HOME AGAIN HOME AGAIN

The first time I came to Paris I was eighteen.
And somehow I knew my way around the whole city.
I still do.
It seems to be this way with Paris.

It has been some time.. maybe ten years.. since I have been here
but the good thing about old cities is
that they don't change.

I took the RER from De Gaulle at 10 this morning
after a week of cushioned friendship
in Rome, naps, walks, beauty, distraction and family
and this morning now back in Paris
and walked from Cluny
right up Blvd St. Michel and then Rue des Ecoles and there
Rue St Bernadin.. 50,  Residence Henri IV
our honeymoon hotel, and then again a stay with Sofie at 4 years old..
our carousel, puppet show and circus tour of France..

Stories... the floating lillies from the same florist on the corner,
the deux chevaux, afternoons in Luxemborg Gardens
ice cream on the Isle de France, a fleabag from Tale of Two Cities
off St Michel
dancing at twilight to the saxophone on the Seine
wine, cheese and bread tossed and ready for us
Notre Dame overlooking our new beginning...then..

I can still find my way past the Horse Butcher ( Chevaline.. oui, c'est vrai)
in front of the Hotel du Commerce
and the small marche at Maubert Mutualite Metro and then
a windy few blocks to
Shakespeare and Company,
a whole new set of students claiming exclusive rights to this generation.

A poetry reading there tonight.
I sat downstairs and listened
while a man my age grumpily read his Le Monde,
deciding that he is now old enough to be a French grump,
tho he is just finding himself at our age,
somehow ending up in Paris and continuing to construct himself..
maybe calcify himself as a right wing Parisian..
complete with ticks and cigarette stains and a baguette in his pocket
but also
with tell tale Grateful Dead teeshirt showing beneath his corduroy jacket.

I guess that's what we 're all doing
Continuing to define who we might be now, matching inside and outside
Upstairs and downstairs
pushing towards edges and cliffs
or stopping short.

Evie sighed on her deathbed: Oh it's been a wonderful life.

Yep.. and how fortunate to still have more to live
more to do.. or not.
Not in charge of that.

I guess that's what I learned more than anything on this journey.
There's a partner we need to acknowledge.. indeed that we are
we are inside and outside, fixed and changing and
the trick to avoid the calcification, the rules of how it is...
and then not.  Cause we are not in charge except as we are...

Thanks for coming with me-
here's some pix for those not Facebook friendly
I'll be adding a few more tonight.
Back in NYC tomorrow.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=27698&id=1778869555&l=9284c70c34

ROMA PIAZZA VENEZIA

SUNDAY 20 NOVIEMBRE
noon roma time
Bar Brasile
Piazza Venezia 5/A
Roma

All memory is illusion
so way the whoe who know
And so the past slips past
dasas and monkeys
German hopefuls and Irish aspirants
rain and heat
language and rhythm
cloud goddeses
red dogs
marble palaces and ebony skin
wrapped in vibrant defiance
yantras and space flights
Bhagavan afloat above the clouds
chapatis and curry
sweat and sewage
cheese plates and pfefferminze tea.
The deep resonant chants of the meditation hall,
the shout of strained faith rising up from
the synagogue floor in Rome
drowned by gossip and crying babies and
alora , ecco, bella.

Layers of life and stone
and cats and churches and
horns announcing passage in India
and vespas flirting with pedestrians in Roma.

Piazza Venezia
the white white columns
ants of people climbing stairs
stairs stairs to see the remnants of the past
the past palpable and illusory and
present in the cappuccino and
bright breeze.

Right now.

The bubbles in the acqua minerale
Fonte Primavera
tickles my nose
right now
and yes, memory may be illusion but
the deposit of memory into stem and cells
like garlic cloves slid beneath the leg of lamb.
That is not memory
That is weave and warp and woof and
fabric and of being and all at once.

Oh that Baba Ram Dass.
He knew a thing or three.

sunday morning rome

here i am in the internet cafe
Roma
three Bangladeshi men
still smelling of  sleep and last nights beer and sweat smell and
 surround me
as I type.
they all live on matresses in the back room
they roll from sleep into the drafty basement.
they are discussing football scores
and getting ready for cappuncinni before brushing fur from teeth and limbs.
the brilliance of a computer career envisioned back home
bumping up against Rome rents and dreams deferred.
I am a regular now and they offer me honey candy as i enter.

yesterday awash with rain and rain and rain
synagogue in the morning
upstairs behind the grate
round the corner amidst crying babies and gosspiing matrons
every now and then an echo of men raising their voices in shout
would waft up and over the grate to us.
i asked a woman for the page number and she laughed
so it was just like home with the Jews..
multitasking, presence with amorphous details
until they become central.
the frisking at the gate. that was real.

from there a squishy walk to the bus station
lines and lines an lnes of the faithful waiting in line to see
St. Peter and the Vatican
i will have to come back to Rome
tho I have not tossed a coin in the Trevi Fountain.

kids involved in fist fight last night
slight discontent in the environs as the trip winds down
i have a day of errands and simplicity

of beggars and chosers

Early morning in the Jewish quarter
a walk to Campo di Fiori
cappuccino and panini
and an easy day of rain and bright blue skies.

last night the trio di parma
in the gold and red ringed
Teatro Argentino
 with Romans being Roman and
simply listening to the sounds.

yesterday walks in the rain past stores of religious vestments
and puddles of clean water pooling at the feet of vespa's.
the surprise behind the flat facade of this church in an obscure square
 or that in a more peopled one
the slicy door opening and riots of color and gothic downloads
the first church of the day had skulls on the walls
and stars of David on the ceilings
next to yantra meditation symbols in a true blue field above.
when asked why all the symbols together,, is testamento, tutto es testamento  said the priest.

and the next church .. st ignatious.. the jesuits founder. in that church the whole ceiling is alive with three dimensional trompe l'oeil so one looks up a t a flat expanse and it begins to move and swing
Indian warrior women sling arrows at Jesus and saints dance with imitations of Bernini's legs and arms.
how many angels on the head of a pin?

to look up
to look up
means to stand under
which means to understand...

and lunch in a church turned bistro

but mostly the beggars

there are few in Rome it seems
in this weather but I have been forwarned by my time in India
take a lesson from beggars
they sit in the middle of sublimity and ask for and receive exactly what  is needed

so it was on the walk back from  the Campo di Fiori
a gypsy woman with a large accordian
simply moved the squeeze box once and looked me straight in the eye.
plunk !
five euros in her music case.

all being provided.

what a lot of fuss for death..

rome yesterday from frankfurt

 hot ayurvedic oil massage welcomed me back to the west
belly smoothly circled
heart warmed and stirred
fried carciofi and nonna betta chicken soup
beautiful friends
extraordinary sleep, mid night visitations..
laundry
a visit to the cat sanctuary amid the ruins
and today,

a walk to the cemetery where keats is buried
and shelley and gregory corso  and w.w. story
and william severn and indians and russians
and greek orthodox and michiganders
--yes saw someone from jackson michigan
and one from algonac michigan who journeyed here in the 1800's--
and danes and jews and...

what is the great pull
from now til then
the claim that this is where life is?
layer and layer and layer of it
and life s affirmation could only be lived here?

overlooked by a huge pyramid built in maybe 300 AD
or maybe earlier
 the cemetery is full of monuments and angels
and dreams and expressions of love for Rome
the adopted city of so many, inspiring so much passion and connection.
layers upon layer of civilization here in this place.
they cannot dig an electrical line and miss a marketplace
or a roman bath or a aqueduct or another evidence of mans
repetition of the journey..
here man is palpable
civilization is manifest.. real, claimstaking
imprinted and carved.
one cannot miss it.. spirit need not even hang around
because man has been here, done this and continues to do this and
this and this again and again and again and again.

in the cemetery, it became so apparent again that death is so much harder
for those remaining of this side of the divide,
angels and dreams, stains of lives lived and proclaiming
I  WAS ALIVE I WAS ALIVE I WAS ALIVE
and yet.. there seems so little trust that they will survive
their spirits, their next stages.
i wonder if i make myself clear
i wonder if i can make myself clear.

i have learned a great deal in india
and come back to man's vision of himself
as artifact.
hmmm.

and the pizza is great

LEAVING INDIA

India is a contagion.
There are days, experiencing
the steam of the the earth
the purple, deep reds of its turn
the thickness of the air
the inescapable insistence of
surrender
to the heat, the insects, the creatures
the weeping and recovering skies....
watching the bright saris  move
through the rice fields and
feeling the hard hard labor of the
black red black skin
over bones. The smell of sewage
the smell of strung garlands,
the tinny diesel truck rumble
and rake against the
quiet of the day
or night
or day
the hint of constant chatter
constant chanting from a temple somehwere nearby
some god asking for obeisance
some dream seeking a line in the queue
the sound the heat coating
the monkeys, the red dog
coating crimbling construction and
raw electricals and open sewage seeking to hide itself.
Damp wrapped candies
half dissolved from heat
still stick with sweetness.
These days in India are like a contagion.

I was so moved by the light in the dasa's eye
as he described the greatness of India
its history, tradition, politics,
gods, demigods, ruin and
call centers.
"Bangalore... if you are not doing my work in India.. then
you are working at a call center in Bangalore speaking
to surly American. Ah. A wonderful opportunity
to practice divine forgiveness."
The hope for India's return aftr
centuries of poverty and confusion.

I must sya , just riding in Chennai traffic quickly
dispels any instant visions of greatness to come.---
the great chaos of trucks and cyclists,
girls in saris riding the backs of mortorbikes
the wafting fabric just inches away from belching fumes
and churning wheels
and the destiny of Isadora Duncan.

My trip continues to pull me effortlessly
through this edgeless experience.
Buoyed by in dwelling G-d and Sanskirt vibrations.
I now move with the day.


I just came off the place from Chennai.
A sleepy place full of Indian flu virus.
More contagion that has settled in the country
with the monsoon rains.

Now the sound is of efficient German attendants
cracking the indolence offering
"eine omelleten, bitte?" or "vegitarianische, madame?"

oh! and you get to go downstairs to a
nifty gallery of lav's where they have a
real water bar with all the milk chocolate
you can stuff in your hand bag.

I will scrape and buff and soak in Rome.
I am so blessed.
Edgeless wonder to us all.

peter panansa was right..

"Wendy... why would you lay alone in your silly bed
when you can come fly with me and
we can say things to the stars!?"


I took my first REAL flying lessson today
i mean flying,
like the Avatar Bhagvan sailing like the suprhero he is above the campus
and across the moon.
When I was in VANITIES many years ago, I would extend my arm in the third act
and after I had said the words so many many times ( JOPPA YOGA) i no longer was in
my mind and I would sail out in the universe, astral project I guess, on a wonderful silver cord.
The air would whoosh and I would look down over the city and flip round and round, never losing my place and.. then, conveniently every night  I would return to the stage just in time for the next speech.

Today I did it again. but with no silver cord and no reason to return.
A flight high and wide and mighty, like Super Girl  on Magic Carpet Tours.
It was true and I wasn't afraid.. at all. This from a girl who eschews ferris wheels.

Here are some quotes from the week

"One we declutch from the mind...we are here. We have arrived, come gone and remain in tact"
"Life is a mystery to be experienced, not solved,"

and a few other quotes:
all I have witnessed to be true these last ten days:

"We live in a time of miracles. It is simple."

"India was a nation of greatness. Everyone wanted something from us.Our wealth and our beauty
and the wall was built and we lost touch with the very thing that gave us who we were. We do this work, because poverty is not an aspiration.. of spirit or pocketbook."

"However did we loose this connection?
We do this work
we do this reconnection work
it is what we do
we are not a religion or a cult
we are doing this work because it is practical and it is true."

"And the new age gives us computers and technology
and this age gives us deeksha so the work can happen more
quickly"

"I had a dream a few nights back. I was doing such hard hard work
Somewhere I was doing hard hard work and when I inquired about pay
they shook their head.,
We can only pay you in cake filling, sweets and delight."

A few more days to go.
Blessings all round
s

EVEN DASAS GET THE BLUES

SO, the young dasa with the glasses.
The girl who looks like she should really have a few piercings
and probably has twelve body tatoos under her robes.
The one who teaches Kundalini yoga.
That one.
So, she decides that we need to be prepared to reenter the world and
so today, rather than sticking with the regular meditation and chants
she shows us a video of Sufi dancers
twirling twirling, heads tilted, eyes open,
a tough black robed cleric checking their progress
(how do those hats stay on?)
and she tells us that today we will do sufi dancing, spin
spin til the kundalini rises.

Now this group has been in darkened rooms, chanting and  meditating for almost a month
There are women and men of all ages and stripes
some almost 80 and some as young as 19
but we all trust the dasa and as she puts on the music
and the lights dim
we begin to spin and spin and spin and
bam. bam bam,
one hits the floor,
another the wall..
The Chinese girl
hightails it to the bathroom and just makes it to the sink to spill her hallowed guts,
the 75 year old Chinese doctor has had the sense to stay seated,
the Brazilian salsa dancer that does hot rollers every morning,
hits the floor and stays there
not moving.... and not moving... and not moving
eyes rolled back...

and then the lights are on
and then we sit down again and ignore the various bodies strewn against the mats and marble
and then, prepare for the next yoga
Bhakti.. the sacred praise one

That dasa is borderline
gorgeous passionate
but there are days I wonder if he might indeed do great in a Madras in Afghanistan..
a little TOO passionate if you get my drift
and sensing the dis-ease, disonance, disquiet and
damn plain dizziness of dames and gents alike...
he makes the wrong move
tries to get us back by pushing

you know... like when the scene isn;t working and you push it
speak a little louder, trying to get into the moment,
hit the laughline expecting a gaffaw and get nothing...
and flop sweat begins to pour
and you get faster and louder and
i used to compare it to REALLY bad sex...

so he starts chanting.. and Chanting and CHANTING
willing his HOLINESS into our heads
and.. well, suffice to say it wasn't working.
Folks retreated to the back of the room.
Earplugs went in and all of a sudden his chant
which I am sure he is praised for
sounded a bit TOO MUCH like it was coming from some prayer tower in Iran
and welllllll it
fell flat.. really really flat.....

 we all got thru that....
little yogis that we are

and then they ran out of food at dinner
and then.... welll...

it helped to remember that there is a truly gorgeous yoga called
NADA YOGA which always goes well.
you sit and listen to music
gorgeous music for 14 minutes
then the music goes off and  you block your ears
and try to hear the music again
hear it from where it lodges itself inside of you.
now there;s a great use of the divine.

i'll send love and compassion to the guys who didn't do so well today
we get it
even the holy ones,
even dasas
sure do get the blues...

NOW I THINK IT'S WEDNESDAY EARLY AM IN INDIA.....

Well, nothing quite so exotic today except we slept til noon
which was great
and then there were two gals with birthdays and
by taxi and ox cart
they brought two great big cakes
and the Chinese sang and danced and
the Brazilians samba-ed and bayed at the moon with the guitars
and the German lady in the office sang an Octoberfest song
and the Americans did Bob Dylan and
in the background the lights of the
homemade altar twinkled and shone.

Wet , muddy, oddly thick.
The few hours it was okay to speak the Chinese chattered like little crows
and the Brazlians --who never kept silence anyway-- fluffed their lips
and checked their hot rollers
and the new gal from Texas said, "It's hot as hell in here, dammit!"
to which everyone howled with laughter.
And... so it goes.

This weeks focus is on to the real deal.
Setting aside all the hocus pocus and the Indian ritual study
the real season for all of this
is the basic old saw TIKKUM OLAM ,
for the Jews,
SAVE THE PLANET for the hippies
and doing God's work for the missionaries
(who, we know,so often did entirely more harm than good.)

This ONENESS UNIVERSITY study is all about
trying to find a way to reconnect
to each other, the relationships, the families
the societies  the planet and the universe and so it goes.
It's no joke we're in trouble.
And "can't we all just get along" is NOT going to do it this time.
So, the work is to become as aware as possible of who we are are and are not,
what sets us off, how we can get simple and clear and responsive and
empathic and empathetic....
and not only in the small and petty conflict zones
like the Board room of EST
but in the larger perspective. Take a look
it's all around you.

We've lost touch somehow with what allows us to function together.
As individuals, citizens, lovers, voters, readers, trucker drivers...
We have nothing to allow us to embrace anymore...
Call it a lack of the divine
Call it what ever you'd like but it's real....
I am attracted to this work as it is the essential work of  artists.
Artists channel from above the clear 
and connected moment that creates
connection in front of an audience 
who are then connected and 
who experience catharsis together (even in an art gallery or a music event)
and then who are moved together
and are thereby connected to the world they live in 
and go out
and notice things
a little more closely and carefully.......
and like that..

I'll say that again:
I am attracted to this work as it is the essential work of  artists.
Artists channel from above 
the clear and connected 
moment that creates
connection 
in front of an audience 
who are then connected and 
who experience
catharsis together 
(even in an art gallery or a music event)
and then who are moved together by some kind of real truth
which has been channeled by the artist
and the viewers are thereby connected 
to the world they live in 
and go out
and notice things
a little more closely and carefully.......
and affect everyday transactions, which affect the way a guy feels on the way home
which affects whether or not he makes love with his wife or rapes her
which affects whether she loves the child or resents it
which affects.... 
welll you get the picture.

Hocus pocus may not cut it for the many
but we who create art have a REAL RESPONSIBILITY to LISTEN and
RECEIVE and give clear and connected response to what is REAL.

Not to some trigger or charge that has had us running round in circles for entirely too many years.
It is not enough to sit with dysfunction.
This is a crisis that has grown to a worldwide threat.
And retreat may seem possible but hiking the hills
surviving in caves  or finding that last remaining bomb shelter form 1959...
well.... really? Get REALLY brave.

The basics.
Love. Self worth. Respect,
Listening clearly and not through our own filters of fear and restriction.
Enough.... Get to work. Scrub the debris and stop winning campaigns.
It's much harder to start with the smallest inch of being IN THe MOMENT
with the other person.
Uta or Sandy Meisner or Stanislavsky or.... whoever your particular guru is.

Do the work. Drop the baggage. Start listening again, stay put and make it worth it
recognize that you are part of something bigger and when you love
you are loving more than just your lover
you are loving that real spark that allows us to be here in the first place.
and being with each other, simply
and without judgement.
How's that for being a warrior?

Sure, let's want things but does that craving have to define us?
Okay okay... enough enough
but this is not indulgent pie in the sky.

Sarah Palin is actually being considered seriously as the leader of the free world.
Start small, start personal, have no goal except what naturally emerges .

Have you stopped reading by now.?
So simple and so very very difficult...

Not really.. just love like a beggar and ask what is real of each other.
I dare us all.

WE ARE DEFINITELY NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE...

OKAY.... soooo, it started with a monsoon rain and cyclone a few villages down the road

and went on from there.
not sure what day it is but i think it is tuesday am in india

here are some thoughts from the last few days:

ITHINKITSSUNDAYNITEBUTUCANTPROVEITBYME-NANDANUM
Mantra from Sunday night

Cyclone blowing rain everywhere. all okay but lots of lights blown and
internet gone and black dogs turned beige.
The wonders continue. 
Beginning of weekend lollapalooza.
We went to the Temple.
But I mean a real Indian Maharajah like in the movies temple
marble, friezes of cows, silver doors with lakhsmi and her sisters,
diadems, corbels, domes  and thrones.
all stunning and white, floating above the landscape.
it created a great deal of work for this very poor neighborhood
and the neighbors work day and night sweeping and cleaning
and shining and repairing and planting

yesterday we rose at 5 and remained all day in the temple
sleeping on the marble floors when not floating above them

that is from 5 am thru 8 pm wordless, meditation
deeksha from the saffron robed monks
some so close to god realization they stumble finding footing on this planet
they bless you with hands shaking or the most magnificent beauty one can feel.
some laugh hysterically
grabbing hold of your head unable to find footing except as they hang on to the vestiges
of Pantene products and drive the divine right down into the epicenter.

have you ever spent 15 hours contemplating your entire life
year by year justice and injustice love and loss
failure and triumph, step by eternal step
and inbetween the sitting and the sleeping and the getting blown away
and then the weeping, in three languages, and then the quiet tears
and boredom and all moving along

a little like those improvs we all did for Marat Sade...

the deeksha givers come once every few  hours and
GODS LOVE WE DELIVER
is offered better than pizza and coke
or even scotch and ice cream....
but we know how good THOSE MEALS WERE TOGETHER!!

then. just when you think u can't take another inch of awakening,
you come back to the campus
and you enter the darkness of the meditation hall here
and then, EVERY DASA ( teacher about 7)
and EVERY SAFFRON MONK (about 7) comes by and
just like receiving hankkukah gelt,
you sit with your hands out and they come donw the line
and bless you AGAIN.
all 14 of them!
i swear it was like fourth of july and the apocalpyse all at once.

shall we say the weekend was like Yom Kippur to the max..
ataonement is , after all, AT ONE MENT...
strangely many of the customs are similar
even a mantra is sung to the tune of the "Ashrey"..
the cantor prostrates him or herself in front of the ark to let god know we're serious about this clarity stuff
except here we are asked to do it ourselves.

and many of the yoga awareness exercises are indeed those we did in the 60's
in those acting labs,
except no Group Grope with the dasa's.
however......
there is one dasa, i always thought he was the most reserved of them all,
he came round and gave deeksha and
kept laughing and moaning the name of Amma
(the female part of the Divine representatives)
as if he were making love to her and she to him.
they were having a WONDERFUL time

It was extraordinay really. And then it came to me.

God is the ultimate lover. What a great idea!
He/She/They give everyone the divine grace
of every possible YES.
And God doesn't get freaked out when you get too close to the real deal
God says.. bring it on, sister. i'm not going anywhere!

And I laughed Laughed LAUGHED outloud with the mad dasa and
thanked the red dog for sniffing my heels and
the monkey for stealing the banana
and the hard cold floor upon which we slept..... all night long.


Wow.
What's next.
Oh.. I had three pancakes for breakfast.. OOMLACHONG I believe
and so far there is no revolt...stay tuned and...

oh. we have to fix the planet.
come on everybody.
let's get it together so we can have another night of bliss.

much love

41 years and counting

it has been 41 years today since the death of my father.
oddly achy with resonance all over the place
but didn't i tell you that the awakened only suffer for thirty minites max?
yep, all those ricocheted sling shots to the soul-- how do we suffer let us count the ways.
such a bad habit

used to think they made up a personality
now just debris

i woke up with terrible stomach
some say the sag paneer
some say resistance
some say being whacked  by the power of Bhagavan
we salute the international power of Immodium
yikes.

made it through two classes, slept thru another two on the floor of the hall
fire ceremony to the goddess of education
and i am thinking what an anthropological journey i have chosen

the workers are planting the lawns
everyday these very brown black arms and legs
wrestle the ground like Jacob insisting that there be an angel
that will make things grow
so far so good

blessings and pray for rice, jello and aspirin

DAWALI

so today is the day
lots of firecrackers booming
echoing against time, trucks and cement bloc buildings ...
the same sound here as in Bali and Peru
of diesel trucks running against mud and stones
and weather and poverty
praying the gas will last
such is as it is in a country that has less abundance
certainly
than the US
.
the days are long
from 7 AM til 10 at night
we study the seven branches of yoga
meditating almost 6 hours a day one way or the other..
chanting, walking, not a lot of eating or sleeping

first lesson in awareness this morning as i walked toward
the mediation hall
water bottle, bags in hand,  a banana i cleverly kept
from last nights dinner to munch during the classes.
and lo and behold, there was that monkey again
and a bunch of cousins and friends and little babies
all scampery and cute,
says you
with two CHinese women
admiring and shooting photos.
a great photo op i thought and crossed the lane to get a better perspectve
and that same damn monkey that welcomed me
charged me.
man oh man
charged me.. like Bruce the Beachmaster in the Galapagos
now that;s anpther story that almost lost me a leg..
but that monkey comes at me, eyeing the banana, teeth bared
rabies ready to inject into my middle class body
and i heaved it, the banana that is
and headed away as fast as I could in meditative silent mode
yikes
word is he robbed three others in the same way
five minutes apart.

i guess i needed to be more aware
hat i had the damn banana
broadcasting "sucker" on broadband.

okay.
got thru that.. a day of the lilting Indian dasa's
(teachers) guiding us thru this meditation and that
with mandala, yanta, mantra, hatha yoga, kriya and you name it.
the mediations curiously enough take me surprisingly deep.
very very deep.
and so it goes.

tonight we went to the huge Oneness Temple and had darshan
a meeting, an audience,
with Bhagavan, the real man himself.
He answered questions,
needed a  haircut and emanated the most
loving glow.
Reminded me of meeting with Rev Kook in Israel
same ease, same power, same presence.
There is much to tell there but perhaps
when I am not sitting on the tile floor
with the electricity ready to shut off.

When he gave  his blessing the power is real and palpable.
And now all we have to do is choose.
My love to you all

Dawali Eve

Great feast in India tomorrow. Dawali. Festival of Lights
Big feast tonight with head gear, vests and a guava strawberry juice bar..
but we didn't get there til ten at night.
the days are longgggggggggg.......
the meditations many...to mandala's,
with mantras, with kriya yoga,
in the body and out the body
Yoga an ancient tradition
rooted in a patriarchy that catches my attention.

THE DAY

The Gardening  Team
Two lithe and shiny dark
dark women
swathed one in saffron
one in true blue to break your heart.
Swaying their hips, balancing tin discs
on round green scarves.
They walk, they sway. 
They do not bend. They pass.
and then return each with a red plant
balanced between their crown and the sky.
They make their way to the road,
lower their burdens and
do it again.

In this way they plant their garden.
--====================
 BREAKFAST
The men at the morning grill
carefully carefully drop a dollop of batter
and take the back of the scoop and
gently rotate it against the changing substance
moving from mush to matter.
Round and round
easily, circular, coaxing
to the next life, then
oh so gently
they ease its edges onto their metal spatula,
scrape it from its warm safe home 
slide it into the world..
where gnashing teeth and German antacid await.
How's that for a life cycle?

====================
IN SESSION
The Chinese girl giggled while she
described how she tried to convert her father,
a professor of Marxist philosophy,
to a spiritual life.
An unlikely result--
but he now meditates every day
before he goes to the University
to teach his students that there is no God.

======================
2 PM
Like lazy cats, the housekeepers lay
against the cool tiles of the bath house floor,
forehead to  marble
to drain the last cool of the day.
=======================

DOGS
They say dogs are the gatekeepers of hell
or is it heaven?
There are two skinny ones, though
one has teats that scrape the  ground.
There is also a red dog.
The red dog watches me everyday
eyes narrow
Today I shared my chipati with him

just to make sure.

existence consciousness bliss...not yet

Walking up a stairway to heaven in China
reed sandals caked in mud
we reached the first plateau where a Buddhist monastery cuddled next to the mountain.
the clouds hung so  low that we didn't see the spitting monkeys on the trellis waiting to pounce
on unsuspecting tourists making the hike to bliss...

Couldn't help remembering that this morning when i arrived at the Center and
saw a lurking monkey eyeing my protein bar,
He had none of the grace
of the oxen and cattle -
they enjoy their elevated status-
lazily throwing themselves across the highway like Zsa Zsa waiitng to be adored. 
The monkey was hardly operating at an elevated frequency... he wanted some grub.

Me, i hightailed it to breakfast of fresh papaya and continental cornflakes.
Lunch, a guy in a shower cap patted his hand made chipati's
as he tossed them on the grill.
Here, third world construction, luke warm a/c,
sari clad women hunched over the grass all day
picking seeds from between the blades
(overseen by a skinny solider with a harsh bark)
bats in the bathroom and white clad dasas poking up here and there.

So, today i heard that the truly enlightened person never suffers longer than thirty minutes.
They measured it. It takes 4/10th of a second to feel the feeling and discharge it
but somehow the Enlightened ones can beat that record... without performance enhancing drugs.


Me...reserving judgement .
But then the mantra for today was: "I am aware of my ego games...."

okay. i just have to do it

Years ago when visiting a Stanbrooke Abbey in the English hills
I took a room with my friend Valerie at Mrs.  Murphy's guesthouse..
or Mrs. Jones' or O'Brian's..
The bedspreads were chenille, the slush was orange and the floors were squeaky clean.
The beds however were iron springs wired for sound
and every move, every shift was broadcast through
the small wooden house below the Abbey.
Above the bed in every room was a large sign :
"Jesus is a witness to every conversation."


How does a guy get away? I mean.. even in the English countryside..
so accountable, never solo, the angels on the shoulder...all that..
It pissed me off then... 
I had secrets to keep and schemes to cook.
Thinking I knew the real answers to life's consistent problems...
just like Guy Noir.

Now, no such secrets. No such answers.
No such worries but
yes, an angel on my shoulder.

I have to write about T.
I have to say that my husband and I had great adventures together.
I have to say that the anonymity of travel lifted the pressure
of being who we thought we should be
as young and learning partners.

Our blond baby led us through Europe,
incurious guides took us through China  and gawked at the cheek of taking a walk with no purpose.
In Bali, the joy of a monkey penis as a shower head had us covered,
cocoa and churros calmed the fight in front of the Spanish cathedral.
We just let ourselves be in the world together when we traveled and so it seems we have lodged ourselves in the lining of this cellular structure that this time around is me.

Tony is everywhere here.

He is at the cathedrals, at the money changers looking for a better deal,
looking out over the city at dawn,
actually sleeping when I cannot.
He is present in the cellular structure of now, as well as then.
Real, palpable, impatient, joyous, lucky, not sweating money ( the source of all our fights).

He is reminding me of the things he said constantly
about education being the key to moving ahead,.
About how much he loves the fact that I read local newspapers.
He is chiding me to take a walk and leave the computer.
I am sitting the atrium at the hotel and listening to the click click of Indian families gossiping together and we are on the promenade in the Gaudi village
in Spain where we strolled every evening, searching for the best ice cream.

This is not a bad thing or a good thing. It just is.

I miss the push and prod of being on the same side of the divide
but I am so grateful for him in the lining of my heart
of now and then and what comes next.

oh my god.

INDIA... plus sa change..

I manifested my first spiritual visualization.

Leaving Frankfurt I longed for a Business Class seat to recline in for the ten hour journey to Chennai
But alas... 2000 dollars required... and so, I gave it up.
Got ready for the neck strain and crunch of economy class
in the season of Diwali (a huge Indian festival this next weekend).
And presto.. I stepped up to the counter, the flight was oversold and the only seat left was
a perfect window  in Business and it was all mine.
Ah, ve luff Lufthansa...
Watching GLEE above the clouds I kept an eye on the map as we flew over
Norway, Turkey, Dubai, Karachi, Pakistan,
just above and to the right of Tel Aviv.
"Santa has nothing on me", I thought, "except he brings gifts and
I come  empty handed."

We eased down into India ( is that a SUBWAY shop to the left of the runway?)
and once again stepped from the white dart hurled at the sky
into another poorly air conditioned hall filled with dreary post midnight laborers
children weeping for sleep, porters looking for a fare,
the caul of fatigue coating sari and blue jeans alike.

No sleep for me last night, waiting for the sun over Chennai,
contemplating the requests for extra tips from the drivers.
"Dollar? Euro madam?  It is nothing for you. I take anything. "
Through the window of the clammy cab
The same dust as Lima, grime as Marrakesch, sweat as Guayaquil,
mothers as Ensenada, teeshirts as Beijing...
food carts as Java, gleaming high rise residences behind battered gates as Jamaica.
Pollution as the window looking out from our window in Outer Mongolia...
Soldiers with guns at the ready.
The same tumble of mobile telephone shops, parts akimbo on the street,
bicycles, lovers, ROOMS AVAILABLE in the same dark alleys,
the putt putt of buzzy transport driven by barefoot laborers
catching up to fill the same roles in the lives of their families
their countries, their time.  Even the same politicians in each country
with wide smiles on colorful billboards next to government agricultural paintings
on crumbling walls... but here, the ultimate chutzpah for a potential leader..
he wears sunglasses... a big smile and no eyes.
 So much of the world flattened  by the enormous power of us..
our pervasive western culture. The pop stars, the externalization of dreams, the loss of secrets
in our very deep desire to feel connected.

How odd.... again.. the same theme.. placing dreams outside ourselves
we create again the same patterns of "the other"
leaving ourselves behind....

Perhaps it is only the outside that strives to be the same..
perhaps the internal engine remains specific to itself.

hmm.

The trill of English spoken here, the clip and rhythm is almost a foreign language.
I have gotten more blank stares in Chennai where English is spoken than I did in Germany..

I have noticed how many men wear western clothing and how many women are still in sari and sandal.

The breakfast buffet offered a Mexican section of salsa and faux guacamole, a German section of brot kraut und kartoffeln, a French pastry section, Italian cappuccino section and then.... several Indian dishes.

So, at 6 AM I filled my plate with Sag Paneer and poori, Bhagi and Saffron rice..
and this American stomach, soothed by German antacid, in an English colonial hotel
has been rock and rolling all day.

STOCKING UP..

My farewell eve in Germany, the slick-en, the cool-en und da hip-en.
 Much like home with too many syllables.
Maybe because I have been with English speakers I did not feel the foreignness of this place.
Instead, rest, fellowship, work, ease.

Full day workshop today at the European Space Agency.
They actually have their own theatre group when they're not redirecting sattellites.
Now wait, maybe that is a real difference between us,
don't think JPL has such an organization

The work went well
gauging response, offering help, coalescing the many into one
doing enough and too much
going deep and not deep enough
giving information and not enough to satisfy
but coming full circle.

And needing a respite before the real adventure begins
I hit Priceline to find a 5 Star hotel  and here I am
Kempinski Hotel Gravenbruch. Chocolates on the pillow,
slippers, robes, eine newspaper, madam. Is zer anysing I can get you, Madam?
Cheese plate and mint tea, bitte,
on the darkening winter porch.
Triple cream, brie, feta, red grapes, green
Tea hot and sweet..
and I know a red cab would have been better but
those days are gone..
i had the triple cream for him instead..

Reading Deena Metzger
about faith and spirit and signs and wonders
listening to the soft prattle of the sh's and auben's
the clipped hipness of the German kids speaking English
oh so cool.
and wondering at the magic of sitting so comfortably in this skin
so elegantly cared for
and being called
like Richard Dreyfuss and all those others in my favorite movie
Rencontres de les Troisieme Type.... when I aaw it for the fifth time in France
many years ago
Close Encounters of the 3rd Kind..
and absolutely understanding that vacuum that draws one to the next indicated thing.

and for me, tomorrow
India and Chennai and rain and mud I hear
and who knows what else.

God's house...

Snoozy train ride to Koln
thinking of Keith Jarrett and the way he made that music there
the soundtrack of my life for many years
and I emerged from the Bahnhof and I could feel the whoosh
the lift of the place, drawn from the ground to the eyes of God.. whoa..
and wasn't that the idea, after all?

Koln Cathedral so very very beautiful. Breathless before God.
I guess that was the idea as they packed the barefoot grubs who came to stare at the windows and
see if they were good enough for God back in the day.
Extraordinary to see the passion and detail of every curlicue and grid.
And then the fact that the entire city of Koln was destroyed in WW2
save the Cathedral.
There are photos of the "rubbl-ized", flattened strasse and
nothing but this cathedral standing.

As jaded a cathedral viewer as I might be, I was drawn and quartered inside.
Broken apart and leaky. Overcome with the beauty and the ghosts ..
Lit candles.  To clear the air and  better watch the flicker.

Chartres.... and the Brit who made his home in the village so he could tell tourists about every single picture in the famous windows,
Chichester and the music
Siena with Sofie as a babe practicing how to walk on cobble stone
 Florence with bored international students just dying to go back to Ohio
 Los Angeles every Christmas Eve after the Music Center
 Westminster Abbey reciting Shakespeare with my fat  pal
 Santiago de Campostella with the churro and cocoa shop across the way
.I lit the candle and it's all there. Including T.
Wow.
Too bad the institutions that built these spots are all so corrupt.
No matter, the architecture has its own lift and dignity..
the mission church near Paso, the Santa Fe adobes with Christ in technicolor,
the magic sand, botanica items,  reliquaries,
the little charms of legs and arms and broken parts,
the prayer cards,
everybody looking for something other to hold and call god..
to give IT a name, a house. a face,  a palpabilty outside of ourselves.

Hell, there are folk called Registered Exhorters ( and you know who you are)
to spread the word!
Put it there in front of us, outside us, draw a picture, call it God, that should take care of it....
If it's outside, who needs to BE it...


yeah. well.. am learning about that.
 

Beethoven lived here once..

..they say.  Born right near a grand statue of the man.

What came first? the chicken or...

In the platz where I sat for the afternoon of swooping pigeons and

a view of the Muenster Cathedral

a zippy little oompah band played polka music

which morphed to Joe Venuti

which morphed to la real Jazz Hot!.. hot cha, fraulein!

Then, they shook their heads in disgust 

as I seemed to be the only tourist in the crowd and 

they could see I was not relinquishing my front row cafe seat

and the just warm fresh cafe kuchen

to come by with a euro or six.

Today's tea was fresh pfefferminze  and

speaking of wurst-- and the worst wurst at that--
i couldn't stop myself from peeking into the Bonn Macdonald's
after an after noon of strenuous  write, sit, drink tea, read, write , sit...... 

oh, and a venture into the damen pulli sektor for a look see...
and then more read, write, sit, drink tea......

but MacDonald's haben ein "Nurnberger" especial..
1 euro und 99 cents.. drei skinny breakfast sausage on a squishy roll mit mustard unt kraut...
ja ja
mit Pepto bismol on da zide......
ah great cuisines of the world....
 

First workshop done tonight. A lovely gathering of students, teachers.. 

Irish, American, Guadalupe-an, Italian, a Brit, a fellow from New Delhi

all clustered round a la the Writers Bloc.. Internationalstyle.

We talked about writing, I channeled Deena Metzger

and  was pleased to use less words this time and more 

quiet  energy to gather and guide them to their own adventures.

I so enjoy the ability to give this gift.

most grateful. 

and i am proud that I charged money and made it.

Invite back in May!  Sofie may be in Greece in the spring

but you didn't hear it from me, and if so, I hope to meet her at the end of the session there and perhaps visit again for more in depth work.

Yes, say the God's.

All this and I got paid.

It is the model that I was building with T.
I think he would finally be happy with the travel choices I have made, especially the perks.

Never forget the German Chocolate kuchen.
 

i have been so fortunate to be so beautifully escorted thru this experience so far

Tomorrow Koln Cathedral, Koln Macdonald's
Frankfurt evening..
more to come...

wherever you go ..

..there you are.

The globe is almost irrelevant.
What with luxury jets that whisk you smoothly, HBO and local gourmet food in tow.
One enters a flying box and exits at the other end .
Poof.. there is passport control and then
in another country remarkably like home. Germany at least.

Staying in a village  (read suburb) equidistant between Bonn and Coln, there are PT Cruisers parked across the street, Desperate Housewives on the television and computer games on the teenaged boys X Box.  Just the local cuisine reminds me that I am not on 42nd Street. Good bread and  many many many too many potatoe dishes and cream suppes. There is Gerolsteiner wasser on the table, and I mentioned how it reminded me of home. I buy cases from Trader Joe's. My hostess told me it comes from a spring down the street. That was nice. It ticked off a memory of staying down the street from the Clos du Bois winery in Healdsburg. Easy, connected.


I have taken the time to do little and less these first two days in Germany. It was  a perfect drizzle of a day. Golden yellow maples against the gray sky, a drive in her Toyota station wagon to the Technical College where she teaches and a luxurious morning of watching students in the cafeteria horse and play and flirt and preen as they would in any such cafeteria in any such college anywhere in the First world.

Tomorrow I spend time in Bonn.. a beautiful city, former capital of Germany. A brief drive thru today reminded me of the French quarter in Beijing. Carefully planted shade trees, well pruned, in front of small tasteful mansions that used to house the embassies before the Wall came down twenty years ago.

Rest, welcome, compare and contrast. What a pleasure to feel at home in the global village.

Surprising since I sought the exotic on my earlier travels. Looked for echoes of the Nazi horrors, felt my Jewishness pulsing from every milimeter of measured body parts. Was so maive as to reenter a following Mercedes whose driver kept patting my breast and grinning when I mumbled: Ich sprechen kine Deutch,,, bitte. Bitte.

There is a difference now...
I know that welcome is all.
I know that I prefer people to geography.
And work to wandering.

So far so good.

germany... or is it the mall?

frankfurt airport. i turned the corner and ran into a  SUBWAY.
and then the MacDonald's was giving away fries for some reason
and everyone looks like us except for the wire rimmed glasses but then
i just bought a pair of those before i came.

the flight was fabulous. business class. wanda sykes on HBO
a terrific dinner, a sweet sleep in the reclining chairs
and poof i'm an international traveler.
wandered the wrong way out the door and no one even checked my luggage
so much for customs control in Germany
and we wonder how the cells get thru customs with drugs and guns?

trained to Siegburg and drank mint tea for two hours waiting for my friend
and working on the computer
ladies with permanents sitting next to towers of cream cakes
and laughing Koreans next to steins of beer
and then more mint tea and lunch in the same spot
and a drive thru the countryside and 14th century castles
now being used as Disney World wannabe spots..

and more tales of a long term marriage dissolving
it seems many many things are just the same.
internationalization has hit every aspect of ourselves
the leaves are bright golden bright
and red maple honey

or is that... red maple, honey.... ?

and her skinny sons and
my drooping eyelids.


one time i was here I was 17 years old.
i had a boyfriend named Scotty with true blue eyes
who played the basson.
we necked on the bus and met Frieda Faulstich
and then i was 19 and hitchhiking in Mercedes
with greedy old men with tinted glasses
who patted my breasts and said with glee.."America..."

the more things change the more things stay the same.

OFF ON AN ADVENTURE

 Today I head off for a month to Germany, India and Italy. Teaching thinking shopping and eating...
Here is a quote i found last night... hope you'll follow the journey.

Quotations from Dina Metzger's book, ENTERING THE GHOST RIVER:
...I climbed into a bower of vines where I could be alone. It seemed to me that I heard a voice speaking to me and as she spoke I found my boy being shaped to the age and tone of the voice. I was bent over as if I was an old hag, It occurred to me that I was hearing the voice of Hekate. the crone coming thru me.
"you will never have another lover,"the krone said it was as if the combined suffering of all the lonely women i knew, myself included, opened before me and enveloped me.
"you will never write another book", she continued.....
"you will live your life in constant and unremitting pain without hope of relief"..
...a long silence"
"now choose"
a long time passed. A lifetime in 20 minutes. like many others i knew i had in the past reached moments when i could not go on. i had thought of suicide. i had thought of going to bed and never getting up. i had said it was too difficult......i took the hags curse seriously... others had suffered worse. i knew that i was not immune. i did not think that i should be privleged, but how could i bear it?
i heard my own words before i knew what i would say.
"i want to live. whatever it is i want life. the whole ballgame. whatever it is. i am here."

and then she laughed. that laugh you imagine the hag laughs. it is chilling and exuberant. it dissolves bones. there is nothing left after such a laugh.

and i laughed with her.

i woke thinking of him

i have thrown away all souvenirs
coffee cups and postcards
emails
palpable things

but i woke thinking of him

i live in thunder alley

summer in the city..

there is an old saw that mentions devils hands and idle playgrounds
or something in that neighborhood.
and so playground time and devils hands have been restricted for now.
alas.. the rocks and stones of outrageous fortune make aim a bit crooked
and the only thing to handle is the present moment.

tonight a first evening of drinks and meetings in my new york apartment
the familiarity of the new friends finding the easy way to spend time together in an enterprise of joint passion.

when we were young, it was the jockeying for position that happened when the wine came out, the veiled glance, the question about who sleeps with who
for the upcoming incarnation..
so.. no.... such thoughts in the air.. but possibility... not really.....
but one returns to old patterns , familiarities...
creating a new life is trick



work on the new play intensive begins
check out the other blog
http://nyartsstc.blogspot.com

THIRTY YEARS AND COUNTING

I wonder, I just wonder if anyone if out there still.
especially tonight, especially today
the 30th anniversary of my commitment to Tony Shultz.
and 2 and a half years since his transition to his happier state

oh my , the adventure it has been
i have had a lover
what a wonderful year of discovery and rebirth
and finding myself in such a new way
and

timing is everything
he broke with me last night..
acting the fool for both our benefits I suppose
but the ache is enormous and now once again
face to face with loss and the abyss and the aloneliness of the journey

no matter. we are small. our pains less important than i had once thought
our uniqueness less than we had hoped
our destination truly our journey

tonight i am done with the pain of it
meaning the weary, warn, sad, empty
and the deep loss echoes back through my body
a re experiencing of the loss
in a whole new framework...
tedious such challenge

it brings to question the reason why
the nobility of being a fighter.
not sure toward what end?

so the hiatus:

tony has been around quite a bit
showing up in new york, making a great deal in real estate heaven for the new york apartment.
not so apparent for sofie sometimes, but then she is reaching out and the courage to be naked and open to grief is not easily won.

this latest loss, brings up all the others of course for me, no mystery there
and the terror the real terror of being just one of the oh so many women
widowed, alone, divorced at this stage of the game.
so many many.. so much pain dripping from shoulders
and off the Match.com and Jdate sites.
the terminal daters, the men trying desperately to get laid
as well they must..

the smugness of having been a woman with a lover
guilty

now, the spiritual journey is supposed to be for myself
no more dysfunction the teachers say.
no more hiding in a relationship
putting up with crap at the expense of our selfness..
wellllll.. speaking as one who has seen y share of compromise
i am all for it.

the importance of partnership in my life is
and has been labeled as a weakness..
how could you go so many years without??
where is your own self in this story???
and like that..
but i have regretted no compromise ever made in my marriage
and hope that i have the opportunity to make more
because coupling can complete the picture.
it need not define it but it can cushion and set it off
and on and off again.