a day spent wandering

picking the blossoms of my

mind.  pen to paper.

life’s little surprises

I am so very grateful for my practice.  Grateful to have the where with all to step back from what is happening and see the humor and fun in it.  We leave tomorrow on our first family vacation in three years . . . both children, their partners, my husband and the grand baby.  We plan to set out at 6:00 AM.  We arranged our trip to be here tonight for the opening of Gypsy, at Playhouse on the Square.  My son, Jordan, is directing and choreographing the show.  I am so excited.   All good, right?  Yes, of course.

Last night, walking from the front door down into our den where there is a step-down, my flip flop slid to the  side of my foot and I went down hard.  Seems I have done something fairly serious to my ankle.  Is it a strain, a sprain or a broken bone?  I do not yet know the answer to that question.  I immediately put arnica all over my left foot, took to Alieve, and iced the ankle for several hours while we entertained guests.  Slept fine.  Woke up once convinced I was going to ruin our vacation, laughed and went back to sleep.

Drinking my morning coffee, sitting across from my husband with my foot propped up in a chair, musing about the timing of my accident.  I could go to a place of complete self-pity, anger, frustration and sadness.  Oddly enough, I am confident that I will manage fine on the trip.  I will not be riding my bike or walking on the beach, but I can sit and watch the waves, play with Amelia in the sand, read, play games, enjoy the company of my wonderful family and make the most of whatever arises, which looks to include rain.

The point very simply is that nothing is ever what we think it will be.  My second round of cancer has taught me  never to expect life to go as planned.  At the same time, I am learning to love each and every moment of this crazy adventure.  Hopefully I will be able to get into see our friend Arsen, who is an orthopedic specialist, this morning.  Until then I will continue to use arnica ointment and do the best I can to get myself organized for our trip tomorrow.   Thank goodness I am all packed.

 

Wednesday morning

up bright and early

stepped in dog vomit first thing

carpet clean, birds sing

wake up

get up, get out of

bed, look around you, take it

all in.  this is your life.

malaise

dull morning light heavy

with sadness I sit writing

my long sleeves are wet

Saturday- My Bicycle

Slept in a little later than usual.  What a pleasure to awaken to blue sky and the promise of warm temperatures.  While all our friends go on spring break with their families, Jimmy and I will be here slaving away.  Ha!  I plan to ride my bicycle, read, write, do a little work.  I am actually looking forward to teaching next week.  Now that I am consistently doing my own daily practice, teaching is so much more interesting.  Funny.  We know what we know but we ignore our own knowledge until someone from the outside, in my case, Jim Bennitt, reminds of what best serves us.  I am definitely a happier, more grounded, creative person when I do asana every day.  I rarely miss my meditation practice, but I had fallen off the yoga wagon.  No wonder my back hurt.  I also want to credit Leah Bray Nichols starting Yoga Boot Camp which also motivated me to get up and do it.

Don’t forget to turn your clocks ahead tonight. And remember, in the words of Joan Halifax, “Do not squander your life.”

Haiku for the morning

My Bicycle (memories from 1959)

hot sun on my back

riding the pony express

from my house to yours

Why

(picture from http://www.oera.net )

Morning

up before sunrise

cold and dark so pervasive

rife with transience

Albuquerque Morning-Life as Theatre

Good Morning New Mexico. Brown, dry, brittle, savage landscape with brushy trees, scruff y bushes, and wide open spaces framed in smoke covered mountains. I have arrived.

Shared a pot of coffee with my friend Cyndi, bathed…boy is it a relief to be clean, went down to breakfast, steel-cut oats, and a long catch-up with my gal friend. We are so much alike, Cyndi and I. Leos, smart, savvy, energetic, charismatic and we love attention. As Cyndi said this morning, “We are good at it. We know what to do with it.” When we use our exuberance skillfully, we bring our practices into the world. We work to learn how not to suffer or at least to suffer less and then we take our hard-earned experiences, our wisdom, the dharma and use them as fodder for our teaching. We guide others as we others guided us.  As we become more clear, more discerning, we help each other and in so doing we make our practices more vibrant. What we practice imbues our lives and the lives of our students and clients. Yes. Okay good.

I am sitting at the desk in my room here at the Airport Sheraton watching infinitesimal specks of snow dash in front of the window. It is a “Who” blizzard. Remember the Who who live on the dust particle in the flower that Horton the elephant finds. Only he can hear them. The flakes are so small they could go undetected unless one really looked to see what is there. A snow storm of salt grains flying through the air, angling to extend as far as they can in one breath of wind. Flying with total disregard. No purpose, no mission, just playing on the gusts of invisible air. Thicker and thicker, faster and faster, they fall. I watch. They move. I sit. They dance and then float coming closer and closer to the window. First they rain down, then they mix it up, moving in multiple directions and as if to music, they pause slowly bouncing to and fro, larger particles performing in front of the scrim created by they humble back up singers.

We humans do the same. Sometimes we find the spot light or it finds us. We shine like galactic stars come to earth to impress, entertain and demonstrate. At other times, we hang back, watching those we love, those we envy, those we scorn, and those for whom we have disdain, taking the lead, banishing us from the stage of life, forcing us in to the background where we must learn to be supporting actors and actresses. There is not small role, only small actors. Such is life. We rise. We fall.

Off to the airport to catch the shuttle for Santa Fé. Love being here with Cyndi.

We are here. Hotel Eldorodo. Going for a facial at 2:00 pm

Impossible?

In the Artist Way, Julia Cameron suggests each participant sit down to write three uninterrupted pages of whatever spills out every morning.  These are my morning pages for January 18.  No editing to begin with.  I many go back and add a few periods and correct some  misspelling but the real purpose of these pages is open the unconscious or whatever and give it a place to light on the paper for this time.  Today feel better slept thru the night.  Slight head ache. Red wine often does that to me. I did pass over my two glass limit by one.  Still had a wonderful time at the Warren’s tree party.  Once a year they take all the furniture out of their living room and throw a big dance party.  It is a celebration of life.  During hurricane Elvis a tree crushed the back of their house, fell on their bedroom.  They could have been killed  i think they were out of the country.  i might be wrong.  Point is, they are alive and we danced.  Great dj.  Fun.  lots of people.  I mean lots, maybe 300.

Today is Saturday.  Another day to live life fully.  So grateful l to feel better.  just a hint of a sore throat intuition is to take it easy. Our dog, Kali, has been vomiting all over the house since yesterday.  I am just noticing that it smells like vomit in here.  Not good   Will have to revisit places on the carpet where she got sick and re-clean them.  Poor baby. I don’t know what she ate.

Book is going well.  I think  I am so grateful to Dani Shaprio.  Seems every time I get stuck, have doubt, i read something from her book Still Writing, that inspires me to go on.  Yesterday she wrote about courage.  The courage to spend it all every day.  Not to hold back.  To go for the win, dig deep, don’t hold anything back. Do you know how hard that is to do.?  John O’Donohue says there is a voice inside of each one of us, inside me that even I have not heard.  I want to hear it every day. to listen to find the connection to my soul.  No I want more than that. I want to write the great American novel.  Me.  I want to be a true novelist. I want to create real characters, the ones that move you to laughter and tears. that tear at your heart-strings, that compel you to live more nobly with more compassion, with a greater zest for life.  I want to inspire, to intrigue, to upset and to disturb, to heal, to undo, to invoke, to enlighten, to do what.  I do not know.  I know I am called to do this.  It is sometimes so lonely and can feel so futile.  Not like working retail and at the end of the day running the tape to see how much you sold.  Not like cleaning the house and seeing the difference.  Not like teaching a yoga class that has a beginning and an end.  Not like going to school to get a degree and then have important looking letters to put after your name.  There are no guarantees.  Only dreams, hours spent pouring out my heart and soul.  This is a choiceless choice.  Now that I have started, I cannot go back.  funny how that works.  No turning back.  Sometimes I think how great it would be to get a job at Starbucks or even at the glitzy new Whole Foods Store they just built here.  But when would I write.  I am so lucky to be a yoga teacher and to have students who want what I have to offer.

…..Divine mother please use me as a vehicle for your creative energy.  Help me to listen so deeply that I hear you move through me so that I can put on paper more than words.  Spill it, use it, give it all every time you write.  Do not hold back.  Spend it all.  Every day.  When do you hear that?   We are always told to save.  Save for a rainy day.  Save for the unexpected.  Sock it away.  Be careful.  Be a saver.  Do not be extravagant.  That sounds good.  I want to be an extravagant writer.  Not wordy.  I do not want to ramble on and on about nothing but I want to splurge when I write.  I do not want to worry about whether I will have anything left.  I believe that creativity is limitless. I want to go the limit every day.  Every time I sit down to write.  Spend it all.  Go for broke.  Empty my wallet.  Put all my bills on the table, every idea,  I want to vomit them all up.  Spill them out and not clean up afterwards.  Let the words, the sentences, the phrases find their way, their order, their reason for being on the page.  No control.  No idea of the shape, the beginning or the end.  Just do it.  Whew.  Sounds a little extreme,  but what have i got to lose?  Nothing and everything to win.  Work as if this is the most important thing I have ever done and let go of the results.  Surrender the fruits of my labor.  Words of wisdom from the Bhagavad Gita. 

In the Rodgers and Hammerstein version of Cinderella, the one with Brandy and Whitney Houston, Whitney sings the song Impossible

(Godmother)
Impossible, for a plain yellow pumpkin to become a golden carriage.
Impossible, for a plain country bumpkin and a prince to join in
Marriage,
And four white mice will never be four white horses!
Such fol-der-ol and fid-dle-dy dee of course, is— Impossible!
But the world is full of zanies and fools
Who don’t believe in sensible rules
And won’t believe what sensible people say.
And because these daft and dewey-eyed dopes keep building up impossible
Hopes,
Impossible things are happening every day.

My grand daughter Amelia loves this movie.  We watch every Monday when she comes to stay with us.  The words of the song dance at the edges of my mind through out the week.  Impossible things are happening every day. Jordan is alive and well.  He died and returned to us fully intact.  I am no longer a victim of my childhood abuse.  I do not suffer from depression. I am writing every day.   I have a good marriage, a loving, supportive partner whom I still find sexy after 14 years together.  Love that.  After two failed marriages who would have thought I could do it well.  I started and operated a successful business, one that I was able to sell.  Wow. I have friends whom I love and who love and care about me.  My life is an adventure today more than ever.  Who knows where I will be this time next year.  Krishnamacharia as quoted by his son Desikachar, in Yoga and the Living Tradition of Krishnamacharya, says “something that is impossible at this moment becomes possible through yoga.” We reach a point we have never reached before.  “Today I sit on the floor and can barely stretch my legs in front of me.  After several weeks of practice, I may be able not only to sit erect, but to stretch and bend forward easily, with knees straight, reaching toward my toes.  In stages the impossible becomes possible.”

So I practice writing every day.  I have no idea where it will lead me, but I go willingly.  Divine Mother, I trust in your love and guidance as you create through me for the greatest good of all.  May I follow you blindly and without question.  They will be done.

The “Secret Of Life”

Everything in my life has lead me to this moment.  For the first time in my life I think I may have a modicum of compassion.  A writer must have compassion, empathy, a willingness to give up all censorship, internal and external.  This morning I was paralyzed by self-doubt.

I opened to a page in Virginia Woolf’s A Writer’s Diary.  I can do this.  I can write a novel.  One Year, One Day at a Time.  I can only write when I sit down.  I place my body in front of the empty page.  Then I wait.  I wait for the voice from within.  I do not write until I know it is not my mind, but something else, something deep inside me coming forth.   A word, a phrase, a name, an answer to a question.  I am me.  I am her, Susan, as she tells me her story and I tell her mine.  I empathize with her.  She is real.  I am her.  There is no other way to explain this phenomenon.  For months I have written in my Morning Pages,  I trust in the love and guidance of the Divine Mother to create through me for the greatest good of all.  I must trust.  I must show up and trust without question what I hear.  I am her, Susan.  I am me.  I am telling our story.

Dani Shapiro writes, “I didn’t question whether I could get inside the heart and soul of a man more than thirty years my senior, who had suffered in ways I hadn’t suffered, taken pleasure in ways I hadn’t.  In the first pages, Solomon wakes up in the morning and masturbates.  How did I give myself creative license to write such a scene?  Because I knew, I knew what he would do, and how it would make him feel before, during and after.  We are only limited by our capacity to empathize.”

May I continue to have the gift of empathy.  May I willingly experience “sorrow, grief, loss, joy, euphoria, thirst, lust, injustice, envy and a broken heart” so that I can truly be the person about whom I am writing.

The “secret” of life that we are all looking for is just this:  to develop through sitting and daily life practice the power and courage to return to that which we have spent a lifetime hiding from, to rest in the bodily experience of the present moment – even if it is a feeling of being humiliated, of failing, of abandonment, of unfairness.

–Charlotte Joko Beck

As  Pema Chodron so aptly puts it, “All those smiling enlightened people you see in pictures or in person had to go through the process of encountering their full-blown neurosis, their methods of looking for ground.

When we start to interrupt our ordinary ways of calling ourselves names and patting ourselves on the back, we are doing something extremely brave.  Slowly we edge toward the open state, but let’s face it, we are moving toward a place of no handholds, no footholds, no mindholds.  This may be called liberation, but for a long time it feels like insecurity.”  Okay, bring it on.  If, in order to write from a place that haunts me, “from the locus of my obsession and fear and desire,” I must, for a time, flail about, be out of control, confused, scared and lonely, so be it.