...a tale of two...

*i think perhaps family, more than any one entity, is the means by which all our illusions are shattered... nestled atop our lofty perches in life... gazing compassionately down upon those who have it "less figured out" than us... it is easy to spout off words like compassion, grace.. illumine... Blah.

* and then in pops the voice, the figure, the face of a frank & not quite welcome familiarity... this is your mirror it says.. and not the kind, flattering, low-lit one that hides your flaws & illuminates your brightness.. the one that shows every dimple, every scratch.. every well-worn blemish and pock-mark scar you'd fought so diligently to swathe, to cloak, to hide... but not to abolish... there they are. in full, plain view. a little faded perhaps, but visible.. ugly, all the same. and they're yours'. all yours'. now what is there to do???

*I have a statue of Kuan-Yin who overlooks my driveway and the woods and is the first figure that you see upon turning into my little abode.. the legend.. ... she is a bodhisattva.. a saint.. an enlightened being, who stood on the threshold of nirvana, looking up at its' golden , beckoning light... and then chose to stay behind.. because her heart, her good, great, bountiful heart.. was so full & overflowing.. touched by the pain & suffering of those less fortunate, less-light-ened.. than herself.. she chose to remain.. and be the conduit of light & compassion in their lives.. that is her purpose here on earth. and she calls us to do the same..

* & there are days when her kindly, carved image reminds, bids me gently.. Grace. Let it flow thru you...

* & days when that selfsame statue gives me pause... a bit mocking, entreating.. yes, i know, i know.. compassion.. compassion... gRaCE.. and all that.. easy for you to say you big lump of rock....

* and then there is the face of a sister.... your own.. who shares your eyes, your figure, your voice, some mannerisms, and a past.. and then it stops... for while you would love to take a long walk in the woods, attend a lengthy yoga class or put on some very bad music and dance naked in the living room... she'd prefer to traverse to the mall, perhaps, read magazines, maybe watch a movie.. and she cannot build a fire. ... this last fact irks you most of all because, really, why cannot she be just a little bit more... like... me.....

* and the weekend goes not at all according to plan and then you are at each other's throats and there are the "Fuck You"s and the stone-cold pronouncement of "Bitch"... it's ok to say cuz we're family right?? and you catch yourself thinking.. this is not who i am.. this is not anything i want to be like.. and yet there you are. playing your part. lending a hand to turn the wheel.... to stir the shit. ... this is not me. this is not me. but then.. who???

* In Hindu there are two words for grace... Kripa - as the sweet, flowing, bathing, all-consuming nectar of the Divine.. that bathes us, shelters & surrounds us with that feeling of light & warmth we so desperately need when all else has fallen away.. don't worry child.. in this moment you are safely held...
...
and Anugraha - that fierce, storm-like presence that shakes us to our core.. strips away our comfort, and leaves us hollowed, humbled.. this divine strong medicine designed to "free the soul from its bonds.." help us to arrive (hopefully in one piece.. peace???) at liberation's door. .. a wallop & oftentimes a bitch.. to behold..

* and we ask for grace.. and so often it comes well... damnit, it just comes in the wrong sort of packaging now doesn't it???

* and again.. i am being taught.. "Teach Me How To Love.." and this is part of the lesson... to love what is.. what is right in front of you,.. the gift that came.. and not what you ordered.. for that which we love, or rather, those whom we love merely because they meet our expectations.. behave how we would like.. mirror ourselves in the most flattering light possible.. is this love or merely self-indulgent appreciation? perhaps the real deal.. the heart.. the shit... is to love the seemingly unloveable.. in others.. in ourselves.. you are not what i thought you would be.. every day you do something to disappoint me, to unnerve me.. to dash my high-flung expectations to the wind.. and yet i am here. and i love you. i don't know what this means but i do... i do.

* and the placid, stone goddess in the courtyard smiles on... oh but you do... you do.

..a timely notion...

i think i am beginning to see...

http://www.sacred-texts.com/bud/tib/sadhana.htm

it starts small. minutiae. the devil, and perhaps the angel as well.. are created in the details. if i.. if you, gentle reader can commit to one small act daily... weekly.... every monday, wednesday & friday @ 2:37 - whatever!!! one act... eminating from the heart.... flowing from a place of grace.... perhaps this is how the ocean begins to pool... when one drop flows seamlessly, minisculely, but daily.... again to the fore.. bringing what little (you think) you have... to the larger current.. and building the wave , carving its weight a slight bit deeper on the shore...

so i begin with this. my own small sadhana... my daily "nasal rinsing", if you will... a practice of heart.. and words.. and ill-formed punctuation.. daily. fingers setting once more to the task of illuminating the darker corners of the heart... the mind... the doldrums of a life... a soul....

humble & grand all the same.

i make this commitment herein. this practice. this breath. i will show up. i will write. i will bear witness to what is living both within and without me.

one small drop.

a very big bucket to fill.

will you lend your drops to mine???

...a quiet thing...

*I want to write something about the current “occupation”... as something in the mainstream (or is it counter???) culture has captured my imagination... the other day I sat listening as some guy boasted his credentials to another … “Oh, I've been to hundreds of protests & demonstrations...” and then.... “But I don't really know if protesting is the way to go anymore.. I dunno if it's the answer... I mean.. maybe if you could make it realy big...”... But the person listening at the other end of the table didn't harken my response.. Then what is the way? If you've been there then tell us.. I'd really like to know...
and the conversation moved on...
*Because some quiet part of me insists that this veteran placquard carrier is right.. riots in the streets... assemblage in the square.. these things speak to a larger past... a mode outdated in its efficiency and effectiveness... so what must the form of our protest take now???
I wonder...
*I live at the top of a hill... from my kitchen window I can see what shape and color the ocean is taking today as it glides past the frame of 50 (maybe more?) year-old redwood trees that dot the landscape of this world for me... There are days when I don't even leave the house.... I have a half a mile trail that arches round the barn and garden, flanked by pampas gras and huckleberry bushes.. I wander in the woods with my dog and when she catches me unawares she siezes the opportunity to swathe herself in the brightly colored bear shit that can be found all around the property.... my driveway, as well.. a loping, gradually eroding slope that tears my tires to shit... adds another half a mile.. between me and anything.. I have a large room.. an entire one! Downstairs where we keep extra bags of rice and cornmeal and beans and granola bars.. and things... when my niece first came to visit me, in my old new home.. at the age of 5 we would say... "Let's go downstairs and check the store"... There are days when I don't even leave the house.
*I don't know when my life became so quiet. I am a naturally loud person.... the one the family always could count on for a song or dance or joke.. or an outburst. When I was 16, I moved to New York City, into a crappy little apartment (with bunkbeds no less!!) and an expensive school which promised to teach me to sing and dance.. and find my name in lights in the context of two years... After 2 weeks, they kicked me out. I returned home.. to the woods.. taking long walks with my then dog.. walking, crying.. remembering....avowing...

*I have a beautifu life which I sometimes takes for granted. I have food to spare (overpriced, grain-fed, sprouted goat cheese, hippie shit to boot).. I have time and freedom and autonomy and love.. these things live within the folds of my life... splattered boldly and everywhere against the pages of my life...
*and there are people out there who are suffering.
*And thre are people out there who know no peace...
*and there are people out there... out there...
*and those (Those Mighty, Glistening, Hallowed & Hated..) One Percent.. who are they? That have taken the Darwinian instinct to self-preserve and let it run amok... splattering dampening futility & sorrow across the wider landscape of a much-less privileged not few.. but many. So Many...
*And my life is quiet. So still.
*And I wonder.... if the days of gathering, painting signs, and shouting to the PowersThatBe at the TopOfOurLungs... if these days are over... as I sip another cup of tea and pose my question to the looming trees and greyblue sea.. how does a thing find its shape and meaning? in the midst of lingering silences and thronging, shattering voices...
*what Form will my Protest Take??? ….....