Money Changes Everything*

A whole bunch of common expressions used here in the U.S. have just become obsolete. "Bank on it," "Like money in the bank," "Laughing all the way to the bank," etc. - these just don't make sense anymore, here or in many places around the world.

It's completely bewildering, watching it all come down, like 9/11, except in slow motion. One of my friends said it feels "biblical." I know what she's talking about. The way we live, our societal structures, are crumbling right before our eyes. It's awesome in a very scary way to be living in the middle of history. Maybe that's why the presidential debates last night seemed so boring, so beside the point.

I've been contemplating the way in which illness and trauma create fundamental change, but my thoughts about the phenomena were cast in the light of personal illness or trauma. What about societal illness, societal trauma? How big is this change we're now experiencing?

And even more frightening, what's next?

*There's an incredible Youtube video of Cyndy Lauper performing this song, wearing a 1950's style girdle and the biggest hair in the world. The guy on keyboards has a mullet that would make 1980's era Hammer extremely jealous. Ah ... those were the good old days, when you could bank on things. Remember?

What Changes, Pt. II

Only one commenter, responding to Sunday's post, said she didn't think people could change at a fundamental level. Everyone else has experienced fundamental change in themselves or others, or at least believes it's possible.

Of course my post did not produce a valid statistical result. It was not a Wall Street Journal poll, thank God. The responses confirm what I believe, that change at a fundamental level is always possible. Even old dogs can learn new tricks.

I have learned new tricks time and time again, sometimes by choice, sometimes by circumstance, sometimes by force. Even the smallest change in the way I think or frame my experience resonates throughout my whole being. You could probably find traces of these shifts on my DNA, well, if you knew where to look and had a big enough microscope.

Though I can't honestly say I welcome every transformation or that I've been happy with every fundamental shift I've experienced, the truth is that every change has brought with it great rewards. Change opens my mind and heart, helps increase my ability to tolerate situations I don't understand or agree with, and reminds me to take anything and everything - even the parts of myself I feel most passionately about - with a sense of humor and a big grain of salt.

We humans truly are such an adorable species, always striving to be "better." Aren't we sweet?

What Changes, What Stays the Same?

Can people really change? I mean at a fundamental level. What do you think?

I believe I have changed drastically, fundamentally, over and over again. But - maybe it's just behavior and "lifestyle" that have been altered, rather than the essential Reya.

Any ideas about the power of transformation? Are we humans truly capable of change? What do you think?

Without light, there is no shadow

Slowly but surely I am making my way back to good health. My lungs are clearing, I can breathe, not coughing so much. Yesterday I went back to work. All is well in the world. I am SO grateful!

Besides the improvement in my respiratory system, I know I'm getting better because my dream life has been active and interesting. Instead of those boring dreams of everyday activity, my dreams have been vivid and fascinating. To me these technicolor dreams mean I'm getting well on many levels.

In one of last night's dreams, the oldest dog in the house, our beloved Shadow, has somehow wandered off. In the dream, I am walking the streets of Capitol Hill, calling out to the stubborn, smart and iconoclastic Shadow to come back. My sense in the dream is that I will surely find her. When I woke up I remembered that story about the boy who lost his shadow. When he finally gets it back, he sews it to his socks, so it can never be lost again.

Sweet!

Tending the Human Landscape

In my dream, I had the assignment of doing one massage each for Michelle Obama and Cindy McCain. I was quite nervous about this in the dream. In "real life" it would be a fascinating opportunity. One of the things I believe about my profession is that in a literal way, I am "enriching the earth" when I put my hands on people. Who knows what kind of archeology would be revealed if I had a chance to work on the two potential first ladies? What species of fossil, rock, or skeleton lies buried underneath the skin? What myths are layered into their tissues? Wouldn't I love to find out?

Today I get to go back to work with regular clients whose archeology I'm familiar with and very fond of. I'm so looking forward to it! Interacting with other human beings! Being productive! Making money! I even have an excuse to wear lipstick again. I am jazzed. Sitting around doing nothing, even when really sick as I have been, is deadening. I'm ready to rejoin the world of the living. Oh yeah!

ENRICHING THE EARTH

To enrich the earth I have sowed clover and grass to grow and die. I have plowed in the seeds of winter grains and of various legumes, their growth to be plowed in to enrich the earth. I have stirred into the ground the offal and the decay of the growth of past seasons and so mended the earth and made its yield increase.

All this serves the dark. I am slowly falling into the fund of things. And yet to serve the earth, not knowing what I serve, gives a wideness and a delight to the air, and my days do not wholly pass. It is the mind’s service, for when the will fails so do the hands and one lives at the expense of life. After death, willing or not, the body serves, entering the earth. And so what was heaviest and most mute is at last raised up into song.

--Wendell Berry

Health is Everything

I love the High Holy Days of Judaism, always have. Even at the pinnacle of my life as a wiccan priestess I was always able to tune in. Without a conscious thought about it, I would find myself, on a September day, at the beach or on top of one of San Francisco's seven hills, feeling contemplative as I watched the sun go down. Then I'd drive around, honking my horn, my version of a shofar, I guess. Whenever I thought to check the calendar, sure 'nuff I'd discover that I had celebrated Rosh Hashana (in a very unorthodox way.)

It's wonderful to have ten days set aside specifically to get things straight, make amends for mistakes made, straighten out conflicts and meditate on the past year. At the end of the High Holy Days, the book of life is closed. (I always imagine it dramatically slammed shut, emitting a little cloud of smoke or dust, like in the cartoons.) No matter what it looks like, there's no point in worrying about the past after Yom Kippur. Once the book of life is closed, it's time to move forward into the new year. The holiday is so practical, I love it!

Every year a personal theme emerges for the High Holy Days. Some years it's about apologizing to people whose feelings I've hurt. Other years I've worked with the idea of forgiveness, letting go of grudges and judgments I'm holding onto. Some years I've had to let go of people and communities that were unhealthy for me.

This year is different. This year my whole focus is on regaining my health. Though I could spend a lot of time trying to understand WHY I got so sick, WHY the dog stomped on my foot, WHY WHY WHY, it seems clear to me that this would not be as productive as making soup, taking it easy and getting lots of sleep. This year I'm getting well. That's it. Happy 5769 - may it be a year of great good health for all!

What Goes Up, Must Come Down

Is soup a lifestyle? It certainly is the recovering-from-pneumonia lifestyle. Lucky for me, I like soup; it's not the worst way to live.

Soup was also the lifestyle during the U.S. Great Depression of the 1930's. My mother and father told us many stories about growing up during that time, how precious every cent was, how they wasted nothing, bought nothing they didn't need. Sound like a Suze Orman speech? Oh yeah.

My mother lived through the Dust Bowl as well as the Depression. She grew up in eastern Colorado, a truly God-forsaken place. Taken from her mother because of her "indecent lifestyle" (my grandmother was a crazy flapper), my mother was raised by her grandparents who were bible-thumping Baptists. It could not have been easy, but my mother never complained about it. It just wasn't her style.

I've been thinking a lot about the Great Depression of late because of the financial crisis our country is in the midst of. Living the soup lifestyle as I am right now, for whatever reasons I'm compelled to do so, makes me wonder if sometimes I don't take the shamanic dance of alignment too far. Sheesh.