Wabi Sabi

This is what I'm made to do ...
Originally uploaded by playzwifstonz
I have embarked on a journey of wabi sabi -- the Japanese-originated perspective of seeing the beauty of things as imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete. It is looking at things as they are and even as they deteriorate ... rusted, weathered, crude, natural.

I spent the better part of the afternoon yesterday walking around my urban neighborhood taking photos.  Prior to reading about wabi-sabi, I did not perceive that there would be anything picture worthy in this historic throwback, littered with garbage and riddled with decay.
On the contrary, I soon discovered; beauty was abound. In the oddest and unlikeliest of places. This is because the lenses I normally look out of have been re-focused, not to mention that the view has shifted, now zooming in on what is real, what is here, what is in its natural state of "what it is".

Much to my surprise, each new sight of something worn, something deteriorated became increasingly more gorgeous to the eye, a rush coarsing through my veins as I let myself drop deeply into the heartbeat of Life. As I bent down to capture a badly rusted piece of metal, a man walked by and shot me a disapproving look, as if I was picking through garbage. I couldn't stop smiling inside.

The more profound discovery, however, did not come until today. As I reflected on yesterday's experience while I did some light chores around my apartment today, I became aware of the ease and flow of my tasks and how they didn't have the usual urgent, pressured qualities of past cleaning frenzies. What arose in this moment was that my wabi-sabi experience brought me directly in relationship with reality as it is -- no mission or efforting or desire to change anything. And then it hit me like a ton of bricks: my former obsessive straightening and cleaning was my attempt at stopping the progression of Life. Something out of place, something that I deemed to be unkept or not up to par with my standard of aesthetics was to be dealt with, controlled, even eliminated. This disallowance of things being able to be exactly as they are has been the way I have tried to manage relationships and situations for the better part of my life. To try to control the course of something changing was my desperate clinging to the known while avoiding the terror of the unknown. I was halting Life rather than being in the flow of Life.

Who knew that rusty, broken down stuff would open up a whole world of pulsating, life-giving treasures right before my eyes ?

Wabi fuckin sabi.

Awesome.

Spinning to Sanity ...

Tornado
Originally uploaded by in eva vae Gift: 6 my preset lightroom "vintage"
As a young girl, I was obsessed about the unpredictability of weather. This was holographic and could aptly describe the stormy climate that I resided in on a daily basis. In particular, I was both equally fascinated and terrified by tornadoes.

I read about them in the encyclopedia and in other books that explained weather. I studied the patterns of storm clouds as well as the conditions that brought about these twisters. I even knew the exact place in the house where we would most likely be the safest -- southeast corner of the basement, flat on the floor. Perhaps my vigilance about this swirling madness of nature was, in part, an act of overcompensating for what I could not forecast in my own home.

Last night, I had a tornado dream. It was vivid and so so real. I was in a familiar neighborhood that is about 10 minutes from where I live. I could see the cobblestone street with the trolley tracks and its surrounding shops. As I walked up this very street, I noticed that the sky was the perfect "pre-tornado" ominous black just like the pictures I saw in books as a child. In my dream, I had an awareness of danger looming and yet I was not frightened. I knew what to do. I continued to walk slowly, keeping one eye on the sky and one toward any house or shop that appeared to have an accessible basement. Suddenly, I saw the formation of the tell-tale funnel. It was long and cylindrical and powerful. I saw it touch down. It was moving too quickly for me to get to shelter. I saw a large pothole in the street -- big enough to occupy my body if I made myself compact. The funnel was barreling full-force toward me. I crammed myself into the pothole and tucked my head down. I could feel the intensity of the wind slamming against my back. The sound of an oversized train whistle that is often described on TV by stormchasers was deafening. I braced myself and asked God to watch over me. The howling, twisting spiral gusted right over me tearing off roofs and pieces of the cobblestone street. And then, a huge silent hush blanketed the space where it just blew through. I was untouched.

I texted my beloved with this simple message: "I just survived a tornado".

I got up and I could hear people moaning. Simultaneously, another twister touched down with greater force than the first. I ran into a 3 story home that was blown open and I went directly into the basement. As I dropped face down on the cold cement floor, I looked at the man next to me. It was my father. He held out his hand and I took his in mine. And we rode out the next tornado, everything above us decapitated like a person's head removed from their body on an archaic chopping block.

After the dust settled, I looked into my father's eyes. No words were exchanged. Just a knowing. The dream ended here.

I believe that this was a dream about validating my sanity amid the spinning turmoil and chaos of growing up in an alcoholic home. That all those years of hypervigilance about weather and feeling crazy were all the ways I was trying to survive the tornado of my family -- specifically, my father. His guest appearance in my dream and the look exchanged as we lay on the floor of that basement had the quality of an amends and an offering of forgiveness.   His presence next to me symbolizing a father who shows up to be a parent to his daughter.  To let his little girl know that she was not alone in this storm that wreaked havoc in our home.   Something that I never experienced during the time he was alive.    I woke up feeling immense peace.

I truly did survive a tornado. One that lasted nearly 3 decades. I breathe a huge sigh of relief in the calm air of my own space. The journey of spinning has brought me to a sanity that I have never known before. It is one that allows me to claim my craziness and to know, deep within my interior, when it is the outside that is insane and not me.

The Currents of Quality ...

Lake Willoughby, 20 seconds
Originally uploaded by Zeb Andrews
Further exploration of Quality in the Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance have found me titilated ( a word I NEVER use !) -- like feeling tiny fibers on the very edges of my physical body that touch my auric body that touch the densities in the space all around me.

This was ever present during an early morning conversation today with W, my longest standing friendship (we've known one another since I was 15). He and I can go years without talking, without emails or any form of contact and then, like our talk today, we re-connect without a tinge of awkwardness or discomfort, just an easing in to where we left off, as if the pause button was simply re-tapped to bring us timelessly back into whatever discussion we were previously having.

These currents of Quality were vibrant as my friend shared a poignant story with me about his beloved, who he will be legally marrying over Memorial Day Weekend in D.C. -- an event that I will be attending and finally getting to meet his other half in person. I asked how they met and he shared about the fact that they were the only single men on an African safari trip and wound up being roomed together. They became close, stayed in touch (my friend lives and works in the Middle East; his partner is in the States) and then 7 months later, my friend's mother becomes very ill. He flies to the States and has a brief layover in the State where his now partner lives. In route, he is informed that his mother has died. He has no clothes for a funeral. He relays this message to his partner. It is early evening on New Year's Eve and the likelihood of anything being open is slim. When my friend lands and arrives, he is met by his partner who has managed to find him 2 suits, 3 black ties, and 2 pairs of shoes to choose from. He has also finagled a tailor to remain open on New Year's Eve so that my friend can have the suit of his choosing altered so that he can present his best self at his mother's funeral. My friend makes the statement: "I simply have no words to describe the way this man loves me." It was in that moment I closed my eyes briefly, just aware of the vibration in the room, all around me. It was not emanating from me, nor from my friend on the phone, but rather it just was ...

I shared with my friend that no words were necessary to describe this love; the love, instead, had described itself.

The Non-questing of Quality ...

Castle of Beynac - 1
Originally uploaded by Ben Heine
I am reading the cult-classic philosophy book, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. It's the homework assignment for my advanced study class in our non-dual healing school. I tried reading this a little over 20 yrs ago when I was newly sober and nothing in it made sense. Sporting a different set of lenses (and aquiring another 2 decades of life wisdom) I am both delighting and wrestling with the concepts the narrator proposes as ways of looking at the world, which include the notion that everything we see is not real because each thing is a construct of our mind. Still having trouble wrapping my brain around that one.

We were assigned this book because it is the perfect companion, I feel, to our non-dual work -- with a particular emphasis on Quality.
What resonated with me in this book is the idea that Quality is neither objective nor subjective but instead is a 3rd entity. We have practices and healings in the body of our teachings which enable us to experience this "3rd thing" . We get to "it" by not questing or efforting but rather in "allowing". It often involves the holding of 2 things simultaneously, which gives way to a 3rd thing arising. This is what the author, Robert Pirsig, is suggesting through his primary character's stance about quality : to hold the idea of objective and subjective will allow for a 3rd entity to surface --- this is Quality and it cannot necessarily be defined concretely or identified sensorily. It is akin to what my teacher sometimes refers to as "is-ness".

I chose the photo for this entry in an attempt to experience the 3rd entity of quality. An objective viewer who looked at this for photo excellence would certainly deem it, I believe, as having quality. The subjective eye which is drawn to the ethereal beauty of how the photographer captured this scene would likely find this to be quality.
So ... I stood in front of this photo and held and nested these opposing forces: objective quality and subjective quality, using the words: "composition" and "beauty" . After a few minutes, the photo disappeared from the experience. A wave, a rush of feeling went from my toes, expanding my chest area ... this was still the after currents of the subjective experience of its beauty ... and then, a shimmering stillness ... the sensation I experience when engaged in impersonal movement or in the midst of a healing.

It was essentially effortless to do this. All that was required was a willingness to experience, be witness to what bubbled up to reveal itself. It lasted but a few moments, perhaps not even 30 seconds.

There is no longer an object that is my focus as I write in this moment. There is a lived experience that occupied this space that is lingering. I feel the pulsing of Life here. There is a movement that is greater than this space that I have had my big toe in.

I have no more words ...

The Difference Project ...

Elégance
Originally uploaded by krysmo

I have been on an extended writing hiatus. Busy schedule, full life and not much in the way of real contemplative time. Not too shabby on one hand; a noticeable void on the other hand. Not devoting time to writing is like taking off from the gym because I walk a lot in between appointments. There is a difference between the two realms. Writing for me is a necessary pausing -- to reflect, to dig in and around, to reach, to explore. There is intention and I am very present.

I watched a video 2 days ago posted on my non-dual healing teacher's website, enlightment online, http://www.en-on.com. He makes a suggestion to the audience to do something for a week --- to let people be exactly who they are. On the surface, sounds like a no-brainer. But, if I get very honest and real about this proposition, it is a very uncomfortable, scary undertaking. Because this alcoholic has expectations of how things and people should be. And when they are "different", I can get squirmy and anxious and feel my history being activated.

Nonetheless, I have embarked on this mission.

You are to do this with a co-hort, someone you can be accountable to so that you each may share your progress, your struggles and your observations of how you are allowing for difference, letting people be themselves. My co-hort is another alcoholic, who I have come to know well in my local AA community.

Yesterday was Day 1 of the Difference Project.

My first opportunity was sitting in a classroom meeting 8 students at a new university that I have began to teach at this semester -- a social work seminar class to accompany their field placement experience. The first person I met was a Latina young lady. I watched her size me up. I watched myself do the same back. Another Latina woman sat next to her. They began to converse in Spanish. I felt a pang of discomfort, then judgment and paranoia: "This is what these people do when they're around non-Spanish speaking people. How rude ! I bet they're talking about me." As soon as I caught wind of my stinkin thinkin, I settled back down into myself and remembered the mission of this project. When I could do this, let these women be who they are, I felt a wide smile form inside. The "left out" feeling literally left. I took in their chatter with curiosity. They smiled back at me from time to time. And then, they began to talk in English and included me. What an interesting shift...

Several more students entered the space. Two white young ladies accompanied by a white male. He darted about very quickly and I watched him chug-a-lugging an energy drink. Another judgment popped up: "He's all hyped up on that stuff, what a handful he's gonna be." Again, I stopped. Paused. "Let him be ..." An African American woman entered very bubbly and extended her hand to me. It was a warm exchange. Lastly, another white girl and an older African woman came in. The African woman had a very thick accent. Another wrinkle in my system was here: "It's gonna be hard understanding her and they can be so pushy. I worked with plenty of them." I literally in my head said to myself: STOP. RIGHT. NOW.

And I began class, having sorted through my judgments and places of non-acceptance, seated on my tush of welcoming difference.

The class unfolded beautifully. There was a richness and an aliveness that my teacher said we would surely experience if we gave this project a go. Each person was indeed a mystery that I wanted to unwrap. I wanted to be surprised. I felt open to receiving each one.

I learned the most from the African woman. She had a great deal of invaluable life experience that makes her an asset to her current field placement. I was pleasantly surprised to see the struggle of one of the white girls and the white male, as I would often expect them to be the ones to excel through my biased, prejudiced lenses. I was tickled to hear the eloquence of one of the Latina girls as she spoke in broken English; while her speech was not perfect, her understanding of the clientele at her field placement was spot-on.

The same kinds of experiences continued to happen during my night class. I giggled aloud and was connected in ways to these students that I had not yet allowed myself to because of how their difference became a barrier rather than a gateway.

Lastly, I was the most challenged to be steeped in this mission in a text exchange with the woman I love last evening. To fully accept her where she is. To simply receive and hear her as she briefly shared how she is working through something, which could not yet be shared with me, because it is not yet known to her. I rode out waves of my history and our history in relationship. Not straying from the mission of this Difference Project, I stayed open and curious. "Let her be quiet. Let her find her way. This is not personal. This is not a rejection. This is not her abandoning connection to you. This is her journey. She runs, then returns. Let her go..." And that is exactly what I did.

I look forward to seeing the unraveling of the mystery that she is too.

And, I can't wait to see who and what today brings my way ...

Snow, Snow ... Friend or Foe ???

Originally uploaded by mallory,

My relationship with winter has been a constant struggle.

This year, more than ever, it is about my nemesis ... SNOW.

And, more than ever, it is REALLY about my self-will and trying to control the snow.

Add to the mix a car that has no control in the snow and there is a perfect recipe for ...

POWERLESSNESS !!!

Tis the lesson I learned last evening, reading Step 3, line by line.

If I shifted my dependence on my Higher Power and the 12 Steps rather than mastering the unplowed streets of my city in a car that simply is not made to do so, I would experience serenity and would not see snow as an evil force of nature that blocks me from doing what I need to do.

This all came to a head yesterday after I drove in circles unable to find parking, got stuck several times with tires spinning on ice, as I attempted to see therapy clients who reside in a part of the city that rarely sees the likes of a snowplow. The "crazy" part of this scenario is that I kept doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results ! THAT is the definition of insanity.

I arrived home, worn out, disgusted, with my proverbial tail between my legs. I saw myself as defeated because I saw snow as the foe, instead of really "seeing" it for what it really is.

I am grateful and humble this morning for my battle with the elements last night. It brought me to a place of utter surrender, with the recognition that it is only me that is my greatest foe and not those piles of white stuff. Letting snow be snow is the true victory.

The Path of Plants ...

2009'un ilk fotoğrafı!!!!/EXPLORE
Originally uploaded by an&bs
I have not written in quite awhile.

My thoughts and expression have been a very internal process.

I am back from a 4 day retreat at my non-dual healing program where I learned another practice that is an extension of a previous one. It has to do with curvilinear space. And the fact that it is in and around everything and everyone. The practice offers the intentionality and steadiness to work with this space.

This morning as I practiced, I was drawn to the space where the leaves of my plants bent toward and followed. As I held my hands, palm side out, to feel this ... I could literally sense a "path" of growth where the plant's leaves would naturally move toward. I looked out my window and saw that the huge trees' branches had the very same movement, with less limits than a room, so theirs was a growth path that was not bounded except for the roof and chimney on one side.

Which got me thinking about mountains. And how the highest ones perhaps also followed a skyward path, informed by the vegetation that grew in its earthy skin which craved being closer to the sun.

In my meditation space where I did this practice, the path of a plant on one side of the room would eventually reach the tips of the leaves of the bamboo plant on the other side of the room. And, interestingly enough, the bamboo plant's path was not in the direction of this other plant but rather it moved in curvilinear travel toward my bronze Quan Yin in the corner. As I moved toward her, an area of the room I actually am never intimate with, there were bands and bands of vibration that extended so far out that I could touch the curves of this space with the front of my chest and forearms and even the side of my face !

I learned today that plants have much to teach me. To follow their paths is to know that there is one for me too that wants me to bend and move toward so that I may grow in its light.