Empire State of Mind

New York bound...

Five Senses Friday #34

See:
• Canadian geese in cornfield rows
• A huddle of leftover Christmas trees in an empty lot
• Glimpses of the sun's perfect roundness through winter haze
• A room full of kaliedoscopes
• An angry man tearing the plastic wrapper off his newspaper and throwing it on the ground as he walked hastily down the sidewalk in Northampton. A few steps after throwing down the wrapper, he chucked all the colored advertising inserts down as well.

Hear:
• The mesmerizing repetition of Guru Singh's Ong SoHung chant lightens my heart
• Optimistic chickadees singing their spring song

Feel:
• Opening two last Christmas gifts from my mom, and not having her there to thank. I miss her terribly. I'm not sure words exist for how I've felt this week, settling deeper into the loss.
• Car windows open to an afternoon of warm sunlight
• Welcomed for Christmas with my cousins and their families; happy and grateful to be there having fun

Taste:
• Pesto, frozen from the summer garden
• Ham, creamed spinach, candied sweet potatoes, lasagna, graham cracker cake, chocolate-dipped strawberries, chocolate walnut fudge...yeah, I did a lot of eating this afternoon.

Smell:
• A deep breath of pine, a wreath on my brother's door

Christmas

Love Thursday

"Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each." — Henry David Thoreau

From my Zen page-a-day yesterday morning. Merry Christmas Eve, everyone.

Juxtapostion

I thought I was taking a quick photo of a garland shadow against the wall of a local supermarket, but can anyone else see the f-bomb written in white above the shadow? I didn't even notice it there until I uploaded the image!

Dancing, Chanting, Germs and Books...

Saturday I saw my first performance by the Nataraj Dancers, one of whom is a good friend of ours. The core of the troupe's repertoire are Odissi, traditional temple dances of India that include elaborate costumes, devotional music, tinkling ankle bells, and percussive rhythms. Much of the story behind each dance is related through mudras, the Sanskrit word for a hand gesture depicting a thought, an idea or a word. Both the language and the mudras were completely foreign to me, but the performance was beautiful and it's timing perfect. The past month has turned out to be a bit of a crash-course in Indian culture for me as I immerse myself further in both Kirtan and research. Photos and videos were prohibited at the performance but I hope you'll check out their website. The dancing was followed by the most amazing Pakistani Chai tea I've ever tasted.

Speaking of Kirtan, Sunday morning I found myself at yet another unfamiliar but nearby location for chanting at 10am followed by an incredible vegetarian Indian feast for lunch. There were enormous bowls and pots of jasmine rice, curries, flavorful chickpea and lentil stews, tangy Raita, fresh baked Naam, and sweet balls of cheese floating in a thick rose-water syrup for dessert. There was more spicy Chai to ladle out of huge aluminum kettles, and it was all just delicious. Thanks to Kirtan I've now visited 4 new places in the past month and met quite a few new people.

I found that Kirtan in the morning has a very different energy than at night. It could have been the brightness of the windowed room, or the coffee coursing through my system, or the energy level of a couple of little kids who attended...but it was different. I think I prefer the gatherings that happen at night. I think if my mom could have seen me smile at the little girl who came up and sneezed in my face while I had my eyes closed, she would have laughed hysterically and wondered how on earth I kept my peaceful composure. Which made me smile. A big germ-covered grin. Did I mention that I (calmly) drove home between chanting and the Indian lunch to drop a tablet of Airborne into a tall glass of water and gulp it down? Yes, I sure did. I'm determined to stay healthy for my trip to the city.

After the Indian feast it was off to a friend's family Christmas gathering where we were welcomed like members of the clan, a priceless gift this season. Later on, at home, I finished the book Breakfast with Buddha, a comical novel of road-trip-meets-spiritual-quest. If you're already familiar with Eastern religion this book won't reveal any earth-shattering secrets, but it's entertaining. I read it easily in two sittings. I'm still working my way through The Way of the Wizard as well, which I would describe as Deepak Chopra lite. I'm waiting for a new shipment of denser titles to arrive in the mailbox any day now — Mindsight: The New Science of Personal Transformation by Daniel J. Siegal, Lovingkindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness, and Faith: Trusting Your Own Deepest Experience, both by Sharon Salzberg.

Solstice

I notice both the the birds and I are still lately, conserving our energy in the cold. I console myself with books, and reacquaint myself with fate. The darkest days of the year are behind us, or so I hope.

Lullaby
My little lack-of-light, my swaddled soul,

December baby. Hush, for it is dark,

and will grow darker still. We must embark

directly. Bring an orange as the toll

for Charon: he will be our gondolier.

Upon the shore, the season pans for light,

and solstice fish, their eyes gone milky white,

come bearing riches for the dying year:

solstitial kingdom. It is yours, the mime

of branches and the drift of snow. With shaking

hands, Persephone, the winter’s wife,

will tender you a gift. Born in a time

of darkness, you will learn the trick of making.

You shall make your consolation all your life.

by Amanda Jernigan

Five Senses Friday #33

See:
• One white seagull flying overhead against a cold, blue sky. Not a common sight here.
• The giant band of roving wild turkeys have been feeder-hopping throughout the neighborhood. I often catch sight of them on my morning commute, 20 or 30 gathered in someone's front yard or driveway.
• A dead deer in the back of a pickup this morning. I took off my gloves to touch its smooth antlers and dry, wiry fur, but it was looking at his faded, lifeless eyes that made me want to run away and sob. The hunter may have thought I was appreciating his prowess. My admiration was soley for the deer.
• Several unexpected, lovely gifts in my mailbox over the last few weeks.

Hear:
• Kirtan at a beautiful new 12-sided yoga studio not far from here.
• Howling wind - our current cold snap has been brutal.
• The plaintive, raspy meow of our gray cat.

Taste:
• Roasted free range chicken and root vegetables — take out from the local store.
• Fabulous chocolate gingersnap Christmas cookies delivered to the office from an author.
• A sip of whiskey-laced eggnog on ice.

Smell:
• Incense.
• Fresh paint - my boss is getting a new office. I may be one of the few people on earth who's terribly disappointed that my boss is moving farther away from my desk.
• I haven't worn perfume since I gave up Samsara a decade ago, but I'm enamored with the spicy scent of my mom's Floris of London Florissa, and wear it every day. I don't know that she liked it herself, as the bottle seemed untouched compared to the others. Introduced in 1978, Florissa is described as "Crisp aldehydic topnotes with a green leafy accord introduced the classical floral heart - a rich bouquet of rose, jasmine and lily of the valley underscored by sweet hay. The harmony is balanced by the soft powdery base notes of amyris musks and mosses." Green, hay, and moss? No wonder it's appealing.

Feel:
• My legs fall asleep when I'm sitting cross-legged at Kirtan.
• The sting of cold.

Checking In

All I can seem to do lately is read and think. Which makes it hard to write. But I wanted to post this out-of-focus photo of tree branches at the Montague Book Mill and say hello. I hope you're all taking time to relax and breathe in the holiday rush.

Looking Forward

My brother Ken, J and I will be ushering in the new year in NYC, where we're headed for 4 nights after Christmas. The three of us should have time to visit lots of spots that J and I normally don't slow down enough to catch - like museums (Kandinsky at the Guggenheim! Jain manuscript paintings at The Met!). We're also going to see Fela! at the Eugene O'Neil Theater, a production described by Time Out New York as "more than a musical; it's an ecstatic phenomenon." Whoo-hoo! Bring on the ecstasy! I think we deserve it.

You Learned that Where?

Watch CBS News Videos Online

Lately I've been absorbing books on both spirituality and the science of consciousness like a giant sponge, perfectly content to curl up in a chair by the fire and read all weekend long, occasionally muttering, "wow!" and dog-earring a page I feel I have to investigate further or read again. I must admit to feeling a little nervous about the one I'm currently working through, Your Eternal Self. Yes it's received just shy of 5 stars on Amazon.com, but who's ever heard of Greater Reality Publications? And what's with the dated-looking cover design? Yet between it's covers the author, R. Craig Hogan, Ph.D, presents an amazing summary of the scientific evidence for irreducible consciousness, citing evidence from psychology, medicine, neuroscience, parapsychology, afterlife studies, etc. and he provides a cumulative (and solid) argument for his thesis.

My first dog-eared page — child prodigy Jay Greenberg, subject of the 60 Minute segment above. Savants and child prodigies are two of many arguements for a unified field of consciousness that our minds, separate from our physical brains, can tap into to gain knowledge and information — also known as non-local intelligence. Wherever one believes his gift originates from, Jay Greenberg (or "BlueJay" as he likes to be called) has been deemed "... a prodigy of the level of the greatest prodigies in history, when it comes to composition" by Samual Zyman, his professor at Julliard.

An amazing world we live in. I'll share more dog-eared discoveries as I find them.

UPDATE: This book is fantastic until Chapter 5 and then, in my opinion, loses a lot of its focus.

Enchantment

On Wednesday evening I left work and headed into the snow-covered Berkshire hills to experience a Kirtan at Kripalu Yoga in Lenox. It was my first time at the center and I found it a hive of activity — men and (mostly) women filled the dining room and hallways, the café, gift shop, and lounge areas. How many more were behind the closed doors of private offices and yoga studios I can only imagine. I wandered quietly, awkwardly carrying my winter coat in my arms, removing my tall boots and stowing them in a cubby while I waited for the sancuary doors to open. Inside I could hear a familiar voice warming up.

It's hard to express how thankful I am to have found this practice the same week I lost my mom. I attended my first Kirtan the Sunday after her services and the Thanksgiving holiday, hoping it would help center me before returning to the daily grind the next morning. As long time readers of this blog know, my 40 minute commute to and from the office can be a difficult time for me. In winter's darkness I've often found myself with a dangerous combination of too much time alone to think, and too many sad songs on my iPod. During the three year span from my mom's diagnosis to her death I filled many miles with grief, and dreaded a return to that routine of despondency. That first Sunday I bought a copy of Dave's newly released cd and played it for my commute in the morning and again at night, chanting along as I drove. Dark thoughts rose, but fell quickly away. There were no tears (at least not while driving). I listened to it all week and purchased more Kirtan music from iTunes: Ram Dass, Krishna Dass, Govinda. My commute's been radically transformed from sorrowful to soulful.

When I think about the music I've loved the most through the years, my immediate passion for chanting makes perfect sense. The Cocteau Twins, known for their nonlyrical yet emotionally gripping vocalizations; Lisa Gerrard, who like Elizabeth Fraser often sings in a language of her own invention that she's been working on since she was 12 years old; Indian dance music. When I made a brief foray into working on my own music I felt drawn to layering repetative, chant-like vocals over Middle Eastern rhythms. All of it certainly seems to have paved the way for feeling very comfortable with Kirtan.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor at Kripalu I could still hear my thoughts in the silence between chants, but they were much quieter than they were last spring when I attempted to still my mind after yoga, and they seemed to lack any negative emotional force. A child in the back of the room would babble and break the stillness (a distraction that would normally aggravate me to no end) and I was able to note it and quickly let it go. For a few seconds my thoughts seemed to stop entirely and I experienced the edges of a very unfamiliar inner stillness, at once both grounding and heady. And oddly, in the middle of one chant, I felt a sense of unexplainable happiness spreading. It wasn't overwhelming bliss, but it was a noticeable warmth. It was a start.




For further reading, check out this short piece from The Times on the growing popularity of Kirtan in the West.

Sweet Dreams

Last night I dreamt about my mom. Since she died I haven't been able to remember any of my dreams, and that's been disturbing to me since I'm accustomed to waking up with entertaining memories of them.

Once I fall asleep I often find myself at a train station/subway platform, and last night I returned there. My mom was standing on the platform, the only person in sight, looking at me with a serious, calm but somewhat concerned expression. You'd think I'd jump for joy at seeing her, but I actually couldn't believe it was her. She looked to be in her 50's, dressed stylishly in a long skirt, blouse, and cardigan-style sweater, nice jewelry, nothing flashy but pretty and well-composed, as she always was. That woman looks just like my mom I thought to myself, and couldn't stop staring at her. I noted that she even had a small mole and a darkened brown spot on her face, exactly where they should have been. I started to cry and she approached me. "I'm sorry" I said, "but you look just like my mom who just died." She put an arm around me and we sat down on a bench against a wall and talked.

I don't remember exactly what we talked about, but I think I was telling her about my job and life and about losing my mom, as if she were a concerned, motherly stranger. She listened, still with an arm around me, and I think she spoke as well but unfortunately I can't remember what she said.

Yesterday I was dealing with a very stressful situation (which has since been resolved), and it was something I had actually asked for my mom's help with (hopefully I'm not the only one who still talks to people who are no longer alive?). It was perhaps not surprising I'd dream about her at this time, but it was still very intense.

Books and Beer

After my visit to the Peace Pagoda on Friday I drove to the nearby Bookmill in Montague, MA. It's been many years since I've visited and I fell in love with the spot all over again.

What's not to love about a funky old mill building full of used books and comfy chairs situated on the banks of a roaring New England river? Narrow stairways, tiny rooms, cozy nooks, great light...and so many books...

I was pleasantly surprised to see books from the company I work for prominently displayed everywhere — on the checkout counter, in rows on top of the book cases, beneath a sign that read something like, "Books We'd Like to Find Beneath the Tree." As I studied rows of philosophy books, a woman and her husband pulled this book from the stacks and began to discuss it as a possible gift for his mother. I had to laugh — reminders of my work were everywhere on my day off.

What could be better than books you don't need in a place you can't find (the shop's motto)? How about books you don't need in a place you can't find with a little café overlooking the river? And on this particular afternoon, an open table in the corner, just for me.

And what if the café offered delicious, healthy foods like warm brown rice salad and cold soba noodles, baked goods, fresh coffees, and a fantastic selection of beer and wine? I could live in a place like this, personally. Here's the Farmhouse Ale Heinnieweisse (in a can no less) I ordered while waiting for my enormous bowl of soba noodles, and yes, the letter they handed me just happened to be an M! Perfect!

I sat there at my little table for an hour, reading one of the books I'd just chosen and leisurely enjoying my beer and noodles, which felt luxurious. Going in, I knew I would focus on self-help/spirituality titles, but there were quite a few to choose from. I wanted to make wise choices — how could I narrow it down?

Two ended up jumping out at me thanks to their use of the word "quest," my word for the coming year. Among other things, the jacket copy for Twenty Spiritual Lessons for Creating the Life You Want: The Way of the Wizard, promises "...twenty spiritual lessons that help the reader transcend ordinary reality by creating a shift in perception that opens the mind to the value of spiritual transformation in everyday life. This transformation was the real alchemy of the wizard. Deepak Chopra invites the reader on a quest."

The description of the second book, Where Are You Going? was equally intriguing. "Sometimes it seems that we have been sidetracked and have lost sight of our true destination. One of the great spiritual masters of the modern age, Swami Muktananda, tells us, "Now is the time to get back on the main road. " In the essays, stories, and conversations that compose this book, Swami Muktananda offers us an engaging and comprehensive introduction to the spiritual quest: how we can embark on it and how it will unfold. This is an essential guidebook for the spiritual journey."

It was this second book I began to read first.

Peaceful

On Friday I made my first visit to the Peace Pagoda in nearby Leverett, MA. It's white dome was breathtaking against the blue sky, it's golden statues glinting so brightly in the warm sun I could hardly bear to look at them. Below the pagoda colorful prayer flags fluttered above a small lily-pad dotted reflecting pond alive with small fish, and beyond the grounds rose the dark Seven Sisters of the Holyoke range. With a few fleeting (but loud) exceptions I had the grounds to myself and remained there for several hours, taking photos, crossing back and forth over the pond, circling the Pagoda itself, sitting on a small bench in the woods.

The "few exceptions" posed a challenge - visitors who insisted on chatting loudly and seemed to follow me wherever I wandered in an attempt to escape them (though this was just my perception). Maybe it's an old-fashioned remnant of my strict Catholic upbringing, but I tend to speak in hushed tones at sacred places (if I speak at all), especially when I sense my behavior might disturb someone else. The distraction of the talking visitors filled me with anger, until later when I was headed back down to my car and began considering the challenge of the situation from a different angle — in the same way that I felt these people should have controlled their voices, I should have controlled my anger and felt compassion instead. Perhaps their (outward) behavior and my (inward) behavior were equally inappropriate? I'm not entirely sure of the answer, but the consideration itself was entirely new to me — I'm usually a lot more protective of my anger.

The Peace Pagoda is the first Nipponzan-Myōhōji Peace Pagoda to be built in the US and was completed in 1986. Constructed as shrines to world peace, the pagodas are a result of the inspiration that Japanese monk Nichidatsu Fujii (1885-1985) felt when he met with Mahatma Gandhi in 1931 and decided to devote his life to promoting non-violence. According to signs and literature on the grounds, this particular order of Buddhist monks and nuns relies entirely on donations and does no form of fund-raising for itself. All the materials and labor for the Pagoda and surrounding structures (including a stunning new temple that's slated to open in October 2010) are donated.

Five Senses Friday #32

Part of me feels bad to have skipped a few weeks of Five Senses Fridays, but another part of me didn't want to dwell in the sights and sounds of those weeks for too long, and then to share them...I just don't know. I certainly reflect back on them often with a mix of tears and wonder.

See:
• Traffic lights lurching back and forth in a gust of wind
• A trolley car of of Santas pulled over by a police cruiser
• Overhead, 2 stunt planes spinning in a streaked sky

Taste:
• Farm fresh eggs
• Cold soba noodles
• Fresh baked bread from a co-worker
• A feast of homemade desserts and red wine at a friend's house

Smell:
• The mingling, spicy scents of my mom's perfume collection hang in the air of my own bedroom now, a reminder.
• Fresh Freesia flowers brought by a friend
• Lilies and roses in a gorgeous bouquet from afar
• A pine-scented (and shaped) air freshener, exactly the same variety my dad used to hang in his car when I was little


Hear:
• Church bells ringing out of tune, Hark the Herald Angels Sing. A lonely sound.
• Pigeons squeaking in their night roost, tucked in to a sill against an exterior office wall
• Heavy wind across wooded hills
• A train whistling in the distance

Touch:
• Yeti asleep on my feet as I type this. He's still around quite often,

I live my life in widening circles that reach out across the world.
I may not complete this last one but I give myself to it.
I circle around God, around the primordial tower.
I've been circling for thousands of years and I still don't know: am I a falcon, a storm, or a great song?

– Rilke