The Best Laid Plans

Sometimes a little chaos is a good thing. One of my great teachers always said that the first step in any kind of healing is that the pattern of illness or stuckness becomes disorganized. It makes sense: life is change. Sometimes that's exciting, other times it is very uncomfortable, disturbing, even painful. Hey, I'm not the only control freak who aspires to shape the world according to my ideas about how it should be, yes? Remember I live in Washington DC, a city of determined, very very hardworking people, most of whom do their best to put their environments in order. A lot of the people here make decisions based on the idea that they can put YOUR environment in order, too (if you are a citizen of the U.S., that is.) And yet the apple cart of our orderly delusions is upset time after time. You would think we would learn to relax. You'd think!

Today the city will be filled with a sea of pink teeshirts within which a whole bunch of people will be talking, drinking water, and most important, walking. Today is the march for the cure for breast cancer. It is a gigantic event that disrupts traffic all over the city. For me this is a happy disruption because I know and have known so many women who have had to contend with breat cancer. Many have survived, some have not, but all of them went into their treatment like amazon warriors, brave and focused. Women are mighty.

On a much smaller scale, I'm about to make changes to my personal status quo, changes that will create a lot of chaos for awhile, and will require a lot of work, but will lead to the better way. I'm moving my professional practice into the chateau sometime this summer. The initial timeline I had in mind was far more ambitious than my capacity to make this thing happen, so even that - a plan for an orderly process including deadlines, etc. - has been scrapped. Sometime this summer gives me a lot more wiggle room to make the move. It isn't urgent; my colleagues at the space I now rent are not in any hurry to see me depart, and too I am s-l-o-w. I really move like a damn snail, given half a chance.

Everything happens at just the right time, and life is change. These statements are the best possible story to explain the life I've lived so far, definitely. Even so, I'm both reluctant and impatient, distrustful of the timing of things internal and external.

Distrust, too, is a form of chaos - so maybe I should surrender to that while I make list after list of what needs to be done while simultaneously failing to do anything other than THINK about it. For heaven's sake.

Shabbat shalom, y'all. Enjoy your Saturday.

Opening

Life is precious, right? The life force is powerful, tenancious, and yet fragile as well. We come and go so quickly! People say carpe diem, we say don't take it for granted, though - of course everyone does take for granted, at times, this miraculous, exasperating experience of ensouled, animated bodies and minds. Yes? I say yes.

The idea that any one of us has the capacity to stay in a place of mindful appreciation for our temporary lifetimes clashes with what this experience is all about. Nothing stays put, does it? It really doesn't. All is change. The best I can hope to do is notice when I've become complacent, at which time (if I'm really in a benign mental state) I can gently guide myself back to mindful appreciation. If I'm not feeling generous, I tend to scold myself first, then shove my mind/heart back into appreciation. It's not the most graceful way, I admit.

External happenings can be helpful triggers for mindfulness. When people are killed in tragedies like the tornadoes that devastated parts of the American midwest recently, I remember instantly that the only realistic point of view is empathy and gratitude. This morning I'm thinking of two dear ones who are facing the imminent deaths of family members. Because the reality of our existence is right in my face, I'm able to feel so much love and compassion, gratitude for my good health and good fortune, sadness that my dear ones are facing the messy, uncontrollable, unfathomable situation of loss and grief. My love for these two people is a great teacher, helping me return again and again to "the truth." Life is so short and so very sweet.

Love is a powerful teacher. I used to be afraid of it, because feeling love can be embarrassing, humiliating and very painful at times, especially when I'm in a mood to judge who/what I love, which is often, I should mention. Just recently I've decided to relent, let it pour through me in whatever form it chooses. What the hell. Why not?

Capture the Howling Wind

The clouds gathered and the rain fell in buckets. It was raining dogs and cats here in the District yesterday evening, I tell you. Wow! From inside the Matchbox, a facebook friend who is married to the brother of a blog friend, and I, were huddled around a table through the storm. It was, for me, very fun and kind of cinematic, as DC should be for visiting friends. Meanwhile the first of three eclipses in the current cycle was about to take place, visible on earth only in the far, far north. Speaking of cinematic, I read somewhere that yesterday's eclipse turned the midnight sun into a cute solar smile above the north pole. Very cool!

The storm eclipsed the hellish weather and toxic air of recent days. This morning the windows are open at the chateau, the A/C is switched off. Birds are singing, the sun is shining. What a beautiful day! Oh yeah. And so the current eclipse cycle begins.

Everybody has a story about what happens during eclipse cycles. I like to read all accounts because I find them interesting, but since recently I have begun to doubt our ability to accurately interpret anything, I take everything I hear or read with a grain of salt. I used to believe there must be someone, somewhere, who could explain things accurately. I believed there had be a wise man or woman (or two) who understood "the truth." It was clear that person was not me, but I thought, hoped, dreamed of someone smart enough to know what is what. I spent a long time searching for the truth speakers. My expectations were very unreasonable which is why, inevitably, I have always been disappointed to discover that what we do, even the smartest, brightest, sharpest among us, is create narratives. Naming truths is a whole other level of articulation that appears to be slightly beyond our grasp. These days, I like the phrase "best possible story" a lot more than "the truth." Yep.

Here's one possible story about the impact of the first eclipse in the current cycle. Even the title of the essay is good - "Solar eclipse in Gemini: Capture the Howling Wind."

Indeed. Let's do it, shall we? OK!


Nice "portrait" of the chateau.

Reya and Goliath

Code Orange air pollution today negates all that follows. Damn!

Summer has arrived in Washington DC with a big ole hot, humid thud. Spring was perfect, but I don't feel sad to see it slip away. Long gone are the tulips, daffodils and blooming trees. Whatever blooms from now on has to be tough - or else. The mad orgy of pollen is done. I'm good with that, I really am.

Summer here in the swamp is enormous, monumental. Summer in DC is hard-core. As a person who really does not do well in high humidity and heat, the fact that I enjoy summer in DC is ironic - or at least paradoxical. But it's true: I love the intensity of summer here so much. It just doesn't quit; a quality I admire in people, animals and even the weather. I can relate to intensity because it's a part of my nature, too.

Engaging with a DC summer takes skill and finesse. I would never, not ever, try to pretend it isn't too hot, I would never try to do all the things I do during the rest of year. That would simply be ridiculous. But neither do I resign myself to hiding inside air conditioned spaces at all times. How sad would that be?

Part of my strategy around living well in summertime is practical: I don't cook much, I just eat salads, mostly. I wear clothes that I don't mind sweating through. I take at least two showers a day, and I spend a lot more time on my bike than on foot because as long as the bike is moving, there will always be a breeze. Of course when I stop riding, the rush of heat is rather spectacular, but that's why I put my water bottle into the freezer between bike rides, so I always have ice cold water at the ready. I drink the water, but I'm also not averse to pouring it on my head. Ice water is my sling shot, the secret weapon I use when engaging with our Goliath-like summer heat.

To get through a summer in DC, one must let go of the urge to look good. One must understand that it's not possible to always be as fresh as a daisy; it's not going to be like that. I think of that line from Jolie Holland's song "Black Stars," The fallen glory of my ego is laid at the feet of our purposes. Oh yeah. I might look like hell, but so what? The fallen glory of my ego serves my need to get out there, even on the hottest days.

I enjoy tilting against the weather, but not too much. If I get too stupid, then it's not fun anymore. When it's time to get out of the sun and heat, I seek refuge in movie theaters, cafes, and Smithsonian museums. Yesterday at mid-day, for instance, I went to see the Gauguin exhibit again. I was actually slightly chilly by the time I left. The wall of heat and light slapped me hard when I finally emerged. What a rush!

Summer's fun in Washington DC. Yay summer. Welcome!!


Inside the East Wing of the National Gallery.

Gatherings

No woman is an island - apparently! I used to think I was an island, that I didn't need anyone for anything. In fact I thought it was best never to rely on, or connect too deeply with, others. Yes I have had lovers, also many great friends, but up until recently, I kept most people, and most communities, an arm's length away. In the case of the spiritual community I was a part of in San Francisco, I found myself either at the edge of that circle, or in the very center of the action. I never took the opportunity to simply mingle. It never even occured to me to do so. What was that all about?

Ironically, during this past year of living alone, I've begun taking baby steps towards stronger interconnections with others, individually and collectively. I've been slightly more willing to reveal myself, to open my heart to others in a way I can't ever remember doing. It's kind of a miracle.

Over the weekend just past, I gathered with friends to celebrate a wedding, then again yesterday with neighbors to feast and toast the Dead. I call myself a serious introvert, but the truth is that neither one of these gatherings was in any way tiring. Maybe the strain of holding myself back all the time is the reason I used to be so exhausted after interacting with more than one or two people at a time, who knows?

What I'm thinking this morning is that I am RICH in friends, community and family with whom I can be quirky, bossy, passionate, impulsive and goofy, sometimes all at once. The facade I call "Mama Gaia Reya," something I hid behind for many years, is fading fast. I owe a debt of gratitude to friends, neighbors and family who have repeatedly encouraged me to be myself, to come back to the human community (I used to be so feral). You know who you are! THANK YOU!


Neighbors from Tennessee Avenue at last night's gathering.

As Tears Go By

Thank you, my brothers and sisters in uniform, thank you. Thank you for your valour, bravery, thank you for having the guts to get out there, thank you for doing all you could to protect us. Thank you!

Thank you for waking up before dawn, for trudging mile after mile, for carrying heavy packs and for putting yourselves in the line of fire. Thank you for stepping into trains, trucks, onto boats, into planes, for being willing to be separated from your family and loved ones in order to serve. Thank you.

I don't blame you and I don't begrudge you, nope. I respect you and I honor you today and every day. What is remembered, lives.

Thank you. I love you. Shalom.

Turn, turn, turn

In a little while Rolling Thunder will begin to gather. In the process, a whole bunch of them will rumble past the chateau. I've got my camera ready; hope to catch some good shots of those guys, doing their own quirky invocation of Memorial Day. I could create a whole mythology around their ride through Washington DC, how the potato potato potato growl of the Harleys wakes up their fallen comrades, the thousands of dead troops who forever haunt the District. But maybe the truth is that they simply enjoy a nice ride together during the first weekend of summer. Who knows? I'm not quite as sure of all my theories as I once was.

Folks tell me that there are a bunch of young fellows who have joined the crusty old Vietnam vets, which makes sense. These guys are Iraq and Afghanistan vets. It's sad. I believe with all my heart that war is NOT the answer, and I hold dearly in my heart those who put themselves in the line of fire.

Today and tomorrow, amidst the roar of motorcycles, I will engage in the dance of respect and love for my beloved soldiers, living and dead. Thanks so much for your valour, dudes. I mean it!