I am Not a Yoga Teacher

What a frigging relief.

I don't have to live up to self imposed unattainable standards. I'm my own worst nightmare. 

You know what I always wanted to do? Write. Just write. And that's what I'm going to do. Get back to basics.

I was brought up athletic and I love to play sports, but somehow, with teaching and considering myself a role model, I've lost my love. I've lost what I want to do. I'm just a shell.

I used to be somebody. Then I was nobody. And now, maybe, I can be who I really am - just simply me, no strings attached.

That's my New Year's Intention. To be me. To open my mind to the Light. To let the Light shine through the me. That's it. Awareness. Clarity. Simplicity. Get back to basics. 

First and foremost I'm a mother of a two year old. I'm a stay at home mum. I'm tired of feeling that being a mother is in the way of what I really should be doing. I am what I am. Not more, not less. And I'm telling myself, not you. I'm explaining something very simple to myself. 

It's been painful to lose the person I thought I was. To lose the Somebody part of me. I didn't want to give it up. And I've been so miserable maintaining a façade of Somebody. Underneath there was a deep fear I was Nobody. And that's kept me trapped between fear and struggling to revive the shadow of a used to be. Much worse than a Somebody. Just a used to be. 

And I know this is a struggle going on in my mind. I'd be labelled mad, for sure, if anyone could hear what was going on. 

Anyway, one step at a time. To begin with, I am not a yoga teacher. 

15 Minutes to Live - Post One

Good god, but I whine a lot and never give enough thanks for what I have.

It's the 'core story' of my life. You are just not good enough, and it's on a friggin' repeat button. Awareness and the laser light of  'truth' are the only tools to bring to this, and with 15 minutes to live, I see I don't have time to keep putting off my ultimate union with what is.

(I sit and breathe and honestly, if I had 14 minutes to live, I wouldn't write anything, I would only sit in conscious meditation.)

But I guess, if I had to write, and I am, then I just want to say 'wake the fuck up'. You are all so drowned out by your internal noise you can't see the reality sitting right there with you and holy crapola, you are your own suffering.  Jumping jumping from one form of entertainment to another without a pause in any of it to appreciate what you've got in this very moment.

here, now, is all there is.. and with a very soft breathe, and soft awareness, you can flower, in this instant into Life.

I have ten minutes to live.

I don't have final words to say to anyone. I've already said what I had to say in the moment. I don't wish anything different than it was.

It's raining. I'd like to go down stairs and feel the rain on my skin and drench through my clothes and laugh in these last minutes. I would not write.

But... again, since I am writing, and committed,  and pledged... the story that must come out is:

such a deep sadness creeping over my skin and penetrating into my flesh. Again, it is your blindness that suffocates me. I know it can not be another way. I know that what is, is, and if it could be different, it would, and there is nothing 'wrong' apart from my understanding, and yet, I feel such sadness when I see the hunched  shoulders of people walking with heavy thoughts, as if their thoughts were all that they were.

I feel crushed when I see the lines of worry on people's faces, the fear they carry in their bodies.. and I if I had more time, perhaps I'd work harder at bridging that distance between you're fear and the reality of your inner self that is pure radiant life in all its glory.

Prisoners, walking in the cages of our minds. Nothing more, nothing less.

I have two minutes to live.

There is white light, a pillar of grace within each of us that connects us to every thing in the known and unknown universe. Your body knows it. The only one who doesn't, is your mind.  If you pause, for just a moment, and just breathe, and feel, and be very soft and innocently curious, you'll feel it. Life, in you - and once you know that, you know everything.

I'm dead. The fifteen minutes are up.

Photo: Tiffany Jones (Detail from Jett's drawing of me falling into a deep pit some years ago)

Bringing Consciousness Into the Every Day - Practical Experience

Ok, so we all feel great after a meditation and within a controlled environment.  What happens to our awareness on the field.  When we are placed in situations that have always tested our patience?

Yesterday I went to pick up some groceries from a local co-op. It's a small organic and free trade place.  There were two men behind the counter and one woman being served.   I glanced at the clock.   It took them 7 minutes to attend to me.

The Seven Minutes:  during those minutes I experienced what I always experience in these situations. Frustration,      anger, intolerance, judgement. I felt my body go hot and cold and tingling under my arms from the sensation of pure injustice.

The Difference:  I allowed the sensations. I let them come in. I watched them. I did feel a resistance to them. But I also allowed that.  I had a sensation of guilt (how can I feel so negatively after such a beautifully spiritual morning), but I allowed that too.  And the body moved and changed and the feelings came and went and I watched and stood firmer in awareness than ever before.

Every judgement that came up I felt my initial resistance to feeling negative emotions, and then I deeply allowed and let it go out of the system.  The mind didn't hold on. It truly came and went like clouds passing.  But the awareness, or the clarity of the vast sky remained.

And I walked home, and all traces of the 7 minutes of emotion dropped away.  There was no energetic imprint. It was gone.  There was no repercussion.

No guilt, no 'should', no resistance. Just awareness, accepting and deep watching. One moment at a time.

Adya  reminds us that this is not the 'final place' to rest. But it is the foundation.  The first part was touching upon Awareness itself. The second part was consciously spending more time with it. The third part is bringing it outside of the controlled environments and meditation practice and into real life situations.




Photo: Tiffany Jones Granollers

Just the Perceiver and not the Perceived

I'd been chasing the 'one' experience for twenty years. It had changed my life and turned me from rebellious late teenager into spiritual seeker. I wanted to find that experience again, when it was all so easy. When I was swept away into the eternal. 


And then, just a couple of months back, I sat on my sofa and looked out across the park.  I love the sun. I love light. I let my eyes rest upon the brightness of the sky and it began to shift. The light moved towards me in particles, I could feel its motion, I could see its emanation. 


The light entered into my eye and into my flesh and it was the same as me, just a different expression of me. It merged into my being. It was my body. I followed it further, deeper into my eye and mind until it hit - the One who was aware. Then there was stillness and I began to feel wetness stream from my eyes. 


I was not that which I looked at. I was not that which I perceived. I was not that experience I so longed for. I was nothing. I was all things. I was life itself. I was tiny particles/cells of energy or conscious energy interacting with myself.  


The question became 'How to live life from the awareness of Oneness'. How to embody transcendence?

Stopping the Chase

On Sunday I experienced a shift in awareness that bought on migraines and  pain in my upper back. All I know what to do is move the body. The only message I am getting is to practice asanas more and do the chi ball exercise daily.  Remain for longer and longer periods in full Awareness.

My mind wants to know 'and what next', and all I get is 'dwell in Presence'.  Full stop.

(As a side note, my computer screen is playing up (I can only see two thirds of it), my space bar is stuck and I need to strike it heavily to create a 'space' and the sound connected to the speakers is fading in and out.   Seems typical, yes?  Also some of my English students have decided to take yoga with me next week. When the teacher is ready, the students appear. )



Photo: Tiffany Jones Tossa del Mar

My First Meeting with Amma - A Personal Story

The first time I went to see Amma I received darshan, the hug. This is an incredibly personal thing, so everyone feels something different. This is my story only.

Amma hugged me, and it was as if time stopped. I was in ‘space’. It was like a vacuum, and it was deep inside of ‘me’, where ever that was. Deeper than I have ever consciously been before. It was black. It was quiet. It was still. It was alive.

And this tiny sensation (everything happened in sensation, not in words, so its not the same as what actually happened) began to resound through the space, outward in waves.

And it hit upon something I didn’t know existed.

I was pulled away from Amma, and she smiled into my eyes and a sweet was pressed into my hand and I mechanically picked up my bag and walked to the back of the large hall with tears streaming down my face.

Then I remembered that she was soft. That she hugged with no reserve in her body. She had no fear. And she whispered ‘cara mia’ over and over in my ear.

I sat in a daze for about 40 minutes and every time I went into the moment of ‘space’ I had a sensation of falling and pulsations racing through my body that made me tremble with fear. In her embrace, I felt freedom. You think that when freedom is offered to you, you’d leap at it. But I didn’t. I trembled and hesitated and realized I wasn’t sure if I wanted what she had to offer.

In her embrace, in the depth of my being as I knew it, Amma revealed to me that I was loved. It sounds ridiculous. But it was freedom. Terrifying freedom. And all of the things that I had not done, that I had not fulfilled, were based on the illusion that I was not loved, and my reaction to this feeling.

If I was loved to the depth of my being, then there was nothing to stop me.

That was my first meeting with Amma in 2009. 

Jain Sutras

I saw a golden city ablaze with light in my vision. Two years later I was in Jaisalmer (the Golden City) in a Jain temple and the presence of the place cut through my judgmental mind.  I have a soft spot for the Jains. I'm reading the Jain Sutras now, here at Sacred Texts.

May 2010 - The Way of St James

The Way of St James/Camino de Santiago

Departure for the Camino de Santiago: We leave on the 1^st of May, and are back in Granollers on the 26^th of May 2010

Our Route: 

For a larger version of this map, click this link.   We're starting from Lagrono. Its the most famous of all of the routes, otherwise called 'The French Way'

Back packs: We have two back packs, and they will be filled with the bare essentials. We are travelling with only one change of cloths. I won’t even take any make-up! Imagine. I did think about taking two pairs of shoes, so I could swap them during the day and hopefully avoid some of the foot problems others have expressed, but I changed my mind and decided to put up with what ever discomfort was coming my way.

Basic Information: One of the best links explaining about the Way of St James is from the Santiago de Compostela Website.  It holds most of what you’ll need to know about the trip.

What about Jett?: We were going to take the trip in July when Jett (my ten year old) would be in Norway with father, however, we discovered that this year was an important year for The Walk. St James day (July 25^th) falls on a Sunday, and its considered a Holy Year.  The next Holy Year won’t be for another 11 years.

Considering authorities expect about 200 000 visitors this year, we decided to leave during May. We’ve been very fortunate in having Jett’s Norwegian Grandparents come to stay with him for half the time, and his Spanish grandparents to take care of him the second half of the time. Its an exciting time for all of us.  

Personal Reasons for the Pilgrimage: On a basic level, I’ve wanted to walk and walk and walk and not turn back, for a long time. I guess it started when I was a child and packed up a small back and thought the enormous thought of ‘if I just took my bag, and kept walking, what would happen?’

In some ways, its an escape from the day to day demands.

In some ways, it fulfils a deep yearning to be in constant connection with the earth under my feet. To watch the landscape slowly undulate before my eyes.

Somebody said that we were crazy spending our holidays of the year ‘doing something’ rather than just having a ‘nice time’.  Well. I guess ‘nice’ is relative.

I first hear of the Way of St James about two years ago. It was a program on the TV. It looked really interesting, and I turned to Albert and said ‘we should do that one day’.   I didn’t expect the ‘one day’ to be so soon, but, for some reason or other, we have put Egypt, Morocco, Canada and Mexico on hold and have decided to traverse the Way.

In the past two weeks, I’ve been inundated with images of stars, crosses and solar circles. I see them in my dreams, I see them walking down the street, and today, I read for the first time, that the name of the place we are going to ‘Santiago de Compostela’ actually means:

"Folk etymology for the name "Compostela" is that it comes from the Latin "Campus Stellae" (i.e., Field of Stars), but it is unlikely such a phonetic evolution takes account of normal evolution from Latin to Galician-Portuguese. A more probable etymology relates the word with Latin "compositum", and local Vulgar Latin "Composita Tella", meaning "burial ground" as a euphemism. Many other places through Galicia share this toponym (with identical sense) and there even exists a "Compostilla" in the León province."  Wiki quote, but verified on several other prominent websites 

However, by all accounts, the pre Christian route to the Atlantic was dubbed ‘the Milky Way’, and follows a path to the ‘end of the world’.  Finisterrae (literally the end of the world or Land's End in Latin)

At the end of the world, or when meeting the ‘dying city of Atlantis’ (Atlantic Ocean), one sees a great ocean of lost souls. In a way, the stars leading to the end of the world and a great burial mound is all kind of linked up anyway.

I’m connected to Ishtar, Inanna and Asherah – Goddess of old who seem to be calling people from all across the world, and their symbols have been found along the pilgrims path. Stars within circles and scallop shells. 

What ever the case, what ever symbols or stories resonate for you, I’m sure we’re going to have a wonder filled trip, blisters and all.


If you are interested in seeing some of the photos along the way (posted via mobile) take a look at my Life in Catalunya blog.  Have a great May everyone - and see/hear from you when we get back. 

Photo: Albert Vila

Rabbi Rami Shapiro - Q&A at 59

I read this today, and I think its well worth passing on. The link to Rabbi Rami's blog is in the title - 

Q & A at 59

I turned 59 this past Monday. By coincidence (if you believe in coincidence) I received an email from a student who needed to interview a clergy person for a final class paper. He had come across me somewhere and thought I might fit the bill. I thought you might like to read our brief exchange.


What has been your primary goal since becoming a rabbi?


I entered seminary to find God and change religion. I believed and still believe that God is the source and substance of all reality. God is not a being or supreme being, but be-ing itself. To realize God is to realize our connection with and responsibility toward all life. The more you know God the more you become a vehicle for compassion and justice. I wanted to know this God and to make Judaism a means for knowing this and becoming this vehicle.

Did you do it?


I continue to know God, but to change Judaism—no. At this I have failed, and my rabbinate is a failure.

Does it bother you to have wasted your life in this way?


I said I was a failure not that I have wasted my life. To fail means that I first had to try. To waste a life is never to bother living it in the first place. I lived. I continue to live, and I continue to do the only thing I know how to do: I write, and I talk. I write and talk to change minds and hearts and institutions. Perhaps I have changed some minds and heats, but the institution is the same. Failure, yes. Life waster, no.

If you had succeeded in changing the institution what would it look like?


There is no one way to be Jewish even as I envision Judaism. But I would say we would root Judaism in two principles: teshuvah and tikkun: returning to our true nature as God (teshuvah) and repairing the world with godliness (tikkun). This places compassion and justice at the heart of Judaism. Jews would choose which traditions to follow or amend or invent based on a single question: will this make me more just and compassionate? If the answer is yes, then the tradition demands your loyalty. If the answer is no, then it makes no demands on you at all. Every Jew and every synagogue would be unique, but all would be responding to this question. What would unite us would not be shared answers, but a shared question.

If you have failed, what will you do now?


The only thing I know how to do: write and talk.

And if you continue to fail?


I fully expect to fail. But better to fail than not to act.

Doesn’t it ever occur to you to quit?


Of course. Everyday I sit and read newspapers and websites, and watch the news on television, and I think for a moment about abandoning the madness that is religion. Then my anger and frustration translate into yet another book or talk and I go on. I have no idea why this happens, but I cannot ignore it when it does.

You do a lot with interfaith work. Is this more promising that working within one religion?


No. My work in interfaith is to suggest that religions are like the blind men and the elephant: each has a piece of the puzzle but none knows it as a whole. While I admire those who work toward interreligious understanding and peace, I am not among them. I study and teach religion to reveal the existential heart of religion: the realization that we are mortal. Then I focus on those teachers and teachings that help us live with dying, rather than those who promise us some way to escape from dying: Jesus in the Gospel of Thomas, Buddha before he was made into a god, Ramana Maharshi, Hillel, Rumi, Ramakrishna, Martin Buber, Paul Tillich, Erich Fromm, Aldous Huxley, Alan Watts, Krishnamurti, Toni Packer, to name a few off the top of my head.

Do you write and talk differently now than, say, 25 years ago?


Yes, I write and talk more fiercely. I have less patience for niceties and political correctness. I used to care about what other’s thought of what I wrote and said. And while I still notice this, it no longer shapes my writing or my speaking.

I read once that you say rabbis have a choice between being prophets or clerks, and that most are clerks. Which are you?


I didn’t say that, I was quoting someone else. But I do believe it. Which am I? Only others can say; and only after I’m dead. Hopefully you will be around to ask those who survive me.

The Symbolism of St Jordi.

Before we begin, we need to understand that there are quite a number of stories surrounding St George, Sant Jordi and what ever other name he is known by. I am living in Catalonia, so, from here on in, he will be known as Sant Jordi.

Most of us know that Sant Jordi drew a sword and killed a dragon, thus saving a fair maiden, or princess. In some of the stories, a rose arises from the blood dripping from the knife. Ohhh, the symbolism in this moment is too good to be true.

Here is the wiki story for Saint George, and here is the typical Catalan story of Sant Jordi.

The dragon, or the snake,  is a rich symbol of darkness, caves, the occult knowledge and the feminine. It is a prevalent symbol in many cultures denoting good luck, good fortune, protection and the mysterious ‘other’.

Sant Jordi is portrayed as a white male upon a white steed. He represents the male principle,  authority and the power of the father. He is ‘right’, he is law and he holds the sword of righteousness.

I must admit, I’ve always disliked St Jordi killing the dragon, but after reading the Catalan version, where a red rose arises from the blood of the dragon, things have taken on a different turn of events for me.

The sword is the sword of God. The Biblical sword of Our Father in Heaven. The dragon is the symbol of the Great Mother, and indeed, the Church condemned and slaughtered much of the female power in the last 2 000 years – however, taking it a step further – if we see that the sword (the male) enters into the dragon (the female) and from this coupling, there is juice split upon the ground, and a rose is formed - !! well, the rose is Love. More, the rose is a symbol of perfection. It is the Western equivalent of the Eastern Lotus and represents more than I can write in this evening. Let’s just say, it represents enlightenment and spiritual perfection.

A friend of mine joined a group today that called the Bible ‘science fiction’. Well, let’s say we read the Bible, we read all sacred texts, through the eyes of archetypes, through the eyes of symbolism and not so literally, and we come closer to the mystical truths held in these wonderful and sacred books from all traditions.

Here, in Catalonia, they celebrate the story of a knight protecting a princess, but for me, its much more. Here, they celebrate the divine marriage of Shiva and his consort Shakti, they celebrate Asherah and El and the Tao with its integration of yin and yang.

(edit)

And! It seems with further information there is more to be added about Catalonia and the rose. (Thanks for the tip B.) Sant Jordi is on the 23rd of April. The Virgin of Montserrat's day is the 27th of April. A famous hymn to the black virgin calls her 'April rose, dusky lady of the mountain chain'. 

The Black Virgin and Sant Jordi are the two great patrons of Catalonia, and their close proximity of date and imagery have linked the two days inextricably in the Catalan people's minds. The red rose itself, along with Sant Jordi on his white horse wielding a sword, and the Black Virgin holding baby Jesus are three of the most prevalent images of Catalonia. 

The male, the female and the rose - they symbol of perfection. Remember, the unity of female and male, although taken literally by many sex cults, is actually the unity of the known and unknown within each human being. The embracing of opposites within the self that leads to the flood of Spirit called Enlightenment.

For more information about the divine feminine in Western Religion, there is a beautiful book about the Divine Feminine in Hebrew Scripture and Biblical Literature written by Rabbi Rami Shapiro. 


An excellent on-line article about Fundamental Symbols is can be found here. 

Do What I Say

The other day, we were at a picnic. We were part of a large group that I had not met before.

After lunch, one of the women I didn't know, approached Jett, our ten year old son, and said 'Throw this ball at that girl's head.'  'That girl' was deep in conversation with another group and had her head turned away from us.

Jett said 'No.' The woman said 'yes, yes, throw the ball at her.' and she laughed like it was going to be a really fun joke.

At this stage, the girl the ball was aimed at turned around and said 'please don't do that. That's so stupid' or something to this effect, and turned back to her conversation.

Now, Jett had the ball in his hand, and was not sure if he should or shouldn't throw the ball. Then, with a little more encouragement, he started to aim the ball at the other girl's head, at which point I intervened, as is a mother's privilege.

Now, I know this is a small example, but for me, it was symbolic of so many of these situations in life, when we are encouraged to do something we know is wrong, and because we feel social or authoritarian pressure, we go against our better judgement. That better judgement is 'do unto others what you would have done unto you'. Its a universal code of law, built into most of us at some level of awareness.

When we go against this, we go against ourselves.

That moment, when our better judgement is overthrown for approval or acceptance of 'others' is the moment we give up our personal choice and become 'victims'.  Victims to the invisible 'them'. Sometimes we don't realise the power of one. One person to stand against the crowd. Do you remember the story of Rosa Parks sitting in the white section of the bus way back in 1955?  It's a remarkable story of the one person's actions turning the tide of the oppression of 'them'.

Every day, in small ways, we need to gather our courage and be the person we really want to be, and not fall victim to our ideas of what other people want for us. Be true to ourselves and build our self esteem on small acts of kindness towards ourselves.

I liked this happening to Jett. It gave us an opportunity to talk about doing the 'right' thing, or doing the thing the 'others' want us to do. Run it through your internal system. Would I like that done to me? Is what I'm doing OK on all levels of my heart and mind? If  Yes, then continue.

Photo: Tiffany Jones

Low Self Opinion

Part of the song entitled 'Low Self Opinion' by the Rollins Band

I think you got a low self opinion man
I see you standing all by yourself
Unable to express the pain of your distress
You withdraw deeper inside
You alienate yourself,
And everybody else
They wonder what's on your mind
They got so tired of you
And your self ridicule
They wrote you off and left you behind

You sleep alone at night
You never wonder why
All this bitterness wells up inside you
You always victimize
So you can criticize yourself
And all those around you
The hatred you project
Does nothing to protect you
You leave yourself so exposed

You want to open up
When someone says
Lighten up
You find all you doors closed
Get youself a break from self rejection
Try some introspection
And you just might find
It's not so bad and anyway

At the end of the day
All you have is yourself and your mind

You sleep alone at night
You never wonder why
All this bitterness wells up inside you
You always victimize
So you can criticize yourself
And all those around you
The self hatred that blinds you
Binds you grinds you keeps you down

The world falls down around you
You build up walls around you
You war disgust like a crown
If you could see the you that I see
When I see you seeing me
You'd see yourself so differently
Believe me

Love me!

I was laying in bed, remembering days gone by. Lost hopes. Dreams dashed. Yearnings unfulfilled. I was laying in the tangles of my memories. I heard the pitiful voice echoing in the basement of my dungeon ‘what about me?’

And trite as it sounds, I heard ‘Love your neighbour as yourself. Jesus didn’t say, be loved, have your dreams fulfilled.’

In the blink of an eye, the moment transformed from the pitiful wail of a petulant ego, to the embracing of love. Love right now. Love what you’ve got. Love your neighbour, as you want to be loved. Imagine if we did that! Then not one of us would yearn for love.

Be the change you want to see.

Amen

Golden Leaves

The first time I felt it was during the autumn. The leaves falling - golden coins in the breeze. I walked towards those flashing flickering gold leaves, my arm in a sling.

A car had hit me as I was coming home from school. My rendition of the accident could never be like coloured pencils flying high-reminiscent of a circus- slow motion.

I was walking towards the falling leaves. Time was not apparent. There was only the moment- strangely warm on my face, the tall poplars, the white fence, the shutters on the cottage house. Norma Crescent. And I was transported. Removed from my physical self. There was only that moment, and I was of it. I can still recall the sensation with vivid impact.

Photo by Elizabeth

Sand Art

The Puzzle

The Puzzle
I walked into love
I walked into a minefield
I never heard of

I walked into love
I walked into a minefield
I never heard of

Her remains were spread out like the pieces of a puzzle
it took her 365 days putting them together
the pieces were quite difficult to distinguish from eachother
they were tiny and the clear blue sky
went on forever

Clearly the corners were an easy start
that was when everyone was still
helping me out
when it was time to fill in the frames
they left – they thought I ought
to have gotten over you
by then

Her remains were spread out like the pieces of a puzzle
it took her 365 days putting them together
the pieces were quite difficult to distinguish from eachother
they were tiny and the clear blue sky
went on forever

I wouldn´t do that to you
I wouldn´t do that to you
I wouldn´t do that to you
I wouldn´t do that to you

I walked into love
I walked into a minefield
I never heard of

I walked into love
I walked into a minefield
I never heard of
I never heard of…

The TV of the Mind

What gets the highest rating in your TV mind? What gets the most views? Are there repeats from the past that are always dependable for full concentration and energy? Is it just shoes and breasts, depending on your gender?

I was laughing at myself the other day. I was caught off guard.

I was walking down the street to the supermarket. Its a busy road. I was happy, but my happiness attracted a certain attention that I became intensely aware of. I stopped feeling happy, and became aware and sensitive and then I laughed at myself, dropped my slightly risen rib cage, let the wind shake my hair and I let it go.

I thought to myself, ha, got you.

Then I was in the supermarket and straight in front of me was the tall figure of a well built man who gave me one of those looks and I felt this creeping female power rising. I haven't felt that for a few years. The urge to become a prize worth the male’s advances.

It caught me unaware and I quickly hid behind the laundry detergent until the Spanish words had turned themselves into a soothing blur.

I walked home with a little less spring in my step, laughing a little to myself, but my mind was sharp and watchful and I remembered 'be ever vigilant'.

Watching the TV of the mind - that part is ok. But when the images give rise to that sorrow, that sensation, that coveted desire... this is the moment of test. And to watch ourselves get caught up with the tangles of the mind, and then slowly un-knot ourselves.

With gratitude to OS

Our Insect Friends

For the past couple of months, seemingly out of nowhere, we’ve had unexpected insect guests in our apartment. We live in the middle of a little big city and the most we usually spy is a lost fly or a wayward mosquito.

However, we’ve been noticing, a random wasp, or moth, or beetle, or some little creepy crawly.

Albert and Jett jump up and cry ‘what will we do with it?’ reaching for a rolled up newspaper, but I, coming from the land down under, calmly (especially under pressure) rescue the little bug and let it out the window.

Today I was going through the box of vegetables and realised that this organic box of fresh vegetables we took from the country every Wednesday evening, was the obvious transport for these random insects. Obviously. It all made sense.

Last night, I caught a moth in my hands. It was quite big. I didn’t like the feeling of its wings battering against my hands. I tried to be as gentle as possible and took it to the window.

It had me thinking – moths, attracted to electric lights, or fire, the ‘wrong’ light – and singeing its wings. We, humans, getting caught up in ‘the wrong’ light. A different light. Forgetting for a moment that the light we were searching for is much bigger, much brighter and more encompassing. Like the moth and the moon. The moth will go out into the night and follow the brightness of the moon and meet other moths and gather together and follow its destiny. If it doesn’t get caught by a cheap electric light on a street corner instead.

Hmmm. All that glitters is not gold.

Entertain Us

Jett and I were sitting in a café.

‘Oh look,’ I said, ‘a man out on his balcony.’ I pointed up at the man. The man was only in his singlet. His hair was greased back. I noticed that he was exceptionally skinny.

Jett said ‘He’s only in his singlet.’

Then I started to notice that the curtains were partially closed behind him and he was holding something in his hand. He looked back inside the dark apartment, called to someone and then he started to flick at something that I realised was a needle.

‘Oh.’

Now, I felt a rush of horror, but again, I thought, well, the addiction to drugs, is addiction to sensation. I was drinking a coffee. As we left the café, I saw cigarette butts crushed on the pavement. We walked past cola machines and cigarette machines and some women walked past with shopping bags, then we passed a group of teenagers decked out like pop stars - and we are all following sensation. Different levels. Different needs. But the same need. More excitement. More stimulation. More entertainment.

When I hear this same tune in my head, I hear Nirvana. Every time.

I feel stupid and contagious.

Fear of the Self?

Fear of the Self?

We were walking down a small street in Melaka, Malaysia. The boys were in front of me, and we were all carrying large back packs from our transport to our accommodation.

We were about ten days into our four month trip. I’d read carefully all of the do’s and don’ts but didn’t feel particularly worried about anything. I thought.

Suddenly, I felt someone behind me. I was sure that they were so close I could feel them and my heart leapt. I let out a scream and turned, quickly to see who it was. But they had moved so fast! I turned again, at this moment, truly terrified.

And then, I realised, that the ‘someone’ was my back pack. My luggage.

How’s that for symbolism?

Perhaps, when you're ready, we could, as an option, put our luggage down sometimes, if not just throw it into the rubbish. Just as an option.