I give him my hair he will have power over me. I can't let him have the hair. I have to figure out how to get out of here.

The Math Teacher

2008-06-25T07:44:00.000-07:00

I’ve got to take a math test. My teacher has fled. He set up the test for us and then disappeared. He is a subversive, a terrorist, hiding from the law People are waiting to arrest him when he returns. He’ll be back at 4pm on Friday.

I take the first two parts of the test. They are very easy. I am surprised. They are nothing like what I expected. I walk through an area that is set up with riddles and puzzles. That is the first part of the test. They are simple to solve. The second part is even easier. So after taking these two parts I go off to do something else. I almost forget to return. But I still have the third part of the test to take.

It is Friday at 3pm, dam. I run in to take the rest of the test. I realize that this part isn’t easy. There are tanks full of marine animals. Fish, starfish, turtles, all kinds of different critters. At the end there are some complicated equations about temperature. I realize this is a very difficult equation to solve. I run out to find paper. I’m in a flurry. I only have 10 minutes to finish the test. Police and military people are every where anticipating the math teachers return. They have closed off the room now and they won’t let me back in.

I scribble something on the paper, more an excuse than an answer. My teacher is arrested but I manage to get in to see him. They are going to let him grade our and then arrest him. I tell him what happened and he just laughs, tells me not too worry, then he jumps off a pier into the ocean and swims away.

the man without a nose

2008-06-24T07:05:00.000-07:00

He showed up in a number of dreams. A man older that me missing his nose. I was afraid of him. He was stalking me. I tried to stay far enough away that he never could actually speak to me. At some point he lived in a home across the street from mine. A big fancy home. I had left books outside of my house for someone to pick up. Someone took a few of the books and moved the rest to his house. The person who was to come for the rest of the books never did because they couldn't find them. I walked the street trying to text her to tell her where the books were, but there was the man and I had to move away to avoid him. Now I'm in a crowd, a big meeting of people. They are working to repair the flooded streets. But I know they will always be living in a bog. I want to get away from this place.

Now there is an old tired man walking down the street. Speaking nonsense. His mind is lost. And finally he dies. I'm still a little scared of him, but I don't know he is the man without a nose until after he is dead. Someone tells me his story. Why he is connected to me. Why he is always there seeking me out but never quite approaching me. I am sad at the end. I should have talked to him and heard his story.

spears and rubberbands

2008-06-20T07:48:00.000-07:00

snippet: I'm on a journey. I've stepped on something hard. It is sticking out of the bottom of my left foot, on the medial front side of the heal. At first it is too deep to reach and I walk on it with pain. But with time it begins to emerge. I pull it out, it is a 4 inch long agave spear.

snippet 2: I'm riding my bike up a long paved hill. I ride past my son and a group of his friends. I hope they don't see me. I don't want to stop. When I get beyond them I hear them calling after me. And then I see that my tires are all wound up in a rubber band and I can't ride any farther. I have to stop.

snippet 3: I've been postering at the University. Putting up Yoga posters. I put one in the earth science library. They are getting ready for a big talk. Heidi calls and wants to go for a walk. I am wearing the wrong shoes, so I can't do that.

back in school

2008-06-19T07:31:00.001-07:00

I’ve sent In my application to Berkeley. It is the day that classes are to start but I never got anything back from them. Gabe has enrolled too. Neither of us know if we are in or not. We just go. Gabe is busy with something, so I go to the registrars to find out. She says that yes, we are in, we were the very last files and she apologized for not getting them to us. I pick up our schedules. I’m enrolled in art school now. I’m very happy. I spend the rest of the day trying to find a place to live and find my classes. I don’t have any money and I don’t know how I’ll earn money. I can live on beans if I need to, better than ramen. I am meeting with a friend, trying to work out what class I need to be in. The package of stuff the registrar gave me is very confusing. Some of my classes begin a midnight, but those don’t start until the following week. My friend tells me that is how the art school is. Mathematicians have classes during the day, artists at night. I have my string bag from Peru that I am using to carry my stuff. I discovery that I have lost my blackberry. My friend is very concerned for me, but I am very happy. I begin to sing a song about being on the road to happiness.

Summer Reading

2008-06-17T07:51:00.000-07:00

My son is getting out of school for the summer. The teachers have assigned summer reading packages. I go by his geography teacher's classroom and there is a large packet of books, college textbooks and technical economics papers. I want to protest, this is too much for an 11 year old to read. But I don't say anything.

Later I go to see another one of his teachers. I tell him it is too much, but he says I should look at the stuff, it is really okay.

My two sons are sleeping at his home. Summer is in a funny bunkbed. The teacher has left some markings on the floor of my house that are an invitation for me to come over as well. I sneak into the house to see the boys. And then I am supposed to be there and we are gathering items for a garage sale. The boys have toys then can offer to the sale.

During the sale I take the boys and a friend to McDonalds, I have to get them out of this place.

The dream is a mix of repulsion and attraction. We keep getting pulled back to the charismatic teacher and we keep being repulsed by unexpected conditions.

Volcano

2008-06-15T07:57:00.000-07:00

I'm on a boat with Michael and Rachael. They have been on a research cruise. Scuba diving in wild places. I don't get to go scuba diving. But I get to go explore islands with them. We arrive on a small island nation and are greeted by an official. We have to pay to be here. We don't have any money. He asks us how we will pay and I tell him we can get money from an atm. He takes us into the capital building. We hand him our cards and he asks how much money we each want. There is confusion around cards and money. We ask the name of the island. At first he seems to be calling this place Oceanology, but then I realize the name is Aunqueology: the study of although.

We recieve money in Italian Lires and now we are ready to go explore. The guide leads us up a hill. He asks me why I am here. First I give him an answer that doesn't make sense. The work I do can't be studied here. Then I say that I was once Micheal's PhD adviser and that I am here to visit. Michael looks very proud and the man is happy.

We come to the top of a volcano. I am surprised. I thought the island was flat. It is lush and green and overgrown. There are numerous small ponds filled with sediment and overgrown. Perfect for Michael's research. I congratulate him.

I woke up this morning repeating the word Aunque, Aunqueology in my mind.

country fair

2008-06-13T08:15:00.000-07:00

I'm supposed to be in a parade. My friend David and I are going to dance a contact improv piece in the parade. We're supposed to meet at 7:15, but when I get there the parade has already passed and I have missed my opportunity. I wander off disappointed.

I go to get food. There is a another man there I know. He has a baby with him, a three year old. A very big child but still developmentally an infant. He carries the baby around and dances with her. I am alternately attracted and repulsed by them.

I'm lost. I'm walking through this place lost looking for home. I've been dancing. I can feel the lovely presence in my flesh. I'm high on the dancing. But I need to get back to my camp. I'm wandering through this place confused. When I come out to open space a man says "I got you this far, you'll have to go the rest of the way on your own." I'm surprised and grateful. I didn't realize that he was helping me.

I can see Kidsville, my home, marked by a balloon bridge. I start heading towards Kidsville. I have to cross a wasteland of sand dunes and muddy bogs. I start trying to walk across the bog but realize that I won't make it across. The land is not stable enough, my feet keep sinking into the mud. So I turn back and head toward the sand dunes. I realize that I have gotten turned around. I'm not sure If I am still walking the same direction. I look around, walk around in circles trying to locate myself. Finally I recognize a place that I think is the opposite direction of kidsville from where I am. I turn around and start walking the other way.

altered clothing

2008-06-12T08:07:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to get dressed. I get out one of my favorite yoga tops to wear. But it is cut too short, too tight. I don't remember making this. The one I made was long and loose. Did I make this from the extra fabric? That must be it. I dig in my drawer looking for my favorite top but I cannot find it.

The Bosses

2008-06-11T07:57:00.000-07:00

I'm working. I have to move through crowds. We have been told that white people are not allowed to touch people of other races. People who break the rule are eviscerated, stomachs sliced open. It seems nearly impossible to achieve as we walk through crowds. And I personally don't know how to do this. The bosses think I'm white but I am really bi-racial. Touched inside by more than one race. Do I hide? What do I do? When they find out I am bi-racial what will the do to me?

Then we have to walk through a very crowded area. Most of the people on the street are Asian. It is like a crowded bus station with everyone bustling into one another. They are all wearing white shirts. I can't do this.

Then the bosses come, and they tell us that it is now okay to touch someone of another race, but that the white person must clearly be in charge. The person of color must abdicate power to the white person. I still don't know what to do, how to be, as a bi-racial person.

Other dream images from last night: carrying messages, looking for messages, mastiff dogs, bicycles, crossing rivers

Nurse of the Heart

2008-06-10T08:32:00.000-07:00

I'm working a friend. She is variously my childhood friend Nancy or a more recent acquaintance Kristi. She needs help. She needs me every day. I listen to her with a very detached presence. I just listen. I give her nothing of my self. Someone comments on how I keep myself separate and I know that it is the only thing I can do in the circumstances. I hear that Kristi is suicidal, threatening to kill herself. I just listen with the same detached thoughts. I cannot get pulled into this.

I'm walking through a locker room. I want to practice yoga. I don't have access to the gym, but if I can find a pair of shoes that fit here I can go in. I'm not supposed to go in, I'm looking to borrow shoes that won't be missed. All of the clothing is on hangers with names and plaques that tell something about the person. I can't bring myself to take them. The hooks I could use are all empty.

I'm ready to leave this place and someone is coming in as I turn to leave. They say to me "you look like a nurse." I laugh and say "nurse of the heart" as I leave the locker room.

forgotten luggage

2008-06-09T07:56:00.000-07:00

I'm on a train journey with my childhood friend Nancy (a childhood friend). We need to make a connection to another train. Suddenly I realize that tonight is the night we have to get off of the train. I frantically gather my luggage, my things together. We have a small suite on the train and I have to pay like I am checking out of a hotel. This hotel is familiar. As I write this I remember that I have stayed here before, but that the hotel is on the side of a mountain in another dream.

So, I go to the counter and find out how much we owe. I go to the atm to get cash and return and pay off the bill. Now I really have to hurry to get my stuff together. When I return to our room I see that Nancy has already packed my things. I only need to get my sleeping bag, pad and other sleeping gear together. Done. And were at the station and we get off the train without a hitch. Now we are in a small village purchasing tickets for the next train. As we are getting ready to check our baggage I realize that I have left all my stuff that Nancy packed for me on the other train. It is all my clothing, everything besides my sleeping gear. My sweaters we're hanging to dry.

When does our connection train leave? Not until 2:30. I can get a taxi to take me to the original trains journey to get my stuff. I leave the train station and try to ask a child how to get a taxi. I mangle the Spanish and the boys starts laughing at me. I switch to English and I am surprised that the boy speaks perfect English. We're in Trujillo, Peru. I realize I know this place. He tells me to walk down 10 to 20 blocks there will be lots of taxis. "Which cross street?" He doesn't know. "Down by the Hotel de Turistas?" "Maybe, sometimes you can get a taxi there. Just walk down 10 to 20 blocks, you'll find one."

13 Thank Yous

Dreams from the other side

2007-04-12T15:34:00.000-07:00

I’m with my old friend Peter Cerda. Peter died about 17 years ago from AIDs. Peter has come to see me from ‘the other side.’ It is wonderful to see him again. I ask him what life is like over there. He says “I only got to the third level because I held onto too much pain and fear.” I asked “How do you get farther?” and he replied “Faith, but not faith like you usually think of it.” And then Peter gave me a letter to read that was about taking risks, stepping out, not letting fear stop me from following my bliss. The letter said that is how I will make it to the higher levels of heaven.

I wrote this dream down first thing when I awoke last Monday. I keep wishing I had the letter. I keep asking to see it again as I fall asleep. I’ll write more if it comes back to me.

And the dream has given me faith. I have enough. All I need to do is be myself, fully and completely. That is the highest level of heaven, accessible right here, right now.

Kosas: Yoga Bodies

2007-04-02T10:27:00.000-07:00

The physical body Annamaya Kosa: we move around in this. Our physical body is our form, our flesh, our blood and bone. It is the vehicle with which we experience life. It is our own personal temple. The physical body has its own intelligence and awareness. It speaks to us in sensation: pleasure, pain, cold, hot rather than words. The physical body speaks loudly, adamantly. The needs and desire of the physical body are strong drivers of action.

The intellectual body Vijnanamaya Kosa: our thoughts and ruminations. Writing these essays is an act of my intellectual body. The intellectual body desires puzzles, stimulation, and mental activity. It enjoys beauty and is yet called to the underside of life as well. The intellectual body is engaged at the computer screen.

The emotional body, Manomayo Kosa: our response to relationships. The yearnings of the heart come from our emotional body: love, joy, anger, jealousy, loneliness. The emotional body is is activated in interactions with others and the feelings that arise from those interactions, or from the lack of interactions.

The energy body, Pranamaya Kosa: our chi, prana, joie de vivre. The energy body provides the umph that gets us out of bed in the morning. The energy body provides the fuel of passion to ignite the physical, intellectual and emotional bodies. Lack of prana can lead to depression, exhaustion, illness.

The divine body Anandamaya Kosa: the spark of life at our center. The part of us that knows we are part of something greater than ourselves. The divine body experiences bliss and awe at existence: enlightenment. When we find balance between the other bodies we can bring the divine body forward into our awareness. We can let the light shine for all to see and we can see the spark in everyone around us.

Yoga means to yoke. Yoga is a practice designed to bring the bodies together into resonance. From this resonance comes a deep glow of grace.

towers

2007-03-07T21:48:00.000-08:00

towers, I have been dreaming of towers lately:

1) a tower with a crowded narrow, winding wooden staircase. Summer (my son) and I struggled through crowds of people so that we could get to the top of the tower and look out. We never made it to the view. We were sitting just below the area where you could see. I think we wanted to see a football game. I was frustrated that each time a seat opened it would disappear before we could get there and see.
2) a radio tower. I just remember waking up and that thinking that I had been trying to stop the transition from a radio tower and that the dream had to do with my stopping speaking untruths.
3) a tower like at a castle where a crazy person is kept. I have to go up the tower to take care of this person. getting up there is a lot of work, lots of obstacles. when i make it up there is nothing for me to do. yes, there is a crazy person in the tower, but she can take care of herself.
4) my brother lives in a high tower of a building in NYC. It is very complicated finding his apartment, complicated stairs and doors and directions. i finally make it up to his loft only to find out that he has to move and we have to take his stuff away.

there have been others, i don't remember them all. then i pulled the tower card at tarot reading. although it was once a common card for me, i haven't pulled it in years.

something must be growing out of ashes

Understanding

2007-02-25T21:57:00.000-08:00

If there is no greater purpose to serve (i.e. no God, no afterlife) then I am fully responsible to the present moment, to creating in this moment the world in which I want to live. I acknowledge that my actions have power. I could turn this philosophy to hedonism, but hedonism is empty and leaves me continuously hungry. Turning my responsibility to the present beyond myself, engaging my power, leaves me filled and satisfied. If there is a God, an afterlife, it is a bonus. I've lived a life worthy of the afterlife but lived it for the present moment.

experience this moment

2006-10-21T07:36:00.000-07:00

i touch the keyboard and think about writing something, what?
i can feel the keys with the pads of my fingers
my feet are cold
it is very quiet on this Saturday morning
until a motorcycle rides by the house
then the tea pot clicks off and i know that the water is hot
i close my eyes, feel the keyboard, feel my breath

are these tiny pieces of direct experience? no these are words, labels,
describing the moment rather than experiencing the moment

can i find the experience under my description?
perhaps it is time for a risk, taking me full force into the present
I'll jump into the now when I leap onto your shoulder

or maybe i'll stop writing now and simply
feel my fingers on the keyboard and the cool air on my feet
notice the movement of my breath
go make myself a cup of tea

the first and last question

2006-10-19T06:58:00.000-07:00

breath into my center and ask the very first question:
who am I?

breathe, breath, sigh, tone, vibrate from the depth of my self,
try everything and hope for an answer

the question repeats itself over and over, in every tradition the
teachers ask, the teachers purport to tell us

and the center is empty still, there is no answer in the center,
there is no there there

monkey mind fills the emptiness: to-do lists, worries, money, sex,
without the voice of desire, is anyone there?

it is empty, a great still darkness, a place to sit alone
with the great resonance, rattling and shaking me out of the center

i yearn for an empty place, for silence and stillness
i have finally found an empty place i can return to

at least for today, i am not afraid
of the emptiness, stillness, darkness

at least for today i awake and want to venture into that place
but there I am, in desiring i am pulled away from the place i desire

i awake and i desire: touch, coffee, voice, lover, shower
i awake and i desire: dust on my skin, heat, dance, sweat

are these callings from my center, or from my distraction
does it even matter, is there a difference?

good or bad, black or white, dark or light, duality strikes again
can i finally set myself free to dance naked in the center of the street?

my designs

2006-09-13T16:27:00.000-07:00

This is Hannah and Sebastion modeling my men's sarong, tutu, and 70's halter top. All fashioned from used grocery store plastic bags.

Here is Ayano wearing a hat of used grocery store bags emblished with goodwill plastic flowers.

daytime dancing

2006-09-13T16:25:00.000-07:00

Shadow dancing at Uchronia

2006-09-12T22:32:00.000-07:00

fulcrum

2006-09-08T15:58:00.000-07:00

Close your eyes and notice the sounds around you
Notice your desiring body
Notice your satiated body
Notice the pull of desire, where does it take you?
Notice the resistence of inertia, where is it keeping you now?

I move in silence in a hall created from the future:
a Belgian Temple, a Belgian Waffle, a Furnace, an Arc
A hall of two-by-fours, a sacred place, a disco, a temple, a meat market
With eyes closed I dance, I allow that I am witnessed, momentary oddity
A loud 'Texan,' a tourist, more interested in the picture than the moment
Gathers people, "come be in the picture, everybody come"
I work to stay in my dance, in my body, in the moment

I am the fulcrum
I am the present here, enjoying just what is
The sacred and the profane are balanced across the width of my arms
I reach again for the beams of the ceiling, I feel sunlight pour through gaps
I am exposed, blind, here
I hope for the best, temple beams donated to habitat homes
and then I see the forest released in flame and smoke
The fulcrum tilts toward indulgence, toward decandance, toward light

We are the fulcrums, choosing which way to fall
Toppled by the wind; tilted by a seed alighting on one side
the fulcrum tips
extend your arms far enough to touch each mountain range
extend your listening far enough to hear voices on another continent

dreams

2006-08-24T22:13:00.000-07:00

Outlaw on a motorcycle
leather coverings so I cannot see his face
70mph wind full blast on his form that
rides by and reminds me
of your last days of freedom

I remember too the days of pain and loss
the falls, the bruises, the darkness of drink
I remember lies, many many lies
so many I could never trust my elders
never trust an adult, they only lie

Here I am now, the adult
I try hard never to lie
Can't be a politician or a saint
because I cannot hold the trust by telling lies
I cannot hold the secret, so don't tell me any

secrets
I hold this skin, I hold this beauty
I hold this self, I hold these children
I hold these lovers and friends

up
I try not to lie, I try to remember the truth
I awake in a near sweat visions
tied in thorns that hold me to this earth
prevent me from dieing, prevent me from crossing over

and yet I do,
finally I cross and I discover a crowded planet,
people everywhere, hungry ghosts by the thousands upon thousands
surrounding me, no space to breath or move, no space to be

"what's it like on the other side?" "crowded"

I don't want to die to
that hell, all those ghosts
but there is something I must let go, must let die
a small purple gecko crawling out from my eye
I reach up and pinch him dead so that I may
walk away

free
ride away in leathers
wind blowing across my facelessness
playa bound

Clarity and Confusion

2006-07-22T07:29:00.000-07:00

I raise my boys as best I can. In the face of a world gone mad, time spent at home, time spent teaching, time spent in the body and life still makes perfect sense.

Our president claims the moral high ground, protecting life by preventing destruction of unwanted embryos while he wages war and has sparked major loss of life throughout the middle east. I can't listen any more, but I cannot not listen. This world, the big world, doesn't make sense. Countries lob bombs at each other and we still seek violent solutions to our problems.

In light of the world I wonder how my small meditations can change things. I experience moments when everything makes sense, when I know that there is a solution to isolation and desire, when I know that I can find, we can find, internal peace,

Pure Fun: ImprobAbility

2006-07-01T12:56:00.000-07:00

Dan calls this class 'pure fun!'

I learrn the most from simply slowing down, not being attached to anything I know, from letting go of my story and just being in the moment when Mary walks up, looks me directly in the face and gives me a big smile. I hear a communication beyond any words of my normal life. Yes, pure fun, pure, simple, viscerally important communication and fun.

1,001 things to worry about

2006-05-31T09:16:00.000-07:00

Okay, its not 1,001 yet, but here is a start. And, honestly, I've worried about each of these at some point in my life.

1. a bad hair cut
2. abduction
3. Africanized bees
4. alien abduction
5. al-Qaeda
6. arthritis
7. asteroid impacts
8. avian flu
9. bankruptcy
10. body odor
11. cancer
12. car accidents
13. car theft
14. chiggers
15. cholesterol
16. crab grass
17. credit card bills
18. death
19. drug dealers
20. earthquakes
21. engine failure on the freeway
22. facing your maker
23. falling off a ladder while pruning
24. famine
25. final exams
26. fire
27. flat tires
28. fleas
29. floods
30. global warming
31. going to hell
32. government spying
33. halitosis
34. having to dress down
35. having to dress up
36. head lice
37. hurricanes
38. jellyfish
39. jet lag
40. landslides
41. lightning strikes
42. locking your keys in your car
43. losing your car keys
44. losing your glasses/contact lenses
45. losing your luggage
46. losing your passport
47. losing your wallet
48. mass extinction events
49. medical errors
50. medication side effects
51. menopause
52. mosquito bites
53. murder
54. neo-nazis
55. pick pockets
56. plantar warts
57. pollution
58. power outages
59. psoriasis
60. public speaking
61. quick sand
62. rape
63. retirement
64. ripping the seat of your pants
65. roof leaks
66. roof moss
67. schistosomaisis
68. sea level rise
69. serial killers
70. sink holes
71. sneaker waves
72. spiders
73. spoiled mayonnaise
74. spontaneous combustion
75. stained teeth
76. STDs
77. suicide bombers
78. surgical errors
79. taxes
80. termites
81. the monsters under your bed
82. the ozone hole
83. the stock market
84. ticks
85. toe fungus
86. toilet paper stuck to your shoe
87. tornados
88. trees falling on your house
89. tsunamis
90. unfinished work
91. vigilantes
92. visible panty line
93. volcanic eruptions
94. war
95. wrinkles
96. your children
97. your diet
98. your partner cheating on you
99. your to-do list
100. zits

border patrol

2006-05-30T14:34:00.000-07:00

I keep coming back to that image in my mind, from an AP line on Sunday May 28. The 'Minutemen' walking the border behind a line of American Flags: a bunch of white men with leather gloves on, protecting this country from illegal immigrants.

Driving to a job today I pass an agricultural field full of greens, something big and leafy, maybe cabbage or cauliflower. A group of dark-skinned men, also wearing leather gloves, are digging weeds by hand and hoe from among the plants. There is not a single white man out there employed in this hard, low wage labor.

Antonia Carr, my Great Grandmother, was a migrant worker. I don't know what she did for work or if she wore leather gloves but I do know that she freely traveled between her two homelands in the south and in the north. She just happened to be on the Texas side of the border when the border was officially closed. She became a citizen of her northern home by default and she considered it a lucky roll of the dice.

Maude Cassidy, another of my Great Grandmas, came over with a wave of hungry Irish immigrants seeking a better life. Like all Americans, even those we refer to as Native Americans, the people of this continent have come here seeking a better life for themselves and their children. This has been a land of plenty for more than 10,000 years.

As I watch the fence go up, an old song runs through my head: "Don't fence me in" "Don't fence me in!" Dammit I don't want to live in a country with fences or a country of selfish people unwilling to share their abundance. I don't want to live in a country of immigrants who somehow think that God granted them special status because they got her first. First, before who?

Memorial Day: Lines and Borders

2006-05-28T12:59:00.001-07:00

Photo today on the AP line: Men walking on the left side of a short barbed wire fence atop of which they have installed small American flags. The men are proud to have set up a fence between themselves and their neighbors to the south. Dark skinned neighbors who don't speak the same language. Neighbors who they fear will steal their jobs, their wealth, maybe their daughters.

They draw a line in the border sand, across the border rock. The men erect fences to puff themselves up and hide their fear. Goddess doesn't recognize our borders and fences. She makes light of them. She sends rivers and hurricanes and fault lines careening across them every day. Goddess builds her fences in our hearts of thorn bushes, of myths, of sacrificed sons, of fear.

It all seems absurd this morning. We sing in church in memory and in sorrow and in joy and in our hope to overcome the absurdity of war and hatred and loss and death and greed. We are admonished to stand tall in our values and beliefs. We hold hands, shed tears, and then what? The fight seems absurd this morning when George Bush and Dick Cheney hold the power and the reigns to greed and death and fences as the ruling paradigm.

I have walked across landscapes strewn with skeletons and garbage all over the world, in Iraq, in Jordan, in Greece, in Peru, in Ecuador, in Kiribati, in Indonesia, and in the USA. There are landscapes of death in every country, created by every culture. The planet holds the memories of our indulgence in death and war and it doesn’t seem to care. I don’t see God or Goddess manifesting any stopping point to the destruction. Perhaps God enjoys watching our carnal feasts just as young men playing video games do.

Yesterday there was a small dead bird on the ground in front of my car. I stopped to look at it and I pointed it out it to my son. Then we got in the car and drove away and didn't think of the bird again until I wrote this essay. Does God watch us like that?

Below is a picture of my older son many years ago. He is trusting mama and he is afraid to jump. I am coercing him into a swimming pool and he trusted me. If I didn't catch him, God wasn't about too. Goddess would let him die if he had fallen in without another human’s care. It is humans who value human life, humans who care to help one another. At least some of us humans try to care. I think I do and then I get lost thinking of corporate greed and nationalistic wars waged by my country and fences drawn to keep the poor and hungry out. I get lost when I think too big. I can catch one boy when he jumps in a pool. I cannot catch the nation or even this small town if it decides to jump.

reminding myself

2006-05-27T21:59:00.001-07:00

I have to remind myself. I traveled far. I met shamans. I met women. I met men who would not shake my hand because I was a woman. I was the outsider, xenos.

I traveled very far and the holy man said one word to me: dance.

I have to remind myself: holy man, holy women, self, dance. sleep, awaken, dance. enough, already, enough.

2006-05-27T21:59:00.000-07:00

meditation

2006-05-27T18:37:00.000-07:00

Silence:
i sit still yet again
i ask god, ancestors, totem, guide
to speak into the silence
i scream, i appeal, i desire, i yearn

Silence:
i sit still yet again
i hear only wind, rain, bird, beast
i breathe, my heart beats
it is the only answer i know

St Sofia

2006-05-26T18:21:00.000-07:00

even the house of god crumbles in time....

the moon

2006-05-26T18:09:00.000-07:00

I was just dusting and found this koan tucked under a candle:
The barn burned down, now I can see the moon.

ahhhh, yes, the moon. Tonight there will not even be a moon to see, you'll have to follow your heart.

squirrel thunks

2006-05-26T17:25:00.000-07:00

Here is the God-gem that made me smile all day yesterday and reminded my why I get out of bed. I was doing my morning yoga practice and big thunks kept hitting the roof of the studio. At first I thought the fir tree was shedding branches but it kept happening over and over. After a particularly loud one, I heard the scurry of little feet and realized it must be squirrels jumping onto the roof. They don't usually jump so repeatedly. I went outside and I looked up into the fir tree and there were four little baby squirrels, sooo cute, staring at me from the lower branches. They were practicing jumping and flying just as the sparrows under the eaves of my bedroom window have been. In every class that day, I told the the students about the squirrels before the first thunk, and then when it happened all my students looked up at the ceiling and smiled. If there is a god, this is how god is manifest in my day: squirrel thunks on the ceiling.

Is there a God?

2006-04-23T14:06:00.000-07:00

"When a place is lifeless or unreal, there is almost always a mastermind behind it. It is so filled with the will of its maker that there is no room for its own nature.

Think, by contrast, of the decoration on an old bench -- small hearts carved in it; simple holes, cut out while it was being put together -- these can be egoless.

They are not carved according to some plan. They are carefree, carved into it, wherever there seems to be a gap. It is not the least contrived; there is no effort in the decoration; it does not seek to express the personality of the man who carved it. It is so natural, that it almost seems as though the bench itself cried out for it: and the carver simply did what was required." (from The Timeless Way of Building, by C. Alexander)

This planet we inhabit, this universe we call home, has ego-less beauty. The beauty found on the old bench, on the forest floor, on a coastline, in the blaze of a sunset. Unplanned beauty, spectacular, breath taking beauty because it comes without without a mastermind.

I cannot concieve of God as a mastermind. But I can experience God when my breath is taken away by the egoless beauty of the world. A world that came to be without a mastermind.

God is an experience; God is a verb or maybe an adjective: awe, beauty, melancholy, tears, ecstacy, greif, love, more than any of these, something my bones, my flesh, my heart experiences in the transitory beauty of life.

family stories

2006-04-23T10:29:00.000-07:00

Last night I witnessed as a family that had been ruptured from outside events reconstructed itself.

They gathered around a table and told stories on themselves. Remember when, remember when, remember when. Mishaps, misadventures, injuries, bad haircuts, all stories of innate humaness, of vulnerability. Someone falls from a tree, a young girl decides to trim her brothers eyelashes, someone thought it was a good idea to ride a bicycle off the roof and onto the trampoline.

They defined themselves as a family, created their own myth, created themselves in the process, defined who they were different from others: like identifying time based on the house they were living in "when did that happen?" "in the main street house," "in the coffee catch house," "in the popcorn house."

I liked being the witness. I watched myself drift off sometimes, the stories are more amusing to the participants than to an outsider, but it was good to hear them none-the-less. Good to hear normalcy return from chaos.

lucid dreams

2006-04-18T16:19:00.000-07:00

this is where i am:
letting my dreams seep into my waking life.
letting go of another layer of fear.
dancing and flying
every day

shaman dreams

2006-04-05T14:53:00.000-07:00

I'll tell you about my dream last night. It woke me in the wee hours this morning. Here is what I remember: Jay, the boys and I were traveling far into the back country. We came to a small village and found a place to stay. Then we went walking in the country side and climbed up a cliff. As we got toward the top I realized that we were in the midst of a great Aztec ruin. I climbed up high on a wall to collect a blue stone, something similar to turquoise. The stone was important to me, but it felt a dangerous to claim it. It was precious and I wasn't sure if it was legal for me to take. I took the risk and then we turned to walk back toward our accomodations. Jay, the boys and Allee (our dog) ran ahead. I climbed up another small hill and found myself on top of a fallen statue of an aztec warrior god. He had a white knife in his hand. I reached out and grabbed the knife for myself, feeling a little guilty about claiming it too, but I knew it wouldn't last long where it was. Then I looked down and a small mexican man, a shaman, was climbing up toward me, then the ground started to rumble. I dropped the sword and the blue stone and ran back to the room, gathering the boys and Allee as I went. Then I awoke. I told the dream to my friend Dee Dee this morning. She told me I need to learn to claim the sword and the stone and not run back to safety. So, I came home and lit a small fire and burned some copal and chanted and asked the small man in my dream if I could have the sword and the stone. He hasn't answered clearly yet.

ordinary divinity

2006-03-15T18:20:00.000-08:00

I'm reading a book on Ordinary Recovery, a process of discovering the self by becoming ordinary, not special, every day. I'm reeling. I don't want to be ordinary. I want to be divine. I look around me and I don't see ordinary. I see divinity reflected in the eyes of my friends, in the blossoms of the plum tree, the exuberance of the daffodil and the love of Allee the mutt who curls at my feet as I write.

And yet, if all of this is divine, then divinity is ordinary. Each and every one of us opening into ecstacy. Waves of pleasure forming just by appreciating the ordinary divinity. The wave of a wise man's hands as he describes the dance. The appreciation in the eyes of his students and their students. This is ordinary divinity.

My heart is swept away in the wake of the divine. My cells resonate in the flow of life and death around me. Knowing each risk, as I walk across a street or fly over my partner's shoulders. The presence of death makes the divine that much more glorious. The bruise underscores the beauty and the morbidity of the flesh.

I breathe, resonate, fly, become still, and peace arrives in the flesh. It feels a divine and perfect embodiment. That is Vajraland. Coming to know the divine in each breath and learning to accept it as ordinary.

got it

2006-03-01T21:40:00.000-08:00

today, suddenly, a spiritual lesson that i've heard over and over again made sense.

now. this is it, the only possible moment to believe in your own divinity. the only possible moment to realize that this is your life. right now. this is it. make it what you want. there is no other moment. there is nothing to wait for. this is it.

got it.

sheik nazim hit me on the head and told me to dance. i had to travel (literally) half way around the world to be given the lesson i already knew to be true. dance. now.

got it.

tonight i drove to eugene and remembered: this is it. this is my life. this moment. enjoy it. don't sit on the side lines. don't be a wallflower. dance. right now. dance.

got it.

fall in love. fall in love with everything. love your children and your mate and your friends and your parents and this dear goofy community you're part of. let them be themselves. their stuff is their stuff. let them work on their own divine lessons. ask them to dance once in a while.

got it.

i'm not always graceful. i stumble and do goofy things. i fall loudly. people laugh at me/with me. i like to pop bubbles, crack gum, make loud noises in quiet places. this is me: the divine is working something out loudly. i am exactly what the divine needs in this moment.

got it.

now. not next week. not on vacation. not after the next retreat. not after the next lesson. no reason to postpone enlightenment. enlightenment is now. this breath. this one.

got it?

touch, sight, sound

2006-02-16T16:48:00.000-08:00

once upon a time friends walked down the street arm in arm
people whistled and sang to entertain themselves
even in public it was okay to make spontaneous noise
to touch someone out of friendship

once upon a year ago i met a man who wouldn't shake my hand,
because i was a woman he was not related to
his doctrine forbid him to touch me

once upon today i made noise and sound and danced
to chaos, to joy, to celebration
i danced in the dark with an eyemask
and i danced full front to the sun

today i looked into a blind woman's eyes
and saw her looking at me
she said "yes, i saw you today for the first time"

there is power in touch, in sound, in sight
don't let anyone take your power away

campus ministry tshirts

2006-02-02T21:29:00.000-08:00

Women's long sleeve t-shirt back (Laura)

Women's long sleeve t-shirt front(Deborah)

Men's short sleeve t shirt, back (Cary)

campus ministry game night

2006-02-02T21:23:00.000-08:00

Cary and Jacob

Caitlin, Brian, Jacob, Laura, Ulf

Lefke

2006-01-29T21:19:00.000-08:00

In 2004 I visited Sheik Nazim in the small village of Lefke, in the Turkish Republic of Cyprus. Sheik Nazim is the leader of the Nashqubandi Sufi sect and leads a small community there that draws pilgrims from all over the world. The Sheik looked at me, gave me a sharp tap on the head and told me to dance. "Sometimes one must travel far to discover what is near."

Sheik Nazim giving candy to the children

Women of the enclave waiting to greet the Sheik.

The graves of earlier sheiks in the old Pasha Monastery.

Charisma, Betrayal and Fidelity

2006-01-15T12:49:00.000-08:00

This is the text of a sermon that I gave at the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Corvallis on January 15, 2005. Please do not quote text without credit and letting me know. Thanks!

Chapter 1. Who are we?

This is a difficult topic. A friend sent an email last week, she said “I’m looking forward to your sermon. Sounds intriguing, and a bit scary.” And I find it bit scary too. But here I am, because the topic is important to me and because, for some strange reason, I like facing scary stuff.

I think sex is important. Sex is sacred, spiritual and powerful. Sex has been twisted by our society into a commodity; it has been glorified and demonized. While I may claim to ‘not participate in popular culture’ I do read the headlines of the US, People, and all those magazines at the grocery check out line. From that small sample of popular culture, it appears that sex is important to many more people than just me.

I also want you to know that I intend to speak here as much as possible from my personal experience. I resisted the urge to quote numerous sources. I do not want to rest my case on a scientific study. I want to describe to you my experiences and observations. I want to talk about us, all of us here in this room, and our attitudes about sex, sexuality, gender, and what the implications of those attitudes are. I am not an expert.

My observations: we are generally good people with good intentions and we think we are much more open minded and accepting than we actually are. I look around me and I see a dominantly heterosexual congregation with a significant female homosexual population and we are dominantly monogamous. We are not so comfortable with people who do not fit these parameters.

You are all probably aware of the Kinsey Scale of Human Sexuality. Based on many, many interviews, Kinsey proposed a continuum of behaviors and identity between heterosexual and homosexual. He divided that scale into 6 neat compartments, zero being exclusively heterosexual, six being exclusively homosexual, and three perfectly bisexual. Most of us are not zeros or sixes, we fall somewhere in between the end members. Also be aware that identity and behavior can be different in an individual. It occurred to me recently that people who believe that “sexual preference is a choice” must be individuals nearer to the center of the scale than the ends. For believing that sexual preference is a choice suggests that we are all fundamentally bisexual. I don’t think that is what the religious right means when they say that, but the logic follows doesn’t it?

I would propose two other scales to join the Kinsey Scale: a gender scale from male to female and a monogamy-polyamory scale. I am sure there are other dimensions as well. It is people on these other scales who must live even more in hiding. I have talked to people who felt shunned and ridiculed in this congregation for not choosing to present as expected for their gender or assumed sexual preference.

Look around you, what do you see? How many of us choose to present outside the gender norm? As a heterosexual woman, I know that it isn’t that difficult for me to wear clothing that gender bends. Lesbian friends tell me that receive more ridicule and verbal abuse for dressing or presenting themselves in a fashion that people classify as masculine than I do. I also observe that men who dress more feminine than average are often ridiculed. And I know that individuals who present themselves as neither male nor female make many people uncomfortable. Individuals who present as truly transgendered are choosing a dangerous path.

I will give an example of the issue from last Sunday’s Oregonian comic page. Baby Blues (date 1/4/05 strip). So, what does that say? I was left a bit aghast by the strip, shocked actually. You know, I wouldn’t choose a trans life for my child. It is too difficult, too dangerous, but I also would love and support them to the best of my ability. I know that fears around sexuality drive shaming, and the internalized shaming festers and may burst out later in life as sexual abuse.

Who are we? Who are you? Where do you fit on these sexual and gender continuums?
Have you been shamed for who you are? Who would you be if you could safely present yourself anyway you liked? What would you be comfortable with if you were not worried about the judgment of others?

I grew up in a world where I had no idea of these continuums. I had gay friends in high school, but I thought it was a two sided coin with no possibility of in between. I grew up in a world that shamed the sexually precocious and curious among us. We still live in a world that shames polyamory, we give it the name of ‘cheating’ or ‘affairs,’ assuming that anyone who has multiple sexual partners will keep that hidden. I would contend that very few of us are actually out there at a zero on the monogamy scale. When I married at the young age of 23, I guess I thought there was an off switch to my sexual attractions outside marriage. It didn’t work that way. I spent years trying to deny even the possibility of sexual attraction and finally learned that naming that attraction gave it less power than denying the attraction. Once I had named the sexual attractions I felt, I had the power to choose, with my partner, whether or not to act on it. There was no model for this in my life.

Sex is important powerful energy in the world. Sex draws us; it is a sacred life force. Probably for most of us, orgasm is our only truly ecstatic, out of body, sacred experience. We need each other, spiritually, sexually and physically. We need touch and play and arousal. We should hold up all that is our sexuality as a flame in a chalice, hold it safe, learn to keep sexuality safe by our talking about it rather than extinguishing the flame out of fear that it will get out of our control.

Chapter 2: Why does it matter?

When I was in middle school I went to a Methodist Youth Group for a few years. I went with my best friend, Nancy, mainly for the social network. It was a safe place that our parents allowed us to begin exploring our own autonomy and ‘romantic’ relationships. We must have met weekly at her church. There was a young couple who served as the lay leaders of the youth group. I don’t remember their names; I’ll just call him Bob for this talk. I remember going to parties at their home, a couple small kids running around. They must have been about 30. I was 12 or 13 and they seemed old to me, boring, middle aged, working, adults well on the other side of life.

I remember being alone at the church with Bob one evening. I don’t remember why, I must have volunteered for some task, cleaning up or setting up or something. Neither do I remember how it began but I do remember sitting next to Bob on a couch and he began kissing me and fondling me. I didn’t know what to do. I was taken aback by the sexual attractions of an adult who was supposed to be a leader and whose guidance I was supposed to be following. I was perhaps a bit grossed out but I also curious and intrigued. This was attention I hadn’t received before. I was confused. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know who to tell. I thought that I had done something bad. I was sure if I told an adult that I would get in trouble. So I didn’t tell anyone except my best friend. Shortly thereafter I lost interest in the youth group. I stopped attending church. I didn’t return to a church of my own accord again until I was 30 years old. I have wondered what other young women he molested. I wish I had known how to say or do something to stop him from continuing. I don’t know if he did, but that is my assumption.

Sexual offenders that betray the trust of their congregations or constituents seem to be quite common. I’ll name a few of the famous ones: John Fitzgerald Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Jr., Bill Clinton, Trungpa Rinpoche, Daskalos, Jimmy Baker, Osel Tendzin, too many Priests to come close to naming, and there have been many UU preachers who have fallen into the same temptation. Charismatic leaders have sexual power, the very word charism, charisma, has a double meaning: the holy-spirit given gift of a magnetic personality that can draw people to the church or the gift of being sexual dynamic, magnetic, and attractive.

Perhaps all of these individuals were polyamorous. I, personally, think that this should be an acceptable relationship configuration although it is nearly impossible for it to be so in the current dynamics of our culture. Perhaps if we could find a way to safely nurture our sexual desire and energy, if we can name it and call it normal, then it isn’t so likely to fester and burst in the ugly ways it does.

Charismatic leaders call up incredible stores of sexual energy. I am not one of those leaders, but even I work up a sweat up here when I preach and I am not even trying to seduce you into converting or following a sacred or higher path. My goal is simply to get up here and speak my own truth. I can only imagine that when MLK finished preaching, when he finished seducing the crowds to his path and his vision, that he was highly sexually charged and that the energy needed to be grounded somewhere. From what I have read it was grounded in his numerous affairs when he traveled and with his wife when he was home. What would it mean to publicly acknowledge that need and to find acceptable ways to ground the sexual energy? I know that the current situation of denial and betrayal results in the destruction of churches and individuals. I know that sexual activity is normal and is not going to stop. There will be sex as sure as there will be death and taxes.

I do not mean to say that what these men did is right. And I apologize for naming only men. I am sure that there are women offenders as well, I just can’t think of any as I write this. What I believe is that denial of normal healthy sexuality, in a culture that simultaneously both glorifies and shames sexuality, has provided a context where our normal needs and desires become twisted and acted out in unhealthy, abusive, or even violent ways. Until we can accept and even celebrate the full range of human behaviors, sexual abuse and betrayal will be common.

There will be sex and there will be attraction. To be healthy individuals and healthy communities, we must find ways to come out from our denial, to name ourselves and to claim ourselves. I’ll tell you one more story. Last summer I went to Burning Man. Burning Man is an incredible experiment in artistic community that occurs each summer out in the middle of the Black Rock Desert in Nevada. The playa (dry lake bed) environment on which Burning Man is held is inhospitable, daytime temperatures commonly are well over 100°F, dust storms, intense sun, winds in excess of 70mph, more dust storms, porta-potties, bring all your own water and vittles, pack out all your garbage. It is not for the feint of heart and it drew 40,000 people last year. It is the most amazing art festival I have ever experienced. It is also an incredible experiment in a gift economy, for once you enter nothing is for sale (except coffee and ice), everything is given or received as a gift.

And, Burning Man is an incredible experiment in tossing out all our assumptions about gender and sexuality. It is a week-long costume party and drag show where anyone and everyone can be as sexually-out as they like. I have never seen so many people in drag; I have never seen so many people free to be themselves sexually in public. I felt as if I could breathe freely for the first time in my life. Burning Man gave me hope. There was no judgment, only freedom. By my small survey, there was probably much less actual consummated sex than the press would have you believe. There is lots of talk about sex. There are lots of men in drag. There is the annual ‘critical tits’ parade of women having painted their chests in brilliant color and design then riding around the playa topless on bicycles. There is freedom and love and acceptance. I know it is a short idyllic moment and not the real world, and yet, I return and I wonder why we continue to choose these old patterns of being, these old rules of relationship and gender roles when the world could be so much more beautiful and interesting if we allowed a broader range of possibility.

I don’t really have a punch line or a moral to close with. There was however one more word in my title: fidelity. I think the fidelity that we need is to our true sexual selves and I use the word sexual in its broadest possible sense. I would ask you to begin to treat your sexual self with love and maybe find a way to live that self more openly. I would ask you to allow a bigger possibility of choices in who you are as a sexual being. I would ask you to really welcome the person who looks or behaves different than you do, maybe even ask them out for coffee, you might learn something interesting. I would ask you to look someone different than yourself in the eyes and to see yourself reflected there and to not be afraid of what you see.

Blessed Be. Amen.

Rock Band

2006-01-10T22:29:00.000-08:00

Gabe at SpringBoard Studio

More Jammies

2006-01-01T19:58:00.000-08:00

New Year's Day Jammies

2006-01-01T19:49:00.000-08:00

Assignment for the New Year

2005-12-28T22:35:00.000-08:00

My son made me a prayer necklace for Yule ~~ 99 beads. In some Islamic traditions they regularly chant 99 names for God. I was playing with the necklace while I soaked in the hotspring on Christmas Day and began to chant the first 99 names I could think of for God: Jay, Gabe, Summer, Dora, Ron, Gene, Barbara, Jaime, Mark, Caitlin, Kendall, Kylie, Allison, Jacob, Lee, Jennifer, Joanna, Bob, Julia, Mitch, Courtney, Rob, Bram, Jeremy, George, Dick, Lily, Alan, Rivkah, Chloe, Vinn, Georgiana, Cindy, Meredith, Deb, Brenda, Gretchen, Susan, George, Elizabeth, Tina, David, Bright, Quint, Chris, Heidi, Jessica, Lynn, John, Meghan, Don, Roberta, Joseph, Mark, Mary, Thomas, Dylan, Sam, Erik, Doris, Chuck, Keith, Kelly...........

Jay's verse

2005-11-18T22:08:00.000-08:00

with rising sunlight
it wells up, this thought
'it is just like exercise
if I do not love
my heart will ache'
~~ Jay Noller, my guy

Sunday Morning

2005-11-18T22:03:00.000-08:00

Eugene Jam

2005-11-18T18:07:00.000-08:00

what's needed

2005-11-14T06:51:00.001-08:00

This hour in history needs a dedicated circle of transformed nonconformists. ~~ Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Another temple

2005-11-08T07:10:00.000-08:00

I look out my bedroom window each morning at an ancient Douglas Fir. It is oldest, largest, living thing in my neighborhood, an outlier of the forests that took root in town. Although it is an evergreen, it is shedding now and deep carpets of needles cover the road around it.

I don’t think this tree has ever been trimmed. Occasionally a large limb breaks and falls. I feel the risk of the tree’s presence. High winds could pull it from its roots. If it fell on my house, my house might be destroyed. Its path looks like it would fall on Erik’s home across the street, but it could land on our bedroom too, depending on the wind direction.

I respect this tree. It holds my prayers. I climb it in my dreams. I live with its risk, its history, its silence, and its power. I listen to it in the wind. I imagine the beings that live within it: spider, bird, squirrel, opossum, raccoon, rat, termite, countless bugs I’d never have names for. The tree is gently armored; touching the needles is painful to my hands. The lowest limbs are much too high for easy climbing.

This tree is a temple and an incarnation. It holds me close, keeps me safe and at risk, reminds me that I am very small in the face of nature, reminds me of the miracle that is life and creation.

Improbable Performance: Part One

2005-10-30T07:11:00.000-08:00

My life has become an improbable performance. I have considered the following titles: Memory loss. Found money. Junkies digging in the garden. Generous love. Men without teeth blowing paint on the walls. Pirates in the HyperMarket. Eating raw parsnips. Children saying ‘yes.’ Weight loss. Learning to fly while staying grounded Golden-plated shopping carts. Color blooming in winter. Becoming a generous stranger.

We'll begin there:
How to become a generous stranger. Look at people you do not know and smile. Look into the eyes of someone wholly different than you, notice what you see there. Offer them a view inside yourself. Meet them one to one, equal people on this sacred and divine journey. Offer them your ear. Listen to the ache of their heart or the ache of their flesh. Listen to the pain that they carry. Really look, really listen, really hear. Consider sharing more than your ear now. What do you have to share?

Recipe for weight loss, lesson 3

2005-10-22T09:27:00.000-07:00

Believe in your own lightness. Enjoy the feeling of being less bound to the earth, of being light. Where in your body can you literally weigh less, can you lighten your load. Float when you walk. Love this sensation. The less you eat the lighter you feel. The lighter you feel the easier it is to fly.

Weekly Scorpio Horoscope

2005-10-21T19:50:00.000-07:00

We're not here to seek approval but disgrace and celebration.
We're not here to audition but to play with the toys.
We're not here to remember but here to slowly forget.
We're not here to tell stories but accumulate them with risk.
We're not here to fit in but to find the perfect place to be a misfit.

Amen, Awoman, Halleleuia Rob Brezny ~~ freewillastrology.com

middle of the night

2005-10-18T09:43:00.000-07:00

Last night we awoke at 3am to an odd loud rumbling. At first I couldn't tell if it was an appliance groaning, an animal, or a person. Soon its human source became clear as he got louder and louder. Singing incomprehensible sounds, yelling 'ow,' swearing...

We walked around the house listening out the windows. Every thing sounds very loud from the second floor. We thought the sound was coming from a neighbor's home, we waited for someone would calm down their drunken buddy or husband or that this person to pass out and become quite. 20 minutes later the rant was even louder and more incomprehensible so called the police.

They arrived and found a man in the small yard of my yoga studio. There was a syringe and vomit around him and he was digging in the dirt that has been exposed by the studio remodeling. We listened from the second story window as the police quieted him down, questioned him, cleaned up after him, and finally shooed him off down the street.

As he stumbled away I could feel my heart breaking. I thought "he is someone's son." He has a mother, a father and he is lost. I had fear for my own sons and I prayed for the strength to keep raising them well.

I thought of the song our chorus sang at church on Sunday morning "would you harbor me?" How do we harbor those in such pain that they wander into random yards to shoot up? What do we do with lost people? Shooing him off down the street left me feeling empty. What harbor could I offer? I offered none.

At Burning Man a drunken, mildly hallucinating Dubliner stumbled into Kidsville one night. One of the kids ran up to the group of women I was sitting with and said "There is a man trying to get into our RV." The three of us walked over, found him, and started talking to him calmly. He had flown into Reno the day before, had come out to the playa about 24 hours earlier and had had nothing but alcohol since, no food, no water, in the 105 degree daytime heat. He kept looking at each RV saying: "I know that my camp is right here, somewhere." He too was lost and confused. We harbored him for a while, we fed him, we gave him water, warmer clothing for the cool evening air, and a light stick to guide his way; we talked to him and calmed from his stories and his frights, for he thought he had been drugged and molested. Once he was calm, we walked him to the medic tent and left him where we knew he would be physically cared for and someone would be able to help him find his camp, his home.

But here, in the safety of my own home, my own community, I don't trust to walk out and harbor the drunk or the stoned. Instead I called the police at 3:30 am and asked them to intervene and protect me from the mad and the stranger. In Corvallis I carry fear that stops me from harboring the injured, the fugitive, the slave. I have learned to fear my neighbor, even in this small idyllic town. And for this my heart breaks again. I was relieved that he was not literally my neighbor but an outsider from 'the other side of town.' I don't want to fear those close to me.

And I know that I don't want to fear anyone, we are all equally human, equally divine. My fear exposes more spiritual work for me to do. Maybe it is time for a street retreat so that I can look into the faces of the junkies, the drunks, the fugitives and slaves, and see myself reflected back.

Sung by the UUFC Chorus on Sunday Oct 16,
now playing in my head:

Would you harbor a Christian, a Muslim, a Jew,
a heretic, convict or spy?
Would you harbor a run away woman, or child,
a poet, a prophet, a king?
Would you harbor an exile, or a refugee,
a person living with AIDS?
Would you harbor a Tubman, a Garrett, A Truth
a fugitive or a slave?
Would you harbor a Haitian Korean or Czech,
a lesbian or a gay?

from "Would you harbor me?" by Y.M. Barnwell (c)1994)

How to lose weight: stop carrying boulders

2005-10-14T08:20:00.000-07:00

A voice in my mind returns again and again to Georgia, my old dear friend with whom I have had a falling out. I wonder how I could have just said: “finished” so abruptly. I couldn’t go back into the ring to fight any more, so I walked away. It was time I suppose. The relationship has perhaps run its course. I wish it could have come to closure more gracefully with some discussion and give and take. We did share words of mutual appreciation. I told her the things that I love about her. We had a nice few days together before the storm descended. The voice in my head returns to the argument more frequently than to the love. The argument is the boulder that I’d like to set down. I’d like to set the boulder on an altar with love. I’d like to release each of us into our lives in love. So that will be my intent today. Each time I think of her I’ll envision myself setting down a boulder with her image on it, lighting a candle and saying a prayer for her well being, sending her deep love. And then I will continue with my life.

from the metaphysical dictionary for the literalist

2005-10-13T15:51:00.000-07:00

grounded: a state of awareness of one's relationship to gravity and the earth. corporeal awareness in the present moment. a person is not distracted or disassociated from their current location. they feel their feet, their skin, their clothing, see the world around them, sense the air moving in and out of their lungs.

flying: the ability to work into gravity to lift one's self off the earth. usually as a result of creative or atheletic activity or both. a feeling of being 'high' while still corporeally aware. in contact improv it is the moment when one is completely off the ground, suspended on someone else's back or shoulders. to be safe while flying requires a clear relationship with the gravitational vectors and with lift.

my best seller

2005-10-09T07:16:00.000-07:00

Recipe for weight loss: stop carrying boulders.

2005-10-07T17:22:00.000-07:00

Cedar and Fir Studio remodel.

fall mode.

2005-10-06T21:29:00.000-07:00

if it were up to me,the new year would begin in early or mid
september. i return to things then. i return to
tasks and friendships left behind during the summer. i return
to a 'working mode' even if i work to keep work and play confused.
fall is time for putting the shorts away and pulling out
my sweaters, for enjoying wool socks, for having to sleep
on a schedule and indulging weekend sleepins. i bought
fresh winter squash today, the first i had seen at
Twedt's, the neighborhood farm. i love going to purchase
vegies, weighing them on the aged scale, perhaps picking up
some flowers and leaving the cash in an old coffee tin. it feels
timeless and wonderful.

i know farmers, real farmers who make
their living on the land. they work hard and i love talking
to them, asking them when they picked the corn and or peppers.
i like dirty hands, i like the smell of dirt. i like real
smells, musty smells, body smells. i don't like perfume.
i like to get dirty too and how wonderful a bath feels
when you really need it. i like working hard, lifting
heavy objects, even falling down sometimes. i like
knowing people who know how to make things.i like watching
the contractor put on the roof and jay wire the light fixtures.
i like the tangible, what i can hold and feel the weight of.
i like gravity and i like being free of gravity and flying.

2005-10-06T17:04:00.000-07:00

allee in drag

burnishing stone

2005-10-05T22:03:00.000-07:00

I have a small basket full of sacred stones,
shells, pieces of wood, artifacts, flotsam, dust

my favorite stone is nearly circular, deep green
with small yellow and white confetti markings
it is perfectly polished, smooth
and fits just into the center of the palm of my hand

it is a burnishing stone, I picked it up in Peru
on a hillside in the Casma River Valley in 1989
someone dropped it there, maybe 30 years ago,
maybe 3000 years ago
the stone won’t tell me its age or who held it

burnishing stones are polishing stones
used to rub the surfaces of pottery
until they shine and gleam
until they reflect rather than scatter light

god has been burnishing me this year
polishing my edges with a hard stone
it was rather a rough treatment, but now I begin to feel
my radiance, our radiance, light reflecting off all the mirrors,
all of your eyes, that I look into each day.

why i didn't write earlier today

2005-10-05T21:49:00.000-07:00

my day: i observed Summer's class and recess, ran errands and grocery shopping, i started the laundry (gotta fold before i sleep), i cut a cd of women singing beautiful songs for dancing, i met with an interior lighting designer (oohh, he had lovely ideas for about double what we intended to spend), i had rehearsal with my new performance group, the whole family went to Jerry's, the big DIY home improvement store in Eugene and spent a somewhat smaller bundle on lighting fixtures, i went to the eugene contact improv jam and danced for two hours and then we went shopping at trader joes, drove the hour home and now i'm writing you.

Enlightenment

2005-10-02T16:01:00.000-07:00

Masahide:
The barn's burned
now I can see the moon.

savoring fall

2005-09-27T07:03:00.000-07:00

the leaves that are green will turn to brown
rustle in the wind fall, one a time or in a torrent

no torrent yet, but I feel it coming
the readiness of fall to sweep me away
my body desiring to remain between the sheets longer each day
and yet awoken by my lovers touch
i respond, my body comes alive to greet this day
this day of grace and blue sky
each moment of sunshine a gift to be savored

work or dream

2005-09-26T09:10:00.000-07:00

I have things to do. Work is calling loudly but I am not listening.
I’d rather listen to my day dreams. I’d rather remember the stroke
of your hand on my back. I’d rather remember the soft sound of your
voice in my ear. I’d rather remember leaning upon your shoulder. I’d
rather remember dancing passionately with complete abandon. I’d rather
remember being carried upon your shoulders and surrendering to your
support. I’d rather remember making love in our sweet temple.

I touch the keyboard and my fingertips become alive. Even touching
the plastic is an awakening. The sun touches my shoulders from this east
window and it is the most gentle warm caress. I listen and hear the sound
of cars driving by, the sound of hammer hitting nail, the hum of electronics.
I listen more carefully and hear a squirrel chatter, my dog bark, but no
other human breath, no other human voice. I want to hear your breath again,
I want to feel its wind upon my neck. I want to feel your heart pounding under
my finger tips.

I suppose I should get to work now,

a long riff on ethics and religion

2005-09-24T09:21:00.000-07:00

I am a social anarchist. I believe in the good of each of us. I don’t think that religion makes us better people. I don’t think that fear of retribution makes us better people. I think that shame makes us worse people and that traditional religion creates a lot of shame in the world. I think that shame drives all kinds of ‘sinful’ behaviors by defining natural behaviors as sinful. The shame that arises from your being labeled sinful drives people into behaviors they wouldn’t choose if left to express their natural longings and desires safely.

Religion should be a place for us to discover our own ethical and moral compass rather than to be given an arbitrary one written for a life and time very different from our own. Religion should be a context where we can explore, as individuals and as community, what the right choices are for our own hearts and for ways to make the world a better place. Religion should support advocacy and a better life for all. It should help us find a way to live a life in tune with what we know to be right.

I don’t need a religion to tell me what is right. I need a religion to help me live a life in integrity. I’ll use a simple example: “Thou shall not steal.” Do I need the ten commandments to tell me that theft is a bad thing? I don’t think so. I don’t want others to steal from me and I don’t feel good if I steal from others. I do not feel in integrity with the world if I have taken something that I have not earned nor returned value for. It is about being in balance with others. So, at the most primary level taking the property without their consent (as a gift or exchange) is wrong. How about less clear territory than direct theft? I try to make choices on the side of integrity, but I stumble and sometimes the answers are not clear. I have my religious community to help find my integrity. As the result of the community dialogue, I find that I try not to steal in many places in my life from the simple to the abstract: I tell the clerk when she makes a change error in my favor. I try to pay the true value of what I purchase, by not purchasing from manufacturers who exploit labor, either here or abroad. I consider ways to return value to the earth in equal measure to what I take for shelter, food, luxury. I consider how and why I drive and arrange my life so I don’t consume more fuel or other resources than I need. I try to live so that I do not steal property or habitat from the other creatures I share this planet with. My list could continue, but these are the implications of living a life of non-stealing (as the Buddhists would say) or living by the eighth commandment. While these religious traditions give us a guideline for living ethically, I believe that the guideline comes forth naturally from finding ways to live in amiably with our global community. I do not need the threat of hell to teach me this lesson. And if we look at the world around us I do not see any evidence that religious creed results in a less theft. Our commander-in-chief while agreeing in the most simple interpretation of the commandment, does not live by in a global sense, we as a nation continue to steal and plunder the wealth of other nations with a rhetoric that asserts ‘might is right.’ Far from any ethical compass that arises simply from reflection on living amiably in community

my bed

2005-09-22T09:31:00.000-07:00

my bed is a great white raft afloat
in the deep sea, I have always imagined it so.
monsters once lived under the raft.
I had to leap from the threshold of my room
onto the bed to be safe from their desire.

sometimes I looked over the side of the raft, or
peered underneath to see the creatures terrible
and beautiful aching to nibble at my toes, or more

sometimes I want to invite some others onto the raft
ask them to join me on this rough frolic
through wave and tumble

sometimes I fall asleep, like the child in the old lullaby
and I am awakened by the touch of a lover or a dancer
in my dreams

I do not sleep well when I dance in my sleep
The touch of the sheets awakens me, I shiver,
try to find peace, release the touch
and find my own skin again

basking

2005-09-21T11:45:00.000-07:00

Overripe plums cover the sidewalk
Although the leaves have not yet begun to turn brown or drop
I feel them beginning to yield, surrender their summer green
I too drop to the ground, roll from side to side
Yield, surrender bend to the turning of the seasons
Basking in the last of the summer’s sun

day dreams

2005-09-21T10:29:00.000-07:00

maybe, i'll morph this into my own daydream: the water is
clear. stunning bright blue shallow water, a lagoon surrounded by
a white coral beach, small mangrove along its edge, no people, i've
been here before, the island of Abemana. the water is very
warm and salty. water so dense we can float on the surface with almost no
effort. we have a small raft on which to nap and rest. very small
waves gently rock us all day long. we come in and out of the water,
swimming with sea turtles, tropical fish, a great manta ray. we follow these
great creatures wherever they choose to lead us, we surrender (yes)
to these wiser beings. we grant ourselves the indulgence of time, beauty,
resting, warmth, impulsiveness, freedom. i fall asleep here in this
warm place outside of time. and wake up back in my life.

my house is dirty. there is a pile of work to get too sitting
right at my feet. i have responsibilities. i turn my face from the
computer screen and my life reminds me that it is waiting.

i drift back and forth from my daydreams to my life. my life,
my work, is not boring. i start choreographing a new piece today.
it will be about women, sexuality, and aging. i have rented a rehersal space
for the next month until the studio is complete. it is my first step
into choreography. i am excited, frightened, alive.

2005-09-21T06:58:00.000-07:00

Easter Nightmares

beauty

2005-09-19T06:49:00.000-07:00

The garden turns brown too quickly
because of my neglect
the plants are withering
one rose remains, a tough bad boy

It is small in stature, growing along the parkway
absolutely ignored, occasionally stepped upon,
it produces flame colored blossoms
bigger than the plant itself, with a rich erotic scent
a wild flower amongst scattered weeds

this rose brings me smiles deep in my heart
I am grateful that it does not need my tending,
that beauty can survive on its own,
and that dense thorns keep me from picking the blossoms

Flying from Oakland to Portland

2005-09-18T21:09:00.000-07:00

Alameda, downtown, Lake Merritt,
bay water, breaking ripples
windsurfer, decommissioned naval base and runway
port and crane, I580, Lines of spaghetti laid down as arteries,
Emeryville, Campanile, Doris and Chuck’s, Berkeley Hills
reservoirs, Carquinez Straights, Grizzly Bay, Browns Island
faults and Folds, Oil tanks, Salt Marsh, Flooding Tide
gridded lines of houses, planned and gated communities,
landslide, Grassland, Salt Pond, Scrub
smoke plume, fire, Lake Berryessa, The Great Sacramento Valley
rock Outcrop on Lakeshore, Water flooding valleys
parallel ridges of folded rocks smashed against the continent
human quilt of agricultural fields laid down over her bed
of sweet mounds, hills, mountains,
lurching out from under the covers a stripe of red sandstone
rock thrust up and over soft tan silt and clay, red sandstone
holds the long ridge up. River meanders across the ridge carving
rock apart, slow but sure, river cuts. Hot springs there, in that
valley warm water arises bubbling between the mother’s folds
does she long for her to touch us the way my hand wants to reach
out and caress her slope and breast
again the quilt of farm land spread smooth across the valley,
the bed of mother Earth where we lay our heads, with which we
feed our round bellies, shadow of cloud blocks the view now,
then again river, canal, reservoir emerge into view. A stripe of green
land and field along the banks of the Sacramento River hides the water,
other fields are tan, brown, buff, pale green, dry,
only scattered fields kept fecund with water this time of year.
Flying north the valley narrows as
coast range and sierra slowly converge, purple pen explodes, ink on
hand and face, wash off what I can, drink
coffee, water and return, pick up the cadence, the
view again. Ache of skin, ache of muscle to move, dance,
reach yield, great reservoir, crenulated red shoreline,
volcano, forest, dappled, small round craters, curious
volcanic landforms, mounds, don’t know for sure where
we are as we pass north of the great valley, north of Shasta to
Oregon, south of the Williamette still in mountains forests
unnamed in my mind, another river dammed, waters held in
check filling the mothers valley, no longer cutting her so deeply,
and the clouds return now, look to be moving fast
but no, the shadows are nearly stationary so it must be us
who is moving fast across the land. Long straight road cuts
right across forest, hill, man-sign = straight road = valley’s
flooded and still now. Stay still the men say again and
again to the mother taming river and shore, but eventually
she breaks free, moves, dances again, thrusts
herself dramatically over any man made wall, dikes fail,
shorelines flood, people flee in horror and look to blame another
human: president, governor, agency director takes the blame,
becomes the fall guy. She has been still here in this wilderness
for a while. Leaving us feeling secure but she might choose to
dance any day now, to wash this coastline in a bath of salt water,
washing away all that itchy debris of
development from her shore. Does she choose?
This mother of mine, of yours, of ours, does she choose or
simply tolerate our presence upon her. Can we learn to stroke and
caress her with love and affection?, can we learn to be her lover?
Can we erotically lay our head upon
her bosom knowing she will continue to give and yield to our hand.
The clouds form mountains now, ridges, valleys, spectacular and
ephemeral forms of water, booming thunder, shedding ice,
my hands cold now with purple splotches of ink, one small diamond
on my finger, nails longer than usual, I softly clutch this pen
knowing that it is keeping me sane in the
flurry of time here, the random conversation over heard:
“time is going to run them over.” The rumble of voice and engine,
the sway of hips, the suckle of breast, the hand reaching for a
cheek and skin melting away, on fire between palm
and cheek. An invitation in eyes, too close to the edge.
We should be going down now, falling slowly back, perhaps
that is why the bell has rung. I long to see the seatbelt light come
on, to feel us descend again toward her, through
cloud, controlled falling, no longer rising the mother
inevitably pulls us back to her flesh. Controlled falling, foot on
pavement, we roll forward one step at a time. We fall into the
clouds now, slowly any sight of land or sky disappears,
then the shadow of the plane on cloud, and then the
shadow is gone, a ghost, a vision of ourselves dissolved in white.
Too bright to look out the window now
and yet I keep looking for land. The sky comes first,
looking up, a bit of blue, then it too is gone. There she is as we
descend out of the thickest set of clouds, I
see two more layers, blankets between us and the earth,
the soil, we fly now in a sandwich of clear air between cloud layers.
Another sheet of white to be lost in, I want your hand on my cheek,
my shoulder, I want to fall into your arms tonight. We pass through
white again, only a veil now between us, before she disappears again.
I yearn to see beneath these sheets her skin exposed,
seemingly vulnerable to my touch. Wheels drop, ears pop,
we get louder as we come into this place. She likes to make loud
noises in quiet places. She likes to disrupt her easy life. I have lived an
interesting life. It shows on my face and hands,
blotched purple at this moment. Portland metro emerges
now form the clouds industrial zones, housing, pool, field,
freeway, cloud bank and she disappears and reappears so fast I
cannot make out any landmarks, don’t know which freeway
that was. River flow and tributary, not Williamette, then who?
Fields, river bend, forest, clear cut square, we spin in a circle of
air to land the other way around, accelerate briefly over golfing green
and fairway, white veil, hilltop pool, fields stripped in shades of green,
Columbia River broad and deep chasm, cut down to slow lazy river here, now we fly west toward the airport. A child sings, I ache for you.
Green island, river shoals, tree and field again we fall closer, small
orange tent on island shore, logs, great bridges crossing from
Oregon to Washington and back. Grass blades now, trucks, cars, rear
wheels touch runway, then the front, air brakes, deceleration,
we’re one hour late, no dance tonight.

warning

2005-09-16T07:47:00.000-07:00

this is a warning to my relatives and other regular readers of my page.
i am exploring and pushing the edges of what i write. getting a little
sexier and explicit. a me you are not accustomed to hearing from.
read if you like, but your warned.

she lives

2005-09-15T22:55:00.000-07:00

she lives
break the rules she said
and we did, and we made love all night long
watching the moon rise and shine on yourface
my buttocks, your hair

she lives
and even as we broke the rules
we came together, yes, together
in a great sea of musk and mhyrr
in a great frothy eruption, both hers and his
we rolled on the waves of our broken rules

she lives
like the basket of broken glass at my feet
beauty arising from that what was torn apart
the windows rattle, the train whistle blows
the rattle wakes me like dreams of thunder
the bed rolls and i reach out for you

she lives
in the reflection of the full moon on the bay
in the strong desire throbbing in my finger tips
in the dreams and thoughts of one lover for another
she lives and the earth's heartbeat will rock us both back to sleep
even when we are continents apart

she lives
the train fades slowly, the whistle distant now
i let the desire drain and pass
imagine you with a clove cigarette dangling from your lips
choosing now to be a bad boy
while i applaud from the sidelines of your
deep dark pit , don't ever forget we are in this pit together

love, love, love

2005-09-12T21:28:00.000-07:00

Years ago, bearing the world on my shoulders, trying to live by obligations and expectations my world imploded. I fell into myself and into the dark. I went into the woods and prayed. I prayed hard. I chanted while I climbed mountains. I asked for guidance. I asked of anyone who might be listening to me. The Trees, the Rocks, Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha, Zoraster, Spider or Toad. It didn’t matter, I just needed an answer that came from beyond my limited mind. Slowly the answer came, in bits and drabs. No one in particular answered. I wasn’t born again to Jesus, he never answered my prayer. I was born again to myself. For although I kept hoping someone else would answer the answer came as my mind opened. Yea, me, my mind, that’s right. The spark and answer are right here and I am the source of my own answer. I am my own guru, just as you are yours.

God is here and tangible, right at your fingertips, damn, right in your fingertips. Touching the keyboard, God is at play, putting on your pajamas, God is at play, making love to your mate, God is at play. This is it, this is all there is. Enjoy it while it lasts.

I don’t think I’ll take the burner’s temple wisdom to: “skid into my grave sideways and totally worn out shouting ‘holy shit, what a ride.’” Instead I’ll aim to dance into the grave, like Keriac did, riding the sound of didgeridoo, surrounded by lovers, dancing a small beautiful dance of love and leaning on whoever will carry me.

new friend

2005-09-11T22:37:00.000-07:00

I am slowly introducing myself to a new friend. It has been a different way of journaling, a conversation that tells someone about myself. I get to pick and choose what I tell, what is important to share. I am who I choose to be, I can name my history or just be it. It is an interesting process to watch. Making a new friend is a chance to redefine myself again.

So here is something I told my new friend today: I test borderline introvert/extrovert on the Myers-Briggs scales. I am a shy exhibitionist who needs close friends. I am much less shy than I once was. I am sufficiently self assured that people don't think that I am shy. I am more interested in an intimate conversation than a cocktail party. In fact, coctail parties (or the like) are one of my least favorite things in the whole world. What i like best is long intimate conversations that tell me the depth of who people are and how they have lived their lives. It is something I can only sample in a small group or one-on-one. Like eating a single chocolate truffle rather than the whole box at once -- it has taken me a lifetime to appreciate that eating a single chocolate truffle is a better experience.

the size of love

2005-09-10T20:48:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking about the size of love. My natural inclination
is for love to be really big. I can fall in love at the drop of a hat.
I can have my heart broken open by a smile or a touch. I long for
that heart break. I like living in the desire. The dikes with which I
held back desire are breaking open and a tidal wave is washing over me.
When I allow the dikes to break and I find my self in the immediacy of desire, my very cells feel alive. Building the dikes and trying to confine love is fatal. I am giving up the battle. I want the dikes to fail. I want to be drowned in this ocean.

Manna

2005-09-09T06:58:00.000-07:00

I had a dream. I pushed away all the voices that I allowed to keep me in their dreams rather than my own. They were just gone and I was free. I rode a Manta Ray deep into the ocean. I didn’t really ride the Ray, I became the ray, broad arms with small easy pulses taking me on a long joy ride ending exactly where I needed to go.

I found a wooden box on the ocean floor. I sat down and cradled it. I wanted to open it but there was still some fear holding me back. I cradled it for a long time before I opened it. Finally, slowly lifting the lid it appeared empty. I dipped my arms into the emptiness and tossed the invisible contents into the air. It was manna, the sweet diaphanous flow of abundant life. I had all I needed and could literally shower myself in it. The box was empty. The box was full of something sweeter than I could have ever imagined. I have no name for it.

2005-09-08T15:41:00.000-07:00

temple fire

2005-09-08T15:40:00.003-07:00

temple wisdom

2005-09-08T15:40:00.002-07:00

temple morning

2005-09-08T15:40:00.001-07:00

playing the piano

2005-09-08T15:40:00.000-07:00

space pods

2005-09-08T15:39:00.001-07:00

the morning after what

2005-09-08T15:39:00.000-07:00

Dust Monkey and Vaj

2005-09-08T15:38:00.002-07:00

This is a car!

2005-09-08T15:38:00.001-07:00

morning sun through the petals

2005-09-08T15:38:00.000-07:00

flower a-misting

2005-09-07T18:47:00.000-07:00

Collin again

2005-09-07T18:46:00.001-07:00

slow motion

2005-09-07T18:46:00.000-07:00

the ring