Dreams Yoga Suffering Art Life Dreams

Encinitas, day 13

I had two dreams last night. One was about losing my bicycle. Realizing that I had probably left it by the fence where I had stopped, I drove miles back to where it was and yes, there it was—my maroon Davidson custom-made road racer,  leaning against a picket fence, lovely in the evening light. I approached it with pleasure and relief, but when I looked up again, it had disappeared. 

Awakened with angst and dismay by the irretrievable, I wondered, what am I afraid of losing in my daily life? Wham! A lot! From very long ago to yesterday. But these past few days—it has been of losing asanas and never getting back to where I was before this injury. 

What are you defending and holding back?

Oh, Ego! I threw you a distraction, a bone—you were supposed to be tamed and under control! 

And you say—"Well, I was fine with doing First Series forever; but then there were these three teachers in one week who said it was 'time.' And after that—there was such pleasure doing new poses well and feelings of success. It's not my fault!"

Ego, you grabbed that bone, ate it, and then became it! Now who are you? 

A sand castle being washed away. 

Experiencing fear and resistance to what is (truth), and I'm suffering—ha! even in my dreams! And what is happening on the mat, is also (always) happening off the mat. The yoga good news is that Andrew Hillam is sensitive and aware (and his Sanskrit chanting is *beautiful*). He has seen my practice at its worst/weakest, so I have absolutely nothing to hide from him or anyone else. It's too soon to say, but it seems I'm shedding some stuff, letting go of a LOT from the past. Noooooooooooooo! (That was the voice of the disappearing castle.)

never getting back to where I was

Also, am meeting some lovely people, ones who understand the underlying truth of yoga, meditators, and others who share from the heart. Today while mailing a letter to my brother, talked to a woman who is a master gardener. She has planted all native Southern California plants in her gorgeous yard and is a birder. So we talked about birds, plants, Asheville, and what to do about those "protesters" in Oregon!

As for art—the other part of my Pacific coast "retreat"—it is always everywhere. Placed three 360 Project bottles, and got two responses, one of which was from a monk at Deer Park. Will share a part of his beautiful essay below. (his entire response and his painting can be seen at: http://www.360circleproject.net/#!circle/tc5rr 

scroll to Bottle #115)

gratitude! metta! 

excerpt from monk:

Aspirations 2015-16 To be the wonder-filled, perfectly flawed little wavicle that I am, and nothing more, nothing less. Trusting as much as trying, being as much as doing, deeply knowing as much as learning. Maybe this is my Job on Spaceship Earth with a capital "J", to carefully and aimlessly relax with one-pointed concentration into being me just me.

Encinitas : Mini Mysore

Which ones of these pictures were taken in or near Mysore, India and which in Encinitas, California?

It's technically a new year, 2016, but EVERY day is a new year! 

May all beings be happy and well.

Leaving for Encinitas soon. Agreed, it's SO not Mysore, but it might be the closest one can get in North America to the spirit of Gokulum. Think—serious yoga, palm trees, great vegetarian food of all kinds, sandal-wearing weather, good people—ocean, orderly traffic, and very expensive—oops! those last three are only Encinitas. And of course, without Sharathji there is no Mysore Magic in Encinitas or anywhere else (humble opinion.)

India or Encinitas? 

Yoga, art making, reading, and lots of silence (won't know anyone) will make a wonderful 6-week retreat. Am picturing self after yoga, at beach reading Rebecca Solnit's "The Faraway Nearby," which I am trying to save, but it's hard to put down. 

And the practice? The back has mostly healed but the practice has suffered. Not to be dramatic - but it pretty much sucks right now. 

This is me doing First Series last week. 

Will see where the renewed practice goes. It can only be up!!

Here's a lovely New Year's wish for all - and especially for my ailing brother and friend Katriel:

May Light always surround you;

Hope kindle and rebound you.

May your Hurts turn to Healing;

Your Heart embrace Feeling.

May Wounds become Wisdom;

Every Kindness a Prism.

May Laughter infect you;

Your Passion resurrect you.

May Goodness inspire

your Deepest Desires.

Through all that you Reach For,

May your arms Never Tire.”

― D. Simone

metta

Like a Rolling Stone (No Direction of Its Own)

A Meditation: We are stardust, we are golden, we are billion year old carbon 

- Joni Mitchell 

Inspired by energies that resound and pound gently with heart, I have found some calm after being stunned and sickened by gunmen in Paris, San Bernardino, and elsewhere. 

What started this particular mind thread was: 

Life is change; that's how it differs from the rocks.

—Jefferson Airplane

This quote, sent by a friend, did not sit right. Really? Rocks don't change? Of course they do! They ARE alive. They just change at a different rate. And aren't stars just big hot rocks? (or burning masses of oxygen and helium.) If we are all made of particles of hot rocks or more poetically, star dust—then we are all—star, saint, holy person, sinner, terrorist, cockroach—the same. 

The Atlantic: We Are Dead Stars ( !! ) 

(NASA scientist in video: when the stars die what remains? NO THING—form and emptiness. Us, dead stars? Not poetic, just scientific.)

However, what do star rocks or rock stars have to do with yoga or me? Who better to answer the Airplane than Bob Dylan? A FB friend asked for titles of great literature to describe their yoga practice. (She chose War and Peace.) The final redemptive verses of Dylan's classic were in my head:

You used to be so amused

At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used

Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse

When you ain't got nothing, you got nothing to lose

You're invisible now, you've got no secrets to conceal

How does it feel, ah how does it feel?

To be on your own, with no direction home

Like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone

There is exhilaration in having nothing, without anything to lose, being invisible and without secrets. Yielding to what is—on and off the yoga mat has been a gift: I'm on my own, no way to get home, a complete unknown; can't hide flaws, and at my age nothin' to lose—a rolling stone! 

Like a Rolling Stone - Bob Dylan     

(Dylan's lyrics are brilliant, so poetic and so unapologetically angry, genuine!) 

The rolling meditation leads to my brother and a friend whose pen name is Katriel. After hearing about my brother in hospice, he dedicated his poem "Stone kicking" to him. 

Stone kicking

the stone he was kicking along the road

fell 

through a grille into a drain

bending  for another pebble

he found a truth

and put this in his pocket

I carry this in my coat

sometimes my jacket

it tells me who I am, hints who I was

anchors my present

like stone it is not cold

it hums and vibrates there

alive, it will outlive me

says to take love

the only thing that lasts

the stone sits like a cat

on my papers

indifferently 

but holds them in place

without judging

This poem is dedicated to Gary – in kinship

 Katriel, Constitution Road, 18 March 2012

The thread now rolls toward Laurie Anderson's movie "Heart of a Dog" (itself a meditation on life, love, death:  "Heart of a Dog" Preview ) where Anderson tells her Buddhist teacher that she is not sure that she loved her dying mother...

And finally back to stone, stars, and terrorists. Until recently, I had not even a sub-atomic particle of understanding of anyone responsible for the extreme and brutal acts around the world. Why could or would anyone do such a thing? Often feeling helpless and heartbroken by world suffering and tragedy, I asked, 

What can I do?  

WE are stardust!  

We all dream of butterflies.

I will let Joni Mitchell explain, as a conclusion to this round-about:

I came upon a child of God
He was walking along the road
And I asked him, where are you going
And this he told me...
I'm going on down to Yasgur's farm
I'm going to join in a rock 'n' roll band
I'm going to camp out on the land
I'm gonna try and get my soul free

We are stardust
We are golden
And we've got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

Then can I walk beside you
I have come here to lose the smog
And I feel to be a cog in something turning
Well maybe it is just the time of year
Or maybe it's the time of man
I don't know who l am
But ya know life is for learning

We are stardust
We are golden
And we've got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

By the time we got to Woodstock
We were half a million strong
And everywhere there was song and celebration
And I dreamed I saw the bombers
Riding shotgun in the sky
And they were turning into butterflies
Above our nation

We are stardust
Billion-year-old carbon
We are golden
Caught in the devil's bargain
And we've got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

Joni Mitchell "Woodstock"

And this too is yoga...and art...and rock n roll...and grass...and birds...and clouds....and stars...and bugs...and ...

love to you who see 

the meandering metta 
by and by all ways

note: I cannot get this google blog template to do anything I want. The fonts are all messed up, the wrong size, etc. I apologize and plead innocent to this visual mess. 

Can I Get a Witness

form and emptiness: Ryoanji Temple rock garden, fall  

I've studied deeply in philosophy and religions, but cheerfulness kept breaking through. — Leonard Cohen

neti neti

 bank beige hooked rug

supermarket music

black stairwell

what 

ascendence

magic carpet oh

 those exquisite notes

healing 

Getting stronger, rediscovering poses, adding chaturangas. Thrilled with renewing vigor and rigor. 

humility

Pain has led to sampling different kinds of yoga and to respect. Some classes were helpful.

gratitude

Always to return to the wisdom of the Ashtanga sequence. Deep bow to the lineage, past and current teachers. There is nothing like yoga chikitsa, nadi shodhana. Healing.

one 

art  : life : heart :  (360 Project)    

healing

His body does not heal; although his first and second families do (I feel)—making peace with each other, with themselves, and with him. 

Is love the gift the dying give to themselves and us? 

With luck. 

clarity

It has to be the other gift. 

May your passage be easy and filled with exquisite notes, my brother. I too will hear such music. 

heart

metta