Three years on

Yesterday marked three years since Jake died. I can honestly say I only thought of him sporadically. I believe this is a good thing, a symptom of healing. People told me shortly after he died that it takes three years to recover from the death of a beloved pet. I heard it from several people; it's interesting to understand there's a tried and true interval - though - I'm sure the three year rule doesn't work for everyone. It was spot on for me.

For three years I have focused carefully on remembering what was not good about Jake: his fear aggression, his frequent maladies and his tendency to chew through super kongs, cow femurs, woodwork ... whatever. I think I was protecting myself by remembering what was hardest about him, shielding myself with these difficult memories from the pain of my grief.

But the three year interval has passed. Suddenly I'm able to remember how sweet he was, how dedicated he was to me as well as to anyone I cared about. Even if he had never met them before, he would enthusiastically welcome anyone into his zone as long as he felt my love for them. Should I be surprised to remember how psychic he was? I should not.

He had his favorites, of course, among them a friend named Dennis with whom he was madly in love. When Dennis left the house after a visit, Jake would sigh mournfully, turn around in circles for awhile, then collapse into his bed, bereft.

Ha. My dog was as much of a drama queen as I am.

What a sweet, intense, beautiful being he was. It's wonderful to remember what was good and noble about my dog, rather than everything that was awful. This is the path of healing for which I am extremely grateful.

Happy Sunday, y'all. Onwards and upwards. Shalom.

Jake, trotting down East Capitol Street, circa 2008. 

Why

For a long time, I didn't believe in peace. I didn't think it was possible or part of the human condition. In my mind, the word was a romanticized ideal, a false promise that could never be kept. Even the idea of the quiet mind put me off, because I thought at the time the mind should be busy figuring out solutions to all the problems in the world. 

Good lord.

I became interested in the word shalom when I read this interview with Katharine Jefferts Schori, who became the first woman to head the Episcopal church. The interview was published in the New York Times in 2006. She is awesome! Here's part of the interview:

I like the word “shalom.” I use it in my correspondence, I use it in my sermons, and that’s how I sign my e-mails — “shalom.” To me it is a concrete reminder of what it is we’re all supposed to be about.

Because it means peace in Hebrew?

It means far more than peace. I think it’s a vision of the human community. Those great visions of Isaiah — every person fed, no more strife, the ill are healed, prisoners are released.

Every time I read what she said, tears come to my eyes. Wow.

Fast forward a few years to the time when I studied Judaism at Temple Micah. I believe it was during the class on prayer that Rabbi Manewith spent a lot of time talking about the word itself, the three letter core and its significance. We also reflected on the layers of meaning of shalom.

Shalom doesn't refer to a peace that's temporary. Shalom is not about a cease fire or the eras between wars. It doesn't even reflect the peace of deep meditation. It is a far deeper peace, the kind of peace we practice on Shabbat when we live as if the world were perfect.

It's a rather intense practice actually, the joyous rest that is the Sabbath. After Havdallah, the end of the Sabbath, we return to the "real" world in which we can choose to work ourselves to death, freak out, lapse into anger, fear, vengefulness or whatever. But from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday, as my father said every week in the midst of our family's Shabbat service, "All our blessings are enriched, all our griefs and trials are softened." Oh yeah.

My tattoo, which is not pretty or decorative, is profoundly meaningful to me because by having this word engraved on my arm, one of my favorite ideas, one of my most exalted hopes, has literally become part of my physical body. This is why I got the tattoo.

Shabbat shalom, y'all.

Lacy maple trees on the grounds of the U.S. Capitol.

The beginning of understanding

That's the observatory at the Air and Space Museum in the background. Nice of the boy to enter the frame at the perfect second, hey?

I tried to watch the film "Downfall" last night, about Hitler's final days. I love Bruno Ganz and indeed he did a fine job playing the part. Also he looked really Hitlerish - except for his eyes. He has the kindest eyes. It was not possible to imagine him as der fuhrer. I'm sure it was a good movie but all I could see were those very kind eyes.

The Sufi acupuncturist told me Hitler suffered from chronic, life-long constipation. That is so apt - belonging in the realm of You Can't Make This Stuff Up. He channeled something very pure; he was a "fulcrum" as Pandora described it. Whatever that toxic energy was that he channeled, it came through his overstuffed, poisonous bowels, not from his heart, certainly. The acupuncturist says you can hear it in his voice (one of the ways they diagnose in Chinese medicine). You can see it in his eyes, too, in those old films. There is no goodness in his eyes. In fact in every film I've seen of him, Hitler appears to be a shell, not even human. I used to think of him as an empty shell, but it's more accurate to say he was a shell stuffed with shit. Good lord.

One revelation I've had in the last 24 hours is that the point of going to the Holocaust Museum wasn't in order to prove to myself I'm brave, or to in some way become a better person or whatever. In fact, it wasn't about me at all! (When will I learn?) I was there for two reasons. First and foremost, walking through the exhibit was a way to pay my respects to all who died in that terrible firestorm. When we entered the museum, Pandora said, "I think we owe it to these people to be here." It didn't sink in initially (I am a very slow processor of information). But yesterday afternoon I finally understood what she was saying. Indeed.

The second reason was to connect with my great benefactor and teacher, and to meet her powerful, beautiful spouse. It turned out to be a wonderful experience having nothing to do with how brave I am. Hmm.

Similarly, the tattoo experience did not in any way show me I'm brave. There was nothing painful or scary about it. I did face my fear of commitment (am still wrestling with it - should I have done it? Is it too big? Should I have just had line work? Is the color wrong? etc etc etc etc), but I also faced a whole set of cultural stereotypes that were dead off.

The tattoo itself is not decorative. I thought it would be, but it isn't. It's powerful and surprisingly personal. The luminous Mrs. Lipp took some photos while I was receiving it - beautiful pictures that I knew immediately were too intimate to post publicly. I had a friend take a picture that I posted on Facebook, but I was so uncomfortable about it, I finally deleted the picture. It was as if I had posted a picture of the inside of my heart. Having it out there on the network was so wrong. Very interesting!

Many thoughts and revelations are rising into consciousness about my two days of ordeal, many of them revolving around what I thought I was doing versus what actually went down. As of today I believe I was spontaneously initiated during those days. Into what I can not tell you as I didn't ask for an initiation and did not plan the ritual that simply unfolded of its own accord, or so it seemed. Pandora, her spouse and Fernando were my initiators, inadvertently perhaps. I even received a new name - that's a classic piece of an initiation.

My mind is always the last to understand. Hence, I'll be thinking about this for awhile.

Life is good and I am grateful, even when I don't get what's happening, which is often. Shalom!

Thank God for Pandora

Spiderweb in the mouth of the dragon head at the Hirschhorn.

I only got stuck once while walking through the Holocaust Museum yesterday. It was in the section about the ghettos and how people were transported to the camps. A part of the exhibit is a railroad car typical of those they used. There's a path through the car, also an alternative for those who don't want to experience that tiny dark creepy space in which 100 people at a time were crammed. I stood there for several minutes, wondering if I should try to walk through. I was stuck, staring at the car, trying to figure out what to do next. I might have been there for a long time if not for my great teacher.

Just as I predicted, Pandora appeared from out of the nowhere it seemed, took me by the hand and walked purposefully towards the car. That was exactly what I needed, of course. Her grounded, centered strength lifted me out of that tight spot. She is awesome! I smiled through my tears when she took my hand. Inside the car she stopped, held tight to my hand, making me stop, too. I meant to pass through as quickly as possible but that wasn't right. Of course she knew what to do. We stood there for a few transformational seconds. Wow. Once we were out of that space, she released my hand, looked me over briefly, and moved on.

The museum is thoughtfully and beautifully designed. I didn't learn anything new, but of course that wasn't the point. Walking through the exhibit was a challenge I was ready to face - with Pandora, should say. I only wanted to get through it, to tolerate the energy of that history for a little while. Did the experience help me believe I'm brave? I'm not sure about that. It certainly reinforced my trust in my teacher's incredible talents and affection for me. But did it help me? I can't say it did. It's interesting to think about.

As I suspected, the piles of shoes, the bunks from Auschwitz, struck me as lurid. I really think they should throw the shoes away, send the bunks back to the museum at Oswiecim. I believe the energy of the Holocaust is still unwinding. Letting go of the shoes would enhance the unwinding. Tell the stories, look at the photos and films, but let go of the stuff, I say.

My favorite space was the shtetl room filled with portraits of the people before the Holocaust. I love connecting with that world, now long gone. The walls are covered with portraits of people posing formally, walking through the shtetl town centers carrying books and such. It's a grand room extending upwards three stories, connecting every level of the exhibit. At the top is a skylight so this one space is filled with natural light. Fantastic. The room is a central column. It is a light-filled altar, so beautiful. The exhibit is structured so that visitors pass through the room before and after the section that details life and death in the camps. It's literally refreshing. 

I also appreciated the room of remembrance at the end of the exhibit. A friend told me I would love it and I really did.

I disagree with those who say everyone should see the Holocaust Museum. It is an awful journey that is so intense, even the tourists were quiet and respectful walking through it. I needed to do it to show myself I'm braver than I think I am. I did it, but I don't think you need to.

How ironic that the tattoo experience was quite different than I expected while the Holocaust Museum was exactly as I thought it would be. Not sure what to make of that but I'll be thinking about it for awhile.

It's a gorgeous day in Washington DC. I'll be working all day today, a very good thing. The two days of ordeal are completed. Now what? Onwards and upwards. Shalom.

The Illustrated Woman

Fernando Prudencio was born in Bolivia, lived most of his life in Arlington, Virginia, but spent six years in San Francisco where he learned the art of tattooing. He loves baroque art, particularly the work of Bernini. He's a painter as well as a tattoo artist. He told us that his favorite color, by far, is Burnt Umber. What is not to love about that?

He also loves moths and cicadas, whose life cycles he has studied assiduously. He played the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack, also the music from the movie Amelie, while he worked on my friend, the luminous Mrs. Lipp, and me. Yeah. You can't make this stuff up.

Pretty much everything about the experience of receiving my tattoo was unexpected. Fernando has a very light touch, hence the process didn't really hurt, but nevertheless it was a really big deal. I thought it was going to be painful, that the pain would form the center around which the experience would unfold, but it wasn't like that at all.

When will I learn to let go of my uninformed expectations? Good lord.

We spent twice as much time with Fernando as we thought we would. I believe he got a kick out of us, and, well, who wouldn't love hearing that Mrs. Lipp lived illegally in Tuscany for eight years, that she drives a pink Vespa and worked at Congressional Cemetery? I believe he found me pretty amusing as well.

Afterwards I was in such an altered state. I thought I was fine, but I was definitely stoned. I suspect this is one reason people enjoy receiving tattoos. For me, it was quite unnerving. For instance, Fernando was unable to take my bank card so Mrs. Lipp drove me to the bank to get cash. She dropped me in front of the studio, told me she would drive around the block and pick me up. When I paid Fernando, he gave me a hug and said, "Now you're one of us." Pondering the meaning of that, I got into Mrs. Lipp's car - but it wasn't her car! I had jumped into a car driven by a middle aged black man who looked very surprised to see me in the passenger seat. When I realized my mistake, I apologized and jumped OUT of the car, just in time to hear him say, "Do you need a ride somewhere?" He was such a nice man, every bit as startled by the experience as I was. I'm sure he would have given me a ride if that's what I needed. Good lord.

I wasn't in my right mind at all and in fact did not feel normal for the rest of the evening. I'm better this morning, I'm glad to say.

It's a gorgeous day in Washington DC. Today is my journey through the Holocaust Museum. Of course I have ideas about how it will affect me. I was completely wrong about yesterday, though, hence I'm trying to be curious and open. I'm trying! One thing I know for certain is that it will be great to walk down to the museum and wonderful to see my great teacher Pandora.

What a week! What a life! Shalom.

Detail from a hand painted volkswagon bug. That car is so beautiful!

Everyday Miracles

I'm thinking about so many things, I could write a hundred blog posts. And yet it's not the right time to try to interpret all these thoughts because I'm in the midst of an initiation. It's not a ritual I planned or hoped for, it wasn't created, scheduled or designed by any wise teacher or mentor, nope, it just happened that my appointment for the tattoo, the journey through the Holocaust Museum, and the first exact square of Pluto and Uranus just happened to all fall together in the coming week. One of my great benefactors will be in town to usher me through. She thought she was coming for a vacation and a nice visit.

Just now a neighborhood friend stopped by. When I told her about what I have scheduled for the next few days, she helped me prepare by telling me the Holocaust Museum is very cold. At least I should bring a shirt, if not a sweater, so as to remain physically comfortable in the midst of The Ordeal.

You can't make this stuff up.

It's a beautiful evening in Washington DC following a hot, humid week. Last night a parade of dragons moved through - there was wind, crazy looking clouds, a bit of thunder and lightning, but no rain. That's not a storm. It was a parade of dragons that cleared the air. The windows are open at the chateau and I'm smiling, listening to George Harrison songs, watching the light fade. The cicadas are singing, the fireflies will begin to rise any minute.

This life in a body on planet earth can be problematic, but it is also miraculous, wondrous. I'm in awe.

I'll be working all day tomorrow, then the week of my initiation begins. I'm ready.

Shalom.

In the Labyrinth

I know it's a distortion of my leg or arm, but that shape extending away from my leg? Looks like Jake's ghost to me.

The unfolding of almost everything taking place this year of the black water dragon belongs under the heading: "You Can't Make This Stuff Up."

For months I've been trying to understand the undercurrents of the energy. I've viewed the events through many different filters; for instance. the influence of the stars and planets (we're currently swimming in the energy of what astrologer Eric Francis calls the "Solstice Cluster" of astronomical events. Hmm. Perhaps it should be called the solstice clusterfuck?)

I've wondered if the bizarre and unexpected quality of this year is a part of age 59, though that doesn't account for other people and all they're going through. I guess I should chuck that theory and go back to the stars and planets for answers.

Or maybe I need to chuck the quest for understanding altogether. Who knows?

It's a good year for me at least, a year of spectacular unfolding and evolution, reinvention. But it's not straightforward evolution, nope. It's a meandering path with harsh switchbacks and many changes in altitude, like a walking labyrinth, except three-D. The path of this year feels exciting and dangerous, precarious. It's kind of a rush.

Next week I'm going to come face to face with a number of fears, the fear of pain and commitment on the day I receive my tattoo and the following day, my fear of visiting the Holocaust Museum exhibit. I've been in the library there many times, but never have walked through the museum proper. May I say I'm scared to death that I'll sob uncontrollably, maybe even throw up? One of my greatest, if not THE greatest teacher I've ever had will be with me as she just so happens to have planned to be in town that day and asked me to go with her. I would never have had the nerve to do this if not for her inadvertently perfectly timed invitation.

The Ordeal ahead feels every bit as big and important as my formal initiations into the shamanic arts. The set of "coincidences" that shaped the timing of these two events is truly unbelievable. I should also say it's a happy ordeal - or - at least it is an ordeal I chose of my own free will, after careful thought and prayer. The two days of ordeal dovetail perfectly with the overarching theme of collective and personal reinvention we're experiencing. So be it!

When the energies demand transformation, I say dance with them. Resistance is futile! The solstice clusterfuck is upon us. Get to dancing, y'all!

You can't make this stuff up. Seriously.

Shalom.