Plunge Into the Truth

"Anyone who feeds on majesty becomes eloquent. The bee, from mystic inspiration, fills its rooms with honey." — Rumi

That's what it was like to learn about the transforming power of Ayurveda last week. Like the entire room was full of honey. Like I'd been waiting a very, very long time to sit in front of such an eloquent teacher.

How fortunate to have been able to participate — even on those nights my tent leaked and a tornado threatened. And now here I am back home with my camping gear still strewn about the dining room, a notebook full of notes, and enough new books from the ashram shop to keep me occupied all winter. Where will all of this lead?

"Sometimes you have to climb mountains whose peak you can't see" someone told me recently. At the moment at least half of this particular peak is in the clouds, but last week convinced me that I should keep ascending.

The tornado warning was very real, by the way, and I must admit to flirting with terror for at least an hour on Friday night, waiting for a twister to come and whip us all into space, piece by tiny piece. Oddly, everyone else seemed unaffected. I sprinted from the meditation hall to my tent, the sky turning an eerie color above me. It took only a few minutes to shove blankets, cot, pillow, lantern, and bags into the back of the car and batten down the hatches — though in my imagination the tent, car and everything in it were doomed to visit Oz. Then I ran barefoot back through the field like a crazy woman and was cross-legged on the floor again before the match was stuck for the puja fire, beads of sweat decorating my forehead. Maybe I'll die here I thought, and that's going to have to be ok.

I worked through a lot of fear last week, I was a gristmill of worry-grains. Going to the ashram in the first place was fear. Finding I'd need to drive over a bridge was fear (though admittedly it was a pretty small bridge and by the time my panic reached a crescendo I was back on dry land). The tornado warning was fear. Saturday night's thunder and lightening storm was fear. Driving back home in the dark was fear.

I dealt with all the fears the same way. In the meditation hall waiting for a tornado: Om Bhur Bhuvah Svah, Tat Savitur Varenyam, Bhargo Devasya Dhimahi, Dhiyo Yo Nah Pracodayat. Om. Cowering in the back of my car watching the saturated walls of the tent flutter and flap like wings in the wind while lightening momentarily turned the surrounding field black and white and thunder threatened to drown out my voice entirely: So'hum So'hum So'hum So'hum. Three hours of kirtan on the drive to upstate NY and 3 more hours on the drive back: Hello, Mass Pike! Om Namo Bhagavate Vasudevaya! Chant, chant, chant. Drown out the worry with it. Give your nervous system a break. I don't know about yours, but mine has put in a lot of overtime in the last few years.

"Plunge into the truth, find out who the Teacher is, Believe in the Great Sound!" writes Kabir. That's my itinerary, my map to the unseeable peak.

Good Mornings

Between the conscious and the unconscious, the mind has put up a swing: all earth creatures, even the supernovas, sway between these two trees, and it never winds down. Angels, animals, humans, insects by the million, also the wheeling sun and moon; ages go by, and it goes on. Everything is swinging: heaven, earth, water, fire, and the secret one slowly growing a body. Kabir saw that for fifteen seconds, and it made him a servant for life.
— Kabir

Breakfast. Emerging from the tent, I'd clean up and make my way through dewy grass to the dining hall and the tree swing. A cup of hot coffee, a visit from the ashram cat still slow with sleep, setting my intention for the day ahead, and looking up into the trees.

Home

I arrived home from my week at the ashram at midnight last night, energized by the full Guru Purnima moon and 3 hours of chanting in the car as it whisked along the Mass Pike, elated by what was easily one of the best weeks of my life. Ananda, meaning "bliss" is appropriately named. When I can form more detailed sentences about the experience I will. Here are some photos from the week...

The Seed Market

Can you find another market like this?
Where,
with your one rose
you can buy hundreds of rose gardens?

Where,
for one seed
you get a whole wilderness?

For one weak breath,
the divine wind?

You've been fearful
of being absorbed in the ground,
or drawn up by the air.

Now, your waterbead lets go
and drops into the ocean,
where it came from.


It no longer has the form it had,
but it's still water.
The essence is the same.

This giving up is not a repenting.
It's a deep honoring of yourself.

— Rumi, as translated by Coleman Barks

Guru Purnima

On this day of the full moon in July, Hindu devotees offer puja (worship) to their Gurus. On this last day of my six day Ayurvedic seminar there will be a special offering of Bhajan and Kirtan. A celebration of the life divine, with chanting for inner joy and world peace, in honor of the Guru - the inner guiding light.


One of the most wonderful descriptions of a person meeting their guru is in Autobiography of a Yogi, in which Paramahansa Yogananda catches sight, for the first time, of Sri Yukteswar standing in a narrow alley.

A Christlike man in the ocher robes of a swami stood motionless at the end of the lane. Instantly and anciently familiar he seemed, for a trice my gaze fed hungrily. Then doubt assailed me.
"You are confusing this wandering monk with someone known to you," I thought, "Dreamer, walk on."

Paramahansa Yogananda attempts to walk on, but his feet grow increasingly numb and heavy and finally become like stone until he turns around again. Running back to the alley he throws himself at the man's feet and in a moment of mutual recognition Sri Yukteswar says,

"O my own, you have come to me!" My guru uttered the words again and again in Bengali, his voice tremulous with joy. "How many years I have waited for you!"

Perhaps I will never meet someone who, outside of myself and my own guiding light, becomes my formal guru — especially in such a dramatic fashion. If I do meet this person, I hope I'll have the clarity of mind to recognize them. What I do have, however, are lots of people in my life who have, knowingly or unknowingly, helped me along the way. Thinking of them, and thankful for my own intuition, I'll celebrate Guru Purnima tonight.

Before I left for this week of learning and meditating I made a poster to hang in my tent that includes many of these guides and teachers. How fortunate that in 8 brief months I've had the experience of meeting so many of them in person,

A disciple is like a new moon,
in reality no different than the full moon:
its apparent imperfection is a sign of gradual increase.
Night by night the new moon gives a lesson in gradualness:
with deliberation it says, “O hasty one,
only step by step can one ascend to the roof.”
A skillful cook lets the pot boil slowly
the stew boiled in a mad hurry is of no use.
— Rumi: Jewels of Remembrance, Threshold Books, 1996

"The true guru can show you that the whole universe is your guru. All gurus of the past, present and future are the vibration of one guru, that is, the I-Am"
— Shri Brahmananda Sarasvati

"Only by becoming a fish can one know how a fish lives. To understand a great being, one first has to become one with him. That is true knowledge." — Swami Muktananda

"What is the missing link between you, the universe, the unknown force and the inner guiding light? The missing link is the outer guiding light, the outer Guru, who tells you how to realize your inner Guru, because without understanding the inner Guru, nobody can overcome the sorrow, suffering, misery and the various ups and downs of life… Although everybody has the inner Guru, everybody is not able to interpret and translate his speech, because he is speaking silently. To understand this inner Guru we need the outer Guru. When you can understand the speech of the inner Guru, then you do not need the outer Guru." — Shri Brahmananda Sarasvati

"If you find a man who is constant, awake to the inner light, learned, long-suffering, endowed with devotion, a noble man - follow this good and great man even as the moon follows the path of the stars." — Dhammapada

Temple Dancers in the Dining Room

A couple of weekends ago J and I spotted this framed vintage temple rubbing leaning against the overstuffed shelves of a co-op booth in our favorite Brattleboro antiques store. This particular design is from one of the temples around Bangkok, Thailand and was most probably made in the early 1960's. Over the years, the Thai Government realized that this rubbing process, once a very popular way of reproducing the intricate carved designs on temple walls, was causing surface erosion and permanently damaging these ancient works of art. In 1995 the process of temple rubbings was banned, and the exportation of art created by this technique restricted. Despite that, you can still find vintage rubbings such as this one for $30 or $40.

Yurt Kirtan!

Here's a wonderful video of kirtan with Dave Russell at the Sanctuary at Shepardfields in East Haddam, CT — in a yurt!

Pine trees and strange rocks remain unknown to those who look for mind with mind.
— Shih-Wu

Northampton...

"Bent"

Fade Happens

The mehndi heart Jennifer gave me at Chantfest has disappeared. I can still make out the briefest hint of the heart's shape on my palm, but it could just be my imagination. Gone but not forgotten!

Speaking of gone, I'll most probably be disconnected from the internet for the entire upcoming week (though I do have lots of posts scheduled). Have a wonderful week, my lovelies, and I will catch up with you soon, bringing stories of ashram life, Ayurveda, and new adventures.

Radical Transformation

Today in the garden the Echinacea is in full bloom and the butterflies and bees have arrived to enjoy it. That's why you'll never see a butterfly with a cold, or hear it sneeze. All that herbal medicinal goodness I think (wink).

Speaking of herbal medicinal goodness, next week is my 6-day Radical Transformation Through Ayurveda seminar with Vasant Lad. I'm slowly packing up to go, but am simultaneously wavering with fear. 7 days by myself in unfamiliar surroundings, away from comfortable home and wonderful J and adorable Vixen and the blooming garden and the good routines and simple things we have (not to mention away from the internet, gulp, but also away from the office, phew!)...I know I can't hold on to any of these blessings forever, and yet here I am trying, grasping. Clutching, even. Every day I'm thankful for my life but ahhhhh...attachment. That's something else entirely.

All of these spiritual/meditative practices I've been doing this year are (in addition to their other benefits) supposed to help with letting go of fear and attachment so I can leave this life thinking only of the next adventure — not clinging to this one. Clinging to this life is impossible and therefore useless. Do I really want to spin my wheels on useless endeavors while I'm here? And if I'm having this much trouble leaving for a week, what state will I be in when it's time to leave forever? A state of fear? A state of denial? I sincerely don't want that to be the case. So I practice. Leaving for a week is practice, just a baby step, really.

Did you know that when a caterpillar undergoes the process of changing into a butterfly it must first become a pupa and digest its own body from the inside out? Technically its death might be "partial" with some old cells remaining alive to create an entirely new form, but let's face it — for all intents and purposes the caterpillar/pupa has turned into a pile of goo. And from that goo of its old body come nutrients that will feed its new body. A body with wings, a body that can fly.

Talk about a radical transformation!

Every day I get inspirational posts sent to me from Guru Singh's blog, part of his series on Practical Enlightenment which I'm also enthusiastically listening to via podcast. Here are some thoughts he shared today...

As an adult — not just a chronological one, but an authentic one -- we are to travel through the years -- not inch by inch, but dream by dream . . . accomplishment by accomplishment. Any doubt slows this progress way down and becomes a blockage to the joys of progress. As a spiritually evolved adult -- a path-walker as it is known to the ancients -- the journey of an enlightened adult's life is to be measured in light years. Doubt and all the other childhood tools are disastrous and virtually unusable at this rate of journey. The preferred tools of this advanced evolution are tools of elegance and grace, integrity and courage; there is no place for arrogance; there is no place for power struggles; there is no place for the deceptions caused by fear, jealousy, envy and insecurity.

Happy Birthday, Christina!

In honor of Christina's birthday today I'm joining Se'Lah and lots of others here in blogland and posting a few simple things. Happy Birthday Christina!

• Waking up in the tent, surrounded by birdsong and flowers
• Wet feet in dewy morning grass

• Catching sight of a heron gliding silently above Ashfield lake

• J bringing my morning coffee and reminding me to "drink it while it's hot"

• Sitting down to create a poster of teachers and people who have recently influenced my path and realizing it will take at least 2 whole 11x17 sheets of paper

• Rooting to rise

• Finding a hand-addressed card in the mailbox amongst the bills and junk

• July's fresh corn and blueberries

Hostas, Webs, and Morning Dew...

Every day, priests minutely examine the Dharma

And endlessly change complicated sutras.

Before doing that, thought, they should learn

how to read the love letters sent by the wind and the rain, the snow and the moon.

—Ikkyu

Amma's Prasad (for me and for one of you!)

Until today only one woman has ever called me her daughter, and those words were hushed by cancer 8 months ago. One of the last times I heard them my mom and I were sitting together on my brother's couch. Wrapped in her soft pink bathrobe in the middle of the afternoon with her swollen, blistered legs propped up in front of her, she had just said the words "nursing home" and upon seeing my expression, added, "I know it will come to that." I'd burst into tears, something I'd been trying, with great difficulty, not to do, and she'd grabbed me to her chest. "My daughter" she'd sighed sadly, "my beautiful daughter."

I knew from reading about other people's darshan experiences with Amma that she will often use these words, "my daughter" but was terrified to admit that I wanted to hear them. As I approached her on my knees today, trembling hands offering a vase full of pale roses and hydrangeas my own mom would have loved, tears splashed down my cheeks. Within seconds I found myself sobbing into her chest while she put her arms around me.

Though I'd vowed to focus on every physical sensation the moment had to offer, I instead felt, for those brief moments in Amma's embrace, absolutely no physical sensations at all. The crowded, brightly lit hall; the chanting; the heat; the many attendants pressing close; the smell of incense and oils — even Amma's touch disappeared into sudden darkness, with the exception of a small bright light glowing behind my eyes. It was the sound of Amma crying "my daughter! my daughter! my daughter! my daughter!" with sincere conviction that pulled me back, where she was suddenly pressing a perfect red apple into my hand and looking at my face. The attendants pulled me up and pointed my reluctant feet in the direction they were requited to go.

Amma's presence is indescribably beautiful to behold, and impossible to grasp, like a ray of sunlight. I feel incredibly grateful to have had the experience of her darshan. I even feel grateful for all the skeptical, confused, painful, angry, lonely moments that led me to shove my boat off the shore and embark on this quest.

The line to receive one of Amma's hugs is kept moving in an incredibly efficient and controlled manner, and afterwards you're invited to sit on the floor in a small group to her right for a few moments, recovering your composure until more attendants keep even that small crowd circulating. J and I were lucky enough to end up sitting along the path that Amma used to exit the hall when the afternoon session came to an end. An attendant prepares the way, picking up any small bits of lint, paper, threads, etc. on the carpet where she'll walk. The hall grows quiet. Though I expected a solemn, slow procession — perhaps with incense waving and bells ringing — her departure was more of a giant wave of energy passing by. Flanking the narrow pathway we jumped to our feet and, surrounded by sheltering devotees, Amma smiled and outstretched her arms as she passed, briefly touching all the eager hands that reached out to her along the way.

There were lots of wonderful things for sale in the merchandise area of the hall, and I picked up this little prasad bag so I could give it away here. Inside there are some flower petals, a tiny photo of Amma, and a Hershey's Kiss or two. Leave a comment on this post and I will gladly share this little memento with one of you, chosen at random.

The Quest Continues...

...and tomorrow we'll meet a saint along the road.

Timothy Conway, Ph.D., author of the book Women of Power and Grace, describes the "hugging saint" Amma as "one of the most glorious lights to appear in the history of religion. Just her stamina — embracing these millions of people one by one, day after day, without a break, all over the world — is some kind of divine gift. No mere human resources could accomplish this."

Amma has reportedly hugged over 50,000 individuals in one day in India. Personal accounts from people who have met her (a woman in NYC here, a physicist and writer from California here, two young Americans in India, a whole family in Australia) compare the depth of her love to the feeling of their own mothers embracing them, and admit to sobbing uncontrollably at the experience of her darshan (a sanskrit word meaning "vision" in the sense of beholding or giving audience to visions of the divine, a holy, self-realized person, or a sacred object. Darshan is meant to be an interaction, and the intended effect is a heightening of consciousness or spirituality. In Hinduism darshan is an important way of developing one's relationship to the divine Self.)

Tomorrow J and I are heading to Boston for Amma's darshan. I'm definitely both excited and nervous about the experience, completely unlike anything I've ever done before.

Love is our Mother and
The way of our Prophet.
Yet it is in our nature
To fight with Love.
We can’t see you, mother,
Hidden behind dark veils
Woven by ourselves.

— Rumi, from Whispers of the Beloved

Sneak Peek

John de Kadt, a member of the Bhakti Brothers we're seeing tomorrow night...

Coffee Break + Art

I was standing in the gift shop at MASS MoCA on Wednesday, about to pay for a new over-sized Moleskine to take with me to the ashram later this month (notes! sketches! the fancy notebook will force me to be neat) when a guy wearing shades of gray and black and thick framed glasses approached.

"Are you a visitor here at the museum?" I hesitated. Yes, I was visiting, technically, but from only a couple hundred yards away — and I wasn't looking for artistic inspiration, but for an iced coffee and a notebook. Did that still count?

"Um, kind of." seemed to sum that up.
"My name is Michael Oatman, would you mind if I took a photo of your tattoo to use in a video for my art installation?"

Moi? A photo? Of my beloved tattoo? Hell yeah. Sounds a lot better than going back to the office. Lead the way.

I followed him up the metal staircase and through the KidsSpace gallery (suddenly wishing that I were a kid) to a back office where he introduced me to his intern (with a beautiful name I swiftly forgot) and took three or four photos of my back while I faced the white door I'd just come in through.

"Don't worry" he said as I unzipped my dress half an inch to reveal the length of the inky stem, "this won't go on the internet." I didn't bother to mention it's already been there...

Oddly enough, I took a photo of Michael's installation in its early stages, and posted it here last November...

The winged airstream trailer had taken me by surprise that night, perched high above the buildings. I'd been distracted on my way to the parking lot by the red glow of that autumn sunset, and followed it behind the museum. And there it was.

Given that first glimpse of the piece, I love that images of my tattoo (and others) will symbolize constellations in a video relating to the sun and its mythology, flickering to life on the instrumentation panels in the cockpit of this "satellite." It's also another interesting manifestation of a tattoo that started out as a simple sketch in J's notebook, 15 years ago.

July in the Garden

Speaking of love, love, love

Did you know love is all we need?

Kāmabaddha: Bound in Love

Bethesda Fountain, Fall 2007

“Sanskrit has ninety-six words for love; ancient Persian has eighty, Greek three, and English only one. This is indicative of the poverty of awareness or emphasis that we give to that tremendously important realm of feeling. Eskimos have thirty words for snow, because it is a life-and death matter to them to have exact information about the element they live with so intimately. If we had a vocabulary of thirty words for love ... we would immediately be richer and more intelligent in this human element so close to our heart. An Eskimo probably would die of clumsiness if he had only one word for snow; we are close to dying of loneliness because we have only one word for love. Of all the Western languages, English may be the most lacking when it come to feeling.” - Robert Johnson, The Fisher King and the Handless Maiden

Love, love, love! Happy 15 year Anniversary, J.

Sab Kuch Milega

"Anything is possible."

varanasi from isaac niemand on Vimeo.

I recommend watching this full-screen by clicking the 4 arrows icon on the bottom right of the screen. It's pretty amazing.

In his book Autobiography of a Sadhu, Rampuri dedicates a whole chapter to his time in Varanasi (also called Benares or Kashi), the "city of liberation."

Massive ghats step down to the river from the city in broad platforms and upon these teems the spiritual and religious life of India. Kashi has, over the millennia, attracted, babas, intellectuals, musicians, magicians, bandits, and poets, all of whom are the kind of "marginals" that form Shiva's barat, his entourage. For as long as people have told stories, Kashi has been not only a spiritual and religious center but a city of culture, famous for its musicians, theater, philosophers, artists, physicians, astrologers, alchemists, and its sadhus.

Imagine seeing this, and these, and him with your own two eyes instead of through someone else's lens; imagine a boatman rowing you on the Ganges, past the Ghats and cremation fires...

The things you will see during your boat ride, may mark your life. Once you have ridden along the Ganges, nothing will be the same anymore. — from this photographic tour of Varanasi

J jokes that he could prepare me for visiting India by feeding me very spicy food and pulling me around over bumpy terrain in a wagon during these hottest of July days. Well, Kerouac did once write, "It's my contention that a man who can sweat fantastically for the flesh is also capable of sweating fantastically for the spirit." Oh, I already know from experience that I would wilt in a physically demanding place such as this, like the man in the video warns, and yet...

Varanasi's crowded temples raise their ornate spires of stone like worshiping joined hands and arms stretched in supplication toward the sky as their well-worn steps (ghats) descend below the greenish-brown slime of the river, which has absorbed more ashes of Hindu bodies than any other stretch of water on earth. The pungent smell of sandalwood, compounded with that of charred flesh and marigolds, wafts over Varanasi waters, borne on winds vibrant with mantra-prayers, punctuated with the tinkling of Brahman bells and muffled whimpers from scavenger dogs that hover around smouldering pyres, while carrion hawks and kites circle slowly overhead. — India, by Stanley A. Wolpert

And yet...

We stayed within the mazeway of Varanasi's Old City for more than a week, and became fairly well oriented within a short radius around our slouching old guest house... But if we ventured further into the Old City, or tried to re-enter along some other route, we would inevitably become bewilderingly and absurdly lost, so much so that it's now quite easy to imagine people arriving one day and remaining lost for a lifetime, absorbed by the enveloping city. This is precisely what I suspect has happened to a great many of the supposedly holy men who wander there, half-naked and smiling oblivious through a penumbra of hashish smoke. — The Meditator's Companion to the Buddha's Land, by Kory Goldberg, Michelle Dcary

Who knows. Anything is possible.

Heat + Holiday = Riverside

I do love me
a cool river on a hot day.

Six Senses Sunday #59

Taste:
• Quinoa salad with dried papaya and slivered almonds
• Marinaded tofu salad with red and yellow peppers, onions, fresh mango and a hint of hot chili
• Black bean burgers and fresh guacamole from The Kripalu Cookbook
• Pistachio Halvah, cold grape leaves, coconut juice

Feel:
• Surprise when I realized the 19th of June had passed by and I'd been so wrapped up in celebrating life I didn't think "it's been 7 months now" until the day had passed.
• A bit more confidence after setting my tent up for the second time
• Disbelief when I spotted one of my cats far from the house, crouched in the tall grass at the side of the road
• Happiness

Touch:
• Through the soles of my feet, the vibration of cars crossing a bridge


Smell:
• The dog we're watching for the weekend recently played with a skunk
• A patch of dry pine needles,warming in the sunlight
• Friday's scent of Brattleboro: freshly sawn pine plank with a hint of low tide

Hear:
• The pop of distant fireworks
• A woman scolding her husband, "Shiva is a he!" — a completely random snippet of conversation overheard while browsing in a VT art gallery, with no Shivas in sight.

See:
• A body being carried out of a house on a stretcher, the family following alongside
• Bird families en route to their next homes
• J's full mug of chai toppling to the grass
• My mehndi heart growing faint

Spreading the Love for the Dalai Lama's Birthday

Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible.
— Dalai Lama

My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness.

— Dalai Lama

Se'Lah at Necessary Room shared a wonderful idea last Friday. To celebrate the Dalai Lama's 75th Birthday on July 6th, she's inviting people to join her in doing a random act of kindness on that day. There are over 30 people signed up already! Want to join in?

I'm loving this idea, and I'm glad to see it's catching on via the blog community. I think a random act of kindness could be as small (and inexpensive) as offering someone a sincere compliment, or tucking a fun card or a small gift into an envelope and sending it to a friend who could use a pick-me-up this week.

Of course it also seems appropriate to direct a random act of kindness to one of the many organizations working to improve the situation in His Holiness's beloved home country of Tibet.
Here are some ways to do so:
• Purchase some prayer flags or another item from the Tibetan Nun's Project shop, and surprise a friend with a little gift. A win-win!
• Help Heifer International work with 8,900 families to improve nutrition and community development in Nepal.
• Help rebuild Yushu, destroyed in April's devastating earthquake.
• Sponsor a yak!
• Dontate to Free Tibet
• Sponsor a Tibetan Nun living in exile in India...

Over the past two decades, a steady stream of nuns has arrived in Dharamsala in the Himalayan region of North India seeking refuge. These women wish only to live, study, practice, and teach in accordance with their spiritual beliefs. Ranging in age from early teens to mid-80s, they come from all parts of Tibet and from many different backgrounds. Upon arrival in India, many have suffered severely from their long, arduous, and often dangerous escapes. Some have been tortured and imprisoned by Chinese authorities in Tibet. In most cases the nuns arrive without money or possessions to a community already struggling to support itself...



Many years ago I sponsored one of these nuns through this Tibetan Nuns Project. Sponsors are encouraged to exchange photos and correspondence with their nuns, which I did, and it was such a thrill to open the mailbox and find an envelope from India. Wouldn't it be fun to do that again and post the letters and photos here on Secret Notebooks • Wild Pages?

The cost of a year's sponsorship is currently $360 — a little steep for one person. But I've been mulling over an idea — I wonder if a collective sponsorship of a nun, via this blog, would be an achievable goal? If you're interested, shoot me an email (or leave a comment here) and if there is enough enthusiasm, I'll figure out the logistics of making this happen (probably involving a Paypal donation button on the sidebar and perhaps a donation tracker via donationtracker.com.)

However you choose to celebrate the Dalai Lama's birthday, remember,

Whether one believes in a religion or not, and whether one believes in rebirth or not, there isn't anyone who doesn't appreciate kindness and compassion.

— Dalai Lama

Who Says Words With My Mouth?

I created this self-portrait/photo montage back in 2007, when I used to participate in Inspire Me Thursday on a weekly basis. When I read this Rumi poem today I felt the two needed to be together. I even added them both to my sidebar. I feel like I could have written these words myself, they're so true to where I find my thoughts lately.

Who Says Words With My Mouth?

All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.

This drunkenness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place,
I'll be completely sober. Meanwhile,
I'm like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,
but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?

Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer,
I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way.
Whoever brought me here will have to take me home.

This poetry, I never know what I'm going to say.
I don't plan it.
When I'm outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.

— from Essential Rumi by Coleman Barks

Friday Hightlights

Today was just all-around wonderful. I caught up on some much-needed sleep. The weather was New-England perfect, a little crisp and a lot sunny, and J and I were both home to enjoy it instead of at work.

My new neti pot and salt bowl arrived in the mail and they're both lovely.

Gaura Vani left a sweet comment on my Chantfest post. This regressed me back to being about 10 years old for several minutes. Blogging is a God-send to shy people like myself, honestly.

For the second week in a row I remembered that it's Free Music Friday at SpiritVoyage.com, and as I was listening to my free download, Hanuman 2 by Girish, I read on Facebook that Krishna Das is coming back to the Zen Peacemaker's Retreat in Montague on Monday August 9th and managed to get 2 tickets. Sweet!

I spent time sitting in the yard, basking in the sun, sketching, painting, and simply enjoying the process.

J and I brought a picnic lunch to our friend's farm when we stopped by to pick up their dog, Sadie (here she is stuffed into the travel crate with Vixen)...

And while there we visited (briefly) with the baby robins who live in a small apple tree that grows beside the cow pasture...

Back at home I rescued this terrified wood frog from the cat and transported him to safety...

And found a Luna moth, dead but perfectly preserved, on our late-day walk through the woods. It seems I'm always hiking back home with something...

We also found out what a tree's heart looks like...

Tonight there will be fresh corn for dinner and thanks to Christina at Soul Aperture and her irresistible photos, coffee ice cream sandwiches made with chocolate chip cookies for dessert.

What was the highlight of your day today?