NeoBuddhist Mama

Dust settled, now wiping it off.

2008-10-07T18:32:00.001-07:00

Clearing throat. Well, well, it's been awhile. We're in Iowa and my new friend Jennifer's blog has inspired me to get back to it. To recording this time in our lives. It's hard, it's hopeful, and mostly it's busy. Jonathan's in the Writer's Workshop, I've started my private practice and Eleanor is spending three, sometimes four, days a week with Louise (a lovely caregiver) and five other little ones. We're all transitioning, moving into the unknown and taking it as it comes.

I'll be honest. I never expected to end up in Iowa. It never occurred to me, not at all, never. Then Jonathan was applying to Writing programs (just now I got off of the phone with him and he was telling me all about his story that "went-up" and was work-shopped today and some kind of politics involved) and Iowa is one of the, if not the best, depending on who you ask. And even though I know more about the inception of the program I'm still confused as to why it happened or exists in Iowa. Now I'm sure native Iowans can tell me so many reasons to the query "Why Iowa?", and Iowa City is a good enough place. It's been kind to me and to my family (well other than the fact that we've had three bikes stolen by drunkards), but I'm struggling with missing Athens these days. And when I compare Athens to Iowa City there is a palpable emptiness.

Athens, Georgia was my first real home. It was more of a home to me than my childhood home, which was more my mom and step-dad's home. It was way more of a home than any home I had in college, or even after that. Once I tried really hard to make a home in Los Angeles and my good friend Judy told me, "you're playing house". She was right. I "played" a lot in LA, and LA was no home, not for me. I loved my community in Fairbanks, Alaska, but still, too far and too damn cold to be a home for me for long. So after meeting and falling in love with Jonathan, I went back with him to Georgia.

He always said that the South gets into your pores and it sure did mine. I fell in love with the South, for reasons that words only flirt with. For the honey-soaked air that hangs in early June, for the florid Spring (which is actually March and April in the South), for the complexity of social dynamics, the hanging on to agrarian time, the cabin in the woods where our baby was born, where we were married, where we burned into the night. For our good friends and their earthiness, their anchors, and idiosynchrocies. It's the first place that I've ever thought of returning to. And those thoughts are often and luxurious these days. While living in Athens many people said that Athens has a way of pulling people back in. At the time I thought of that as some sort of defect, like a developmental paralysis or an old habit. These days I see it as a wide net, cast out time and time again, bringing it's people home. Catch me I say.

randy gratitude

2008-03-20T06:44:00.000-07:00

is there anything better than being a super mama? yes. having it spelled out in easy cheese on a cast iron skillet. i love cast iron. i do not like easy cheese, never have. i was mildly intrigued by it in fourth grade. i might have even tasted it, but i've always had refined taste buds and so i'm sure if i did i made a sour face (the kind of face i make when i want eleanor to know that i'm not down with what she is doing or about to do, which by the way rarely works, it usually makes her laugh.)

but we were gifted a bottle of easy cheese (as a nostalgic joke really) about a month ago when we moved into a new place (our fourth in athens). it was gifted by the friend whose home was our first place and was almost our fourth place. he gave us lots of other lovely treats too. ben and jerry's ice cream, whole wheat pasta, yummy sauces and salsas. he's been good to us and continues to be.

he gave us a grill when we first got pregnant so that i could eat healthy meats with ease. he rented us a uhaul to move from our second to third place. he brought a thirty pound lasagna and $300 bottle of red wine over two days after our daughter was born. he adjusted me during labor (as he is a skilled chiropractor). his heart is full and open and he shares it readily. i will miss him when we go. i'd like to get him a super mama gift.

inspired by my husband and lisel mueller

2008-02-13T09:22:00.000-08:00

1)I was born in a windy city, in a hospital named after the patron saint of animals.

2)In this year women fought to free their bodies from government control. Bob Marley released Exodus. I benefit from both.

3)My home is soft with my sweet smelling mother. My mother's sisters rush around me whispering female myths in sandlewood voices.

4)My spirited father leaves and takes refuge in his brother. Each week's end makes my stomach hurt, but I do not know why.

5)I am caught between playing and knowing. I dream of my family drowning.

6)The mother takes another man into the home, he smells different and behaves different. The daughters long for the father, but their longing is lost in adult words.

7)My aunts emerge and speak of bleeding and woman and nakedness. They are red and glowing and I am afraid.

8)I hide under books and get lost in long school hallways. The other adolescents speak in tongues I do not know. I share my markings and feel hot and ashamed.

9)I am free in corn fields. Black crows fly above and I follow.

10)I fall over and over again in love with literature and poetry and men and ideas. My world explodes and I am the center.

11)I follow the moon across the ocean and meet women clad in colorful saris. We move and dance. Words are unnecessary.

12)I get lost in California.

13)I am found in Alaska.

14)In Colorado I meet him and all my knowing is undone. I go the way I have not gone and colors pour out of my mouth.

15)He holds me in southern light.

16)We make a life together. It is hot. He makes art out of everything. My body is joyful and resting.

17)We weave another life into ours. We walk in a circle through the woods. Our dog sniffs out animal life and leads us to water.

18)Her mystery unfolds in our bedroom. It is the beginning of June. She bursts into being.

19)The lines on our face grow deeper. We begin to notice young people.

20)There are nine possible incarnations. We are waiting for Fortuna to spin her wheel.

Totem

2008-02-13T07:52:00.000-08:00

She grew inside of me for nine months and now she sits on my shoulders. She looks good there with her eyes open and intense, as if she knows that she is part of a long lineage of powerful women. She's a clan leader, no doubt.

We've been packing up the things in our home, the home that she was born in. I want her to know this place, this home and carry it with her, whereever she goes. The sea green room where she made her mark, the silver oak trees, changing leaves, speckled fawns, bobcat wandering, her owl brethren; I want to pack up those images and weave them in her hair, adorn her with them. Mostly I want her to know that she can always return to that soft, calm knowing that everything is good, that she is cared for, loved and treasured.

Tres Generaciones

2008-02-07T09:32:00.000-08:00

There are three generations standing on this frozen lake. My father, his daughters and our two daughters. We came together last weekend at my father's home on Lake Minnetonka for no other reason than to spend time together. It was lovely. My sister's daughters are radiant and loving (just like her). At one point over the weekend I looked out and saw my husband, my sister, her daughters, her husband, my father, my step-mother and my daughter cirlcing around the room...playing, laughing, talking. One big constellation of family. It made me cry.

Yoga Life

2008-01-29T06:43:00.000-08:00

When I was nine years old I went to visit my aunts Susan and Margie. They lived in Madison, Wisconsin. I don't know how Madison is anymore, but at the time it was full of hippies, progressive politics and amazing farmer's markets, street artists and musicians. That trip was a number of "firsts" for me. The first time I ever had my hair French braided, my first taste of real apple cider from a street vendor, the first time I ever smelled Indian incense and my first introduction to yoga. Both of my aunts were avid practitioners and I remember waking up early to find my aunt Susan doing sun salutations in a candle lit room. She looked like a goddess. That image has stayed with me and it most likely propelled me 8 years later to begin practicing yoga myself.

In between that time and when I took my first yoga class at the University of Illinois, I was, like so many children/late adolescents today, fairly disembodied. With little confidence, the patriarchy pushing "ideal body images" my way, a general sense of Catholic guilt and a less than satisfactory peer group, I didn't spend much time cultivating my connection with my body. I spent even less time trusting my own personal sense of magick and intuition. I tried to conform to the suburban masses, but something inside of me fought it hard. I am grateful for this part of myself.

At this first yoga class, in 1993, I remember feeling many strange sensations in my body. It was overwhelming, emotional and hard. I wasn't too flexible and I also didn't know how to breathe properly. Although there were many obstacles I kept coming back. First, just once a week. Then, two years later I practiced every morning. Upon completing my BA my aunt Susan and I went on a bike tour in southern Spain and Portugal. We woke every morning with the sunrise and practiced, rode our bikes all day long and practiced a little more before bed, before talking long into the night.

I traveled to India, more yoga. When I came back into the country I moved to Los Angeles where yoga was the one aspect of my life that was healthy and sane. It kept me grounded in a place and culture that I was fundamentally at odds with. I am pretty sure it was the wisdom and insight I gained through my practice that eventually inspired me to move to Alaska. I lived in Fairbanks with the most wonderful community of people and yogis. These were yogis in the true sense of the word, each of their life paths was an authentic practice of presence and awakening. They were activists, botanists, mothers, teachers, researchers, naturalists and each one of them lived with integrity and heart. While living and learning with this community I found that yoga was a practice that kept me aligned with my values, my sense of gratitude and devotion as well as humility. It also reminded me that service is the most important aspect of a yogic life.

I traveled to Massachusetts to complete my first formal yoga teacher training. I had been teaching already but wanted to immerse myself in a month of study with other practitioners. It was a dramatic experience for me and at the end I knew that I wanted to keep living a life of social service. I moved to Boulder, CO to complete a degree in Contemplative Psychotherapy, so that I might have a private practice where I could blend my life's work together to assist others. While in Boulder I continued to practice all aspects of the eight limbs of ashtanga yoga. I studied with amazing teachers, completed another teacher training and although it had been an incredibly long journey I felt completely embodied. This sense of embodiment drew good things my way. I trusted myself, my intuition, my erotic longings and decided to move to Athens with the man who is now my husband.

My husband and I had a baby. We had her with Ahimsa (the yogic principle of non-violence)leading the way. We had her at home and I used everything I ever learned from yoga to bring her into the world. And to date, motherhood has been the most REAL yoga practice I have ever engaged in. This is the real path: being a good mother, a present mother, a mother that "lets go" of ego and agenda...being a good wife, a loving and respectful wife, a wife that lets go of her ego and agenda. This is it. This is yoga.

Loss of Athens

2008-01-24T08:35:00.000-08:00

I live in Athens, Ga. Which among the many places I've lived (Fairbanks, Venice, Boulder, Champaign, Chicago, Dharamsala and Downers Grove)is a good place. It's good because it has a rich history (although that history is being wiped out by the Atlantification i.e.)gentrification of small southern towns). I care about this history being wiped out. Out of all the places I've lived I care most about what is happening to Athens (not that this isn't happening in other places, because it is) but because I get the sense that it snuck up on its citizens and it's being orchestrated through late adolescents who don't know any better (but they should).

This generation of late adolescents my mother recently said are the generation that, "get a medal for showing up." They are entitled, self-focussed (not on issues, but shoes, ipods, and texting) and appear to be pretty checked out (many of these adolescents i.e.) UGA college students, walk out in front of traffic because they are looking down at the aforementioned cell phones and UGG boots.) Now, I understand that college-time is about self-exploration, self-centeredness to some regard and hopefully a commitment to one's personal ideologies. I just can't figure out why all these kids seems so empty. I don't get a sense that they care about much of anything. They're not politically engaged, there's not much philanthropy happening, they don't organize. These are all things that I did as a college student (still do) and my friends as well. And it's not like I grew up in the 60s. So what gives? And mainly what's going to happen when these kids are leading the nation?

I feel equally bad for the folks that these kids are pushing out of Athens (myself included) as I do for the kids themselves. This consumer-based, pop culture is turning some of the most fundamental times in a person's life into a solopsistic hell and they're buying it hook line and sinker. There's no sense of urgency at all that an entire generation is being raised on Fox News and Brittany Spears tabloids. I guess that's what you get when a nation spends half of it's federal budget on the military. It makes me sad and now I'm getting too global.

I'm most sad about the fact that due to a lack of jobs, good higher education opportunities and a basic sense of depression about Athens, we are going to be leaving soon...soon like in the next several months. And this is the place that our daughter was born, and my husband grew up. And damn it I wish something could convince us to stay.

Daughter on the Rampage

2008-01-09T09:11:00.000-08:00

It's happened, and she's only seven months old. We knew from the get go that Eleanor was precocious, but we didn't think she'd leave us so soon. And we certainly didn't predict that it would be to join a Flock of Seagulls cover band. But here it is, living proof, she's gone and done it. Come back baby.

Bienvenido 2008

2008-01-07T06:02:00.000-08:00

On our hike to the shoals yesterday I noticed that our old friends - the triumvarate of goats - were back. Since goats, in many traditions,symbolize fertility, vitality and ceaseless energy I took this as a good sign. These are things that I welcome back into my life with the ushering in of the luz and new year.

Well actually, I'll add an andendum to this. I welcome fertility as in creative fertility, fertility to grow ideas, community, conversation and other non-baby types of fertility. Me and the mister aren't sure if we want to have another child. We certainly know not now, we said we'd check back with one another on that in three or so years. So yes to fertility, no to pregnancy. Yes to the longer days, the hints of daffodils in our lawn. Yes to playfully frolicking in the woods. Yes to all nine applications to MFA programs begin submitted. Yes to cooking up some fun. Yes to the three goats. Yes to Ella, Jonathan and Stella. And yes, yes, yes, to newness in the new year.

The babe is asleep

2008-01-06T17:12:00.000-08:00

Today was many days in one. It was the day that we (after a year of living at 2389) finally made it to the river. We played on the shoals. We scrambled through briar patches and muddy slopes to get there. We did this all with my daughter on my back.

Today was also the day that we felt the little one's first tooth bud (finally...hallelujah!) Maybe we'll finally get to meet that tyrannical piece of enamel and calcium responsible for making our daughter growl at god for the agony of teething.

It was a good day. It was, at times, a hard day, as parenting days are meant to be sometimes. I say meant because I believe it's the first year of parenting that gets you in to shape to be a good parent for the rest of your wee one's life. It's this first you that you, "get your head out of your asshole" as my husband has said, that your ego is annihilated, that you let someone else become the center of your universe. It is a promising year (at seven months I feel this)and it is exhausting.

Like most peak experiences it rips the bottom out of your comfortable, habitual life and leaves you falling and falling (sometimes flailing, sometimes laughing, sometimes fearful, but most times trusting that the ground is there somewhere). It also makes you appreciate the simple things; bike rides, elevator flirtation, and a glass of red wine at the end of the day.

And why not?

2007-12-13T08:13:00.000-08:00

Pictured above is a delightful bowl of chocolate pudding. Coconut chocolate pudding to be exact. It looks yummy. It probably is. This morning, however, I did not eat a bowl of chocolate pudding like that one. Instead, I walked down to the employee kitchen and quickly grabbed a little plastic container from the fridge. I had been eyeing these containers for about two weeks now, contemplating if I would ever get desperate enough to eat one. Inside the kindergarten sized cup held three spoonfuls of Publix Fat Free Chocolate Pudding. I hadn't grabbed one until today for several reasons. First, I wasn't sure if they were for the taking. Although they didn't have a name on them and most things in the employee fridge with no name are open season, I thought maybe someone forgot to label them and so I dismissed them. But as the days went by and they didn't diminish I figured it would be okay. I secondly did not jump at the chance to take them because frankly anything that it fat free usually makes me wince. The idea makes me wince and the taste even more. Fat free chocolate seems like a sin. Yes, in the "ooh these are sinful" sort of way but reverse. I digress. I thirdly did not take one because they were from Publix, and while I like Publix as much as any grocery store I usually don't eat generic chocolate.

But today I was hungry and fiending for choco-treat (remember me, St. Chocolate?). I walked right down there and grabbed one. I scurried back to my office and ate the three spoonfuls. And it was good. Damn good. I was surprised how much it tasted like real chocolate pudding and how satisfied I was while eating it. Pudding has a distinctly pudding taste. Must be the egg yolks. I don't know. It's the same way with Lemon Curd, Custard and Mayonaise. Yep, egg yolk and in this case, most likely egg yolk substitute. But who cares, it was super yum. And I'm thinking about getting another one.

48 hours of magic

2007-12-12T06:51:00.000-08:00

i don't know why i woke up feeling like a tired, beige mouse today, because (aside of my tiger daughter waking up every 45 minutes to growl and stretch last night) the last 48 hours have been deemed with magic.
it all started on my monday night run. i left the house at 5:15, which gives me just enough time these days to run our 2.5 mile loop before the trail fades into darkness. about halfway up the first hill (which is the first part of the run...still on our land)i heard birds screeching and chirping and making noises that were more banshee than bird. i actually stopped to look around at the top of the hill. i noticed what appeared to be thousands of birds in the trees. and at the same time that i was having a flashback of Hitchcock's "The Birds" that my husband had recently rented from our local video store, the real birds began randomly noise diving down toward the forest floor. all in all i noticed six of them do this. they were not true kamikazees, never actually hitting the ground, but instead swooped back up at the last minute. i had never seen bird behaviour like this before. i decided to start running again.

after about two more minutes of run a huge grey owl cascaded from the top of a loblolly pine tree and flew five feet in front of me. i could feel the rush of air from it's wings on my face. owl scent. it eventually landed on a high branch of a silver oak tree and turned its beaky face toward me. i kept running. next two minutes i smell burning hair. yep. human hair. it dissipates and then returns two seconds later. then goes again. i can't help but think of twin peaks.

by the time i make it out to the river ridge, with the last of the sun fading behind earth song (a retreat center run by an old hippy social worker), i am overwhelmed with a feeling that is hard to name. frenzied, electrified, magickified, aghast? a sense that there is something happening in the universe that i should pay attention to and that is being communicated through primeval criaturas. out of my peripheral vision there are feral squirrels squirreling about in every which way. jumping on the trunks of trees with nuts in their mouths. scurrying underneath leafy alluvium.

i keep on running and my mind drifts to the red clay field, that only six months ago held the promise of sweet corn. and now is dirt again, but only after all of the corn was scorched by sun and drought. i get lost in nostalgia of the corn fields that surrounded my undergraduate university. i remember the smoky blue flowers that bloomed in the spring. and as their scent lingered in my memory, i hear a "HOO HOO", look up and find another grey owl peering down at me from the forest canopy. this time i get it. i don't get it on a conceptual level, but something deeper happens. and i'm still reeling from it. when i get home i tell my husband of these occurrences.

yesterday evening the magic continued. my tiger daughter (featured above) has learned to crawl. she is only six months. she is rocking her world, my world and her father's world and she is revved up with some special blend of wise, cute, more than meets the eye, with a dash of danger and a helluva lot of courage. she's trying to climb on everything. i walked into the bedroom and found her standing in her crib with a huge, prideful smile on her face. i took her into the living room to tell her pa of these events and found him outside pumping up our car tires with air, dancing to buena vista social club. it was lovely. we went inside, made marinara from scratch, drank champagne in celebration of our baby's accomplishments and of the fact that life is so grand and full of surprises.

ahh. this helped reinvigorate me. RARRRR!

evanescence

2007-12-06T07:35:00.000-08:00

is it possible to have the thursday morning mullygrubs? i woke today feeling less than inspired, less than energetic and wishing for someone or something to come and rescue me from my mercurial winter blues. it's been almost six months since the birth of my daughter and i still feel my hormones are out of whack, sending me on emotional journeys into parts of my psyche that are dusty and dank. motherhood is many things wondrous and it is also a wake-up call to any unfinished childhood business. it shakes out the rug of insecurity and i watch historical particles float in front of me, tempting me to get involved. and i just want to lay low. it's hard. my life calls me outward, mainly through my daughter. because i try to be and most times am a conscious parent i put effort in showing up fully for her. her needs are immediate and i immediately tend to them. and i don't mind doing this. because i love her. and i like her. but i'm constantly being brought out. and sometimes i just want to be in. in with my thoughts, my fantasies, hopes and dreams for the future. in with my private world, my individual mind, my un-motherness. sometimes i just want to be with my husband wasting away an afternoon over coffee and playful banter. walking around New York City, disappering into the masses.

2007-12-05T08:44:00.000-08:00

What in the world do the above images have to do with one another you ask? Surprisingly they go by the same name...Tundra. And it is no secret that the people who ride in the second image have never been to (and most haven't even heard of) the first image. In addition to that people that drive around in the second image are pretty much shooting the polar bears and blow torching the snow in the first picture, as their vehicle TUNDRA sucks petroleum right out of the ground, pumps it back into the air and chokes out ecosystems. They are also the people who continually vote to drill oil right out of the white ursidae's environs, disturbing their cubs and endangering the survival of other species as well.

I'm going to have to go ahead and say that the people that drive Tundras are evil. I had two encounters this morning with two Tundrae and they were both ominous. The first was a big, black tundra parked forbodingly at the end of our driveway. Signaling that "the man who kills deer" is out and about and that if I even think about hiking or running in the woods today I have to wear my orange safety vest so Tony doesn't think I'm a Odocoileus virginianus and kill me. I don't like wearing the vest for a number of reasons, but mainly because it makes me feel like prey and it also reminds me that lame people are moving in on pristine territory.

My second encounter with Tundra folk was as I entered the parking lot to a local coffee shop, in an attempt to get some soy chai. I drove in with care and properly signalled that I was going to take the last parking spot. I got there in plenty of time, when, out of nowhere, a navy blue tundra flew into the parking lot, cut me off and took my spot. He didn't even flinch or pause. And he got out of his vehicle, yacking through his cyborg earpiece, looking bloated and meat-filled, grabbing his jeans out of his crack. Gross. When I finally got another spot and went into the shop, "Tony #2" was broadcasting his banal conversation to everyone in the place. It became clear that he was some sort of micro-manager for some marketing company. blargh. bluck. He probably did market research on the name Tundra and found that people really like driving vehicles named after places they will eventually destroy. Status.

As I drove into work I counted several more Tundras...in addition to some Denalis, Foresters, Saharas, and Tahoes.

I am St. Chocolate and Other Delights

2007-12-03T08:11:00.000-08:00

St. Francis of Assisi was the patron saint of animals. He was also the patron saint of ecology. His image is depicted, most times, with birds circling his head. He dwelled in and among all things natural and was most humble. Saint Nicholas, the patron saint of children, had a knack (as we know)for gift giving. But Nick was never officially canonised, although his legend evolved (especially for good little girls and boys who believed). I like both of these guys. They took their devotion and spread joy with it, they did things that people (any people) could really get behind, I mean who's not behind presents, animals and children? If I were a patron saint, I would be the patron saint of chocolate and other sweet things. I would place Lindt milk chocolate squares on the passenger seats of cars stopped at red lights. I would put dark chocolate sprinkles in people's coffee at the creamer station. I would flit about (in sugar plum fairy fashion) and leave tokens of milky, creamy, chocolately goodness whereever I could, to brighten people's days. To remind them that one simple square of cocoa goodness can really change your perspective on things. With a piece of divinity in your mouth everybody's your friend, passersby wave to you and you wave back, traffic seems workable, fun even. Co-workers stories about the weekend seem important and interesting. And work, ah work becomes a place that you look forward to. At least that's what happened to me when I remembered I had secretly placed two of my left-over chocolates in the bag that I take to work and put one in my mouth. I started writing this blog with its' goodness melting in my mouth. I patronised myself with my saintly sweet good gift. Yay for me.

Corn Starch

2007-11-30T07:18:00.000-08:00

Last night, after our daughter was asleep for an hour, after we had eaten a fine meal, while we were tired and full and thinking perhaps of the intimacy that we miss...my husband and I played with a mixture of corn starch and water. It all started when I (in my 11pm giddiness and almost stoner-like curiosity((yes new parenthood has given me many of the side effects of a pot-smoker, minus the pot smoking)) said, "Isn't matter weird" and my husband said, "Hey, I noticed you bought cornstarch, do you need it all?" I said, "Only a TBSP" and he said, "No way, check this out." He proceeded to mix cornstarch and water together in a glass measuring cup and then he poured it on a plate. He directed me to "feel it" which I did and was confused, intrigued, a little grossed out but equally engaged. We both had our hands in the cornstarch/water mixture, feeling its properties, laughing (almost nervously) about the strangeness of this fourth grade science experiment. The texture of the mixture felt dry and wet at the same time. You could grab it and then it would slip away. The cornstarch shapeshifted. Neither liquid or solid and certainly not gas it had its own way of being and it was cool. We delighted in this for about 26 minutes. Then I said, "This would be a really cool effect for a scary movie. If this cornstarch was dyed red it could be blood." (somehow I thought this was a unique idea) And he said, "Scary red blood!" We then cleaned up the cornstarch (although it left white streaks all over the countertops) and went to bed in each other's arms.

Bye Bye Meltdowns

2007-11-25T10:41:00.000-08:00

It has been one week since I've had a complete 3am meltdown. Last Sunday was the last of them. These meltdowns i blame on new parenthood, mainly the hormones, but also the existential reality of being completely responsible for another person. Their happening at 3am I blame mostly on lack of sleep and the fact that I have lower resources at that time of the morning and want my husband to save me from my dilemma (and he can't, although he does a lot to help me.) But anyway, last week on Monday (the day after the last meltdown) my husband shared a chapter with me from Dr. Schnarch's book Passionate Marriage. The chapter was on anxiety and self-soothing. He also pointed out some material from Be Here Now by Ram Daas. The part in Schnarch's book made me wonder about my own ability to self-soothe and got me to thinking that it wasn't very fair of me to expect my husband or my daughter to have to help me self-soothe, or to be witness to what happens when I don't. I started wondering about what I learned about self-soothing from my childhood, which, I had to do a lot of because I had a lot of responsibility at a young age and didn't quite know how to handle it. I think I repressed a lot and became more anxious than I needed to be. My husband told me the other day that he thinks my core is very relaxed and that the anxiety I feel in the world is learned, it's a veil, perhaps a persona, perhaps a way of being that relieved others of anxiety and responsibility. Whatever it is, I tend to believe him. Because when I'm feeling/acting really anxious/wound-up there is the smallest voice that says, "you don't really buy this do you?" and then another little voice of awareness that says, "no...I don't, but what are my other choices." Then I realize I could drop the whole project and I'd feel a whole lot better, but sometimes I hang on. This hanging on has gotten my attention. I'm going to start investigating what it is that I'm hanging on too and why. I have a feeling about it, but can't articulate it yet.

Ram Daas' book illuminated the "vibration" that a person sends out when they are in different states of mind and also pointed out that babies and animals and well, sensitive beings are particularly affected by negative vibrations. This made me feel particularly accountable for my moods and actions. I don't want to directly/indirectly/emotionally/spiritually or otherwise, pass on negativity to my daughter, my husband or our dog.

The Parent's Tao Te Ching

2007-11-22T07:46:00.000-08:00

You do not know the true origin of your children
You call them yours
but they belong to a greater Mystery
You do not know the name of this Mystery
but it is the true Mother and Father of your children.

It is 11am on Thanksgiving day and my daughter is sleeping soundly in her bed. She is wearing snowflake pajamas that make her look like a michievious little elf, escaped from Santa's lab, when she moves her body around. And she's been moving her body like a wildfire. Rolling, rolling, up on all fours, hopping forward trying to crawl. Her efforts are noble and purposeful. Each motion she makes seems to be strengthening her little body for her next developmental milestone. It's unbelievable to witness. She woke at 7:30 this morning and got right to business. Moving on the bed. Moving on the floor. Moving in her little exersaucer. and then, exhausted, she cried out what sounded like, "save me from myself". i took her to the darkened bedroom and nursed her to sleep. and now she's still there, in her dreamland of milk and goodness.
Her eyes are closed and yet underneath those silky lids they're on fire. She's full of curiousity and wonderment. And she's mysterious. Her sly little grin takes me aback, makes me wonder what she knows of that I know nothing of. I presume there's a lot. I look forward to sharing with her.

2007-11-20T08:38:00.001-08:00

Inheritance

2007-11-19T08:13:00.000-08:00

Over the weekend my daughter and I attended a modified blessing way ceremony for my aunt in Chicago. A Blessing Way is a traditional Navajo ceremony given by women for another woman late in her pregnancy. It offers strength and support for the upcoming labor. There are a series of rituals associated with a blessing way and all are aimed at focussing the mother-to-be on the sacredness of the birth of her child and her movement into motherhood. It is particularly significant in our consumer culture because it focusses on gifts from the heart, stories of motherhood and blessings that feed the spirit rather than the nursery. The ceremony I attended was officiated by two of my aunts for their sister (the mother to be.) It was obvious that they spent a great deal of time preparing for the ceremony. Choosing songs, printing out little pieces of paper with chants on them, bringing beeswax candles to light and requesting that each woman bring a bead a blessing to create a birthing necklace. The blessing began at six on Saturday. There were fourteen women present including the mother. As I sat in the cirlce with these women who represented three American generations I was struck with sadness. And this sadness surprised me. The women in this circle appeared insecure and awkward in their female forms. While most of them had the Oprah inspired "you go girl" attitude, few of them exuded an earthy confidence and pride in being a woman. It wasn't until my sister began some of her traditional mother-based chants that I felt a sense of unity in the circle. I thought, how is this possible. How can fourteen women gather and feel so disconnected with one another?

One of the first songs we sang was The Circle Game by Joni Mitchell and while most of the women were children of the 60s very few of them knew the words. My mother wept toward the end of the song and she wiped away her tears and apologized to another woman for her sentiments by saying, "I don't know why this song makes me cry?" This made my heart ache. My mother's ability to weep and sing are some of her greatest qualities and there she was wiping them away, rendering them insignificant. Is it not okay for women to be intimate with one another? Was this blessing simply another new trend? Where was the heart?

When it came time to give my aunt her blessings I was again disheartened. Most of the women stated that they had "looked on the internet for blessings", some of them said they couldn't come up with anything or ran out of time. These are my aunts closest friends and family...why did they have to look on a computer for a heartfelt blessing. Is this a metaphor of our times? FIND HEARTFELT WISHES ON THE INTERNET....$4.99 Does this point to a lack of trust in our personal experience? A lack of confidence surrounding intimacy? Why wouldn't it be okay to simply tell my aunt what our personal wishes were for her? And then the beads...everyone wanted to get it just right. The mineral that they were giving, the significance of the mineral according to Blah Blah Blah Book on Minerals and Rocks. And I thought...just make some cool story up about the bead that you want her to remember when she's birthing...she's not going to be thinking about how rose quartz helps digestion when she's in labor. What is it with having to get things perfect and factual and well, frankly, boring? Where is the passion and risk-taking and myth and magick? It was pretty much absent and then I wondered if it was simply absent for me? Am I expecting too much from these women? It's true that we live radically different lives, but I like to think that we have things in common. I like to think that when we gather together in honor of one of our sisters that we leave our personas and egos and shoulds at the door. That we just show up fully as we are. I guess that takes practice. And it's strange that it takes practice. It says a lot about our society that being authentic takes practice.

The truth is...I wanted more for my aunt. I wanted something richer and deeper and more heartfelt. I wanted her unborn baby to look forward to joining the circle. And I know that there was love present, but I also got the sense that people's minds were elsewhere. On to the next meeting or gathering that they won't be present for. I'm becoming more cynical. Or perhaps more realistic and it's sad to me. I guess I also wanted more for myself. I traveled from Georgia to be there with my aunts, sisters, mother and friends and I wanted to feel connection. Instead I felt that my daughter was burdening the ceremony with her cooing and squealing. I actually had to leave at one point because she was making too much noise. And this hurt me.

I don't want to give my daughter an electronic and superficial version of intimacy and womanhood. I want her to have all the passion and intimacy and drama and messiness and laughter and mistakes. I don't want her to have to get anything right, but for her to enjoy being who she is. For her to make mistakes and know that mistakes mean that you're living. She deserves to inherit these opportunities.

2007-11-14T09:30:00.000-08:00

Ode to Eleanor

Each day when i wake up

or come home from work

or remember that i'm a mother

there you are.

a present,

a shining light,

other.

thoughts on neobuddhist motherhood

2007-11-14T08:21:00.001-08:00

Five years ago I began a Psychology Program based on Buddhist Teachings. It was a three year program and over those 1095 days I learned a lot about ego anihilation. I got a lot of practice sitting with my mind, exposing my mind to tantric practices of space awareness and using my intellect to understand what it means to be free from attachment. There were moments during meditation retreats when something different happened in my normal internal landscape of memories, thoughts, ruminations, nuerosis and daydreaming. I can't say whether this was the cessation of confusion (luminous emptiness, satori) or that I was simply relaxed. I noticed over those years that my ego is strong and beguiling. A cunning trickster. Charismatic. Always has the right answer. The perfect way to justify my habits. And it seems ominiscient. My ego, like one of my professors stated, "wants to attend its own funeral". In other words, I have a hard time letting go.

Since I graduated from that program and moved to a completely different geographical and demographical landscape I've noticed that my relationship to these teachings has changed dramatically. Instead of intellectualizing them I've come closer and closer to experiencing them (which is where the real juice is). This has happened because I've become more intimate with my life. I've taken several new births that have catapulted me into the undeniable and vivid present moment. I've shed my maiden skin and have become wife and mother. I've birthed a baby in my home with my husband encouraging me to "find my song" to push our baby out. And out she came. And out she's come. At five months her personality is blossoming and she is finding her own song in the world. She and my husband continually help me to arrive in the present moment and relax. He says, "Things are real simple. Feed the baby. Keep the baby safe." She says, "Be with me. Watch the leaves fall. Listen to the birds. It's easy." And it is easy. It is simple. And yet, I watch my mind make things much more complicated than necessary. Ego grasps and reaches, ego wants to drive. And so, this idea of ego anihilation has never been more salient. Ego can't exist in the present moment, because the present moment is too full (of everything non-ego). And my life is begging me to take things moment by moment. And my ego whines and moans, because now that things are real (experiential rather than intellectual) it knows its time is coming. And so I sing to my ego (even though its not real) and I make its passing more gentle, and still there are moments (usually at 3am) when ego takes over with reckless abandon "this isn't how things should be...this isn't how you should be", and sometimes I can drink tea and passify this force. But I'm new at this.