Soul Awakening

I'm thinking about the soul deadening that so many of us endure or accept in our daily lives in so many ways, through the media, through our jobs, through the norms of our contemporary culture and so on. I'm thinking how essential it is for us to find a way to awaken those deadened parts of ourselves, to prevent this process and reverse this process, to be the selves we dream of, can be, are, that we have to do this for the survival of ourselves and our world.

But what do we do? I don't have answers, though I find all kinds of lifestreams that are essential for me to keep connecting to: the arts, both taking them in and participating in creativity, dance and the joy of the body and connecting with others in this way, social activities that lead to depth in relating, laughter and play, spiritual inspiration, being in nature. But it seems hard to create the kind of adequate time for these activities to really keep the heart and soul alive, to not begin to sink into various forms of despair, depression or simply resignation. I keep having to look at how I "do" my life to see where I am going astray, where I am wasting time I could be spending on things that feed me, where I can make changes that will result in substantive benefit to myself and others.

About six months ago I started hosting monthly community fire circles at my home. We sit outside around a fire bowl, whoever feels like gathering, and we tell stories and jokes, talk from the heart about our lives, sing songs, read poems. Every month it's different: different people show up, the tone is different. There are always surprises. But always it is so beautiful what comes from this simple act of reconnecting to one another without distractions and with the presence of fire to warm us and help us feel our hearts, our joy, our laughter. Always it's amazing to see who responds to my email invitation that goes out to more than 75 people locally, to see who is hungry for this connection, curious about what it might give to their lives. And it is amazing, heartening and wonderful to hear about the gifts people receive in their lives after being at the fire--the peace, the healing, the insights, the blessings that miraculously show up.

One thing seems clear: Each step we take towards our hearts may seem like a drop in the bucket, but it is a drop in a vast ocean of blessing.

Letter to Rilke

Dear Rilke,

It is morning. It is early in the 21st century. It is already quite warm outside. I am sitting in the shade in America. It is a bright day. I have just spent the night with my lover, but now a gloom comes over me, a feeling of disconnection. Though our bodies were pressed together, i feel the gaps--imagined or real? It doesn't really matter. It is part of the passing show. "Das verrint," you wrote, didn't you?

I send you my love and appreciation for your words, your effort, your heart, soul, imagination, your daring to speak the truth of the imagination, your grappling with the Real, the Divine, with life. I think you got lost, you fell down, you were too afraid of love, after all, and i feel sad about that, about all the men (and women) who close themselves to love for fear of being engulfed, of losing themselves, who instead of finding the deeper path home and daring to lose the false sense of self, the shell of constructed personality, in order to come into true being, close themselves off in narrower rooms, comfortable, familiar rooms, where they can control who they are and what they feel. This isn't it, either. That was your mistake. "Dies ist nicht, Jüngling, daß du liebst," you wrote. This isn't it, young one, your loving. Yes and no.

There is another way, a middle way, a way of rising through relating, allowing relating to another, that dance, to bring you to a more profound relationship with Self. Burning away all that is not needed in the self, a refining process whereby being together and being alone, separate, aren't two opposed ideas or states, but rather one steps freely into the fluidity of simply being, where the truth of oneness with all things balances with the feeling of inhabiting a singular body-mind-being, so that one can come together without a loss of self, and apart without a loss of other, but swim in the greater Sea of Being, which you sensed, you knew, you partook of so many times. You entered those hallowed halls, but then you suffered, shut out from them, unable to find the way back.

I have not mastered this middle way, i lose myself too, or lose the way. I don't know why. But i sense the greater being that is possible. I sense the truth of this path and its great light. And that being alone is not the answer.

Well, i am writing to you, friend, even now, centuries later, to encourage you, since time is an illusion anyway. Let me hearten you on your path and thank you for your great gifts to all of us. And let me ask you to write to me too, to tell me of your struggles, your woes, your flights, your joys, your ecstacies, your understanding and your misunderstanding. I want to hear them all. Let us join hands across time and walk in the garden together.

Yours in loving friendship,

Giving up my dog

Turning again in the slow field, the slow field of meaning, of becoming, of words. Language like a sudden splash of raindrops in the night, powerful thunder, so that i thought of my dog--no longer with me--who is afraid of thunder, and i wished he were with me so i could comfort him and thereby comfort myself, so we could share in comfort and being together, so i could feel his dependence on me, the way when it thunders he always tried to get his body as close to mine as possible, first pushing all of himself directly under my chair and then trying to climb into my lap, though he's way too big to be a lap dog.

In the morning light i miss him still and feel the sting of betrayal of having given him up, though he's in a great home with friends, feel the loss like an acre opening inside, feel the conflict of wanting him and not wanting him, as i look at my newly painted kitchen floor no longer pocked all over by his nails, a beautiful glassy field of green, also unmarred by dog hair, and i like it that way, i want it that way, but we can never have all that we want--the dog and the perfect floor, the companionship without having to be home twice a day to walk and feed him, his smiling face without his hyperactive leaping up each time i shift in my chair, my need without his.

So it is that the day begins with the imperfect huddled around me like the ghosts of children--silent, mournful, wanting something. I feel my empty hands, the way i cannot answer every need, not even in my own life, where they clash against each other like titans in some ancient, unresolvable war, doomed to play it out in the heavens one more time.

Needing to write, needing to make a living, needing companionship, needing to remember myself in solitude, needing to be outdoors but finding comfort indoors, a hundred aches and yearnings, indecisions, morse code messages, crossing wires.

I carry the weight of them like an old engine i have removed from the truck of my life, inner workings exposed to light, covered in grease and grit. Something's not working here, but can i fix it? I've got an assortment of tools and some know-how, but sometimes the answer is not to drive the truck at all but just to sit on the grass by the messy engine, the disemboweled truck, and think of nothing, or not much, as the day goes on humming around you and other people drive to other places.

I believe

I believe that the body and spirit are not in conflict, that the physical world and its rich sensations are an expression of the Divine and can lead us back to the Divine and to unity. I also believe we can easily get lost in the pursuit of pleasure and worldly things, like fame and fortune, and forget our true home and aim. But i have seen that in our lives tragedy seems to take care of itself, happen without needing our help, whereas pleasure, celebration and joy are things we need to cultivate and are among the most worthwhile things to cultivate.

I believe all people have within them an inner guidance to lead them wisely and in their own perfect way towards health, balance and the expression of their gifts in the world, and to guide them through life's challenges. I believe no one knows better than you what you need, but that your guidance can easily become clouded over by habit, fear, other voices inside, etc. I believe our guidance comes from our heart and from spirit and that the mind is a terrible decision making tool, contrary to what most of us have been taught. I believe that most people in this culture have not been raised to hear or follow the voice of their own heart and are clouded by fear and mental projections so that they are partially or greatly cut off from their true selves and their inner guidance.

I believe life is set up so that we also need one another to heal and to find our way and that real healing only takes place in the presence of love.

I believe that what we give is what we get to have in abundance.

I believe men and women have unique and remarkable gifts and that our understanding and expression of the nature of the genders in this culture is impoverished and hurtful in many ways, but that an amazing flowering is possible, which would allow for a great deal of variety of expression of masculine and feminine energies in each of us and a beautiful, powerful, creative dance of those energies that is mutually beneficial and respectful.

I believe the aging process is a deep mystery we have yet to really explore as a species.

I believe that each person is here for a purpose, and that we need the contributions of each person, that our journey is to find and express what we are here for to the fullest extent possible.

I believe fun is a key to life, and our passions, joys and interests are important clues or signposts to lead us where we need to go.

I believe happiness is sacred.

I don't believe in a punishing God.

I believe in the inherent Divinity in all things.

I believe that even the inanimate world is alive, and that listening is one of the most useful, important and powerful tools we can cultivate.

I don't believe in the virtue of hard work; I believe in loving what you do and doing it with passion and doing everything you do with love and as an offering.

I believe that artistic talent and inspiration come from something much greater than ourselves, and they get distorted when we identify with them from our egos.

I believe in the sacred power of play.

And as Keats wrote, "I am certain of nothing but of the holiness of the heart's affections and the truth of the imagination."

The quagmire of questions

Well, i admit it: i've been stumped about what to write. I write in my journal nearly every day, but a blog is different, and suddenly i'm not sure what this one is about, what the purpose is. The idea of blogging appeals to me, to share some more of the seemingly endless stream of words i typically generate in a week with others. Keeping it all to myself definitely doesn't feel good or right. But the question arises what to share here, what to write, and suddenly i'm in a familiar philosophical quagmire.

How is this blog different from my journal? Well, it's very different. There's a whole lot of personal stuff in the journal i have no intention of sharing publicly, even in this semi-anonymous way. And there's no doubt a whole lot in there no one would want to slog through anyway. When this blog was a record of the separation in my relationship and how i was dealing with it, i had a specific purpose. Now i've lost that purpose. So what's relevant?

Given that i have virtually no readers, you wouldn't think i'd care about such questions, but that only heightens the question of why do this at all? Then what is it in me that wants to? I guess it's the writer self that longs to share something with "the world." But what is that something worth sharing?

You see the quagmire. This is the very quagmire that once stopped me from writing music, stopped me cold after many years of happy productivity. And yet these are questions that need asking, aren't they?

So, if you're reading this and you want to share with me thoughts on what you enjoy reading, what i might write about, etc, please do. . .

Fires and news

The fires that were started by lightning over a week ago caused a thick pall of smoke to blanket the sky all week. 800 fires raging throughout California and not enough human power to tackle them all. The sky has been beige, lungs have been stressed, and if you step outside it smells like a campfire. I've felt like I'm wearing an iron helmet all week, or like someone dropped the ceiling down to five feet. I've been restless and stir-crazy, cooped up inside, avoiding the smoke, and the lack of oxygen has made me groggy and tired. But yesterday, blue sky was actually visible with wispy white clouds, and I spent the afternoon at the river, completely restorative. This morning it still smells like a cookout outside and the ridge beyond my house is hazy, but overhead is blue sky, and I'm grateful for that.

The blossoming in my relationship with J continues to feel miraculous, even as our fears, anxieties, old wounds occasionally resurface. I marvel at the ease with which we are dealing with them, and the clarity of the communication between us.

Meanwhile, looking for another housemate for the open room in my house. The one I had lined up fell through yesterday, two days before the first, leaving me to come up with that part of the mortgage again. Darn!

Oskar, my sweet but demanding dog, is happy in his new home with neighbors of mine. I still miss him a lot and am also enjoying the greater freedom of my days.

I keep delving into this feeling of letting life come to me, letting things flow in their own way and timing, finding and feeling the flow, less resistance, less striving and pushing against things, more trust.

Hawk

how do we dwell
inside the day
needing nothing
but what is
how do we find
the innocent
country of heart
all images
and moment
leave the land of
the discursive
full of worry
identity
the birds sing
and the trees
impossibly
lush and bright
a density
of perfection
mind cannot
fathom to swim
into that
or float on
these fine shining
threads the spiders
weave i am
looking for some-
thing elusive
called meaning
while it glitters
all around me
a thousand coins
of light i do
not understand
my place in the
order of things
a hawk circles
in the blue sky

And what i mean by that is…

I am a little depressed the last few days. And what i mean by that is i am being held under a small bag filled with sand that i carry everywhere. And what i mean by that is that sand has a kind of heavy, sodden quality that pushes down on you and is hard to carry around, though sometimes weight feels good. And what i mean by that is that i like it when bodies press on me as in doing contact improv or in cuddling. And what i mean by that is i sometimes have an insatiable need for contact, touch, weight, pressure, just to know i am still here, alive, in a body, to remember my body and not feel that all the pieces might just fly apart. And what i mean by that is sometimes it's so hard to hold it all together—life, i mean and self, and feelings—and i just want to be contained and remembered to myself by another. And what i mean by that is the painful feeling of aloneness, separation, isolation, cold, that sometimes dogs me, making the world seem hard. And all i want is to be honest and real, and the pressure is so strong to be otherwise, to wear our masks, be polite and put-together and comfortable and happy, and isn't it heartbreaking because aren't we all just wanting out of that box?

Sometimes a sense of despair comes over me and defeat when things seem hard and i feel like i'm pushing a boulder up a hill and my life suddenly seems stupid and my attempts at things pathetic and i can see why people just suddenly go ballistic from the pressures of this crazy, hard, disjunct, modern world and the lack of love and recognition of our gifts, and i'm wanting so much to remedy that in so many ways, but it feels like a drop in a desert sometimes. And what i mean by that is i am carrying this sand bag around the last few days and i don't know why and it scares me and i don't want it and i just want to be loved and i wish i could go back in time and fix my childhood so i don't have to feel this way now and isn't life weird?

But i guess it's part of what gives emotion to my writing and compassion to my listening and god knows what all else, probably something beautiful to my dancing. Isn't the Divine weird, how it shows up in everything and is sneaky and strange, the way it's working all the pieces? And what i mean by that is creativity and love and miracles and how things that seem so fucked up are also blessings and gifts and it's impossible to really make sense of any of it with the mind. That's not what the mind is for. And when i see the mind run rampant—like practically everywhere—i want to cry and also to scream.

And i am grateful for writing. That's all i know. So that's what i give.

Clear Lake, Muddy Waters

My violin at the bottom of a lake. Clear water. The violin in its case. Somehow the water didn't get in. I'm dismayed that i fished my identity—bag with wallet, etc—out first, but then i'm surprised the violin was there at all in the dream.

I feel incomprehensibly sad now writing this. It's not the dream and yet maybe it is. I feel tired of the ongoing struggle of my life. But the lake was clear. Still i feel submerged even though i rescued everything—dog, children, women, we were even going back for the car.

Then why does life feel like the insurmountable skyscraper or the scaling up its sleek, terrifying side?

I would like to give up all trying, all effort, and it seems to me it should be possible to live this way, and yet i don't find it. I feel a vast disappointment. Perhaps it is a precursor to something better—like acceptance, surrender. I certainly don't want to have to earn anything anymore—praise, approval, friendship. What else is at the bottom of the lake?

I believe in the magical process of writing. Isn't it enough? I could walk out of my life now and just keep walking, but that's not it. I wish i could find the closet that contains whatever it is supposed to contain. I'd rather not begin again.

What does the lake symbolize? Clear lake in which we might have drowned but didn't. I am ready to crawl under the comforting mountain, burrow in the dark. We are not free and i long to be. I need a moment to re-collect, remember, myself. But i lost that moment somewhere in some lint-filled pocket with the old ticket stubs and gum wrappers. If there were a backdoor, i'd put the hate out into the dirt yard with the chickens. Sometimes we need our rage to keep going. It's like fuel. I'm angry about the years, the lies, and the obscene price of gasoline that has only to do with disgusting profits for the few while the rest of us suffer. But i'm tired of that too. When i was little i liked games with elaborate stories of people's lives.

I would like to feel what's running through my veins. I wish someone would come and clean up all the mess. I am tired. I can't do it anymore. It feels like a long way out. I wish i knew what the wind has to say about it all. I'd like to stay up all night just to listen. Erase me, i keep saying, without knowing exactly what it means. I don't have to know. Erase me, enfold me—those two.

Non-resistance

What i am becoming so much more sensitive to—thanks to M and the Human Design stuff she has turned me on to, and to the events, challenges and teachings in my own life—is right timing, letting things flow in their own way and time, not pushing or hastening things, feeling for the natural flow and being patient with it, accepting of it. The beauty of just letting things be, trusting in the flow of life, not reaching and grasping after everything is that it all becomes so much easier and more pleasurable and i am able to better contact my own innate guidance about the rightness of each decision or action. With it comes a natural faith, an exhaled breath, release from fear, a sense of finding the place where things just work themselves out. I feel so much more trust in that flow, not wanting to control or make things happen or even decide what "should" happen, a deeper breath.

For example, letting the house sale move in its own time and flow but attentive to what that is and my part in it. Letting my book sell (or not) in its own way, not fretting over it, trusting the rightness of it. What i feel as i do this is an allowing, which i can feel actually opsn doors, opens possibilities, where before my anxiety and striving kept the very things i wanted at bay.

Mainly, i am getting so much more sensitive to what resistance and pushing feel like, how bad and off they feel, and what flow feels like. I taught my whole Contact Improv class on following the flow this week.

Renaissance

Renaissance—our love flowering suddenly again, new and not new, lovely, open, sweet, startling after all. How twisting are the ways. But all this comes, i think, from surrender, acceptance, grief too, a passing through of the dark shadows, and grace, that unnameable, unseeable force. Miracle i no longer take for granted, remembering, reminding myself, to stay in each moment, enjoy it as fully as possible for all its richness, assume nothing.

We are experiencing something of a miraculous rebirth, both individually and together, a peace, joy, acceptance, ease. Able to be truly in the moment. Giving up worrying about the future or clinging to the past. Suddenly the present becomes so rich, full, surprising, easy. When stressful thoughts arise, I recognize them as such and let them go. I feel grateful, and i accept myself as best i can, that i am not perfect and that it's workable the way i am. I feel blessed to be able to enjoy the richness of my life and love again.

What i allow is the Will of the gods, the Great Way. It moves through me like a wind. I ride those currents, allowing them to move me. Letting loose the false conditioning of the past, so i can move with my true nature, at one with the Will of the gods, and so, at ease in my heart. "Move me where you want me to go," i say, cultivating trust, reminding myself of their kindness when fear rises up in my heart. Aligning my heart to the world heart and finding it has my best interests held lovingly in hand.

The body is a key and prayer. Its healing is part of the whole work. And words, taking on sacred shape and meaning, used with care. Love is a conduit. Listening is the most powerful tool. What is erased in me i am relieved to be without. What has been consumed by the fire is transformed to light, heat, radiance, passion, life-giving joy.

It is necessary to get very quiet inside, to take dictation from above, beyond, within.

I make mistakes and i learn, so it is ok and even necessary to make mistakes.

I am an open question. A powerful change is at work.

Daring to Flow

I teach a dance form called Contact Improvisation. It is, as the name suggests, completely improvisational and involving following a moving point of contact between two or more bodies, using such elements as momentum, sharing weight, gravity, responsiveness. It can look very slow and meditative or very fast and acrobatic but at its heart is the practice of a deep awareness of self and other, of sensation and movement, connection.

On the dance floor I am able to be amazingly in the moment and in the flow. My body, indeed my whole being, is relaxed, alive, instantaneously responsive, graceful, playful, joyous and expressive. I am able to bring a constantly changing dynamic of allowing/release and intention/creativity to my dance, so that my ideas flow in a moving dialogue with those of the others I am dancing with and with my surroundings. I may approach someone with the idea of lifting them, but if the moment changes or the momentum is not there, I adapt immediately and change direction, enjoying the new experience fully.

So the question arises: If I can do this so well on the dance floor, why not in every moment of my life? How can i transfer this valuable skill of present moment awareness, aliveness, playfulness, adaptability to every area of my life? How can i allow fully what is happening, fee free to bring my own impetus/intention to life, and then adapt as circumstances shift around me, finding a fluid and enjoyable relation to the flow? And then how can i teach it to others? I become fascinated by this question. How can my dancing self teach my whole being to flow so beautifully and expressively and effortlessly? How can i be my dancing self in all of my life?