I am sorry

  

It seems the holiday season brings out the best (and worst) in all of us.  I recently spent 6 hours in a car driving from Norcal to Socal and instead of road rage and listening to awful Christmas music, I spent about 3 of the hours forgiving.  Forgiving both myself and others who I've really not let go of for days, months, perhaps decades.  It was one of the most freeing experiences of my life.  I basically followed a short recipe:

I forgive you for ___________________________________________ because I know you didn't realize what affect it had on me.  I release __________________________________ (my fear of unworthiness, my fear of wrong-doing, my fear of not being worthy of love, etc...).  I release ______________________________ (my need to control the outcome, need to put up a facade of "worthiness", put up a facade of "perfection", etc...).   Because I know that I am perfect, whole and at peace right where I am in my connection to the Infinite Spirit.

And you know, it worked.  It really was quite powerful.   I invite you to try your own meditation of release and see what happens.

When we release our binds to the past a whole new world opens up to us.

Finally, I'd like to close this post with a few "forgive you's". 

I forgive the guy who for with whom I thought the date went well and yet he did not call me back
I forgive the woman who drove on Ocean today as if she owned the road
I forgive myself for not being enough
I forgive myself for thinking that I am not enough, when clearly I am all I ever need
I forgive friends and family who did not send me a Christmas card even though I sent them one
I forgive my mother
I forgive my mean friends in school who made fun of me
I forgive my friend's child for hitting my son
I forgive my father
I forgive the guy in college
I forgive the court and the mediator
I forgive my appearance, for even though I've been good about what I eat and exercising more, I still don't like the way my body looks in the mirror
I forgive myself for riding in the car more when it's cold when I know perfectly well I could ride my bike
I forgive my ex for being violent and then asserting that he never was
I forgive my ex's mother for creating drama
I forgive my ex's sisters for they know not what they do
I forgive Ziggy for his tantrums, even the ones at the store
I forgive Newt Gingrinch for being such an ass, even though he should really know better
I forgive the US economy for sending almost all of the jobs overseas

I know that where I am right now has nothing to do with those interactions.  I know that where I am right now is perfect.  I am at peace.  Everything that happened, already happened and I don't need to carry it around with my anymore.  I can drop all those stories and be free.

See, when you release these things.  You let them go.  They literally go away.  Yes.  It's kind of scary to let go of your 'story' because without, who might you be?  But I assure you, the levity that occurs far outweighs the doubt that may linger.  Fears, doubts, and insecurities no longer define who you are.  They no longer control the outcome of your day.  They no longer have power over who you ARE.  These are just thoughts.  They are just reactions to what is.  But what is really is what is inside of you.  You are not what happens in your life just as you are not what someone else says that you are.  You are YOU.  You are beaYOUtiful just are you are.  Know that and embrace that.

Peace.

Laughter is a Natural Health Tonic - Drink it Up!

So,  I was having lunch with a good girlfriend the other day when in the middle of our intensely engaging girl-talk an older woman walks by with a cane and walker and starts fussing with something on the floor near my friend's chair, and we both realize at the same time that it is a pair of thong panties!!!  The older woman looks back at me and then at my friend and asks, "is this yours?" as she pokes at it with her cane.   My friend at first disregards this elderly lady for insane and then suddenly realizes that those are, in fact her panties!!!!

We both assess the damage and then immediately bust into laughter.  My friend cautiously picks up the panties and stuffs them in her pocket.  And I subsequently burst into laughter.  We begin to surmise a vast array of opportunistic scenarios in which the panties provided a good laugh for the passersby for the last hour or so.  It was, in my opinion, one of the finest comedic episodes I've experienced in recent years.

What a good laugh does for the soul.  So, I wanted to find a little bit more about laughter and healing. Here's what I found.  

Laughter actually shows reduced cortisol and adrenaline levels (which is an indication of reduced stress) and increased levels of interferon, t and white blood cells, (which help with heart conditions). 

What is soap to the body, laughter is to the soul.  ~ an old Yiddish proverb.

There's a new rage: laughter yoga.  Cool, eh?  And when I've gone to see Amachi, she has asked the audience to laugh and keep laughing because it is key to good health and happiness.  Isn't that what we are all seeking?  Is it that simple?

We laughed for about 20 minutes from this one episode.  It was hilarious to think of the elderly lady's reaction, those seated around us and our general interpretations from what by-passers thought and overall how it must look to have a pair of thong panties sitting next to you in a public place.  

I love laughter as a medicine for good health and well being.  We should all be more apt and willing to laugh at ourselves, as was my gracious, but obviously embarrassed friend.  

If you could have seen how beautiful she was when she threw her head back; you'd all agree that she and the laugh were a beauty of a thing....

Foundations 2011

This is a presentation I prepared for one of my classes at the VCSL.

I’ve only been coming to VCSL since roughly March of this year.  I remember the first time I went into the social hall.  I had come maybe three or four times prior and bawled every sermon.  I braved entry into the vast Stanley’s Hall and was immediately overcome by the energy of love, community and acceptance.  Needless to say, I panicked.  I began to cry.  I ran into Elisa and Ian’s momma, Claudia.  She caught my eye and grabbed me.  She confided in me immediately.  “it would get better…this place changes lives” she said.    She was soon caught up in a conversation with someone else and then I was enveloped in the sea of chattering people again.

I was drawn to Bonnie’s loving eyes.  But I knew that to ‘bother her’ would be remiss.  So I approached, a tall, wonderfully jubilant man who stood to her side; Bill Seale.  I asked if he provided some kind of assistance to folks seeking guidance.  With my eyes welling up with tears, he grabbed my hand and gently guided through the crowd to a private room and there, calmed me, transformed my fear to hope and doubts to acceptance in a matter of seconds.  It wasn’t more than a few weeks that I started to feel “accepted”, “loved” and “genuinely home” for the first time in my 38 years of life.  Not ironically, one of my memorable services here was Testimonial Sunday and Greg Luce gave his talk about how being a bad guy didn’t keep him from finding peace in his life. I vowed right then to become friends with this man.

But yet it‘s not all been a Fairy Tale.  I’ve been though both hard and good times.  Nothing different from you all really but it was, of course, my own journey, and so it was unique in its own way.

I brought my bike here tonight because it symbolizes so much for me in terms of identity, self reliance, and strength.  Many of you know that I recently completed about 170 miles in 3 days in a Tour de Pink, to raise money for young fighters of breast cancer, but you may not know that bicycling has been a  HUGE part of life since as far back as I can remember.

I’ve ridden more miles at the seat of a bike than I can remember inside of a car.  I began riding when I was a young girl of a single father in Pennsylvania.  He worked long hours and of course I was too young to drive.  So, during the summer months, when he was at work, I’d ride my baby blue Sear’s and Roebuck ten-speed, 9 miles to town to meet up with friends, play tennis, practice basketball, go to the movies, and swim until my father would come through town with his work truck.  He worked for the electric company.   So, he’d lift my bike up onto the huge orange bucket truck and we’d ride off and unload the work truck, grab some pizza and ice cream and return home.  Sadly enough, after HS graduation, I didn’t really ride much until later in my life.

It wasn’t until 2000 when I went to Europe with my ex-ex-ex to do a self-supported ride through Europe.  We rode over 700 miles in 20 days through France, Germany, Italy.  It was, of course amazing.  We did 3 such tours through Eurpoe.  One year, we rode the Le alp duez and followed the 2003 Tour de France.  We were labeled as the crazy American cyclists by the crazy Belgium cyclist fanatics.

I’ve done century rides, long rides with girlfriends all through Tahoe and the upper Sierra.  It wasn’t uncommon to ride 50 mile mountain bikes and then hang out all night and play music.  It was awesome.  I never considered how the bike defined “me” but as I look back, I didn’t have a friend in Tahoe who didn’t bike.  So, in a way, it did define me.  I had 7 different types of bikes at the time.

After I left my ex-ex-ex in 2004 I decided to leave the US and travel solo to Argentina.  I took my bike.  I did two small self-supported trips before giving up due to the awful condition of the roads.  I ended up trading my rode bike in for a city cruiser and joined the thousands of cyclists that braved the 19-lane Avenidia de Nuevo de Julio in central Buenos Aires.  So many amazing stories I don’t have time to share.  But the point being, that I was again defined by my local group of friends as the ‘chick with the bike’.  It became my identity, yet again.

When I came back from Argentina I had a lot of angst that needed flushing out.  Riding in upstate NY where I lived with my big brother allowed me time, space and freedom to work out all my issues.    I rode and rode.  When I moved back to Tahoe, again in 2005, it was the bicycle that defined me.  My Dad was unrelentingly pragmatic in his pursuit of relinquishing at least one of the four bikes as we loaded them atop my Toyota Corolla for the third cross-country trip in four years.  I kept the bikes and got rid of some clothes.

I mean I was commuting to the VISTA bus stop up until I was 6 mths pregnant and put on disability for a ‘high-risk pregnancy’.  My first great memory was riding my bike with trailer and 4 mth old son to Earth Day in 2009.  I never really lost a second worrying about how I looked or how I appeared when on the bike.  I just rode and loved it.

I left my ex-husband after he threw a bike at me and, yes, I left him via bicycle.

Throughout all of this, I have, unabashedly had a sort of unrepentant self loathing and total lack of self confidence.  Of course, everyone who knows me would be surprised at that statement.  But the truth is that I have always wanted to be prettier, thinner, with darker skin and olive shaped eyes and sexier hair and slenderer fingers....  I have always hated my body and tore myself down because of it.

It wasn’t until Bonnie asked me to do a Testimonial Sunday in February that I really began thinking about biking and me and spiritually.   When she asked me,  at first, I was very much willing to speak.  I, in fact, jokingly said to Bonnie when she asked me, “you want the truth, right?” and she, of course laughed and I think she understood my sarcasm…but I was kind of serious.  I mean, sure I can stand up in front of 100 people and speak about pretty much anything.  I do that for a living.  But to be honest, real, and whole, that was a different thing.  I could be a politician if you wanted it…but if you want me to be authentic, well, that takes a bit more energy and work.  You know?

So,  I thought about it some more.  And I got really nervous.  I  thought, well shit, I’ve not become “Enlightened!?” yet.  I can’t speak in front of the congregation if I’ve not ‘discovered’ something insightful to share with them.  “I better get cracking” was my next thought.  I need to ’achieve’ something and fast.   I needed to climb that hill and see the view that inspires.  I needed to push through the difficult technical section for the glory ride back to the trailhead.  I needed to freaking put it in gear, NOW!!!  And that brings be back to the bike.

Many of you know Greg Luce, no?  Well, he was my partner in the Tour de Pink.  He is amazing and he’s a pain in the ass.  But, he just recently gave me one of the nicest compliments I’ve received in a long time.  He said, that despite the fact that I have a shitty bike, that I didn’t train, and that I am out of shape,  I kicked ass on the hills and was generally well ahead of him in terms of physical strength and he was rather jealous.  I was stunned by his compliment and didn't know how to respond.  It meant a lot to me to hear him say that.  I climbed pretty well despite not training and was ahead of him by at least 30 minutes on average and just a few minutes behind the “elite cyclists”.  Yet, that certainly didn't translate into “me being whole” in my own opinion.  During the ride I ended up splitting up blood and had to forgo riding ten final miles the second day.

Yet, to be honest, it’s just kind of how I roll.  I've always been that way.   I push through the shit in life.

So, it brings me to two major points in the SOM philosophy.

First, it is, like Dennis Merit Jones said last week.    Our bodies are nothing more than biodegradable, disposable vessels for our souls to live out our experience here on Earth.  And it’s funny b/c as often as I criticize my own body, or hair, or clothing, or job, or house or whatever for “not being enough”, yet, I rarely criticize my bike.  Although the bike has always been seen as separate from ME I never equate it's deficiencies with my own personal strength.  It’s old, crappie and very much the laughing stock of the elite cyclist circles.  I freaking love that bike and can kick most anyone’s ass; given time to train. I never doubt the bike.

But…. I  always equate my body as if it is ME.  But, I think, like the bike, it’s what’s inside of me, not outside of me, that carries love, inspiration and strength.  And like Lance said, “it’s not about the bike, it’s about the rider.”  

And yet, I don’t train for life; just as I don't train for rides.  Instead, I barrel ahead, drudge forward; stick it out and I wonder why sometimes I flounder.  I wonder why I am coughing up blood.

I mean, I climb mountains, I rush through rest stops in pursuit of “the leaders of the pack/pelaton”.   I work days and nights on end in pursuit of the pleasure of my bosses.  I gave up my own identity for un-attained acceptance of my ex- Mother-in-Law; and sadly I’ve done the same for with the same result with my own mother.  And I never cut myself from feakin' slack.

It's like I should be saying to myself, as I do about the bike, hey, Jill, it's your body, not you that isn't perfect.  And you can still kick some ass without the "perfect body"; it's not about the body, but the person inside.

A second SOM philosophy I see with me and the bike is this:

I often comment to my friends and others how I feel as if I am a hamster in a wheel constantly running and running without a real end in sight.  I always feel like I am late.  Arriving at the rest stop after everyone else important has moved on.  I am always out on the road alone, fighting the wind alone.  Even when I fled the abusive relationship with ex all I had was my bicycle, my trailer, my son and some extra clothes.  And then everything was stolen and then my grandmother died. I felt like God had turned on me.  I was so sad and lonely.  Without the bike, who was I?

I kept saying, when am I going to come into a group of others and draft in the warmth and love of community?

All my life, it was always the bike, the accessories, the trips, the experiences, the friends, the family, the body, the eyes…that which defined me.  But, now, I see that it never was all those things.  I was always ME.   And I never had to have any of that stuff to “be some part of a community”.

When I walked into VCSL, I showed up with nothing, alone and vulnerable and yet I was loved, accepted and supported.  So, like the bike has given me an identity, VCSL has given me a place to call home, perhaps to stop running and riding in pursuit of that which is always going to leave just another valley apart from the pelaton.

Where is Our Big Brother??

I have an older brother, Johnny, as I call him, who, for most of my life has been well, the most awesome big brother any younger sibling could ask for.  He's kind, smart, handsome, successful, a loving husband and father, funny, open to have a good laugh, easy to talk to... the list goes on.  Many people I know have expressed envy, and even jealousy over the closeness and ease of our relationship.  We really are blessed.  But, he doesn't live near me.  He lives all the way across the country in New York.  So, I don't get to see much of him any more.

John was always looking out for me, even when I wasn't aware that he was.  When I was a teenage girl, just coming of dating age, he was a Senior and I was in 9th grade.  I couldn't figure out why no one, NOBODY would ask me out, until one day a friend confessed that Johnny had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that anyone would 'date' his little sister.  He finally relented and allowed me to date a fellow team member of the football team (a few years his junior) but would, essentially monitor our dates like a chaperon from the 18th century.

One time some boys were making my life hell, teasing me and making me cry and Johnny scared the daylights out of them.  They eventually came to me and apologized.  What I realized from that experience is that even-though I am the little sister, I am worthy of respect.  I ended up becoming friends with those boys.   John solved almost every problem with this uncanny wit and charm.  

When John went off to college I was secretly devastated.   Our mother had left our father a few years prior and while there wasn't any abuse or neglect to speak of; I was always well cared for; there was, however, a lot of sad silence.  I lived with my father and he was very sad for many years.  It wasn't a happy home for a young teenage girl.  John had always been the moderator between me and my mother.  Without him around I think our relationship deteriorated faster without intervention.

I was accepted to the same university as John and eagerly followed my big brother to WVU.  There we started off where we had left off and enjoyed an uninterrupted five years of keg stands and backyard BBQ's.  Not only did I have my big brother to watch out for me, I now had a whole house full of John's roommates who took on the responsibility of making sure I was safe.

I remember this one occasion when I was having a particularly hard time my freshman year.  I literally walked over to his house, in the freezing cold December night (about 2 miles), across this huge, scary bridge (I called it the troll bridge) and for protection I had taken a fork from the cafeteria.  He woke up, groggily answered the door, not saying a word, gave me his bed and went to sleep on the couch.  Just being there with him calmed me down.

When I left my abusive home this past spring, it was John that I called right away.  He wired me money and arranged for me to get a car.  He called me every day, sometimes twice a day.

I think he's having a hard time right now.  See, he works for this company that makes parts for the automobile industry.  You can imagine that the last few years have been challenging in that economic sector.  Moreover, the fate of his company hangs in the balance.  It may be sold and all of the jobs moved overseas.  This is the first time in my life that I've seen my brother struggle to fix the problem with wit and charm.  No amount of charm can save middle class America I fear.

I just saw some clip with Newt Gingrich saying that black kids don't have to only grow up to be pimps, hookers and drug dealers.  Instead, he suggested, that we could give them jobs at the inner-city schools cleaning toilets.  And I saw another quote where he spoke of the "Washington Elite" as if they were some other sector of the Congress with which he, himself, wasn't a part.

I think it is pretty sick that we've allowed our country to take some of our best, brightest, most dedicated citizens and stripped them of their dignity, inalienable rights and hope.  It is true that my big brother can't beat up the bullies in Washington like he could beat up the bullies in PA.

I had always thought that government was like a big brother: there to protect you, to kick the bullies butts, to take care of the little guy or gal.  I thought that our government was charming and full of wit and ingenuity.  A source of pride for the American people.  And yet, we should be no less ashamed of our "Washington Elite" as the Italians are embarrassed about Berlusconi.   And it is really sad to think that our government has gone away and left us, abandoned us in a quiet, lonely house and we've only got this useless fork we had to steal from the cafeteria to defend ourselves.

Exposing Children to Nature

I am an environmental educator.  That is my job.  I teach young people about how they can take better care of the Earth.  Teaching this ethic to my son, however, seems evasive.  Why?

We go on hikes and I take him for walks to the beach on a regular basis.  But stopping to smell the roses doesn't always fall into the scheduled set of activities.  We've got to get the hike done so we can change diapers, eat lunch and then have a nap.  Mommy really needs a nap.

So, the other day, when we were out walking I realized just how freaking stressful I was making everyone, including our dog, Chulo.  The incessant "come on!", "hurry up!" and "Ziggy!" was raking on everyone's nerves.

I wondered what it must be like to have two children and maybe (Goddess forgive us) two dogs....how crazy would things become??

And then it hit me.  It isn't about the destination or the final photo with the view or even the freakin' photo with the child picking his pants near the last boulder.  It's about the experience.  Stop, look, listen to the babbling brook, the birds in the trees, let Chulo run free and not worry if he will ever come back.  He will.  He always does.  Enjoy this time to be together, outside in nature, in of all freakin' places, Southern California....where you'd think the antithesis of outdoor prevails.

But, shsssh.....there is some amazing wilderness down here.  Just don't let any one else know!

I just finished giving 100 presentations at a local public elementary school.  I'd say at least 25% of the students came up to me afterward and hugged me.  Some saying thanks for the presentation...  It was an awesome reminder of how innocence is something we lose with age and how important it is for the survival of our species.

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Sand beneath our feet...

I was running on the beach the other day and I noticed that as I was walking out, across the upper part, near the bike path, the sand is much looser, not as packed as it is near the water.  It's a lot harder to walk faster on the sand.  It got me to thinking, that must be a metaphor for something in life, no?  So, here was my thought.  Sand is the result of many, many years of the Earth's work at change.  Personal development, hardships, good years and bad years are all reflected in the sand that ends up on our beaches.  It travels many miles from up stream from where it was born out of collision and raging waters to come here, the beach, to sit calmly, peacefully, gracefully.  And try as I might to walk quickly over this sand, I cannot do it with ease and grace.  It is as if the sand is saying to me, linger with me, learn from my wisdom, slow down and stop rushing about!  Enjoy the sunset, listen to the birds and the waves.  Be still.  

A Call for Love....

So, the other day I actually asked my ex if he'd ever consider getting back together again.  Ok.  There I did it.  You all knew that I would eventually, right?

At first he judged my question.  Then he accused me of provoking him into aggression.  Then, he actually laughed at me.

What I saw in his eyes, however, wasn't the hatred and meanness I came to recognize months ago.  No, this time, I saw pain, suffering and lack.  I don't know how to explain this, but I see this man suffering and I know that he does not need to suffer and I so want to hold him and love him back to joy.  But I know that I cannot do that.  It hurts to see this so plainly right in front of me.  He's pushing me away out of fear, denial and suffering.  Not out of knowledge or wisdom.

Am I so odd to think that even though I realize we have difficult personalities and don't make the best match on bad days, we could, with commitment and effort, be a very compatible couple, and, most importantly, a family again??  Is this so freakin' odd to ponder?

According to him it is.  And, as I read more about personalities and human developmental processes, I see that, yeah, for some people, it's just better to frankly move on.  I get it.  Some people just won't ever change.

But, therein lies my ultimate peril.  Why?  Why do I not merit enough for him to seek change in order to stay together?  Why doesn't he want to try and make it work?  I don't get it.  What's wrong with me?

I honestly believe that the human mind can choose what they want to believe and how they are going to act.  If, given space to do so, we humans can be so brave, so loving and so accepting.  In many cases, however, we are thwarted or restricted by other's insecurities.   And, it's not like people are intentionally trying to keep others down...they just don't see the truth.  They are busy suffering....  

So, lately, I've found myself repeating prayers, affirmations and songs that are positive, full of love and generally intending to spread joy and peace.  It's been so healing for me to focus on the here and now and not worry so much about the future or the past.  I know that some people want to hold onto the past and use it as a justification for their current behavior.  But I've really come clear in the idea that now is all that we have and we might as well make it the best we can.  Otherwise, what is the point?

Post Thanksgiving Rant

I haven't been in the mood lately to blog.  And it's not like I've got a ton of followers awaiting my every word, right?  And it's not like I am in a bad mood or anything.  I've been busy, of course, but not to the point of not being able to sit down at the computer.  I've found myself more frequently, however, drowning in internet dating sites desperately searching for a Mr. Right.

And it got me to thinking about this book I had been reading, and then, for some reason, left aside my bed with the ten or so other self-help books.  The book is titled: Attached.  The New Science of Adult Attachment and How it Can Help You Find and Keep Love.  And at first it's riddled with the background in Attachment Theory and the different studies associated with the three attachment styles: secure, avoidant and anxious.   But today, out of boredom, slash desperation, I picked it back up and read chapters 5, 6 & 7; a breakdown and detailed "how-to" for the secure attached person, the avoidant attached person and the anxious attached person.

After reading these three chapters, I wanted to rush out and buy a copy for all of my friends and family and even my enemies too!  It so clearly explains my 38 years of disillusionment in love and relationships with anyone, really.  I after all this struggling with "what's wrong with me" I can see that there is nothing wrong with me (as Robert Holden so eloquently shares with us in his awesome book, Shift Happens).

Well, it's not that easy, because according to the helpful quizzes provided in the earlier chapters, I am about 50-50% avoidant/anxious.  Which, as far as I can tell is the worst-case scenario.  I mean, they give these amazing statistics.

First they estimate that 50% of us are secure, with 20% anxious, with 25% avoidant and the remaining 5% are the combination styles.  So, if you think about it, 50% of the population is already in a secure, happy, satisfying relationship and more than likely are out of the dating pool.   Avoidants typically do not date each other, therefore, they are out there preying on the helpless anxious attachment folks!  And if the test I took is remotely accurate, I am completely screwed!

Secures have already found love and find it easy to love pretty much all three styles.  Secures enhance and make the other two, less secure styles more functional, just by the very nature of their secure traits.

If you are avoidant, then watch out, because you will spend most of your life searching for the ideal mate only to find that no one will ever meet your expectations because you actually have issues with intimacy.  As soon as you get close to commitment, you bolt or make your partner's life hell with a bunch of annoying strategies you use to keep yourself calm, irregardless of what you are doing to them.

And, I really feel sorry for those anxious attachment styles.  They are a mess.  They confuse the feelings of abandonment, rejection and constant stress of "he loves me, he loves me not" with actual love.  They actually seek out these unavailable people because it reminds them of some kind of deep-seeded emotion they grew up with!!

Of course the book goes on to share "fail-proof" strategies to find the love you need and keep it.  As much as my inner cynic wants to come out and be like "yeah right!"  I am going to attempt to follow their advice; because interestingly enough it follows the Science of Mind ideals: be yourself, accept the good, know there is abundance there for you, be your highest and best self, remember no one and nothing is against you; but do set loving boundaries (assert your needs) and plant those seeds of what you seek and so shall you reap it.

I was going to share a specific case in point, but let's just suffice it to say, buy the book, read it and you will actually see these behaviors play out in your own life right in front of your very eyes.  It's amazing.

Buenos Aires, Argentina ~ Part II

 

Upon arriving to the Hostel Recoleta, I rang the bell to enter.  Here's the thing about traveling; things are different and that is the best part right?  But sometimes, let's admit it.  When we have traveled all day, maybe all night too, we are tired, hungry, confused and most of all smelly, the last thing we 'relish' are the quaint cultural differences.  So, in Argentina, and probably in most cities for that matter, you have to ring a bell, press a buzzer and in all senses of the word, pass the 'gatekeeper' to enter buildings.  In rural Pennsylvania, you just walk up to someone's house, knock on the door.  Most likely, someone is around back and they invite you for an iced tea or lemonade.  But, in the heart of the city, the maddening sound of passing "motos", "collectivos", "autos" and other noises reverberating off the insanely tall buildings (which only make me feel more out of place and small and insignificant) I need to hear the person on the other end of this intercom and translate effectively to enter the building.

To my credit, within minutes I am floundering inside an elevator up to the reception area.  It's a beautiful old Victorian building, circa 1920's maybe.  The red tiled floors, the granite walls, the interior courtyard, all of it was impressive to my simple, country girl's eyes.  And then there was Andres, the reception clerk.   My first impression was, Wow!  He was handsome, tall, tattooed, tough and had every impression of the sarcastic, bad boy type I melt for.  I knew right away I was in trouble.  Instead of greeting me with a professional hello, he says, "What's in the box?"  I was shocked he spoke such good English.  I respond in my best Spanish and he then says, "A bicycle!  What are you planning to do?  Ride to Ushuaia on that thing!?"   He laughs, checks me out and then begins helping me arrange my accommodations.  It was love at first site.
I checked into my room which was a shared dorm room with three other beds.  No one was in them at the moment, so I crawled up into a ball on my bed and began to cry.  I sobbed quietly for about 20 minutes.  I was exhausted and so frightened.  I had never done anything like this before.  I needed to eat something but I was so terrified to go back out into that noise.  I needed to shower, but I was scared to get up and be seen by the other travelers.  If they saw me, they'd know right away I was a fake.  I was 'green'.  They'd laugh when I told them my plans to ride to Mendoza.  I'd never make one friend here the whole time I was here.  I just wanted to go back home.

Once all that baby shit got out of my system, I got up, showered, put my bike together, and made my first friend.  Phil Bates.  He was an Englishman traveling the world.  He was 6 mths in.  He'd been here at this Hostel now for a few weeks.  Andres was his friend.  He'd take me to the Disco, a grocery store a few blocks away.  That night, I went out for drinks with a few other fellow travelers.  I met Erica, St. John, Will, Megan (another woman from California), Carlos, Frank, David, Florencia and of course, got to know Andres a little better.

Within a few days I had the City all mapped out.  I had taken my bike to a local bike shop to ensure I put it back together correctly (I hadn't).  Then I rode all over the City on bicycle and in bus.  I got a local guide for the bus and would take trips to the end of the lines of each of the buses (or collectivos) that passed by Hostel Recoleta.  Turns out, this hostel was located in the prime tourist section of the City.  It was close to all the main attractions.

I met a good friend, who, to this day, will always remain dear to me: Cristian Barrionuevo.  He worked the ticket counter at one of the bus companies I took out to either Bariloche or Mendoza.  He was studying English and was fascinated by me and I, as well, was fascinated with him.  We'd meet for un cafe or stroll along in Parque San Martin discussing everything from the seasons in the northern hemisphere to why Argentina seems to not have any "indigenous" cultures remaining.  

The third week I took a bus up to Bariloche to meet up with my girlfriend from San Luis Obispo, CA, who had decided to come down and meet me and take a one week intensive course with me.  The bus ride to Bariloche was over 30 hours.  It passed through the heart of Argentina, which is mostly flat, low, lying agricultural estates, known as La Pampa.  And the estates are called estancias.  Many tourists go to estancias to stay and learn about the history and culture of the 'gaucho' the Argentine cowboy.  Bariloche is like Lake Tahoe or Lake Geneva.  It's a small mountain resort town nestled in the mountains with stunning alpine lakes and beautiful vistas.  I believe it was settled originally by lot's of the Germans fleeing World War II.  So it definitely has a Swiss/German Alps kind of feel to it.

We stayed in the lovely hotel run by a fiery Lithuanian woman just a few km's from our school.  We were in class for 6 hours a day.  Which didn't leave too much time for sight-seeing.  But every afternoon, Natasha and I would venture out to see a new area.  She had rented a car; so we were able to go pretty far.  We met this guy Steve, from some place in New England, who was taking the class as a break between fishing trips.  He was your quintessential "outdoorsy" single guy.  He fell in love with Natasha right away (as do most everyone who meets her).

And, I will only give you a tiny teaser about my week in Mendoza.  I did ride my bike around the wine country and I camped.  And I met a wonderful young man, Juan Marcos Gueverra; the bee-keeper.  He'll appear in my next post, as will the handsome NOLS instructor, Juan Carlos.  No, not every post is about charming Argentinean men.  Although, Argentina is full of charming young men and women, that's for certain.  

I guess, what this post is trying to portray is that, even when you feel most out of sorts, most disconnected from you center, your soul, your heart, you can find your way if you let go of your fears and embrace your now.  I know that when I was crying on my bed in Hostel Recoleta, I was just letting it all flow out of me.  At the time I characterized it as fear.  But as I look back on it now, I see how brave I was, I see how there really wasn't anything to be frighten of and that everything was there for me to learn from, to experience and to express love through and for. 

If I had placed up a barrier around me, I might not have stayed up till dawn one night with my new friends watching the sun come up over the city. I might not have made friends with Erica, with whom now, even though she lives in the UK and we've not seen each other in five years, I know I'd be able to sit right down with her and start the conversation where we left it. I know that if I had placed that barrier, my whole life, as it is now, would be a little different. Like, for instance, I may have never met Martin, married him and had Ziggy. I mean, it's just amazing to look back on life and see just how wonderful it is. Why, oh why do I have such a hard time recognizing it's beauty in the very moment? 

Arrival at Ezeiza, Buenos Aires, Argentina ~ November 3rd, 2004

It's always been this way with me.  A whim....  A fantasy..... A dream....

I get this whim and there I go.  It was like that when I applied to university.  It was like that when I moved out to Lake Tahoe.  It was like that when I moved to San Luis Obispo.  And now, it was definitely feeling like it as I sat, restlessly, in the La Guardia Airport awaiting my flight to Buenos Aires, Argentina.

Yet, quite honestly, I am not like the Fool in a Tarot deck , who leaps before he looks.  I actually relish  pre-trip planning.  It has always brought me much satisfaction.

I mean, it wasn't like I had no idea where I was going... I spent months researching various locations according to my World Points Rewards destinations.  I knew that I wanted to go some place warm, some place I could improve my Spanish and some place where the infrastructure wasn't too alarming for a 'gringa' like me.  After much deliberation, I chose Argentina.  Ironically, it worked out quite well for me financially, because historically Argentina was always more expensive than Chile, but due to the "Crisis" in the late 1990's, Argentina became much more affordable for the international traveler; and I would soon discover, that there was a kind of unique 'renasance' occurring organically in a country with such cultivation and appreciation of the 'new' and 'beautiful'.

On the flight, I sat next to an Argentinean woman who lived in Buenos Aires, but traveled frequently between there and the US.  She was remarried, living outside the vast capital city of 13 million, and had a daughter, approximately my age (much younger) who was attending the Universidad de Buenos Aires (UBA) as an engineer.  We had an engaging conversation until I divulged my plans to essentially assemble my road bike in the Ezezia Airport and ride into the city.  She vehemently opposed.  She said, that, God-forbid should I be her daughter and she was my mother, she'd only hoped that some woman would do the same for her daughter.  She insisted that I accompany her and that her husband would then take me into the city to find my hostel.

There I was, inside a very small, foreign car (sorry, guys, I don't know the make of the freakin' car!!) but it was like a Fiat or Seat.....anyway, there I was, my HUGE bicycle box and I sardined into the back of the car with them squabbling in (what at the time, to me, was a completely foreign language).  Then at times, they'd look back over their shoulder to engage me, "Jill, there is the blah, blah, blah" or "Jill, where is your hostel again?"  and, my favorite, "Jill, why did American re-elect George Bush?"

So, at their 'quinto' which means, 'house outside the city' they gave me an 'alfajor' (small chocolate cake-like treat...think Little Debbie Cakes) and a Coke.  Then, her husband took me into the city.  It was strange to drive into a city so grand, so busy, so beautiful.  There were these amazing avenues lined with trees and tall buildings with architecture similar to France or Italy.  I admit, I had never seen anything like it.  Upon reaching the hostel I had registered for, we discovered that it, in fact, no longer existed.  (This apparently was common in the new era of international tourism here).  We rang and rang the bell without luck.  So, I picked the second hostel in my guide and they had a room available.  We drove over there and with that very move, that very, variable in time, that very alteration in my plan, my entire life changed.

Impermance

This word has been on my mind lately.  And then I "Googled" it.  First of all, let me state that I just love that we as a nation have turned a company name into a verb.  Here in America, that sort of shit happens all the time and it truly defines "American" ingenuity and culture to a great extent.  I am in favor of it, in many cases.


So, impermanence....well, Webster's will say that it is the state of being impermanent.  Not so helpful.  But it gives a host of wonderful synonyms that I just simply fell in love immediately.  Ones like: ephemerality, evanescence,  fleetingness, and transience.  Wow!  I had no idea.  I mean, I had an idea, but it was so tempered and restricted by my cultural upbringing and education.  But these words together, afford a new perspective on the word impermanence entirely.  I get giddy thinking how might I include such words in my every day language.


"Oh, excuse me; I was caught in a state of fleetingness and did not realize I cut your off in traffic."  "My evanescence simply does not allow me to hear your complaints at this time."  

Life, as we know it, could really all be very much imagined.  In our heads.  The "tapes" that replay over and over.  Much of what we experience isn't real in the sense that it's actually happening; most of it; is a result of what we perceive and project.   We're so busy with the mind and the voices, judgments and fears in our heads that we are not actually living in the very moment of now.... And that, is our disconnection with our state of impermanence.   


Why Impermanence, you might ask...?  Well, gosh, do I have to be so blunt?  Is it just me, or is life a daily experiment in how we relate and react or respond to impermanence?  The very nature of day turning to night and then back to day is a constant reminder that our world is in flux.  As I write this blog, we are coming towards the Autumn Equinox; the time when days become shorter and shorter until we reach the shortest day of the year.  Then suddenly, everything changes again, and it becomes Spring and a new cycle of life, day after day repeats itself. 


I was thinking about the impermanence of Facebook and what an ironically indelible manifestation it has created in our society.  We post things, that, for that moment in time seem so important, yet, as days, even now, seconds pass by, the prominent passage we've interjected into the flow of information, which seemed so necessary, so obvious, soon disappears into the vast "older posts" dominion of cyber-life.  It's lost in the cyber-river of information on the web; which in itself, is an ephemeral world we rely upon for connection to others; ironically instead of interacting with others face to face.  My goodness sakes, my mind is spinning!


For, just four months ago I was lamenting on the oppression I felt from one individual, but, today, I can proclaim that I miraculously find peace and solitude in the "what is". The impermanence of life eludes us daily, yet becomes so evident in a historical context.


I am taking yet another fantastic class with the Ventura Center for Spiritual Living.  This one is called, Foundations, and it's really about the foundation of the development behind Science of Mind (SOM); how it was formed, and the core set of principles and beliefs.   I was reading one excerpt from a Reverend Christian Sorensen, D.D. (and I apologize for not knowing who Mr. Sorensen is or what D.D. means....); however, he was speaking in regards to grace.  And, again, the focus in SOM is on what is, not what one perceives.   


"To rest in Spirit, one's desires vanish and needs disappear because every need was met before becoming aware of it.  Living by grace allows Spirit to express to it fullness.  In this pure state of being, prayers are no longer for something, because that means there is a desire.  Prayers become simply listening; this allows the power of the God-thought through.  Of course it's the "I" who first starts the listening but that "I" dissolves into the Wholeness and the prayer becomes a Divine Proclamation. This graceful approach lets in the warmth, color and love of God's kingdom made manifest as your life."   

I spent a lot of time in my life wishing for things and then lamenting when they didn't manifest.  I am realizing that once you put a label on it; once you attach yourself and all your desires, judgments, etc. to it, you limit it, you bog it down and it has a hard time manifesting because it wasn't set free to be what the Universe knows it to be.  The way to peace is the way of impermanence because you release all expectations, doubts, fears, etc.. and just allow yourself to be, in this very present moment, that is, for only this moment and then it's gone but the beauty of it all is that a new moment is always there for us....


The way of the Buddha will talk about 'impermanence' as "an undeniable and inescapable fact of human existence from which nothing that belongs to this earth is ever free".  I don't think they mean we are eternally damned to this life as it is.  I think they mean that our desires and human tendencies trap us into our "constructed" reality.  When we free ourselves from those desires, we become, like a true enlightened Buddha, free from the entanglements of life as we (us humans) know it.   Pema Chodron would say it was the Ego.  The ego, according to her, is the root of all suffering, because it will try to narrow down definitions of our thoughts so that it can control them; thereby controlling our actions, thereby securing it's own future.   


I remember when I read Siddhartha for the first time. What struck me most from that story, was when the Buddha was sitting near the river and he noticed how the water moved by so quickly and that it never was really ever "there".  There was a constant impermanence to the river, just as there was to time, and therefore we too are impermanent.  If there was no time, then there must be no suffering.  If there was no suffering, then there must only be joy.  I think that is sort of how it went.   I am still a little confused on the simplistic thinking that if there is only impermanence, then there is no suffering and therefore only joy... I mean, we experience pain and suffering...don't we?  Isn't it real when it is happening?  If we lose a loved one, can you really say that the pain you feel from that loss isn't real? 


I guess, what it may come down to this: the Universe holds Everything.  In It there is joy and suffering, loss and gain, plenitude and lack, love and hate, etc.   We, as beings, conscious of our existence, get to choose what we want to feel and therefore express in our lives.  It's that choice that makes the idea of impermanence so fertile.  We get to create, moment by moment, the life we chose.  What a blessing that is.  Whoever gave us that gift should be praised, no?  


I'm not saying, run out and scream "Lord Jesus, you are my Savior!" for that really has no relevance in this discussion. (and personally that gives me a whole host of unpleasant reactions, none the least, require inter-venal injections of heavy doses of wine). 

What I am saying, however, is that, we, as humans, on this planet, have been blessed with so much.  Natural resources provide for us; space and time allow us to experience and access those natural resources; we have opportunities to interact with other beings with which we can love, create with and learn from.  


We, by no means, are a perfect civilization; however, we do have one thing that unites us, and that is that we are human, here on this planet, with Spiritual natures or tendencies.  We could try, perhaps, to find the commonalities vs. looking only at the differences.  Starting with our own intimate relationships, we may just be able to transform our very communities and thereby transform something grander.  It's just an idea, right?  But, seriously folks, what else do we really have?  

Isn't he gorgeous!?

So, finally, a quick shout out to my ex-husband, who after many months of being, what I would publicly say, difficult, has turned quite radically into the person I fell in love with over 4 years ago.  And that's not to say "it was all his fault alone".  No, I had a grand hand in the storm we created.  It's as if the tragedy we passed through has allowed us to rediscover our true selves again. Amidst the rubble of our past suffering, we've found that in the present moment, there is a lot of love. And, Ziggy, our dear son teaches us the value of impermanence every day.  

And this I've learned: no need to cry anymore over spilled milk. It's time to move on....time is, after all, moving on too..... Tick-tock, tick-tock.....

Prompts

I took a class a few months back, (ok, the guy had bad hair, but he has good ideas) in which he speaks of "prompts" as one tool used to change behaviors. The theory is based on psychological evidence which show that prompts repeated over and over for a certain period of time, help people change their behavior. As an environmental educator and policy maker for over 15 years, I've often struggled with how to actually enact a change in behavior in people that I am educating.

It's not easy. Take recycling for example. It's a rather accepted social behavior success story. They established a need, they provided a tool for citizens to utilize and then they profited by the success of the invention. For instance, a study conducted in 2007, shows that 3/4 of US residents Do recycle, but that does leave 1/4 who Do not. More than 25% of US Americans DO NOT participate, in some way to the recycling process in any means definable, such as: recycling, observance of simple marketing campaigns, requesting a change in service and most importantly, initiating a change in behavior; i.e. recycling everywhere and anywhere possible.

It's a widely held belief that recycling is one of social behavior modification programs which is fairly successful.  Yet, prompts only work to a certain extent in changing behaviors.  That is why social marketing uses many other tools, such as peer pressure, targeted multimedia campaigns, among others.

So, to focus on me (because, after all, it is all about me) I was noticing, that after having moved into my home recently, that I am always reaching for the light switch and I find it's not where I reach. It's on the opposite side of the doorway. And, I was caught by the idea that each time I reached for a light switch, it was, essentially, a "prompt". One thing that became apparent to me quite immediately, is that I am essentially re-training myself to find the light switch. And, I admit, that I become irate when I reach for it and it isn't there. Especially when I am rushed. Hmmmm......Is there a metaphor here??

As I move from room to room, what I notice is a almost unconscious reaction to reach for a certain direction and/or position for the light switch. I find this particularly interesting because I am in such a period of self reflection right now and wanting to change certain learned behaviors. I haven't spent much effort on "prompting" myself in this endeavor and it made me think, that just as it will take time and repetition to change my behavior to adapt to my new environment, it will take time and repetition to change myself.

I remember arguing with my ex about where to place the light switch for the bathroom in our old place based on visitor comfort and his need/opinion. In the end, we settled with a solution that made little sense to the user of the bathroom, but that made perfect sense to the "man" installing the electricity. And every time I would turn on the switch I'd think of that argument. Weird, huh?

Now, in my new home, when I reach for the light switch and find it's on the other side, I often think of how sad I am to be alone, in a different home; I remember the arguments and I remember the darn light switch in my old house. Funny how the subconscious tenaciously holds onto those sad memories.

Ah, but there is one marvelous aspect to this whole thing: you! Or me, or I, me, myself, you, yourself....the fact that we are our own minds, hearts, spirits and individual selves means we have a choice in how we react. Or better, yet, how we respond. I can chose not to think of the sad memories! I can chose to say a little prayer and count my blessings each time I can't find that darn switch. And it can be done in so many other ways...not just the light switches, but the person who cuts you off while driving, the parking space you didn't get, the broken finger nail, the stubbed toe, the bill that you forgot to pay, the fee that you owe, the friend who didn't call, the boss who was brusque.....They are all 'prompts' and they are offering you a choice. Aren't they so friendly and kind?

When I find myself reacting I am going to try and remember to respond. A conditioned response is so much more graceful and poised. Sure, I won't catch myself every time. It's not about perfection. It's the journey towards perfection that makes life worth living.

Maybe, I can use my new home environment as an experiment in a way to teach myself to speak kindly every time I reach for the wrong side of the doorway; maybe I can use it as a reminder of what is good in my life, versus focusing on what I sense that I lack.  I've been so blessed in this life. Even with the loss and the trauma, I've discovered diamonds in the rough stuff of life. I've rediscovered the beauty not only in myself, but also in the dark corners of unknown territories; as I get close to those places, the view opens up, the light shines bright and I see that things are not as scary as I had first presumed.

Adrenaline ~ It Can be a Positive Amendment to our Spiritual Gardens

Adrenaline ~ a hormone excreted by the adrenal glands to enable the human body to cope with physical and emotional stress.  It's used in literature often to describe a "rush" or "excitement" in moments of great sensation and ardor.  Maybe you've heard a story or two where someone, exposed to a great circumstance, is able to lift heavy objects, carry unbelievably heavy loads and/or survive extreme conditions.

In psychological contexts, adrenaline could be associated with the "flight or fight" responses we have to extreme events in our lives; a natural response is fear.  Fear, according to some scientific studies actually only lasts as a physical reaction within the body for several seconds.

After that, it's our mind that takes over and replays the scenario again and again.  It's at the very moment when the physical response to whatever caused the fear to rise, or the adrenaline to rush, subsides, that we, as conscious human beings can make a choice.  Do you choose to respond proactively to fear or do you hide from it?  Do you react in defensiveness or anger?  Do you suppress it?   Do you even feel it or are you so bugged out on medications that you cannot sense it?

Long-term exposure to stress will eventually erode away one's self esteem, and their physical and mental agility.  It can even change our breathing patterns, thus altering our internal chemistry due to rapid, shallow or irregular breathing.  Long-term exposure to stress can kill us. 

It's like when you are totally stressed out, running from something, running towards something and like, for instance, when you lose your phone, your keys or drop something heavy on your piggy toe.  You push on forward; you don't even realize the loss or the pain until moments, maybe hours or even days later.  The physical sensation has long gone, but the emotional and mental connection may be difficult to release.

I've been thinking about fear lately not because anything bad just happened, but because something miraculous has happened.  And try as I might to let myself go with the flow and follow the energy and light of the divine spirit that works in all of our lives, I feel the tendency to tread backwards, towards the waters of fear and defensiveness.  The difference between setting a loving boundary for myself and being fearful and reactionary to everyday stress isn't quite clear.    

When I left my ex out of fear that my son and me were in danger, the physical reaction to that fear lasted just a few days, at minimum.  But in reality what stuck with me was a mental replaying of the experience.  I mean, dreams, white knuckle-gripped hands on the steering wheel, tense jaw and clenched teeth, panic attacks, sleepless nights.... the works.  It toyed with my physical, mental, spiritual and emotional stability.

Using this energy or emotional response to my advantage is something I totally want to cultivate.  Is it like cultivating a garden?  Planting the seeds, weeding, tilling and tending the soil?  If I allow the response to overpower me and disconnect me from my authentic self, then maybe it is as if I've allowed my spiritual garden to go fallow.  And nobody likes a neglected vacant lot.  Hmmmm.....interesting analogy....

Writer's Block....

I am sure it happens to every writer.  The moment when there is nothing more that pours out of you like water over a falls.  Inspiration seems to have run dry.  Desperate, you begin to think of ways to become witty, lively, inspiring in the mundane.  And honestly, I do not have anything to give to you tonight.

First off, I've had some rather weird interactions lately that have captivated my attention.

One being, that I contacted the person with whom I lost my virginity.  I sent the letter on a Monday and received a call on a Friday.  He was apologetic and kind.  He said he had always followed me secretly via the internet but never contacted me. He said I had always occupied a special place in his heart.  Honestly, the conversation went 4 billion times better than I had imagined it would.  I mean, after all these years, I supposed he didn't even remember me.  But he did.

I remember the night.  I remember the entire experience.  Afterward, I totally felt used, abandoned and lost.  Gosh, I wonder why?  It's not my parents fault that I felt this way, but because they divorced and didn't really talk to me about it, I think I was left with the impression that I was somehow, less than, not worthy, discard-able....and his behavior after the big event was reflective of this assumption.   But then he talked about how he had regrets for his behavior.  How he had always felt I was someone with "spirit".  I was filled with a sense of joy, validation and acceptance.

Or, how about how my ex has asked to "have a date"?  I mean, shit, three months ago, I would have jumped at the chance to return to him.  Six months ago, I would have called the police for an escort.  But now I am a little skeptical and confused.  I mean, yes, I do want the family and the love and the companionship, but do I need to battle the insecurities, the judgments, and the cycle of abuse?  I mean, is it worth it?

So often when I think I have nothing of value to say, contribute, or share, I find that if I quiet myself and simply "feel" I am very much vocal about what is going on in the world around me.  Lately, I've taken to carrying around my "mala beads" with me.  Especially when I walk or drive.  I can breathe and touch one bead after another affirming that which needs to be affirmed.  It helps me remember who I really am.  What values, principles, and qualities I have that are worthy and not easily discarded.

So, with so much emptiness and vagueness in my soul tonight, feeling as though I had nothing to share, I see that deep within me there is still so much aching to come out and see the light of day. 

I am grateful for recent experiences and exchanges that have left me to realize that the world is a very open place without limitations.  We place those limits by what we believe, what we have been taught and what others have pressured us to accept as the truth.  The only truth is that which is inside of you.  So, maybe this block was not a stopping point, not a road block, but simply a stop light, a delightful detour, a moment in the day to simple be with what is and accept it as such.