Goodbye, 2010...

Well my friends, the year of the quest may be dwindling to a close, but I suspect I've embarked on a journey that will last the rest of my life. It's been a year of intense reading, meditating and self-reflection. Among other activities I retreated, twice, to both Kripalu and Ananda Ashram. I experienced Amma's darshan, hug and prasad. I met an amazing teacher. I started trying to learn Sanskrit. I celebrated Shivaratri. I did 54 Sun Salutations in a row. Over the course of 12 months I watched like an innocent bystander as my diet, lifestyle, and interests changed (as did the playlists in my iPod, and I still chuckle every time I see "Krishna Das" next to "Korn.") My goals changed as well — or perhaps old goals I'd buried came back to the surface and reintroduced themselves to me.

Last January I thought this quest would be more about adding good, spiritual experiences to my life (retreats, kirtans, yoga classes) than about stripping things away from it. "I'm determined to make this the year I attempt to peer through the fog and ask some important and oddly difficult questions" I wrote, "Who am I? What do I want? And what's my purpose in this lifetime? With my mom gone, I feel an almost desperate need to focus on the bigger picture. . . I'm not entirely sure who or what will guide me, but my mind is open."

A few things I've discovered since writing those lines:

In this day and age there's nothing "odd" about not knowing who you are or what your purpose is, but in any age it's odd not to try and figure it out. I was right on about it being difficult.

The old saying, "When the student is ready the teacher appears" is accurate. And so is, "Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it." For example, your teacher might appear and be teaching something very difficult to learn, from really far away.

Last year I wished for the fog to clear, and when it did I realized the ground I've been standing on isn't as solid as I'd once believed. And all the things I've been clinging to like a security blanket? Of equally questionable soundness. What can one justify clinging to when, in the end, every last belonging we've borrowed while here must be let go of? This year I've discovered that it may be wiser to practice the letting go part than to pursue acquiring more of what I can't keep. My grip should be loosening, not strengthening. This may be wiser, but it's more difficult. And it's certainly not the norm.

Only within the past month have I learned the word that corresponds to these feelings of disillusion, vairagya: a disenchantment with the isolated small self, cut off from the wholeness of vastness. Disenchantment with the world, and with the forces behind it, and with that part of yourself which is attached to the world of reward and punishment, is a recognizable stage in the spiritual journey. This is the stage of lower vairagya." (Ravi Ravindra, The Wisdom of Patanjali's Yoga Sutras.) I realize "disenchantment" doesn't sound like a very fun part of the quest, but ideally it brings with it santosh, or contentment, the second Niyama or self-discipline of Yoga. "Contentment with what we have can free us to turn attention to concerns which are more essential for the welfare of our soul." (Ravindra). I have more than enough to be content with.

This year's quest has definitely taken me somewhere, and changed the scenery. It's a little scary to admit that I couldn't turn around and go back now, even if I wanted to. I'm grateful to all of you for allowing me to share my progress and for offering back such encouragement and wisdom.

Tomorrow I'll share my word for 2011, and I'm looking forward to reading your words and resolutions. I wish all of you a safe and Happy New Year!

No Entry

A couple of weeks ago, after a long day at the office and on an exceedingly chilly, wintry evening, the driver's side door of my car refused to open from the outside. I immediately assumed I'd hit some secret "no-access" button by mistake —but alas, no amount of poking and prodding around the door handle or remote could help me regain access, and since then I've been creatively fighting my way into the driver's seat both morning and night.

It hasn't been pretty. The car is somewhat wide and has comfy bucket seats and a nice middle console. The doors are heavy. Really heavy. And they seem to prefer to be closed, so while I can open the passenger side door and throw myself across those two bucket seats and the middle console and just about reach the driver's side door handle, there is very little hope that the driver's side door will actually swing open without a fight. Sometimes it opens just long enough for me to get back out of the car and start heading for the driver's side before it snaps shut and I have to repeat the process. One morning, as J watched from the window, I was splayed out and reaching for the driver's door handle when the passenger side door slammed shut — on my ankle. Since then he has donned a coat and helped me start my morning commute a little less painfully.

After work on Wednesday night I decided to give up on fighting to open the door from the inside and thought I'd try shimmying into the driver's seat from the passenger's seat. Except that a) I was wearing a long, restrictive winter coat and b) I'm so short I drive with the seat pulled forward as far as it will go. Within seconds I had managed to spin myself around and lodge my front side in the center area between the two seats while my backside, oh yes, you guessed it, pressed up against the horn, "BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!" And, since the automatic interior light was still on, anyone and everyone who happened to be in the parking lot of an office building at 5:05 on a Tuesday night could probably see me in there, facing the wrong direction and cackling to myself while the horn blared.

So today I'm having the door repaired. And thankfully it is covered under warranty — though my ankle and my pride I'm not so sure about.

December's Windows

Sunset Snowshoe Hike

Despite the bitter wind, yesterday's snow day just wouldn't have been complete without a short trek into the woods to try out the new snowshoes J gave me for Christmas. We clambered our way over fallen branches and through snow drifts just in time to catch the sun setting behind a distant hilltop. 

Ahhhh, sunlight! My smile is uneven because the lower half of my face was frozen stiff.

All we left behind were 2 pairs of snowshoe tracks and the circuitous path of a very excited dog.

Home Resting Our Bones

Thanks to the blizzard conditions over the past 24 hours the governor declared a state of emergency in Massachusetts this morning — and I declared it a personal snow day, unfit for exposing one's face and fingers to the wind unneccesarily, or for driving blindly through gales of snow up and down the mountain that stands between my home and the office.

This past weekend we drove 400 miles round trip to see our families — to watch my nephew compose a letter to Santa ("Dear Santa, I hope I've been really, really good this year so I can get lots of presents."), to see our 9 year old niece change excitedly into the new clothes she'd just unwrapped, and hear 2 year old Maeve chortle, "Santa! Ho ho ho!" To pour over decades of family pictures my brother had arranged into albums — photos of my family before I was even a part of it. To spend time with my dad, who we find has wandered farther into dementia's kingdom every time we visit. To sing "Happy Birthday" to my brother and light the candles on the cake I baked (and J frosted). These things are Christmas to me, I thought afterwards, not the carols and the tree.

I'm grateful the extra long weekend. Last night I made the most amazing Potato Subji, diced golden cubes floating in a flavorful broth of coconut, cilantro, curry leaves, garlic and Indian spices. This morning brought French Toast a la J, drizzled in warm blueberry-infused maple syrup, to our plates. I appreciate cooking, eating, and cleaning up the dishes at a relaxed pace — this is life as it should be.

Now the sun is out and shining seductively on the fresh snow, but the scene is deceptively inviting. Every few minutes a gust of biting wind sends the arms of the Azalea bush outside the window clattering against the glass as if it's trying to get inside. I'm staying put this afternoon, drinking Tranquility tea and watching number 4 of 39 Anatomy lectures UC Berkeley has graciously posted on YouTube. The professor, Marian Diamond, is just amazing, and as soon as the lecture is over I can grab my Anatomy Coloring Book and a box full of my mom's colored pencils and work on filling in the illustrations on some corresponding pages. Believe it or not, I find this really fun.

I hope you're having an equally enjoyable Monday.

Happy Holidays, dear friends.

A tole painting by my mom - she did this many years ago, when I was growing up.

Well, the gifts are all somewhat messily wrapped and the ribbons somewhat wet-noodle-ishly curled. The soupy and stuffing-like components of Christmas dinner are assembled and waiting in the fridge (including a thousand-pound dessert — and I don't mean how much we'll weigh after consuming it). A Charlie Brown Christmas was quickly abandoned in favor of a new Devotional Music of India cd (because nothing rings in Christmas like some clanging kartals!) and a puffy, green and red (oh) tannenbaum that my mom sewed decades ago is hanging up in the living room in place of anything needle-ish that would require daily watering or the Sisyphean task of untangling the ball of finicky string lights tucked away in some dark corner of the attic.

Ready or not; fir tree or fabric; sleigh bells or sitars; Christmas is almost here. . . and I hope that yours is everything good — sweet, fun, safe, and memorable, blessed with the presence (did someone say presents?) of friends, family, and grace —in whatever form you recognize it. Thanks for celebrating the year with me.

"the laughing heart"

This poem brings to mind the quote, "Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies within us while we're alive" by Norman Cousins.

Here comes the sun...and I say it's all right.

Did any of you mark the solstice in a special way last night? There were so many amazing events to choose from here in the hills, making me grateful to live in an area where people are tuned into and conscious of the ever-changing natural world around them.

In nearby Ashfield there was a community bonfire, around which stories were told, songs sung, and jingly Morris dancing performed beneath the rising full moon. Fellow blogger Valerianna also hosted a bonfire at her magical sanctuary in the forest, RavenWood. There was a program for Earth Peace at Valley Ayurveda in Northampton, where special guest Hamsacharya Jay Ponti led a Siddhanath Golden Lotus and full moon Earth Peace Meditations and shared evolutionary secrets of the Himalayan Yogis for Kundalini Awakening and Earth Peace Meditation.

Each of these celebrations sounded wonderful, and I wish I could have managed to share in them all. Ultimately I chose to celebrate the return of the sun at Florence Yoga, with, fittingly, a benefit class of Surya Namaskara, sun salutations — 54 of them! As I joked with my teacher after class, that's only about 50 more than I would normally attempt to do in a row (though technically I only completed 53 — having to wait one out in child's pose after being blinded by the salty, mascara-laden sweat streaming into both of my eyes).

Sitting on the mat before class began I felt enthusiastic but doubtful — no way would I make it past a couple of dozen salutations, if that. Our teacher led us through the first 6, repeating the names of each posture in Sanskrit as we moved through them: Pranamasana, Hasta Uttanasana, Hastapaadasana, Dandasana, Ashtanga Namaskara, Bhujangasana, Adho Mukha Svanasana, Ashwa Sanchalanasana, Uttanasana, Hasta Uttanasana, and finally back to prayer pose, Pranamasana. My muscles, which had been sitting idly in either an office chair or car for the preceding 9 hours, began to warm and tingle. From number 7 on the Sanskrit stopped and only the sound of ujjayi breath led the way forward, with each of us taking turns at continuing the count down, "8....9......10..." It was deeply meditative to be immersed in the flow of group prana in this way. Though the space heaters had been turned off at the start of class the temperature in the room continued to rise around us. Welcome sun, indeed — and heat too!

32.....33........34.....

Demanding? You bet. This morning I was so exhausted I managed to sleep right through my alarm, and spent the remainder of the day feeling like a rubber chicken, my arms and legs practically useless. Yet out of all the wonderful options I felt this challenging class was the most appropriate for celebrating the solstice and the coming year — one that I feel an equal mix of both enthusiasm and doubt about, but whose challenges I hope I'll have the courage to at least attempt. One that's bound to demand a lot of effort, and one I hope I'll be able to look back on with the same feeling of accomplishment as I had after those 54 (ok, 53) sun salutations — and hopefully a bit less sweat.

Pull that Sleigh, Rein...

...dogs? Aren't they sweet? The sight of a dozen eager, bobbing dog heads poking from both sides of this truck cab enclosure thoroughly distracted holiday shoppers on the streets of Northampton on Sunday, myself included. And they were every bit as friendly as they look. Talk about puppy love!

The best part? These dogs really do pull a sleigh, and you can find them in action at Hilltown Wilderness Adventures...

A Midnight Clear

"Everyone sees the Unseen in proportion to the clarity of his heart, and that depends upon how much he has polished it. Whoever has polished it more sees more — more Unseen forms become manifest to him." — Rumi

I'm sitting by the wood stove while J wraps presents in the living room. He insisted on Vince Gauraldi's Charlie Brown Christmas album to put him in the holiday mood, and I was dispatched to the cobweb-encrusted storage area of the attic to find it amongst a container of cds we no longer listen to. While the familiar piano notes float through the air, I realize this is the first Christmas music I've listened to in a couple of years. My mom loved Christmas so much that I think a part of me feels guilty continuing to enjoy it without her, so I've been trying my best not to. The truth is, she would have preferred that I enjoy it in her honor, and recognize her undying spirit amongst the notes of carols and sparkling of lights. In fact she would have vehemently insisted upon it with a sharp command to "stop moping around."

Late last night J called for me to join him outside so I could witness the "moon flakes" glinting on the lawn. Sure enough, by some alchemy of melting and freezing, thousands of flat, wide, mirror-like flakes were dispersed amongst the aging crust of days-old snow, each one brilliantly reflecting the waxing moon above and twinkling like chase lights as we walked through the field. "One moon shines in every snowflake, in every snowflake one moon" I laughed, adapting a favorite Zen saying.

Now, if I can just make my heart as polished and clear as those crystalline snowflakes in the field, capable of seeing the Unseen and endowed with the priceless gift of clarity.

Two loves rolled into one...

This screen print, from artist Jean Cozzens of Secret Door Projects in Providence, arrived in the mailbox today. Inside its sturdy tube the poster was wrapped in salmon-hued tissue paper like a caramel. The colors and composition are just gorgeous, and I'm looking forward to having it framed so it can take its place next to another one of Jean's prints, Mill City Gallery, below.

I'm really not supposed to be spending money on acquiring more screen prints, and I've actually been very good about resisting them all year long, mostly by avoiding sites like OMG Posters!, where I'm inevitably led into temptation. However, having lived in several raw (really raw) factory spaces in Providence before most of the buildings were subdivided into pricey condos, there's a spot in my heart that turns the consistency of jello when I see images like this. There is nothing quite like living with walls full of towering windows whose ledges are wide and long enough to sleep on — or at least to stretch your legs out on while cradling a cup of hot tea, spying bird-like on the city below and the sky above. Now, you have to shell out big bucks to call a tiny, cleaned-up corner in one of these buildings your own. Things change.

The building in this poster (and in the link above, but looking very different now) was down the street from one of the factory spaces I lived in for a short while. Three incredibly talented artist friends occupied the entire third floor, filling it with enormous paper-maché sculptures, paintings, an intriguing collection of thrift store finds and a fluffy white cat named Beulah. Many hours were passed in their magical living quarters, sharing meals, admiring art, enjoying amazing parties and performances.

Then, early on the evening of April 1, 1991, while attempting to help his downstairs neighbor break into his own studio for which he'd misplaced the keys, my friend Todd decided to lower himself from one of the third floor studio windows by holding onto a nylon rope. It was a wet, early-spring evening and he immediately slipped and fell to the parking lot below. I was one of many stunned and heart-broken friends who converged at the hospital that night to say goodbye before he was taken off life support.

His friend and studio mate later memorialized him on a VW bus he painted and drove around the country (the photo below is from his website). Todd is the smiling angel in rolled-up denim overalls, undoubtedly stained with oil paints, just as we usually found him in the studio...

Tidings of Comfort (potatoes) and Joy (Brussels sprouts)

I just made the most delicious pot of mashed potato goodness I've ever tasted, after spotting this recipe for Colcannon with Brussels Sprouts on Poppytalk today. It's funny that my mom, being of Irish descent, never introduced me to Colcannon (traditionally made with cabbage) — leaving me to discover this homey, comforting dish in the deli case of a local coop.

Try this recipe! Especially if you've been plunged into frigid cold as we New Englanders have this past week. It will definitely warm you.

And since I have no photo to share with you at the moment I'll have to share Simon's Cat instead (via Mewsings, Feline and Other).

I could make a mark if it weren't so dark.

It felt positively balmy in the hills on Sunday when the high reached the mid-30's.

We took a little hike, the light dusting of snow revealing evidence of tractor tires in the fields and deer in the woods, while back at home a pot of curried chestnut squash soup bubbled on the stove top and fresh roasted pumpkin seeds waited for roasting, doused in sea salt. Did you know that pumpkin is a super food, packed with disease-fighting nutrients, low in calories, high in fiber? And super delicious.

Who knows if deer hunting season is still on in Massachusetts. I don't keep track of shotguns, muskets, and bows but one can never be too careful in the woods, and besides, J likes this bright orange coat, a hand-me-down from my dad with a big "Fram" logo patch on the breast.

After work this week I continue to move forward with the design website (which I accidentally deleted all of my images and copy from earlier this evening and had to replace), and today I was fit for new glasses that I'm looking forward to being able to see out of. There's holiday gift shopping to be done, of course, and I'm also planning an entree to bring to my brother's house on Christmas Day. Currently in the running are these Harvest Stuffed Portabello Mushrooms and/or a rich potato-based soup (my father loves soup), or a vegetarian lasagna (sans red sauce, which my father dislikes). And a cake. There must be a cake, as it's my brother's birthday on the 22nd, and I am the family baker-of-sometimes-horribly-misshapen-cakes. Whatever the shape, J always sugar-coats them with a lovingly applied layer of frosting. Anyone who says "you can't polish a turd" hasn't seen J's talent for decorating my baked goods.

We didn't venture out for a tree on Saturday, or even to the WalkAbout. So far, in fact, my decorating has consisted of clearing a shelf to put something Christmas-y on. I did find this lovely evergreen ground cover while hiking, however. It may be as close as I get this year. The shelf is filling up with brought-in mail, gloves and car keys.

What I'm really looking forward to is winter solstice on the 21st, marking the return of the light. Now there's a gift I could use, couldn't you?

Cows, New Yorkers, Hare Krishnas, and One Love

Our kirtan-wallah casually mentioned this video at kirtan tonight, and of course I had to run home and look it up immediately — chanting to cows? I love it.

And then the rabbit-hole of youtube led me to this "Hare Krishna explosion at Time's Square" footage, which is awfully fun...and for anyone whose ever done the Maha Mantra in a crowd you know how quickly you find yourself smiling and jumping around...



and finally a little snippet of a Rastafarian chanting and drumming with some Hare Krishnas who were passing by...one love indeed!

Sol Le Witt: Four Basic Kinds of Straight Lines

Have you visited Issuu.com and flipped through any of the thousands of online books, magazines, catalogs and portfolios posted there? I am absolutely loving this site, and can't wait to create and share my online design portfolio, complete with fancy flip-able pages (I'm easily impressed by web design, knowing nothing about it personally). But first, I'm working on a new site for my freelance business, and migrating it from its current home on blogger to squarespace.com. For the past few weeks I've been hunched over my camera photographing projects from my portfolio that I hardly remember doing. More details to come soon!

PS: This blog, of course, is going to stay right here.

Prepare Ye the Way

Advent:
1. The coming or arrival, especially of something extremely important.

Winter has arrived bearing a package of record-breaking cold for the foothills of the Berkshires. So much cold that the blue-gray woodsmoke above a chimney on a distant hill appears to be frozen in place, unchanging, neither rising nor expanding into the sky around it but still, like the brush-stroke smoke of a painting. So cold a half-filled water bottle left in J's car overnight shatters, birthing twins of glass and ice. So cold our outdoor cats spend most of their days and all of their nights inside, curled up Ying and Yang in a wicker laundry basket at the top of the stairs.

Tomorrow some friends are hosting a "Walkabout" on their rural road, opening up their homes as galleries to friends and strangers alike. I'm thinking warm mittens and hot cider poured into a stainless steel thermos sound like appropriate preparations for the outing, which I fear might end up being more of a "Shiverabout." Maybe my legwarmers will even make an appearance. I can never keep track of whether leg warmers are in or out of style — shops catering to the college crowd in Northampton area (and by that I mean anyone young enough to have missed the 80's the first time 'round) seem perpetually fascinated with the era's fashion trends and music. I could do without revisiting most of the 1980's, but there is something comforting about having one's calves swaddled in knitwear.

J and I may combine tomorrow's Walkabout outing with a trip to the local Christmas tree farm. It's been a couple of years since we've had a proper balsam sprinkling its needles on the living room floor. Last year I skipped decorating altogether with the exception of a gorgeous white Poinsettia gracing the living room with summer-like blooms. It seems that for the last four years every November has arrived with news devastating enough to cancel out any desire for the blinking lights and tinsel of December. I was hoping this season would be an exception, but instead we learned that someone very close to us (I'll leave it at that for the sake of her privacy) has just been diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer. Cancer is a word I was hoping to put behind me for a while.

The arrival of winter with its gift of bitter cold, the influx of news, the coming of the holiday season with what feels like its pressure to be Norman-Rockwell-Deck-the-Halls-Fa-La-La-La-La happy — we can't stop them. Nothing stands still, everything is uncertain. The woodsmoke only appears to be frozen in place — actually it is always rising. Every day of our lives brings with it this flow, this advent of something, and the "good" and "bad" labels we're accustomed to affixing on every experience life presents are actually meaningless — life simply is what it is. We can only prepare ourselves to swim in its current as gracefully as possible. Even in the bitter cold we must remember to remain like liquid, capable of conforming to any shape, staying in moment-to-moment awareness and not becoming rigid and fixed like ice, shattering our container.

This weekend: hot cider and legwarmers, a tree or maybe just a flower, the acquaintance of comfort and joy along with sadness and grief. Inner stillness in life's advent.

Painting by my mom.

Cross my....

heart?

Moody Blues

Here in mid-flight is a wooden bird marionette that J made for my parents one Christmas, not long after we met. For over a dozen years it hung in their kitchen window above the sink, keeping whoever was on dish duty quiet company. Last summer it returned back home with us, as did many gifts given throughout the years. Taking gifts back is a strange feeling. They may be simple objects, but they are simple objects infused with love and significance, and it sometimes feels as if they're waiting for their next lives to begin.

The winter light is so interesting as it visits one window of the house and then the next throughout the day, visiting each room. Imagine, it's been peeking in the windows like this for over 200 years,  a silent witness to family after family who have called this old structure "home" — as if any of us can stay here, or even truly own it. We just take care of all these material things for a while as they pass from hand to hand and outlive us, giving them meaning in the process, shaping them to our liking.


Last week I spent several nights photographing images of my printed work for my new design website, and when I picked up the camera to shoot this image yesterday morning I didn't realize the white balance was still set to "tungsten." I think the moody blue is a happy accident.

Early Winter in the Woods

The cold weather has settled on New England, and in the woods it appears that even the rocks are trying to hibernate below ground.

 Frozen prints will soon fill up with snow, 'till spring releases them.

We hiked to a nearby field through flurries swirling madly in the icy wind, my thoughts fixated on the hot chocolate J would make when we returned home.

And on love, even during the cold, gray times.

Especially then.

Kingdoms of ice have sprouted on the path, shattering like glass beneath boots and paws.

In winter what once moved freely turns eerily still,

the empty spaces compensating for the short days by letting in more light.

I {heart} claymation.

Reloaded from marieke v on Vimeo.

Save me from my self

This week the old me and the new me suddenly realized they still share the same body, and there seems to be a bit of a turf war going on for possession of my thoughts and goals.

The old me is insisting, "I must change things in order to find happiness and fulfillment!" And the new me is trying to suggest that I should be able to find happiness and fulfillment anywhere, in any situation. Even the crappy, stressful ones. I should be grateful just to be breathing.

To which the old me is snapping, "You're just afraid of change and the work involved in making things better. Besides which, if you hadn't come along I wouldn't have noticed how unfulfilled I feel in the first place, and would still be perfectly satisfied placating myself with shopping sprees and beer."

The new me is gently reminding the old me that if she hadn't come along when she did I would probably still be wallowing in existential angst and deeply depressed about my mom. And she continues, I'd probably still have rosacea too, thanks to that Pitta imbalance I'd been blissfully ignorant about.

They bicker about what time to go to bed, the old me wanting to stay up until all hours busily working and Being Productive, but the new me prefers her 10:30 curfew because feeling rested feels good. The old me is sick of listening to the new me lecture her about how much sugar she's consuming lately, grumbling about having already given up meat, beer, and coffee, and asking just how much of a stick-in-the-mud do you expect me to become? The two of them couldn't even decide what to listen to in the car this week. "It's a perfectly gray, miserable day" the old me observes, grabbing the i-Pod. "How about we listen to something equally depressing and in the English language for a change." But the new me snatches it back, "I really don't think you ought to go there — how about a little maha mantra to cheer you up?"

If this is the "radical transformation" I was seeking, I must really be in the thick of it now, turning to goo, no longer comfortable as a caterpillar, but far, far away from being a butterfly.