The Days Run By

Morning...

Noon...

and night...

When Messages Come in the Mail

Wednesday morning I woke up to the sound of pouring rain, sheets of water dropping off the gutter-less roof, something sneaky dripping in through the storm window at 5:30am dropdropdrop. In the half-light mirror a face with swollen eyelids who hasn't been welcome here lately greeted me again, a reminder that she hasn't gone as far away as I'd like to think and can drop in for a visit anytime.

Compassionately I let her accompany me through my morning routine — watching as I struck a match and lit the candle to warm oils for abhyanga, listening to my breath in pranayam, waiting quietly as I meditated. She shared my coffee and a slice of apple pie for breakfast and accompanied me to work, glancing more than usual at Ganesha in the helm with his hand raised ("do not be afraid"), wincing when we passed by the road that leads to my friend's store on the hilltop. What must his family be feeling on this sad, rainy morning? I asked her, with the last leaves blowing from the treetops and winter setting in. Occasionally she revealed herself to me at work — a reflection in my giant monitor — to remind me she was still there. How can I honor my friend today? I asked her.

On one of my last visits to the store Ajay had been especially talkative, describing the extravagant Ganesh chaturthi celebrations happening in Mumbai, 11 days and nights of festivities to mark the deity's birth. He was marveling over the lavish offerings of gold and silver that were being made to the idol in temples all over the city as the gas pump chugged away in his hand and I leaned against the back of the car, listening.

Maybe someday I'll venture to India in time for Ganesh chaturthi and offer gold in honor of my friend — but for the time being I'm here, an the only thing I could think to do was download Jagit Singh's album Shri Ganesh and listen to it for the rest of the day — which I did. Retracing my path on the rainy drive home, I could feel the unwelcome presence of grief and attachment begin to fade a bit, and as I pulled into the driveway and came to a stop I let the watery drops transform my windshield into an impressionistic painting of autumn color before stepping out of the car.

Imagine my surprise when I opened the mailbox to find this postcard from a friend laying on top of a pile of holiday catalogs and offers for satellite tv. How could someone have gotten this postcard here to cheer me up so quickly? I asked myself, assuming its arrival was related to Tuesday night's post. How could it not be?

An Indian woman stares back at me with tears like mine in her eyes — a black umbrella is hanging on the wall behind her as I stand in the rain alongside my mailbox, transfixed — behind her is painted the Hindu swastika, the lucky cross symbol of auspiciousness associated with the good fortunes given by none other than Ganesha himself.

It is the symbol of the muladhara chakra where he sits, the center of consciousness at the base of the spine — Ganapati is the gatekeeper of all the upper chakras, the remover of obstacles who is always invoked first at the beginning of an endeavor, a kirtan, a class. The swastika symbolizes the sun and the cycle of life. In the book Loving Ganesh it is written, "...the swastika's right-angled arms reflect the fact that the path toward our objectives is often not straight, but takes unexpected turns. They denote also the indirect way in which Divinity is reached — through intuition and not by intellect. Symbolically, the swastika's cross is said to represent God and creation. The four bent arms stand for the four human aims, called purushartha: righteousness, dharma; wealth, artha; love, kama; and liberation, moksha. Thus it is a potent emblem of Sanatana Dharma, the eternal truth."

Oh the beautiful postcard. It was so thoughtfully sent by Se'Lah, but its underlying message came from someplace else entirely.

How to make a difference.

I didn't even know his name until tonight, when I came home and found his obituary and the tears began to flow. Sometimes names don't matter. Since early last spring I'd been stopping for my weekly fill up at a local store owned by a lovely Indian man and his family. I usually wait to fill up until Thursday, when my work week is done, so I can begin the weekend on a bright note.

How can I explain that it was a highlight of the week, this simple task? His face would light up with a huge smile when I walked in, and hearing him greet me with "Hello, my friend! How are you today?" sometimes asking several times if "everything was ok with me" with such sincerity made me feel a little less alone in this increasingly lonely world. If there were some of his wife's homemade samosas left in the Tupperware container on the counter he would put them in a bag for me with a laugh, "You LOVE these!" "I do!" I'd say. I did.

Such small gestures can make such big differences.

Sometimes names don't matter. What really ended up bonding us was the Ganesh statue I put on my dashboard last summer. He was washing my windshield when he first noticed it, and waited until I had followed him back into the little store before mentioning it.

"Where did you get the Ganapati picture?" he inquired, swiping my card.
"The statue? Oh! At a shop in Brattleboro, VT." I answered, a bit terrified to say more, convinced he'd be offended by my adoption of this beloved Hindu deity, dreading he'd find it disrespectful.
"Do you believe in that?" was all he asked.
"Yes."

We said no more about it that day. We exchanged our thank-you's and goodbyes and smiles and I drove away hoping I hadn't offended my friend, hoping I'd be greeted warmly the next time I visited — which just happened to be the morning I was making my way to Ananda Ashram for my Ayurvedic retreat. As I pulled up to the gas pump I suspected that whatever was about to happen would set the tone of the week ahead.

My friend made his way out the screen door and down the steps and stopped at the passenger side window, which was open, before paying any attention to either me or the gas tank. He then folded his hands and bowed respectfully to my Ganesh. Such a small but overwhelming gesture of respect. We chatted about where I was headed, and when I went inside to pay he called his wife out so she could visit with Ganapati too. I considered this a great blessing on my week, and drove off with a tank full of gas and a heart full of happiness.

The last time I stopped in it was rainy and windy on the hilltop where the store sits. It was an unusual visit because it was morning — I was off schedule. I knew my friend didn't like the cold, so when he came to the store door to ask if I was ok pumping the gas myself I said yes and waved him back in. Late for work as usual, I refused when he offered me a cup of coffee to warm up with.

Two weeks ago I was headed back to fill up when I looked at my gauge and realized there was a good chance I would not make it to his store on what was left. I was so disappointed I almost risked it — I even considered getting only a little bit of gas someplace else so I would still have a reason to go. I'd been trying to work up the courage to tell him I'm learning the Hanuman Chalisa. I wanted to ask him if he liked bhajans sung by OS Arun. I wanted to get he and his wife a Ganesh like mine for the holidays. I wanted to ask her about making ghee. Week by week I just wanted to get to know them better, and I thought I had more time.

Tonight I stopped for gas and my heart sank when an unfamiliar face greeted me. My friend's daughter was working behind the register, something I'd never seen. His wife was sitting quietly behind the counter. There were no samosas. The tv, which was usually tuned to an Indian station, was silent and dark. I drove home with a lump in my throat. "Don't assume the worst" J assured me. But all it took was a google search to confirm it. My friend died last Tuesday, the 19th. I don't even know what happened. But I finally know his name.

How can I explain how broken my heart feels? By anyone's standard I hardly knew him, really. But beyond names, nationalities and religious backgrounds sometimes you just meet a friend, someone who makes a difference, and then you see clearly that none of these distinctions we make such a big deal about matter at all. I stopped for gas at a little store on a hilltop and my life was brightened. That's such a blessing. I'll miss him terribly.

Chayote: The Cute Fruit.

Last night I prepared chayotes with green pepper, turmeric, ginger, and coconut milk. Have you ever tried them? They were a first for me, but spotting them at Whole Foods last week sparked the memory of seeing a recipe for them in Heaven's Banquet so this pair made their way into my cart. I love their chartreuse color.

The scent of chayote, when peeled, reminded me of fresh cut grass or watermelon rind — and their taste and texture was a bit like a dense cucumber. Sitting on the shelf without their skins they glistened with drops of moisture, as sliced eggplant will.

I wouldn't run right back to Whole Foods to get more chayote, but they were interesting.
And kind of cute...

And yes, as a matter of fact I do have more important things I should be doing.

Ganesha

For the start of another week...

Six Senses Sunday #65

Taste:
• Local blueberry ice cream
• Broccoli potato soup with coconut milk
• Pan fried breaded Paneer cheese with a side of freshly simmered cranberries and a sweet potato
• French toast drenched in blueberry maple syrup
• Lentil dahl with a rice dumpling and coconut chutney from the Haymarket Café
• J's amazing roasted garlic and mushroom omelet with fresh parsley and cilantro

Feel:
• Relieved that I finally took care of a lingering tax issue
• Studying for hours is far more tiring than I remember it being
• If you allow people to stand in the way of your goals, they will. They may not do it on purpose, it may simply be the universe testing your resolve with distraction and discouragement, but it will happen. I say, stand firm — even if it makes you unpopular, which it will. Only you know what's best for you.

See:
• As I sit posing for a photo on a boulder in the woods I hear a rustling in the leaves to my left and the tiniest gray mouse I've ever seen pops out, giving us both a bigger fright than necessary.
• Flocks of tiny gray and white birds congregating around the seed-head filled perennial beds
• The hot peppers strung on garlands last week are starting to wrinkle and shrink
• Above, another late bloomer in the flower bed

Hear:
• Two color copiers chugging away at work, printing sheet after sheet of materials for the bi-annual sales conference this week — the sound of one deadline reached
• "Pizza is here!" after I'd just finished eating leftovers for lunch
• Someone lightly knocking at the front door - which turned out to be an enterprising blue jay pecking all the decorative corn off my autumnal display, which is no longer quite as attractive...

Touch:
• Cutting and slicing and spraying and folding pieces of paper at work
• Ungracefully straddling a moss-covered fallen tree to cross the river, ripping my pants on a broken branch in the process

Smell:
• Ground ginger as I mix it into warm milk
• Loaves of fresh bread for a photo-shoot
• The sharp smoke of damp wood
• Springs of a rosemary plant I can run my fingers through while sitting on the couch

Poppies

I clipped these poppies last weekend and have been enjoying them indoors.

One by one their petals are dropping, laying in a bright pile on top of a black bureau.

It's a good weekend for planting rows of garlic, if I can get out early in the day tomorrow to do so.

And tonight there's a full-moon shining in through the kitchen window, a good night for making a batch of broccoli-potato soup and eating it close to the wood stove.

What's on your plate tonight?

Flying home to roost...

Up, Up, and 20 Miles Away...

Homemade Spacecraft from Luke Geissbuhler on Vimeo.

It's really amazing what people can do these days.

Fall Foxglove

It was 44 degrees yesterday when I wandered into the yard after work to catch the last of the day's sunlight. Most of the garden has been wilted by frost for over a week, so it was a pleasant surprise to discover this one yellow foxglove blooming away, a cold-hardy soul.

79 Years Young

I think this photo from Sunday at my brother's house says it all — far better than I could express in words.

Six Senses Sunday #68

Taste:
• I finally drove out to Side Hill Farm to buy raw milk.
• Sesame tofu, quinoa salad, and kale with avocado dressing from the food bar at Whole Foods
• Basmati rice simmered with coconut milk and ginger
• Fresh apples and cheddar cheese — is this a New England thing?


Touch:
• the push of a needle through the belly of hot peppers, strung up to dry
• the plush stiffness of kinky sheep's wool, hardly giving beneath my fingertips
• Fighting against giant gusts of autumn wind to hang wet laundry on the clothesline
• Using my hands to sweep leaves, dry but wet, from the threshold of the front door
• Holding the delicate brown shell of a tamarind pod I brought home from a basket at Whole Foods


Feel:
• One of our two cats, Tweener, has disappeared. We are sadly missing his blissful, furry presence and the moments of laughter, companionship and purring joy he brought to our lives on a daily basis.
• Overly stressed at work as we approach a major deadline this coming week, worried I'll be forced to work late and miss yoga.
• Elated that my first set of exam questions for the AI's home course was well-received, with lots of "goods" and "excellents" and even a "this is the best answer I have ever received to this question" at the very end. Whoo! Can't wait to continue now that I know someone is paying attention to every sentence in the way I was hoping they would.


See:
• Curtains of pinwheel leaves spinning through the air
• A trailer full of orange pumpkins hitched to a slow-moving tractor
• A fake skeleton waving from a claw foot tub on someone's front lawn
• Old toilets being used as flower pots at a house along Rt 9, yikes. I would stop to take a photo one of these days, but I don't want to give encouragement to whoever thought this was a good idea.


Hear:
• Dry wood crackling in the fire, the small corner fan working hard to blow warm hair into cold rooms
• Spacey sounds from J's new lap steel guitar
• Listening to the Sanskrit alphabet for an hour and half while I sat in a chair at the car dealership, ignoring the tv
• the restless shifting and fidgeting of a new meditator


Smell:
• Woodsmoke forcing its way in the bedroom window
• Pineapple Upside-Down Cake bulging and browning in the oven
• Pulling a box of Mrs Myer's basil drier sheets from my paper shopping bag

And the world spins madly on...

Repeating landscapes

I drive by this pond every morning and am distracted by the bright foliage mirrored in the still water, as if someone folded the scene to take a blurry print. I'm always running late for work and tell myself I'll stop "tomorrow."

That tomorrow came yesterday, as I suspect the heavy rains predicted for this weekend will alter this beautiful scene before I have the chance to drive by again. There may even be snow in the higher elevations tonight. I suspect my next walk through the woods, when I get chance, will be both crunchy and cold.

"Seeing the world as your reflection is ultimately the most powerful skill you can gain."
— Guru Singh

Post-yoga ramblings...

Yesterday morning the zen alarm clock went off extra early — 5:30am. I was absolutely determined to get to work on time so I could get out of work on time and head straight to the yoga studio for my second class of the week. I think these two-class weeks are where it's at for me right now, physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

As I drove from the office to the studio I was thinking about the Sanskrit class on Saturday and how a year ago — aside from the fact that I probably didn't know what Sanskrit even was, never mind have a practical use for it — I doubt my concentration would have allowed me to get even as far as I did on that day. Besides which, my lack of willpower and courage would have prevented me from signing up for the class in the first place.

At the start of yoga last night we discussed ways in which hatha yoga has helped some of the students present recover from long-term physical problems. But all I could think of is how the practice — along with daily meditation, chanting and studying — has helped my mental focus and concentration. Your mind simply can not wander when you're trying to balance on one leg, or twist, or bend farther backwards or forwards than you've ever thought possible.

It sounds to good to be true, doesn't it? Yoga: strengthen your muscles, strengthen your mind, strengthen your spirit. But it works. Commit to it and the practice delivers — and luckily, because I really need that concentration to continue growing stronger. I have lots I want to learn and retain in the months ahead, and have found that I must work diligently not only on studying and practice but on keeping the voice in my head that whispers, "You're not smart enough" quiet. That's part of the strengthening spirit I think — telling that voice where to stick its self-doubt. And what a persistent voice it is — not accustomed to being argued with, at least in my case. Do you ever hear voices like that?

I think we should all make a pact with ourselves:
I will not be afraid to try. I will not be afraid to fail. I will not be afraid to succeed.

This is the beautiful 12-sided yoga studio in the woods where I practice Anusara yoga. A winding path through the trees leads to its door. Swoon.

Heart Sightings...

They've been everywhere this week, even floating around in my morning coffee...

We had music, sweet music...

and a holiday to spend at home

and plenty of warm sunshine

and many different instruments to play with

Have I mentioned I have a knack for these manjira?

Have I mentioned we had music?

I hope you took some time to play this weekend.

Was lost but now I'm...seen?

This sign, which I found hanging outside a local store, reminds me that on the way to NH on Saturday morning I saw my first bobcat, running across the road right in front of my car. Amazing.

Hey, that says, "Rama."

Well. This weekend didn't go quite as expected. The Sanskrit class on Saturday was really amazing — the ASI seems to have an extremely effective technique for throwing one into learning this sophisticated language, and Jo teaches with a lot of joy for the subject and patience and respect for her students. By the end of the day each of us in the small class was able to not only recite the majority of the alphabet (some characters were going to be introduced on Sunday) but we even began reading words. Not that we knew what the words meant (though many of them were familiar hatha yoga terms, or well-known concepts from texts and scriptures), but it was exciting to have made that kind of progress nonetheless.

At mid-day we took a lunch break and headed to downtown Peterborough where crowds had descended upon the shops and eateries. The tiny town was more jammed than I'd ever seen it. Lunch break provided enough time to grab a bite to eat and wander a bit, reflecting on how different my life was when I lived in that area, 13 years ago.

At the end of the 4 hour afternoon portion of class it was announced that the special puja and chanting aspect of the weekend, originally scheduled for Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights was canceled entirely. Looking at the clock (6pm) and mulling over my remaining options (over-priced dinner in the over-crowded town and the remainder of the evening at a stranger's house vs. jumping in the car and driving 2 hours to sleep in my own bed and return the next morning) I chose the later. I'd already been fighting a losing battle with the onset of a headache all afternoon and thought getting home and unwinding would settle me. Wrong.

The holiday weekend brought with it plenty of traffic, and I very quickly found myself driving through the dark, something I've never been overly confident about. The steady stream of oncoming lights and lack of dinner seemed to increase the pain in my head and by the time I arrived back home I left everything I'd packed for the long weekend in the car (where it still is, actually) and settled immediately onto the couch, where I remained until it was time to shuffle to bed.

This morning I felt no better physically and could only briefly entertain the thought of driving back up to finish the class. Regretfully I had to call to say I wouldn't be able to make it for the second day.

Ultimately, learning some Sanskrit is still going to happen. It just apparently wasn't meant to happen this weekend — though I actually learned an amazing amount in only one day. In fact when I woke up this morning the first thing I spotted was J's Mantrology t-shirt. "Hey," I mumbled, bleary-eyed, "I can read that word. It says "Rama!" I think there are some bhaktas who would argue that's about all I really need to know, actually.

Well, I also learned that being out of my safety zone in a class where I couldn't take notes and had to chant out loud in front of people is definitely one of those that-which-does-not-kill-you-makes-you-stronger experiences — though it may contribute to a killer headache.