Sundance Images

That sweet, sacred space that was created over those four days where I felt as if my life had meaning, that I was in right relation with the world. Most of what happened for me was within the four walls of the kitchen. Elders and others sitting in the wooden table, eating meals, laughing, sharing stories. Getting the job done, transporting coffee and dozens of sandwiches down to the sacred grounds for elders and fire keepers at all hours. Getting up at four to the smell of coffee brewing, wiping the sleep from my eyes and diving in to cracking 16 dozen eggs with minimal "shell dropping." Laughing. So much laughing and amazement of the cooks who came out of the woodwork. There was never a fight. It is hard to imagine when you are cooking for over 100. Just breathing and getting the job done. And hiking up to the Moon Lodge in the rain with hot water, chocolate and a blanket for those staying there, mud on my shoes, remembering helping to make the path up the rocky chamisa in the weeks before. Happy as can be, unexplainable in the cold wetness of early morning and standing at the point on top of the world, surrounded by blue mountains, watching the geometry of life, the sounds, the images, colors and a tree swaying and prayers being answered on the spot and me seeing with my third eye just for a split second the merkibah image of ascended grace. This is what evolution looks like.  

It was necessary for me to be in the kitchen. For so many ways, and I couldn't have been happier. It was all perfect. And I am beyond grateful to spirit for persisting, sometimes like a needle poking....keep in touch, raise your hand, volunteer, be available. Beyond all my laziness and insecurity, there is this knowing now. That intuition and spirit will guide me and my job is to listen. And when I went down to the sacred tree on the first day with B and D, and put my hand on the prayer ties wrapped around its white bark, tears of joy and pain, grief and loss overcame me. It was for me about coming home. It was about finally making right something that had been silenced, hidden underground, now rising to the surface. I felt the prayers of a multitude, the stories, the emotions, inside each colored cloth, a tiny papoose of faith and tears, dreaming, waiting to be born.

Neighbors

Ahhh, neighbors. My partner and I live in a cute (and for this post, undefined) central area in Taos where we share walls and sidewalk space with talented artists and people who have chosen to live and work in the area. It is "city," as much city as you can find in Taos. All of us are here by choice, following our dreams, supposedly, of art and creativity and an eclectic lifestyle. One would think that we all have more in common than not. Right?

Apparently, wrong. Not with everybody, but with some. Little petty differences seem to get in the way of decent human interaction. People these days, yes it seems more these days than in the past, are cranky, petty, angry, just plain mean. With many, there is no talking to, with...there is just "talking at," which is not communicating at all. Its just the projection of anger, of what Tolle calls "the pain body." When someone is talking to me like that,  I personally withdrawal. I say as little as possible. I refuse to go to that place of angry accusation, rage projected at another person. It is not about me. And yet, I feel a constriction in my throat. I feel the thing that I hate most. To be silenced.

But what part of me is actually silenced? That part that wants, like this other person standing on the street corner next me, with law enforcement officers like a protective wall between "us" and "them," to be "right?" To get my "way." Is that part silenced? These petty fights have nothing to do with justice, with right or wrong. They are the equivalent to children fighting over toys.

And still, we didn't "give in." Why? Well, business was at stake. And underneath the surface, our prides. The more you yell, get angry, talk over us so that we are supposedly silenced, the more we dig our heels in. Anyways, in the end, the interaction is as empty as a small town street in the wintertime. Lonely. I have to admit. In the middle of all the bustle of this place, I feel lonely here. From what I see, this street is about commerce, not connection. And commerce is down these days, way down.

When the time comes that we may need to band together for resources, for protection, what will happen then? In this crazy world, we know what is coming down the line. The way I see it, it is inevitable, a time when "community" will not be an idealized cliché to us 40-something who grew up with Sesame Street, but will be a necessity. During those times, trusting your neighbors won't just be nice. It could actually save a life.
 

Writing about food

My first food writing assignment. What a treat! I have discovered a new way of eating. Why cant I do this all the time? Why does it need to be for an "assignment." Anyways, how cares. I can eat this way from now on. I can pretend that every meal is an assignment. The article was for edibleSantaFe featuring the Farmhouse restaurant here in Taos. Farm-to-table establishment doing some really cool stuff for the environment, for local farmers, etc. which I believe makes the food taste even better. Good intention, good energy, love, consciousness are like spices to be mixed in to everything. Anyways, on to the food. The fork. The tiny chunks of carrot and lamb raised up into the air. I sniffed it first. I don't know why, just seemed like the thing to do. Wine experts do it, why shouldn't I, who is now writing about the sensual details of what I am about to put in my gut. The creamy gluten-free gravy nestled on top. And my eyes resting on the forkful of color and texture amidst a background of country-- grass and cows and flowers and whirligigs, the garden in the background, the puffy clouds and the blue blue sky. All of it in my mouth, passed the lips, resting on taste buds. Chewing, finally, the recommended 25-35 bites (well, almost). And then writing about it. Using words to describe the sensation of taste. A hit of rosemary, a burst of tarragon, the creaminess of the gravy, the buttery kindness of the quinoa. Using a new language to describe a cranberry, a bite of apple, cheesecake tart. "It tastes like fall," I write and I for one know exactly what I mean.

The Shawl

She let the thin fabric of her shawl drop on to the floor behind her. The cool tiles absorbed the weightless weight of it, the indigo and sunbright and saffron colors of it. The jewels at the bottom. Dangling as it swooped through the air, clanging as it fell, touching cold clay . She stood in the open archway looking out at the valley below. She felt a breeze on her shoulders for the first time in so any years. The past washed away, with the settling of cloth, memories erased as the breeze swept it up, sent it flying on wingless wings over the tops of the famous city at daybreak.

“I am free,” said to herself. To no one and to everyone.

Now I am free.

Grocery Store Meditation

Well blogging world, I know, I know. Its been five days...five days! ...since my last post. What the hell have I been doing? Do you ever get the feeling that time is speeding up. Yeah, well, no need to answer THAT question because I KNOW you know what I am talking about. From this to that to that to this to pay this and buy that and bring in this and do that and clean up this and on and on and on...phew. Fact: this crazy life that we are living is off kilter. Fact: It is all temporary. Fact: We are in the middle of perhaps THE major shift in consciousness this planet has experienced so far. I have felt this since I was four years old. I have dreamt it, I have felt it, these days, I feel I am just beginning to LIVE it.

How? Grocery store meditation, for one. Walmart, for Gods Sake. Albertsons of all places. Traffic lights and noticing the rain clouds coming in from the other side of the Allsup's gas station. These places are not glamourous. But by God for some reason these days, when I am in those prescious moments of non doing in the middle of doing, the "in between" times when nothing is due, there is no time limit, n pressure, the list of groceries to get...tomatoes, gluten free bread, kale, eggs, yoghurt, ect ect ,gets slowly crossed off in the in-between meanderings in the organic soup aisle and the personal hygiene section, reading labels, putting things back that have more than two ingredients I cant pronounce. Ha the presiocusness of just having the time for non-time, to actually read labels. Could my life be that fast these days? Yes, ah yes, but the difference now...the glorious and mind-boggling, dare I say, the miraculous difference, is that with three hours of time to piddle I enter into a non-time. And I do so intentionally. And the birthday card aisle, the veggie aisle, the fresh bread bakery where they just put out fresh, warm loaves in plastic wrap, these little scenes are beautiful. Not because of shiney newness or greed or consumerism or anything like that. But because it is, it just is. They are all the details of the moment I am experiencing now. And really truly, in those times of non-time, I could be anywhere doing anything. And it would all be beautiful.

Tornados in My Mind

This evening I went to a meditations group for the first time in years.  I sat in a semi-crosslegged position while my left leg slowly went numb. Soon the panick set in. Oh my God, in about ten minutes we have to get up and do the walking meditation. What am I going to do? It will be a limping meditation. Maybe I'll fall on my ass. But I CAN NOT MOVE. Everyone will see. What have a gotten myself in to? How long has it been? How much more of this can I take? Really, I am sooooo bored.

Then....silencew. For about three seconds. No cars, no mind, no nothing. Not even legs to get numb. Not even the possibility that I could have left the stove on and my house is at this moment burning down. No worries. Nothing. And then......

What am I doing here? Lets recall every moment of the last Breaking Bad episode I watched. Those cars! Those noisy cars! How can anybody meditate with that noise? My God its hot in here. Oh the girl next to me moved, switched her legs around. Ha! What a wimp! But then again, if she did it maybe I can. Ahhh....panic again. The leg, the leg, the leg is starting to tingle. I cant control it. Its going to start to shake violently.I have to STOP it from moving. But that just makes the urge to shake it out more tempting. Oh God, Oh God, what am I going to do? Whose idea was this meditation thing anyway? Then....

Ahhhhh, silence again. The silence is like a balm. The silence invites a bliss to well up from who knows where, an ease to set in, all is well. And in the corner of this presence, is potential. Do we know what we are capable of? If we could get passed our churning mind. But then.....

The vortex continues. The crashing waves inside me. There is SO MUCH to learn. And in the middle of the silence my mind declares:

Why don't we check out transcendental meditation instead? This mindfulness just-sitting-here thing is way too random. I need a mantra I can chant, some incense to light, a candle to burn. Something. anything...borrrrrring.

Swirling thoughts. Swirling in and out of a glimpse of something so real, so vast, so exciting beyond myself yet clearly within. So much swirling that this meditation is starting to make me seasick. A good sign. Soil is being tilled. The weeds and worms exposed. A very good thing.

 

The Only Thing That Matters

I use to be an activist.
I use to climb fences
With other desperate, angry souls
Seeking freedom
Rebelling against those
That slighted me.
In the name of human rights!
In the name of a just economy!
In the name of us against them!

I wrote articles
And worked late into the night
Defying, rebelling, shouting, screaming.

I use to march
In the streets
My angry voice challenging
Anyone! Everyone!
We are mad
We wont take it any more!
Enough is enough
Yay basta!

Etc Etc

But one can only filter anger for so long
Soon the body cries out
The bills must be paid
The responsibilities mount
And the booze, cigarettes, crappy food
Takes its toll
And the anger
Especially the anger
Eats away at the very soul.

STOP
JUST STOP

AND BREATHE
JUST BREATHE

The enemy is everyone
And the enemy is no one
There is no enemy
The enemy is illusion
The enemy is within you.

Yesterday I saw
I tiny line of solar-powered statues.
You know the ones that make you smile
(You know they do!)
All in a row
Cheesy-colored sunfllowers
And fairies and puppy dogs
And some very bored worker
In the Check Cashing place
Has a collection I bet
And looks at those little brightly colored things
Day after day
Week after week
Month after month

And maybe a son or daughter comes to mommy's work on Wednesdays
When she has visitation rights
And plays with those figurines
Leaving the memory of the little one
On greasy peanut-butter stained spots
On puppy ears

Mommy daydreams
Between paperwork and weary customers
About her liitte one
Playing in the corner right there
And her heart opens just a little
In her sadness
In her joy
A smile
When there is no reason at all
In her workaday world
For there to be one.

This is the ultimate revolutionary act
To keep the heart open
In the minefields of this 3D world
That feels so real
So real
So real

The heart that refuses to stop beating
The smile of the child like a tattoo
Unwashable
The giddy joy of plastic fairies
Swaying just because it is daytime
These tiny jewels are all that is real

If only we could see
The electricity of it all
We would know in an instant
Oh yes, of course,
The only real thing
The only thing that matters.