The inner quest for growth and evolution.
On my first morning in Mysore, the cook serves me chai tea and Yashoda, my house mom and I sit and chat about activities in town. Ayurvedic clinics, Chamundi hill and Mysore temple.
Yashoda also comes to my room every night to chat. She talks to me in the mornings and when I arrive home. I think she likes to see what is going on in the room I'm renting, snooping in a loving way. She will even peek into my shopping bags to see what I have purchased. One night she asks if I had a good day and if I have made any friends. I say "No I am not here to make friends" and smile. She scolds me in her sweet insistence and says it takes time but it is important to make friends.
My intention was to journey alone. To get away from the personal and business demands and chaos with people at home. I wanted an inward journey to find that relationship within myself that has disintegrated throughout the years; dissolved into the lives of others through a sort of 'loving others osmosis'. To force myself to endure coming face to face with any fears or other character flaws that are so easily acquired in Western life.
I set new intentions on meeting a new friend...a kindred yoga sister spirit. Thankfully, the universe spilled over and I did discover a few of those wonderful like minded hearts and spirits that I was able to connect with.
One of these comrades profoundly commented on how easily we reach for the phone, reach for the TV, or reach for friends and family when life is boring or a struggle. In India, one has to reach inside themselves. To that deeper part that is so easily forgotten or abandoned, in favour of the easy things that feel good. Sometimes whats inside is not a pretty sight, and we avoid at all costs from briefly glancing into that mirror of our souls. Other distractions include alcohol, eating, socializing, exercise...there are many ways to evade reality!
Many times, I just sat back and observed myself in 'the situation'. (Very interesting if you have ever done this, if not try it!) I was at the local coffee stand, or what I call the Mysore Starbucks, tongue-in-cheek. In reality, it is a fly-infested hole in the wall with a patio out front, where I would sit and have my morning masala chai tea, with foul smelling mud, litter and dogs at my feet. Groups of Indian richshaw drivers and local men folk, loudly chatter and visit. I drink in the sights and the scalding sourish milk concoction, from a small shot glass. Sometimes I take 2 to-go and return the tiny glasses later in the day.
One morning a large group of Western yogis sat and animately converse on the patio. The Indian boy set my 2 chais on a table beside the group. I went with the moment, sat by myself and observed. I was fascinated, as I consciously viewed my emotions as they floated through my body. Not being part of the group felt odd, but good in a way. I was awakened to the awareness of all that was going on around me and in me. I thought- How would I react if they invited me over? How would I feel if they didn't? Normally, I would walk over and join in, being the socializer I am known to be. But it was all about being in the moment without being caught up in it. Sitting back, I calmly contemplated and recognized those needs and fears that link us as humans. I highly recommend it sometime!
Other times, I observed the conversations around me. The empty prattle, I was very familiar with as I myself have felt the need to talk just to fill the void air. Overhearing meaningless conversations, I begins to wonder, Why, as I take in whole discussions about useless nothingness.
In Kerela, Rachel and I had a meditative quiet moment on the beach. We faced the sea, closed our eyes with hands in prayer position, reflecting on the moment and being grateful. We are both standing there in complete stillness for about 15 minutes, when a 'snap' stirs my attention. I look beside me and an Indian man is putting away his camera and walking away. I think, hey I've just been 'karma-lized'! Since I had taken so many pictures of the locals, one snapped a picture of the two praying white girls on the beach.
Friends in Mysore comment on how I am so inquisitive, always asking questions and taking notes. Deep questions like, what would you do if you had six months to live? Or, what would you do if you won a million dollars? I find it fascinating as you really tap into what a person is really about. What lights their fire- passions, interests and treasures. "I get it!" One friend comments. She figures out since I am a writer and in media and TV that I am used to digging and prying and many people are not comfortable with that. Another says I am inquisitive and expect things from people. Hmmm...I have found though that some are dying to be heard and have a story to tell. And I get my pen out...
"The teacher points the way, but we must do our own traveling."
~Buddha
Friday, August 24, 2007
MAHENDI
(Archived from my journal August 9,07)
Puttie is giving me a 'Mahendi' /henna tattoo on my feet. When she picks me up on her scooter at my house, she looks 14. I find out later she is 23. Everyone here looks so young!
We arrive at her house and she offers for her brother to go get me some take out food. Declining, I sit on her bed like a teenage friend and put my feet on her henna stool. On a laptop, a Bollywood movie soundtrack plays as Puttie sings along happily in a confidence not normally seen in the West. As I look around I ask why all the windows have bars in India. She is perplexed and asks "Do they not have bars in Canada? Just plain glass?" Apparantly it is for security...I laugh and inquire if it is to keep the snakes out. She said yes! She has seen them as big as my ankle!
My house in India...bars everywhere
I ask her about life and boys and I am surprised about how open she is as she goes into detail about falling in love. What a drama! Puttie explains how she met a boy of another caste in college and when her parents found out, they made her quit school and forbid her to see the boy again. She says her brother also is having an 'affair', meaning a girlfriend from another caste. The parents know and are trying to force him to break up but he refuses. Puttie supports him: "I help all lovers who love and don't believe in castes. I loved a man for 4 years but my parents didn't allow. We may have promised not to meet but he is still in my mind."
Puttie's parents are still looking for a husband. They have tried to force her already and she flat out refused, saying that she will live at home forever and never marry. If she moves out alone, she can only afford an ashram or hostel and that would embarrass her parents as they are responsible and if anyone sees her there it is bad. I ask if others run away and marry and she says, yes, but that is no respect for parents...she'll be happy alone. Her mother knows what they have done is wrong, but the Dad is strict about the caste.
Typically, the boy comes to meet the selected bride, and if he likes and all the parents like, they marry, despite what the girl thinks. She has no choice- its the parents choice, but sometimes the man is given the choice by the parents. Some men ask for a dowry. Her cousin's husband didn't ask for a dowry...she says he is a good man.
"I don't think I'll love again- I missed one and my heart is full of him. I have alot of sweet memories. Now, my parents think I'm happy and have forgotten him, but I'm not.
I ask her if she thinks about Western ways of love and she says yes, but it too may still fail. There are few divorces in Southern India she assures me. Puttie asks how we marry in Canada and I say whomever we want. She asks, "No problem with parents?" I laugh and say no, they really don't care, but maybe they should. After all don't your parents know you best and what is best for you? I wonder how my life would be different if it was an arranged marriage. No sex before marriage in India and Puttie is shocked when I ask. She looks at me in horror and asks if they do in Canada?
Her mother brings me a hot tea and I wonder if she is listening to our candid conversation. With working from 5:30 am to 2 pm, tutoring students in the evenings, plus henna tattoos, Puttie's schedule is too full for men. When speaking of her students, she says not all kids can go to school here. The school may be free but the parents can't afford the other fees and uniforms associated with going to school. This explains all the children I see selling flowers on the street, working in stores and begging.
Puttie at work
She scrolls on the thin tube of henna paste and explains that if the design gets really dark it means your husband will love you lots and he is a good man.
"Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care.
But for another give it's ease
And builds a heaven in hell's despair."
~William Blake
Three hours later, her brother walks us to my house. I am barefoot waiting for the henna to dry. Puttie is scared to walk at night, maybe its the snakes, or maybe the boys. I think about the snakes too, but more about my barefeet on Indian streets.
Everything beautiful has to be worked for...
On the flight from India to Dubai, I chat with an Indian man. He talks about his wife and their arranged marriage. He says it took him 7 months to fall in love with her.
Puttie is giving me a 'Mahendi' /henna tattoo on my feet. When she picks me up on her scooter at my house, she looks 14. I find out later she is 23. Everyone here looks so young!
We arrive at her house and she offers for her brother to go get me some take out food. Declining, I sit on her bed like a teenage friend and put my feet on her henna stool. On a laptop, a Bollywood movie soundtrack plays as Puttie sings along happily in a confidence not normally seen in the West. As I look around I ask why all the windows have bars in India. She is perplexed and asks "Do they not have bars in Canada? Just plain glass?" Apparantly it is for security...I laugh and inquire if it is to keep the snakes out. She said yes! She has seen them as big as my ankle!
My house in India...bars everywhere
I ask her about life and boys and I am surprised about how open she is as she goes into detail about falling in love. What a drama! Puttie explains how she met a boy of another caste in college and when her parents found out, they made her quit school and forbid her to see the boy again. She says her brother also is having an 'affair', meaning a girlfriend from another caste. The parents know and are trying to force him to break up but he refuses. Puttie supports him: "I help all lovers who love and don't believe in castes. I loved a man for 4 years but my parents didn't allow. We may have promised not to meet but he is still in my mind."
Puttie's parents are still looking for a husband. They have tried to force her already and she flat out refused, saying that she will live at home forever and never marry. If she moves out alone, she can only afford an ashram or hostel and that would embarrass her parents as they are responsible and if anyone sees her there it is bad. I ask if others run away and marry and she says, yes, but that is no respect for parents...she'll be happy alone. Her mother knows what they have done is wrong, but the Dad is strict about the caste.
Typically, the boy comes to meet the selected bride, and if he likes and all the parents like, they marry, despite what the girl thinks. She has no choice- its the parents choice, but sometimes the man is given the choice by the parents. Some men ask for a dowry. Her cousin's husband didn't ask for a dowry...she says he is a good man.
"I don't think I'll love again- I missed one and my heart is full of him. I have alot of sweet memories. Now, my parents think I'm happy and have forgotten him, but I'm not.
I ask her if she thinks about Western ways of love and she says yes, but it too may still fail. There are few divorces in Southern India she assures me. Puttie asks how we marry in Canada and I say whomever we want. She asks, "No problem with parents?" I laugh and say no, they really don't care, but maybe they should. After all don't your parents know you best and what is best for you? I wonder how my life would be different if it was an arranged marriage. No sex before marriage in India and Puttie is shocked when I ask. She looks at me in horror and asks if they do in Canada?
Her mother brings me a hot tea and I wonder if she is listening to our candid conversation. With working from 5:30 am to 2 pm, tutoring students in the evenings, plus henna tattoos, Puttie's schedule is too full for men. When speaking of her students, she says not all kids can go to school here. The school may be free but the parents can't afford the other fees and uniforms associated with going to school. This explains all the children I see selling flowers on the street, working in stores and begging.
Puttie at work
She scrolls on the thin tube of henna paste and explains that if the design gets really dark it means your husband will love you lots and he is a good man.
"Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care.
But for another give it's ease
And builds a heaven in hell's despair."
~William Blake
Three hours later, her brother walks us to my house. I am barefoot waiting for the henna to dry. Puttie is scared to walk at night, maybe its the snakes, or maybe the boys. I think about the snakes too, but more about my barefeet on Indian streets.
Everything beautiful has to be worked for...
On the flight from India to Dubai, I chat with an Indian man. He talks about his wife and their arranged marriage. He says it took him 7 months to fall in love with her.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
LANDING IN INDIA
(Archived from my journal July 15-07)
The clouds break as my plane prepares to land in India. The earth is rusty red just like my dream! Random patches and gridded squares of sand and rock are penetrated by random mountains. I see a heart shaped field amid a forest of palm trees and what looks like a granite quarry. I must admit I am feeling much better now about my decision. Throughout the trip I was having anxiety about what I had been thinking and what was I doing.
The madness erupts when I get off the plane. People pushing and shoved up against the baggage carousel as I try to get my luggage. It is 6:30 pm India time (7 am Edmonton time) and I am exhausted. I come out of the airport and see Indians crammed up against bar rails, many with signs and names. A man comes up and asks to take my bags and I say no repeatedly, as he insists. Another asks if I need a taxi and is shooed away by another. I see my name on a card and feel like a celebrity! Relief. I nod and the small brown man looks as though he won the lottery. As I ask him who sent him, our language barrier is choppy and I see it is difficult for him to understand. We are both frustrated.
He takes my suitcase and I attempt to have him write his name, address of where we are going and license number down for me as security. He does not understand. I call over the airport policeman, dressed in beige and carrying a baton, and he asks if everything is OK. I request for him to take the driver's information down for my protection, as the driver panics and calls Murthy, my travel agent who sent him. We finally translate that it is for my safety I am doing this, not to get him in trouble. The policeman must have seen this before, as he tries to make small talk, asking me about Canada and how I like Bangalore. I finally hop in the car and we are off on the 4 hour drive to Mysore.
First thoughts:
I love it! India is an assault on the senses. It's polluted and loud; busy with traffic and people. Litter and motorized rickshaws are everywhere, set against beautiful architecture in decaying opulence. I realize at this moment that I care more about decorating my passport than houses. Cows and dogs wander the streets, horns incessantly honk in the chaos, weaving in and out like a well-habited system. Right hand drive mini cars, drive on the right side, beside the scooters and crammed buses that share the road with truck loads of people. Colourfully carved ashrams, fruit stands and women in flowing saris embellish the streets. A blur of teal, mint green, fuschia and purple goes by, against Christmas lights and Indian music.
Night falls and the drowsiness overtakes me as I fall asleep in the back of the car. I keep bolting up randomly with the sound of car horns, then fall back down heavily, burdened by 3 days travel. we arrive at my house and I meet my house mother and her mother. The place is beautiful with a heavy, carved wooden door and floors in white marble tile. She hands me a large, old fashioned key and then tells me to 'take rest'.
The clouds break as my plane prepares to land in India. The earth is rusty red just like my dream! Random patches and gridded squares of sand and rock are penetrated by random mountains. I see a heart shaped field amid a forest of palm trees and what looks like a granite quarry. I must admit I am feeling much better now about my decision. Throughout the trip I was having anxiety about what I had been thinking and what was I doing.
The madness erupts when I get off the plane. People pushing and shoved up against the baggage carousel as I try to get my luggage. It is 6:30 pm India time (7 am Edmonton time) and I am exhausted. I come out of the airport and see Indians crammed up against bar rails, many with signs and names. A man comes up and asks to take my bags and I say no repeatedly, as he insists. Another asks if I need a taxi and is shooed away by another. I see my name on a card and feel like a celebrity! Relief. I nod and the small brown man looks as though he won the lottery. As I ask him who sent him, our language barrier is choppy and I see it is difficult for him to understand. We are both frustrated.
He takes my suitcase and I attempt to have him write his name, address of where we are going and license number down for me as security. He does not understand. I call over the airport policeman, dressed in beige and carrying a baton, and he asks if everything is OK. I request for him to take the driver's information down for my protection, as the driver panics and calls Murthy, my travel agent who sent him. We finally translate that it is for my safety I am doing this, not to get him in trouble. The policeman must have seen this before, as he tries to make small talk, asking me about Canada and how I like Bangalore. I finally hop in the car and we are off on the 4 hour drive to Mysore.
First thoughts:
I love it! India is an assault on the senses. It's polluted and loud; busy with traffic and people. Litter and motorized rickshaws are everywhere, set against beautiful architecture in decaying opulence. I realize at this moment that I care more about decorating my passport than houses. Cows and dogs wander the streets, horns incessantly honk in the chaos, weaving in and out like a well-habited system. Right hand drive mini cars, drive on the right side, beside the scooters and crammed buses that share the road with truck loads of people. Colourfully carved ashrams, fruit stands and women in flowing saris embellish the streets. A blur of teal, mint green, fuschia and purple goes by, against Christmas lights and Indian music.
Night falls and the drowsiness overtakes me as I fall asleep in the back of the car. I keep bolting up randomly with the sound of car horns, then fall back down heavily, burdened by 3 days travel. we arrive at my house and I meet my house mother and her mother. The place is beautiful with a heavy, carved wooden door and floors in white marble tile. She hands me a large, old fashioned key and then tells me to 'take rest'.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
INDIA CALLING
The following paper was written in June 07 for a writing course I was taking at the University of Alberta. The other students chided me for being in 'crisis', lovingly criticizing me for being an uncaring mother...
THE HOMELESS INTERIOR DESIGNER
REHABITAT
The word ‘alone’, broken down is ‘all in one’, meaning there is no more division. In my dreams, I’ve flown over India, solitary in an airplane, in awe of the sprawling land below. I see mountain ranges in amber, and the sunset sands of a nation I long to visit. Villages and buildings so removed from the urban landscape of the Canadian prairies. I’ve walked beside a river in these dreams, quite possibly the Ganges, along a path, speaking with locals of a different culture and experience. People float by in yoga ‘asanas’, in beautiful poses. As ridiculous as dreams may be, they are a hybrid or an illusion of what we experience in everyday life. For never even being to the sub-continental part of the world, I see it vividly in my mind’s eye. India is calling and the voice, perhaps it is my own inner one, is becoming stronger everyday.
In my land and reality, I live in a booming oil economy, with Alberta’s construction industry bursting at the seams with soaring real estate prices and population increases. As a local interior design consultant I have cashed in on the explosion by providing the homeowner services of beautifying residences with all of the lavish luxuries that a surging income brings to the average Edmontonian. As a very social person, I have always been surrounded by people; friends, clients, my children or various partners in life. The desire to be isolated in this experience is a conundrum.
With four children of my own, running in all directions with society’s expectations of music lessons and sports activities, my passion for yoga has brought me to a new self-awareness and a minimalist lifestyle. Realizing a false sense of living, the fake nails were the first to go. I was in downward dog, and was staring down at these ridiculous plastic fingernails one day and it occurred to me how absurd life had become. Everything was so phony and the fake nails were the first sign. Now, I’m proud now of what have been called my ‘lesbian’ finger nails or that of a hard working woman. It’s real. People comment all the time about how I need to get my nails done for TV or work…I just laugh! Now, my vision is to look at how ninety percent of the rest of the world lives; extreme poverty and pain, while we ponder for a week about what colour of granite counter tops to put in our kitchen.
My dream takes shape as I plan to give away belongings, sell the family home and send the kids to live with Dad for a few weeks, as the first steps to realizing this aspiration. Traveling to India to practice yoga and research homes is just a glimpse into how most of the world lives in a third world country. I long to peer inside the lives, the ghettos, the orphanages, the granite factories and all of the other unseen realities we have turned a blind eye to in climbing the ladder to the illusion of success. Going undercover, I visualize child labour camps where Persian rugs are handmade in child sweat shops and then adorn the floors of the affluent.
With Oprah as my biggest muse, I have been enlightened with the ambition of one day being a guest on her show, revealing my adventures as the homeless interior designer. There have been many times when I’ve stopped what I was doing, staring glued to the television with tears streaming down my face, as I listen to the atrocities brought into human suffering. Female circumcisions, women being stoned to death for adultery and child prostitution, are just the tip of the iceberg. I picture myself being a vigilante and saving all of the poor souls afflicted by the world’s woes. I imagine environmental issues in other nations will also be brought to light, and I can share my experiences with those around me.
During the exploration into other cultural lifestyles, I anticipate being homesick surviving the trials and tribulations of culture shock, revealed through journaling, tears and confessions during this process of self-discovery. Traveling through many towns and villages, discovering the splendor of historical places like Jaipur, the ‘Pink City’, Bombay and the tropical beaches of the Arabian Sea, my journal and camera capture the beauty of ancient architecture and artifacts. Through the ultimate sacrifice of family and a financially secure lifestyle, I anticipate discovering the true meaning of life through my travels, taking myself and my readers on a trip of a lifetime.
The first step begins. My house is officially for sale and the process begins. It’s interesting how easy it is to let go of the attachments. Clothes and toys are donated with joy, as I feel I am blessing others with the ‘stuff’ that no longer serves me. I think about the money I have made on this house and think I could easily live comfortably for six years or so. What about when I return? Will it be foolish to squander the investment and start from scratch again? The promise of riches and reward remind me with the proceeds of a book, to sustain me, as I let go once again of any fear of lack.
Tonight, I return from a trip in the mountains with my life partner and soul mate. Although we are officially broken up, we are still madly in love and the best of friends. Our relationship has never been better. Perhaps this was the catalyst after almost four years of ups and downs and heartache, to finally let go and find that relationship deep within myself.
As I arrive home, I realize that there is no place like home. It is so nice to have a place to come home to, with all of the familiar belongings to greet me, and two cats that bring life to an otherwise quiet space. One cat, Scout, my baby whom I watched being born, loves me with incredible affection. I feel sad in knowing that I will have to find homes for both of these two little souls. Paris, my other kitty has no desire for human contact. My daughter quips that she treats our house like a hotel. Only coming home to eat and sleep. Then there is my old faithful black lab Justus, who has been through it all in the last eight years, and thinks he is a triplet to my twin boys. He was a puppy when they were just ten months old and they loved to love him with all of the roughness that little boys are known for. The kids are at their Dad’s tonight, a relief in knowing there will be less stress in the morning rush of Mondays. Still, my home is just another thing or belonging that needs to be maintained, paid for and cleaned. After staying in a hotel, luxury life, with other people who serve, clean and cook for you, it is easy to get accustomed to. Now in my own home, I contemplate what it will be like to be homeless, as I nestle into the soft down depths of my king sized bed.
Pet update: Scout ran away from the sitter's and Paris' new owner had to put her down due to illness. She now resides on the great scratching post in the sky. Justus, the lab runs free on a farm and is welcome to come home whenever we decide:)
THE HOMELESS INTERIOR DESIGNER
REHABITAT
The word ‘alone’, broken down is ‘all in one’, meaning there is no more division. In my dreams, I’ve flown over India, solitary in an airplane, in awe of the sprawling land below. I see mountain ranges in amber, and the sunset sands of a nation I long to visit. Villages and buildings so removed from the urban landscape of the Canadian prairies. I’ve walked beside a river in these dreams, quite possibly the Ganges, along a path, speaking with locals of a different culture and experience. People float by in yoga ‘asanas’, in beautiful poses. As ridiculous as dreams may be, they are a hybrid or an illusion of what we experience in everyday life. For never even being to the sub-continental part of the world, I see it vividly in my mind’s eye. India is calling and the voice, perhaps it is my own inner one, is becoming stronger everyday.
In my land and reality, I live in a booming oil economy, with Alberta’s construction industry bursting at the seams with soaring real estate prices and population increases. As a local interior design consultant I have cashed in on the explosion by providing the homeowner services of beautifying residences with all of the lavish luxuries that a surging income brings to the average Edmontonian. As a very social person, I have always been surrounded by people; friends, clients, my children or various partners in life. The desire to be isolated in this experience is a conundrum.
With four children of my own, running in all directions with society’s expectations of music lessons and sports activities, my passion for yoga has brought me to a new self-awareness and a minimalist lifestyle. Realizing a false sense of living, the fake nails were the first to go. I was in downward dog, and was staring down at these ridiculous plastic fingernails one day and it occurred to me how absurd life had become. Everything was so phony and the fake nails were the first sign. Now, I’m proud now of what have been called my ‘lesbian’ finger nails or that of a hard working woman. It’s real. People comment all the time about how I need to get my nails done for TV or work…I just laugh! Now, my vision is to look at how ninety percent of the rest of the world lives; extreme poverty and pain, while we ponder for a week about what colour of granite counter tops to put in our kitchen.
My dream takes shape as I plan to give away belongings, sell the family home and send the kids to live with Dad for a few weeks, as the first steps to realizing this aspiration. Traveling to India to practice yoga and research homes is just a glimpse into how most of the world lives in a third world country. I long to peer inside the lives, the ghettos, the orphanages, the granite factories and all of the other unseen realities we have turned a blind eye to in climbing the ladder to the illusion of success. Going undercover, I visualize child labour camps where Persian rugs are handmade in child sweat shops and then adorn the floors of the affluent.
With Oprah as my biggest muse, I have been enlightened with the ambition of one day being a guest on her show, revealing my adventures as the homeless interior designer. There have been many times when I’ve stopped what I was doing, staring glued to the television with tears streaming down my face, as I listen to the atrocities brought into human suffering. Female circumcisions, women being stoned to death for adultery and child prostitution, are just the tip of the iceberg. I picture myself being a vigilante and saving all of the poor souls afflicted by the world’s woes. I imagine environmental issues in other nations will also be brought to light, and I can share my experiences with those around me.
During the exploration into other cultural lifestyles, I anticipate being homesick surviving the trials and tribulations of culture shock, revealed through journaling, tears and confessions during this process of self-discovery. Traveling through many towns and villages, discovering the splendor of historical places like Jaipur, the ‘Pink City’, Bombay and the tropical beaches of the Arabian Sea, my journal and camera capture the beauty of ancient architecture and artifacts. Through the ultimate sacrifice of family and a financially secure lifestyle, I anticipate discovering the true meaning of life through my travels, taking myself and my readers on a trip of a lifetime.
The first step begins. My house is officially for sale and the process begins. It’s interesting how easy it is to let go of the attachments. Clothes and toys are donated with joy, as I feel I am blessing others with the ‘stuff’ that no longer serves me. I think about the money I have made on this house and think I could easily live comfortably for six years or so. What about when I return? Will it be foolish to squander the investment and start from scratch again? The promise of riches and reward remind me with the proceeds of a book, to sustain me, as I let go once again of any fear of lack.
Tonight, I return from a trip in the mountains with my life partner and soul mate. Although we are officially broken up, we are still madly in love and the best of friends. Our relationship has never been better. Perhaps this was the catalyst after almost four years of ups and downs and heartache, to finally let go and find that relationship deep within myself.
As I arrive home, I realize that there is no place like home. It is so nice to have a place to come home to, with all of the familiar belongings to greet me, and two cats that bring life to an otherwise quiet space. One cat, Scout, my baby whom I watched being born, loves me with incredible affection. I feel sad in knowing that I will have to find homes for both of these two little souls. Paris, my other kitty has no desire for human contact. My daughter quips that she treats our house like a hotel. Only coming home to eat and sleep. Then there is my old faithful black lab Justus, who has been through it all in the last eight years, and thinks he is a triplet to my twin boys. He was a puppy when they were just ten months old and they loved to love him with all of the roughness that little boys are known for. The kids are at their Dad’s tonight, a relief in knowing there will be less stress in the morning rush of Mondays. Still, my home is just another thing or belonging that needs to be maintained, paid for and cleaned. After staying in a hotel, luxury life, with other people who serve, clean and cook for you, it is easy to get accustomed to. Now in my own home, I contemplate what it will be like to be homeless, as I nestle into the soft down depths of my king sized bed.
Pet update: Scout ran away from the sitter's and Paris' new owner had to put her down due to illness. She now resides on the great scratching post in the sky. Justus, the lab runs free on a farm and is welcome to come home whenever we decide:)
KEEP SHINING
“Solid like a mountain,
Soft like a cloud.
I sit and await the unfolding.”
~ Bai Yuen ~
Getting back into the groove of work and life has been a difficult transition. I decided to just run away from the looming work load of the fall design rush ahead of me. I have been avoiding returning phone calls and establishing the business mindset once again. I am really thinking now I want to be a yoga teacher...allowing to escape back into the seductive lifestyle of India with the shala being the focal point of the day. I fantasize about living a modest life in India with my hippie kids and boyfriend enjoying the leisurely, simple lifestyle alongside me.
Damian and I took the kids to Canmore in the mountains for the weekend for a vacation from my summer vacation. The smell of autumn is already in the air, while the leaves have become golden in some areas. School and winter will be around the corner sooner than I hope.
As easy as it has been to slip back into the familiarity of Canada, India has definitely had an impact. A group of people started fighting with a waitress in a restaurant we were dining in. Their negative energies started to escalate, feeding from each other, as the waitress and the two other ladies irrationally defended their egos. Damian and I just laughed and appreciated our awareness of the silliness of why people get so worked up over being right, and about winning. Also, about our needs 'needing' to be catered to.
I also noticed that wherever I get away to, we are still creatures of habit. I go on a holiday and still seek out the familiarity of 'creature comforts'. We want to travel to foreign places, while still habituating and patronizing mindsets. My sweet tooth shamelessly sucked back Starbucks Tazo Chais, to my chagrin, scoping out other chain stores on the scenic drive. The bottom line at the end of the day, is we all want the same things...our pattern and penchants. When we don't get them in the manner or timing we demand, we fight absurdly with other humans sharing the earth to get our way.
Oxymoronic...Another thing I noticed is our method of 'credit card living'. Enjoy now, pay later, because we deserve it. Or at least that is what the advertisers have told and sold us. Delayed gratification seems no longer a virtue. Even though enjoying now comes with high interest rates, we are too busy enraptured by the abundance of choice. Its about loving what you have not having what you love:)
I awoke in the middle of the night with this poem of sorts...
Talk less, eat less,
sleep less, drive less,
shop less, plan less,
want less, use less.
Read more, hug more,
love more, cry more,
see more, give more,
walk more, think more,
share more, breath more.
Be more.
"On the planet today over 1 billion people will go to bed hungry tonight. There are children without food. People are being locked up and being tortured in prisons. Others, imprisoned in hospital rooms struggling to survive...
"Wisdom without execution is worthless." ~Robin Sharma
I hope to teach my children the significance of everything that I've experienced over the last few weeks.
Friday, August 17, 2007
TYPE 'A' TO TYPE 'Z'
My blog has been a great daily writing discipline. It was one of my goals to set aside time everyday to write, and India was an excellent awakening influence. Friends and family are also asking me if I will continue as it has become a bit of a soap opera! And so the sprouting sage saga continues...
I went to yoga last night for the first time back. Despite jet lag, travel tightness and a hamstring 'on strike', I thought I should continue with my India inspired daily practice. Before, I was soooo impatient and would push myself into poses. This time, I gently just went into the poses with grace and ease, not minding how far and deep I could go. I actually felt more flexible in certain poses and blissful at the end. Finally a savasana that I fell deeply into. Not like the 2 minute savasana at the shala...
I copied this beautiful excerpt from Tara Bray, Shambhala Sun, July 2003:
"I've finished my two-hour ashtanga practice, and my hair is soaked in sweat. Every inch of my body is exhausted. I lie down on my mat, open my palms for the final position, let the bandhas go. My body feels completely alive, yet growing cool, the muscles gone lax with something more powerful than sleep.There are no words for the space I enter. It is not death, but I am still. It is not a dream, but I am lying down, my eyes closed. There is a certain vividness.
Savasana. Which translates into "corpse pose." Dead still. This is the final posture. Practice your yoga, then lie flat on the floor and die to what you've done, feet falling open, hands turned palms up. The body should grow long and still and should become weightless. The bones should sink to the ground as the torn heart opens so the sky dwellers may look down and see this world as it is, bloody and rhythmic. The breath should move without effort. The skin should open its tiny, hidden mouths and let the air stream through in small, silent gasps.
Savasana is a position we know well, stretched out and lying on our backs as if sleeping, but it is said to be one of the most difficult of the poses. A perfect savasana needs perfect discipline. It is not only very uncomfortable to the brain, but it makes the body feel like a piece of dry dead wood.
Consider some of the guidelines for entering savasana:
Imagine a straight line running from your chin to your sternum to your pubic bone. Allow your bottom teeth to drop away from the top ones. When each toe grows limp, quiet your sacrum. Make each nostril wide. Let your head be the last thing to plunge like a stone. Remember, a stone is mute. The path downward can feel like a perfect dream. It is not real until everything shuts down into nothingness. The ground is a friend to the spine. Be there.
And maybe savasana is like coming to the edge, the border between one world and another so you can remember what it means to be alive. The truth is, there's just so much I'll never know. For now, I am tired. My breath is slowing down, and I am thankful to have been allowed my practice one more day. Another day: it is enough."
Beautiful!
I finally relented and picked up a book in India that kept drawing me in. "Jesus lived in India". I thought it may be sacrilege. Then Rachel told me she was reading it, and I saw it as a sign. She explained the theory of Jesus being a yogi, which he studied during his youth, accounting for the lost years in the Bible. One of the explanations for His ability to heal others, surviving the crucifixion and walking on water. At the London airport, the flight agent saw my book and laughed. In his British accent he quipped, "Jesus lived in India? I don't think sooo!"
There are so many mind blowing acts that advanced yogis are capable of doing. Levitating while in a trance and other miracles that defy the laws of nature. Like Jesus' lightness to walk on water. "The ancient yogis worshiped lightness. There are stories of them becoming so light that when they ran across the earth, their bodies lifted off the ground. Some had to attach iron chains to their ankles to keep them earthbound. Even in Westernized asana classes, we are instructed to be light-to float from pose to pose." (Another quote I found interesting from the above article)
Well I did get get lighter doing yoga 6 times a week. I was cuddling Damian and he remarked, "I see you sharpened your hip bones while in India!"
Great site: http://www.shivarea.com
See an amazing video of yoga moves...
I went to yoga last night for the first time back. Despite jet lag, travel tightness and a hamstring 'on strike', I thought I should continue with my India inspired daily practice. Before, I was soooo impatient and would push myself into poses. This time, I gently just went into the poses with grace and ease, not minding how far and deep I could go. I actually felt more flexible in certain poses and blissful at the end. Finally a savasana that I fell deeply into. Not like the 2 minute savasana at the shala...
I copied this beautiful excerpt from Tara Bray, Shambhala Sun, July 2003:
"I've finished my two-hour ashtanga practice, and my hair is soaked in sweat. Every inch of my body is exhausted. I lie down on my mat, open my palms for the final position, let the bandhas go. My body feels completely alive, yet growing cool, the muscles gone lax with something more powerful than sleep.There are no words for the space I enter. It is not death, but I am still. It is not a dream, but I am lying down, my eyes closed. There is a certain vividness.
Savasana. Which translates into "corpse pose." Dead still. This is the final posture. Practice your yoga, then lie flat on the floor and die to what you've done, feet falling open, hands turned palms up. The body should grow long and still and should become weightless. The bones should sink to the ground as the torn heart opens so the sky dwellers may look down and see this world as it is, bloody and rhythmic. The breath should move without effort. The skin should open its tiny, hidden mouths and let the air stream through in small, silent gasps.
Savasana is a position we know well, stretched out and lying on our backs as if sleeping, but it is said to be one of the most difficult of the poses. A perfect savasana needs perfect discipline. It is not only very uncomfortable to the brain, but it makes the body feel like a piece of dry dead wood.
Consider some of the guidelines for entering savasana:
Imagine a straight line running from your chin to your sternum to your pubic bone. Allow your bottom teeth to drop away from the top ones. When each toe grows limp, quiet your sacrum. Make each nostril wide. Let your head be the last thing to plunge like a stone. Remember, a stone is mute. The path downward can feel like a perfect dream. It is not real until everything shuts down into nothingness. The ground is a friend to the spine. Be there.
And maybe savasana is like coming to the edge, the border between one world and another so you can remember what it means to be alive. The truth is, there's just so much I'll never know. For now, I am tired. My breath is slowing down, and I am thankful to have been allowed my practice one more day. Another day: it is enough."
Beautiful!
I finally relented and picked up a book in India that kept drawing me in. "Jesus lived in India". I thought it may be sacrilege. Then Rachel told me she was reading it, and I saw it as a sign. She explained the theory of Jesus being a yogi, which he studied during his youth, accounting for the lost years in the Bible. One of the explanations for His ability to heal others, surviving the crucifixion and walking on water. At the London airport, the flight agent saw my book and laughed. In his British accent he quipped, "Jesus lived in India? I don't think sooo!"
There are so many mind blowing acts that advanced yogis are capable of doing. Levitating while in a trance and other miracles that defy the laws of nature. Like Jesus' lightness to walk on water. "The ancient yogis worshiped lightness. There are stories of them becoming so light that when they ran across the earth, their bodies lifted off the ground. Some had to attach iron chains to their ankles to keep them earthbound. Even in Westernized asana classes, we are instructed to be light-to float from pose to pose." (Another quote I found interesting from the above article)
Well I did get get lighter doing yoga 6 times a week. I was cuddling Damian and he remarked, "I see you sharpened your hip bones while in India!"
Great site: http://www.shivarea.com
See an amazing video of yoga moves...
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
PICTURE ALBUM
Rachel and I at Calicut beach
Indian squatting toilets
White parrot at Windflower Spa
Shoba and I in Bangalore
Sahida at temple
Bapuji orphans
Gurujii and I at his 92nd birthday party
Sharath and I
Elise, Rachel and I
"Mahendi" foot henna
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