Early on, we were very afraid

Shalom.

I decided yesterday that the best way to understand any particular period of history is to study what happened right before it, which of course requires studying what came right before that, etc.

What I was thinking about in particular is the Cold War. After World War II, especially considering how many people were killed (sixty million, I read somewhere. 60,000,000!), also because it must have come as a nasty shock to realize the Nazis really had systematically killed millions of people - to learn the rumors weren't war propaganda, and after seeing graphic photos of the damage done by the bombs in Hiroshima and Nagasaki - well - paranoia is an absolutely logical reaction. Ergo: the Cold War.

Nature abhors a vacuum, hence the push after the war, in the U.S. (at least), for women to have babies, lots and lots of babies. Here we came, born high on ether or whatever anesthetic they gave our mothers, slapped on our little baby boomer butts straight out of the womb, after which we were placed in
play pens so as to amuse ourselves, surrounded by a haze of second hand cigarette smoke. It was a lot like what they call crate training, only that is for dogs.

As soon as we could walk, we were taught to "duck and cover." I learned how to allegedly protect myself in case of a nuclear attack by the time I was in kindergarten. Five years old, and already worried about Soviet bombers dropping the big one. What a way to begin a life! Wow. Or should I say whoa?

I heard an interview with Mark Helprin on Studio 360 Saturday afternoon. Mr. Helprin was promoting a novel he wrote, set just after WWII. He said people didn't really talk about the Holocaust in the 40s, that the first books about it were published in 1953 or 1954. I think people couldn't really take it in for a few years. It was just too much to understand.

The U.S. as well as the Soviets, in spite of the damage done in Japan, continued testing what we called "A bombs." It was as if the military actually thought nuclear warfare was an option. After WWII, people were a mess. How could they have suddenly gone back to "normal" life once the war was over? They were in shock.

After WWII, western culture was frozen, for a number of years, in a state of severe PTSD. People went about their daily lives, and things looked ok on the surface, but oh my, all was not well.

This is the world into which we baby boomers arrived. Good lord. It explains a lot.

Shadows

Shalom from CHILLY, rainy, gloomy DC. (Yay!)

Silly me. I decided to look at FB first thing this morning, before my daily practice of prayer, stretching, ohmming and meditation. Big mistake.

One of my FB "friends" posted a heinous lie about President Obama. I'm trying so hard to keep a thick skin until the election, or at least run away, run away whenever I see anything about the campaign. What was I thinking, opening my ipad first thing?

My mother used to say I was "sensitive - too sensitive." I guess that's right, and believe me, it is as much of a curse as she thought it was, but it is also a blessing. My uber sensitivity makes it possible to do good work both as a shaman and as a bodyworker. I'm like the Princess and the Pea when doing massage; searching for areas of congestion in my clients' tissues. When I find an area of engagement, I spend more time there, making for a more effective massage. In my profession, ultra sensitivity is a great thing.

Being too sensitive is also an important part of the shamanic job description. We work with the subtle energies after all. Shamanism is not like crushing a beer can on your forehead. Actually, neither is bodywork - or - it shouldn't be.

Some shamans shut themselves off from the regular world of interactions with humans in order to orient themselves more towards the astral realms where we do our work. I tried that for awhile, when I was learning the Art, but it didn't work so well for me. I need to be part of the world, in the world. Engagement with the world of people, animals, plants, weather, seasons and all things physical is a significant aspect of my Plan to Stay Sane.

What I realized this morning is that along with keeping me sane and grounded, my morning practice shields me from the impact of shadowy, fearful, ridiculous things I really don't need to take in, such as that FB ex friend's post, in which she said "a friend" told her Obama was going to take away the right of members of the military to vote. And she was serious! Good lord. I looked at her page for 20 seconds. She is hoping the CIA can be returned to its former glory under Romney. She loves Paul Ryan.

Of course I unfriended her, then got right to my practice. I won't make that mistake again. Whew!

The weather made me do it

Pedi cabs, before the weather shifted.

Shalom from stormy, dramatic Washington DC.

I love it when a big weather front blows through. In DC, since no building is allowed to be taller than my buddy the Capitol, you can see the weather arriving from the west - not that I need to see it actually because I can feel it coming. I feel it in all the places in my body where I've been injured, also everywhere the inevitable drying out that's a part of aging has rendered me less flexible, like my knees (for instance). I feel it in my sinuses.

What's really interesting is that I feel it in my mind. There's an anxiety that precedes the front, an ominous sense of foreboding. I'm sure not everyone feels this way when a front approaches, but I am one with the weather. Just before a storm arrives, I feel so apprehensive! I'm sure this mood is instinctual. It can't be rational because after last summer I can't wait for cold weather to arrive - that is - in my conscious mind.

All my life I've had every physical comfort you can imagine. I've slept in warm, comfortable beds, always had enough to eat, etc., yet my brain stem still fears the coming of winter. It's interesting and even a bit alarming to understand how strictly we homo sapiens abide by the power of instinctual cues. We make up lovely stories about our behavior of course, which we rarely seem able to connect to what we call the "natural world." (As if we aren't part of nature?)

We are elaborate in our frontal lobes. Nevertheless, the source of of most of our mythology, most of our rationalizing and figuring out of the world springs from the same part of the brain that regulates heartbeat, gives us gooseflesh when it's cold and churns up romantic fantasies of undying love when we lust for someone.

Where would the arts be if not for the survival instinct that insists that we mate and have children? It's interesting to think about.

In response to today's plunging temperatures and brisk winds, my brain stem motivated me to make a hearty stew with the grass fed beef I bought from the organic meat lady who is at Eastern Market on Tuesdays. The stew will simmer for awhile. The smell of the simmering stew is calming my fear of winter. In a little while I'll add carrots, onions, potatoes, peas and when it's done, lots of finely minced parsley. I'll light a lot of candles in the chateau tonight, wear something cozy and warm.

All this, to please my brain stem. Good lord.

You can't make this stuff up

Shalom from beautiful, crisp, sunny Washington DC.

I'm not the first nor will I be the the last person on our beautiful planet to notice the things that, in our society, we call coincidences. I prefer the term synchronicity (thanks Uncle Carl).

Those who identify with the idea of coincidence tend to dismiss the interconnections among all things. Those of us who like the idea of synchronicity believe, in our heart of hearts, that All is One; everything in interconnected at many levels and through the dimension of time. Synchronicity is ongoing, ever present. Sometimes, we busy, hard working, easily distractible homo sapiens notice the connections. That's coincidence, at least it is in the Reyaverse. It's when we notice.

We of the shamanic lifestyle practice noticing space/time interconnections. The world I live in is so interesting!

The tapestry of time/space/stuff is not only interconnected, but impossibly complicated, so, although every synchronous event has meaning, we can't explore all of the connections. If we did we would never get the dog walked, the laundry done and so forth. We would be unable to care for ourselves, we would sit in slack jawed trance all day. This is why mystics go on retreat sometimes. In more extreme cases of mystical inquiry, shamans and mystics go live on a mountain top so as to have more time to contemplate the mysteries. That's great, I guess, though I think in this form, as human beings, we're supposed to engage with the world most of the time. My opinion.

Mastery of the art of reading the subtle energies, for those of us who are not called to live on a mountain top, has to do with choosing which synchronicities are worthy of notice, then focusing and delving deep when we have the time to do so. I love the idea that we have to be discerning in order to function well as mystics. It seems oxymoronic, but it isn't. Paradoxical? Yes, of course.

Lately I've been dancing at the center of a spiraling wheel of synchronicity. Many of these coincidences are worthy of notice, so I've been thinking hard about where I want to devote my precious moments of mystical contemplation. For sure I'm going to be thinking about a very old debt I have finally cleared, thanks in no small part to a real miracle. The coincidence of clearing this debt is that it means someone I love very dearly can now move forward with important ancestral work which has been, as she said, "heavy on her head." Coincidentally, her ability to move forward now that she has the money will provide ample opportunity for healing for both of us. Wow.

Another synchronicity - one I will not contemplate further - has to do with the fact that the second I moved the Shiva Nataraj (Shiva dancing in a ring of fire) out of my "fireplace," the weather changed, just like that. Literally within a ten minute period after I moved Lord Shiva, the cool breezes blew in. You can't make that stuff up, and yet, should I devote time to meditating on it? I think not.

I'm glad, though, that fall is finally here. Cheers!


The sky wasn't actually green. Took this with the iphone. Very fun color interpretations.

What's not to love?

I'm in a good mood. I should be in a terrible mood, what with the continuing hot, humid, drizzly DC weather and the fact that tomorrow Saturn will move into Scorpio. I should be cranky, funky and irritable as hell. 

Go figure.

Part of my good mood has to do with very nice dreams last night - happy dreams that did not include even one glimpse of Hitler or my ex husband - dead or alive. Sweet. Also I made a rather huge mistake reconciling my bank statement. As it turns out, I have a LOT more money than I thought I did. I checked and rechecked, and even had the people at the bank confirm for me that all checks have been cashed, all bank machine situations are accounted for - and all deposits, too. This means I will be investing in fall clothing. I might even at last buy myself the much longed for suit. (I have longed for a suit because if they fit, they look good on everyone and are perfect dress up outfits for old ladies.)

I started doing the Course in Miracles exercises. I can't say I'm learning anything I didn't already know, but it's powerful anyway. It is very well thought out, extremely effective, pointing out the obvious, helping people remember the essentials. And it isn't a money making scheme. All you need is one book that contains simple exercises for every day, a text that discusses the basically Christian philosophy (I mean authentic, original, hippie style Christianity. It's adaptable to many --most?-- belief systems.) There's also a section on teaching it, though I won't get to that section for awhile. It's really something, very cool.

Today my plans include doing some drawing, making an apple pie and receiving massage. What a great day!

So you see, even though summer will not relinquish its choke hold Washington DC, life is good. I am grateful. Shalom.

Onwards and upwards, please?

Shalom from damp and drizzy, sticky, humid Washington DC.

Believe it or not, I haven't thought much about my tattoo lately. I'm getting used to seeing it there, and am frankly bored with my reaction to it. How much tearing of hair and wailing, gnashing of teeth, etc. can one woman tolerate? Good lord.

I bring it up today because of this story in the New York Times, that - may I be frank here? - I found appalling. Recently I read Avraham Burg's provocative book, The Holocaust is Over; We Must Rise from its Ashes. It's the first time I've read or heard of anyone who thinks that the Holocaust is something we can - and should - begin to let go of, so we can heal and renew Judaism. It's a really interesting book. Wow.

I thought it was just me who worried that the very sincere and important desire to remember the Holocaust has been corrupted, turned into a brand, a tourist destination, and because it's such big business, keeps many people in a perpetual state of paranoia and fear. To even suggest we can let it unwind infuriates some, frightens others. There's a weird superstition around how we think about the Holocaust. I think it's bizarre and not healthy.

There is at least one other person, this Israeli lefty politician, who agrees. Thank god.

But, back to the NYT review of a documentary about people who are having their family's numbers tattooed on their own arms. I was aghast to see pictures of the tattoos these people received. I get the idea behind it, but what they're doing, I can tell you from the perspective of the wiccan priestess I once was, is really bad magic.

Hence I'm thinking about my tattoo in a new light. Yes it has to do with the Holocaust, but the magic of my tattoo is meant to invoke transformation and healing from the Shoah's dark spiral. That's why I purposely put it on my right arm, not the left, and why it's a big ole chunky modern Hebrew version of the word "Shalom."

I always tell myself that I no longer do magic, but really who am I trying to fool? Of course I still do. I worry about the people in the movie, branding themselves with the same scars that their parents and grandparents received. It seems very wrong to me.

Zonked

Election season malaise is widespread. Some of us feel like we've developed terrible autumnal allergies. I hear people sneezing, blowing their noses. Some of us feel slightly asthmatic and therefore fearful. When you can't breathe, nothing seems OK. Still others are reporting persistent headaches, stomach "flu," dizziness and other annoying symptoms.

I'm not saying every single citizen of Washington DC is feeling ill right now, but you would be surprised how many of us are admitting to being under the weather. It's interesting.

I'm guzzling an herbal tea prescribed by the Sufi acupuncturist, and am scheduled to receive many sessions of acupuncture between now and November 6 (at least, depending on who wins). The tea is meant to make me less reactive to whatever is in the air, both emotionally and physically. I think it's helping, but there is nevertheless still a low-level sense of anxiety I can't seem to shake no matter what. Long walks in the beautiful weather don't help because I am exposed to whatever is in the air. It is not an easy time in the District.

If not the election, what is it? Is it animal, vegetable, mineral or something more ethereal? No one knows, but many of us are suffering. I was at a brunch yesterday with people who are ordinarily energetic and cheerful. We tried, but all of us were subdued, quietly munching our frittatas. We were happy to spend time together but the usual witty repartee among us was not abundant.

My prediction, that this has to do with breathing in the toxicity of the campaign, and will vanish right after the election, is received with more than a little bit of skepticism. Every time I think it or say it, though, it sounds so right.

I guess we shall see. Only five weeks now. I will try to breathe deeply. What else can I do?