Kuwanlelenta

The Dao on War

2010-07-09T07:56:00.000-07:00

Victory in war is not glorious and not to be celebrated, but stems from devastation, and is to be mourned. -- from the Dao De Jing

This is not an anti-war statement. The Dao admits that sometimes there is a need for war. History has it's Hitlers. However, the glorification of war dehumanizes us.

As an American living abroad, I sometimes find myself in a situation where I need to explain that American is not about war, or military might, that it's about freedom, and the love of freedom. Those who go about muscle flexing, like Mr Bush, give America a bad name and confuse the issues. Our soldiers are there to protect us and to help those who would otherwise be subjected to suppression and cruelty at the hands of fanatics. We need to keep that in perspective.

A State of Being

2009-03-18T03:41:00.001-07:00

I had one of those ‘YES!’ moments while doing my gardening meditation and listening to Practicing the Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle. I was listening to Chapter 8, ‘Acceptance of the Now’. Tolle said:

The happiness that is derived from some secondary source is never very deep. It is only a pale reflection of the joy of ‘Being’, the vibrant peace that you find within as you enter the state of nonresistance. ‘Being’ takes you beyond the polar opposites of the mind and frees you from dependency on form. Even if everything were to collapse and crumble all around you, you would still feel a deep inner core of peace. You may not be happy, but you will be at peace.

When a spiritual practice brings happiness, there is a compulsion to continue the spiritual practice for the sake of happiness itself. This is known as Spiritual Materialism, and is the reason why many spiritual practices fail.

Happiness is transient. However, a state of ‘Being’ is not. A state of ‘Being’ is your true existence. It always was and always will be. How could it be anything else? You exist because you exist; it’s as simple as that. It is this simple realization of your state of ‘Being’ that manifests ‘the vibrant peace that you find within you’; whether or not you are happy. I’m OK with that.

Relationship as Spiritual Practice

2009-03-18T03:35:00.000-07:00

I have been listening to Practicing the Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle while getting the garden ready for spring, which is a wonderful form of gardening meditation. My favourite section is ‘Relationship as Spiritual Practice’. I don’t think I am alone in finding that personal relationships are the greatest challenge to one’s spiritual journey. Friends, lovers, husbands, daughters, mothers-in-law, co-workers, neighbors, parents, sisters. (Oh! Don’t get me started on sisters!) The butcher, the baker. Even the plumber! You name it! There are times when it feels like the whole world has gone crazy.

Maybe the world is crazy. All of us are a little crazy to some extent. Or, maybe it’s just a case of not being awake, of being ‘unconscious’.

I try to be conscious; I’m not always successful. When my pain body takes over, especially in response to someone else’s pain body, I give myself a mental slap on the forehead and say, ‘There you go again, being unconscious’. (I don’t say this out loud; I wouldn’t want to give the impression that I am crazy.) But, and this is a important ‘But’, the fact that I notice my unconsciousness is indication that I am actually conscious.

There are two parts to this; the first is waking up and being conscious; the second is being conscious of the fact that you are conscious. When you experience this realization, that you are conscious, the ‘I AM’ emerges as the silent watcher. In this state of awareness the silent watcher (you) is aware of its own conscious presence, which is the essence of the Power of Now. When you are in this state you can be with others in a state of consciousness, whether or not they are conscious. When you are with others in a state of consciousness, there is no need to judge, no need to retaliate, no need to make sure that you are not being taken advantage of, being victimized, or not getting your fair share.

There is another side to this that I have become aware of. Seeking a state of perpetual consciousness, a future time when I and all those around me are conscious, is an unconscious activity. This is not the Power of Now; it is the (mistaken) power of a future that never arrives. The Power of Now is realizing that I am already conscious and that this consciousness is within me, not external, not in those around me. There is much less suffering in this state. In fact, it opens up a whole new realm of love, compassion, and meaningful relationships, independent on the behavior of others, and therefore secure. In this way, relationships themselves become a spiritual practice.

It would be nice if everyone were able to be conscious all the time. But this is not the case, not with me and not with those I share my life with. However, I can raise the level of my own consciousness, and in this way help to raise the level of consciousness in others. This in itself is a spiritual journey, and can become the spiritual journey of everyone – a gift to humanity.

Being Human

2008-12-28T21:45:00.000-08:00

Have you ever wondered why we use the term human being? We don’t say fish being or bird being , so why do we say human being?

The term homo sapiens is Latin for ‘wise human’ or ‘knowing human’. (Is this an oxymoron, like ‘military intelligence’?) I suppose that makes sense from a scientific perspective, so I understand its use . . . sort of.

But when I tried to look into the origin of the term human being, I could only find that the concept of ‘being’ with regards to humans came into existence during the 1700s. Not much to go on.

I saw a commercial recently, where someone said, ‘I am not a human doing or a human thinking. I am a human being.’ What a beautiful statement – so simple, so pure.

The word being means simply the state of existing. It specifically denotes that which is, as opposed to that which is not, or that which only seems to be. This is really important. Think about how often we get the ‘being’ mixed up with the ‘seeming’. The two are so vastly different, and yet tricky to differentiate. The ‘seeming’ is often confused with the ‘being’, which leads to divisiveness (some of it intentional), misunderstanding, and suffering. And yet a fish or a bird does not participate in these uncertainties. They are naturally in a state of oneness with being, unlike humans who get lost in the seeming.

I have hope that the human race, that is, all human beings, will someday honour the being of things, and be able to spot when the seeming of things obstructs the true nature of our existence.

Touched By An Angel

2008-11-30T02:27:00.000-08:00

On the Greyhound bus to Tampa, I sat next to Patsy. She, too, was on a spiritual journey - to spend the weekend with her spiritual teacher. Patsy was in a place of deep suffering, living with an abusive partner, serious health issues, almost no income. I told Patsy that for the vast majority of people in this world, suffering is their spiritual teacher. She closed her eyes for a moment, smiled, and told me that she had never felt good about suffering before. When we parted in Tampa, she gave me a hug and told me that she had been touched by an angel.

Touched by an angel . . . Looking back over the days I spent in the States, I realise that this was the theme of my travels. I, too, was touched in a very special way by the many people who briefly entered my life.

In Tampa, I met, for the first time, a woman I think of as my 'mom', and another woman who I now think of as my 'sister'. This was one of the best things that has happened to me in a very long time. I am loved. I know that. I cherish that and hold it close to my heart like the precious gift that it is. Mom and Gudrun, you are the angels of love in my life.

While visiting with my 'mom', I met up with the Tampa Eckhart Tolle group. We watched a session recorded at Eckhart's India retreat, then discussed spaciousness, the ego, and profound thoughts such as; "Are we corks floating down the stream of life, or are we the stream itself?" The people there were very spiritual. Spirituality, when shared in a non-egoistic setting, can be very powerful. They were my angles of enlightenment.

On my way back to my daughter's house in Pennsylvania, an Amish family got on the train just after Philadelphia. I gave up my seat so that they could sit together, and sat next to Teresa. The reason why I sat next to Teresa was that she invited me to sit with her. I have come to believe that there is a magnetic attraction between people on spiritual journeys. We somehow drift together in our travels through life.

An older woman, grey, with an impish personality, Teresa told me that she spends much of her time at peace demonstrations around the world. (I hope I am that energetic when I am her age!) It was she who told me about Article 9 in the Japanese Constitution. She told me that the United States was trying to get Japan to change Article 9. It is her hope that Japan will not do that.

Teresa is a warrior angel of peace.

I celebrated my granddaughter's 21st birthday with her in New Cumberland, Pennsylvania. Eva has become a beautiful young woman. And her mother, my first born, has reached the age where she has discovered feminine solidarity. The three of us shared so much during those days. They are my angels of womanhood and family love.

I met up with Debbie and Tony in Pittsburgh. We were only able to spend one day together, which wasn't enough. There was so much to get caught up on. My relationship with Debbie and Tony is such that we can go years without hearing from each other, then pick up right where we left off. They are my angels of genuine and enduring friendship.

Between Chicago and Albuquerque I met several delightful people on the train. There was a woman who had managed a remarkable recovery from a serious neural infection. She was told that she would never walk again. But she did, indeed, learn to walk, at the same time that her grandson learned to walk. Now, she is the intrepid traveller, kitted out efficiently with a good back pack, a sun hat, sensible clothes, the best of walking boots, and a cane.

I also met Maurice - a Slovakian in his 80's and proud of it. Maurice told us that he was quite the ladies' man when he was younger. He showed us a picture taken in his 30's, and he was indeed handsome. When asked if he had ever been to Albuquerque before, he said with a smile that yes, he had, a long time ago chasing after a woman that he had fallen in love with.

Spending 25 hours on a train, with people drifting in and out of my day, I became very fond of humankind. There were so many interesting conversations; we saved the world several times over. I was reminded that there are truly compassionate people out there who really care about what is going on in this world -- Mother Earth's guardian angels.

In Albuquerque, I had lunch with Fred at the Owl Cafe on historic Route 66. This was a planned meeting. Fred is an Eckhart Tolle group facilitator. I met with him because I wanted to exchange notes. He's my age, grey with a white beard, and lives up in the mountains overlooking Albuquerque. He looked like a mountain man, dressed for the desert chill that had begun to settle in that part of the world. We had much in common, being on similar spiritual paths. When we said goodbye, we gave each other a heartfelt hug and swore to keep in touch. I know in my heart that Fred will be another angel of genuine and enduring friendship. One can never have too many of those.

In Santa Fe, I met up with Nancy. Nancy is a grandmother who is called 'Nana' by those who know her personally. She also is an Eckhart Tolle group facilitator. We hit it off immediately. She is, indeed, a grandmother type, wise and openly compassionate. She took me to the Amma Centre for the Saturday evening service and a wonderful meal (vegetarian chilli, fresh salad, cornbread and chocolate cake), where I met a woman doing a study on farmer suicide in India.

Known as the 'hugging saint', Amma is a profoundly compassionate spiritual teacher who has devoted her life to caring for the creatures of this earth. She wasn't there that evening, but I got plenty of hugs anyway.

'Nana' and I became very close in just that one evening. When I said goodbye before heading back to my hotel, we hugged, and again, I knew that I had found another angel of genuine and enduring friendship.

My final journey -- Santa Fe to Chicago, Chicago to Pittsburgh, Pittsburgh to Harrisburg, with a short stay at my daughter's, then Harrisburg to Philadelphia, Philadelphia to Baltimore, Baltimore to the UK, and finally the bus back to Southampton -- was the longest and the most pensive journey I have ever made. I spent almost the entire time alone with my thoughts, or alone with no thoughts at all, just dwelling in a cosy place of contemplation and stillness. I had been touched by many angels, which was a blessing. Also, I had meant to find my grandmother's birthplace while in New Mexico, but could only find her in the 1930's census. I had gone to the pueblo where I think she was born. But that is another story for another time.

Travelling alone is quite an experience, especially when it is sprinkled with planned and chance meetings - angels with the capacity to touch me deeply. It's sad in a way, getting to know people, then leaving them thousands of miles behind after saying goodbye. But I wouldn't have changed any of it. It was the perfect combination of solitude and companionship; I had my cake and ate it too. I am definitely going to do this again next year.

The Stillness Hour

2008-10-12T06:25:00.001-07:00

I was given the gift of stillness last weekend. I was in the Midlands, at a food festival, and came across a display of brochures and small posters with words like “stillness” and “silence” and other profound thoughts that appealed to me. I stopped, asked some questions, and was invited to the Quaker service for the following morning to share an hour of stillness.

When I arrived, I was met by someone who quietly showed me where to put my umbrella and hang my jacket. Then, he took me into a room where about 20 people were sitting in silence. I took my seat, returned some smiles, closed my eyes and . . .

Breathed? . . . . . Sat? . . . . . I think the words ‘I was Present’ come closest. How do I describe something with words when words themselves are the opposite of what I am describing? The sun was pouring in from the tall windows. It had warmed my face, and I was aware of the glorious abundance of life.

It could have been different. I’ve been in similar situations, where I had just met a group of people, and have always felt compelled to explain myself – who I am, where I’m from, what I do, why I’m there.

But not that Sunday morning; which was good.

It seems that the more I settle into a spiritual practice of stillness, the more reluctant I am to define myself. It seems that anything more than, ‘I am me’ would be less that sincere. I really don’t want to be different or better than -- and labels only separate me from others. We all exist from the same consciousness. We are all children of the same universe. In stillness, the absence of ego is replaced by humble compassion. I have become comfortable with that. Although I still sometimes feel I need to justify my existence (I'm working on that) I don't always give in to the compulsion. And that feels so much better.

So, as a spiritual practice, I think Quakers have the right idea. Simple stillness as a form of worship has no imposed fences and requires no signposts. There is no one to tell you how to think, how to behave, or what to believe in. It was simply the sharing of stillness, a practice that, when in the presence of others, gives access to a universal consciousness that is the essence of who we truly are.

My Ego Hurts

2008-08-15T06:01:00.000-07:00

I have learned to understand the nature of my ego. From Buddhism I learned the concept of ‘We are all the same human being’; something the Dahlia Lama says when he speaks. The first time I heard this I thought it was a peculiarity of his speech. English is not his first language. I thought he meant to say, ‘We are, as human beings, the same’. But he really did mean ‘the same human being’, as in a single entity. He was trying to make a point.

Steve Hagan says, in Buddhism Plain and Simple, that we are not corks floating down the stream of life; that we are the stream itself. The cork is an illusion, one that causes much suffering, for ourselves and for others.

More recently, I have been studying the teachings of Eckhart Tolle. I spend at least an hour each day, sometimes several, listening to his talks. I am gaining an in-depth understanding of the human condition, of the collective insanities, and of the role that the ego has played in a world gone mad. I know that it’s the millions and millions of little egos seeking supremacy over everything, including their hosts, which have caused most of the suffering in this world -- from the mindless destruction of our earth’s biosystems, to the greedy ethics of corporations and political structures, to the mundane conflicts that plague most relationships.

I know all this. And yet…. and yet, my ego hurts. It’s in pain.

I have learned that I can keep my ego from gaining dominance. It isn’t that it wants to be on top, or that it needs to convince itself that it is better than this person or that person. It’s not asking me to take it on a shopping spree, or to overeat, or to spend the afternoon vegging out on computer games, or to look for someone that it can manipulate into making it feel better. I’ve gone beyond that tomfoolery. It’s just that it hurts, and it’s afraid. It’s the betrayals, the memory of pain caused by the egos of others, that is doing me in.

I’m not chewing away at things. I know the danger of wrapping a ‘Story’ around the events of my past. These stories empower the ego, distort one’s perspective, hide the truth, and in the end, cause more suffering. I learned the folly of that a long time ago. It doesn’t work for me anymore.

Ah …. the painful truth. It’s no wonder we hide from it.

The past is the past. Things happened, just like things happen to all of us. But sometimes I wonder if too much damage has been done. Will I ever be free of the past? Is anyone ever free of the past?

Why do we need people in our lives?

2008-08-06T11:27:00.000-07:00

My spiritual quest is based on suffering, as in I don’t want to suffer so much. I wouldn’t be surprised if most people look for spiritual enlightenment because they want to find a way out of their suffering.

The Buddha said, “Life is suffering”. But why is life suffering? There is the suffering that is life itself – birth, sickness, death. But that’s only a small part of suffering. I’m not questioning that. It’s the human condition that has me stumped. Beyond the suffering of birth, sickness and death, why do we humans suffer?

People tend to believe that animals don’t suffer in this way. I disagree. Pack animals suffer when they are rejected by the pack. They know instinctively that they need to belong. It’s in their DNA.

Could this be the basis of our suffering? I think I’m on to something here. I think that we are pack animals, and that our insanity is that we have lost the ability to identify with our pack. Families don’t form packs anymore. Neighbourhoods seldom do. Nations have quasi-packs, and belonging to something helps a person feel better, to suffer less. But there is always the fear and obsession of rejection because these packs lack solidity and loyalty. You need to acquire all sorts of unnatural behaviours and beliefs to belong to them, like glamour, wealth, beauty ….., being cool ….., being eco-friendly ……, being sexy….., being liberal ….., being conservative …..

Does a wolf have to adopt unnatural behaviours or beliefs to belong to the pack?

It’s so ephemeral for humans, belonging to a pack. The glue that binds a pack together has broken down, lost in childhood and never regained.

I think this is why we suffer, because we have forgotten how to be loyal to our pack, which in the first instance is our family. Some of us follow an ‘enlightened’ practice of detachment so that we don’t need anyone, even to the extent that we tell ourselves that there is something wrong in being needy. We do need each other. It’s in our DNA.

I fell sorry for us, all that suffering. Jesus said, “Love thy neighbour”. I think he saw what was wrong with us. We have forgotten how to love, and love is the glue that binds the pack together.

Grandma's Wooden Pegs

2008-07-14T07:26:00.001-07:00

The sun is shining again today. We've had some gloriously sunny days this summer. I grew up in California and love the sun. But having spent 14 summers in the south of England, I long for it. And when it shines like this, filling my day with bright life, I feel it is a personal gift from the gods.

I just came in from hanging out a load of bath towels. The air was fresh with a gentle warm breeze - perfect for drying the towels. The hot sun and the breeze will give them a wonderfully clean smell.

A song thrush family has taken up residence in my garden. Mamma thrush was energetically hopping around foraging for worms, and papa thrush was in the trees singing his melodies. The baby squirrels were chasing each other around in the trees like they do each summer. It's amazing how playful baby squirrels are, like kittens. My two Yorkshire Terriers, Dobbie and Sirius, were lazily sitting only a few feet from me, basking in the sun, soaking it all up, noses twitching this way and that.

It's too bad about the clothes pegs.

I bought a bag of plastic pegs a few years ago to supplement the wooden ones I had inherited from my mother-in-law. But each time I put out a load of wash to dry, at least one of them breaks when I pinch it open. I can't figure it out. Is it me? Am I doing something wrong? Or were they just made that way?

The wooden ones are just fine. I can't imagine how old they are. I asked my mother-in-law about them. She told me that she bought them a very long time ago from the ironmonger shop up at the top of the hill, can’t remember when. I remember the ironmonger, though. Sadly, he is no longer there. He sold all sorts of useful things; nails, hand tools, basic cleaning stuff like caustic soda, shoe laces, rubber gloves, paints and varnishes, water butts. They had open bins of dog food near the front door, and during the spring and summer, there were stands of vegetable and flower seedlings out front. I can imagine them selling wooden pegs, right next to the clothes line and garden tools.

I bet these wooden pegs have been in the family for over 30 years. They don't break when you pinch them. For hanging out the laundry, they are virtually indestructible. If it weren't for the metal spring, they would completely decompose, not like the plastic ones that only last a few years.

My mother-in-law told me that, when she was a girl, they used to get their wooden pegs from the gypsies that travelled around the area. Only these pegs didn't have a metal spring. They were one piece and you had to push them down instead of pinching them to open them up. They did break on occasion, she told me, but not often. Then, you could put them in the wood pile. They made good kindling. Not like the plastic ones, which are worthless when they break.

So today, we have these plastic ones that will only last a few years, that are made of non-renewable resources, and that don't decompose. This is modern technology. Modern technology has put the gypsies out of business. Huge DIY stores have replaced the ironmonger shops so that people can buy non-renewable, non-degradable stuff by the truck load and spread it throughout the community.

This is progress?

I can buy wooden pegs. I’ve seen pictures of them on the Internet. They don’t look very sturdy, not at all like the ones the gypsies used to make. And they come in plastic bags! Another of my pet peeves. Oh! Don’t get me started on the plastic bags!!

Time to put out another load of laundry. I think I’ll stick to the wooden pegs this time.

This too shall pass

2008-07-01T09:16:00.000-07:00

I was very much inspired by a story told by Eckhart Tolle (A New Earth, Chapter 8, "The Discovery of Inner Space"). This story is based on a Hebrew folktale. The version in the Israel Folklore Archive at the University of Haifa (see Wikipedia) is as follows:

King Solomon once searched for a cure against depression. He assembled his wise men together. They meditated for a long time and gave him the following advice: Make yourself a ring and have thereon engraved the words "This too shall pass". The King carried out the advice. He had the ring made and wore it constantly. Every time he felt sad and depressed, he looked at the ring, whereon his mood would change and he would feel cheerful.

Depression is a difficult thing to live with. I'm not sure I understand it. A psychologists could probably give you a good analytical description. I tend to think of it as "Bleakness of the Soul". It happens when you lose hope, when so many bad things have happened to you in the past, that you have nothing to look forward to in the future.

Past ...... future. This is linear time, where the moment is conditioned by past and future events. We keep travelling back and forth along this path. Because we can't change the past, it's the future events that do us in. They exist only in our imagination. When we dread a repeat of the past, we call on our reserves of hope to get control of the future in order to chase away our anxiety. Depression is what happens when we run out of hope. Fending off depression is based on how much hope we have in reserve. Some have more than others. However, the reserve is finite, and depression can happen to anyone.

Why invest in the future, hoping that it will someday pay off? What if we can step out of linear time and stop living with the painful past and the frightening uncertain future? Why not just BE in the moment?

Today I am feeling a little blue. Things happen. Life happens. I have been doing what everyone does when they feel this way, look for what I can change in my life so that this suffering will go away. I've analyzed past events, I tried to figure it all out, I started wishing I hadn't done this or that, on and on it went. All in an attempt to desperately try to drive away these blues.

Then I thought of the words, "This too shall pass." The wonderful thing about this is that no matter what I do right now, what I am feeling will pass. All that mental energy that I am using up trying to sort it all out won't change things one iota. In fact, these mental exercises could actually make things worse.

So, instead, I will just live with the blues today. It won't kill me. I will just BE in the moment.

Linda

Why I am getting an education

2008-06-20T05:15:00.000-07:00

I got the results back last night from an essay I had written a couple of weeks ago. We had been studying the French Revolution. The essay was about the dilema of persistent minorities in a democracy, the effect that the painting The Death of Socrates by David had on the revolution, and the shared concerns expressed by the painting and by philosophical debates regarding persistent minorities during that time.

Doesn't that sound interesting? That's one reason why I am getting an education.

There is another reason - the real reason. Reading through the comments my humanities teacher made regarding my essay, I see an educated, sophisticated, eloquent woman. I see what I want for myself. I know that this sounds like I want to be like someone else. It isn't. Not really. I think I've gotten over that particular hangup.

It's more like ... .... ... your diamond ring. When you have it cleaned, it really sparkles. The light shines through. I am endeavouring to let the light shine through.

Reading about Rousseau and The Social Contract, thoughts on the general will, impacts that these thought processes have had on society, especially where it has gone terribly wrong, has given me so much insight into the human condition. Also, maybe even more importantly, I had to let go of my biases before I could understand any of this. I am learning to look at things from several perspectives, with an open mind, something that I couldn’t do before. I saw clearly that I was handicapped by my biases. This revelation has trickled into all facets of my life. It was the key to wisdom.

Today I am working on an essay where I have to assess the claim that the most important reason for studying religion is to better understand contemporary society. And I have to do this without bias. This is a challenge. My spirituality is very important to me. It is a driving force. I have to go beyond my own personal experiences, and look at this from a world perspective instead of a personal one. I am becoming much more disciplined by going through this exercise.

There is a big however here, though. I've mentioned before that I have been following the teachings of Eckhart Tolle. He cautions against getting wrapped up in the 'Stories' of who we are. He also tells us that the ego is at the centre of our woes. I've been trying to reconcile this with my endeavours. Ego can be a problem, as Tolle points out. I'm well aware of that. But don't we need our egos to pursue our endeavours? This is strong food for thought.

My education is becoming part of the story of who I am. I think I can live with that and still follow the teachings of Eckhart Tolle. The trick is not allowing my story to replace the real me. Instead, I will use my education to help release the light that resides within me, to be able to better understand the world I live in, and be in a better position to contribute to the efforts to make this world a better place for my grandchildren and their grandchildren.

I don't know who I am

2008-06-14T03:14:00.000-07:00

Each time I need to tell people about me, I get stuck. It used to be easy, but I have to admit that the story was always modified for each telling. I am searching for truth now, and looking for wisdom, so it's become more difficult. What's a story when it comes to the truth? Who am I?

There are the vital statistics, when I was born, who I'm married to, children, grandchildren, where I live. And there are other facts about myself, such as career, education, my travels. There are my hobbies, my interests. There are my 'driving forces'.

But who am I?

I can compare myself to others and can then come up with some sort of picture of 'who I am'. When I worked at the IBM lab in Hursley, I shared my office with a gorgeous woman named Sue. So, I was the woman who shared an office with Sue to the people we worked with. (Sue, by the way, has become one of my closest friends.) I was young, then, and I wanted to be more like Sue. She was tall, slim, vibrant and intelligent. So, I was short, fat, boring and stupid.

I'm glad I grew out of that phase. It was not a happy time for me.

I probably do what a lot of people do when we tell the story of who we are - we modify it for the audience. That story would be incomplete, and may be subject to embellishments. It's like a box, a multi-sided person who turns from one side to the next, depending on which persona best suits the listener. But the inside is dark, a mystery. No one knows what's in there.

It's almost like the question, 'What is God?'. I don't mean this to in any way that impiy that I think I'm God. I don't. But it requires sinking down through the layers of 'stories' to the fundamental truth. The truth of God is beyond my comprehension. The truth of who I am is beyond my comprehension, too, but I think that there is a possibility that I might someday find the answer to that one. I look forward to that day.

Or maybe after a while it won't matter.

I close my eyes and try to clear my mind, try to stop the mental noise, concerns for tomorrow, anxieties of all those crazy mixed up yesterdays, and look for the simple uncluttered truth of who I am. All I can come up with is - I am me.

The Call of the Sacred Sweat Lodge

2008-05-17T03:36:00.000-07:00

Sweat bathing, in one form or another, has been practised in many cultures since ancient times. Mayan ruins in Piedras Negras, Chichen Itza and El Paraiso contain sweat houses, some more than 1200 years old. Early Russian chronicles mention the bania, which is believed to have been in existence since before the Finnish sauna. The Roman laconicum, a hot dry room used to induce sweating, dates back to the 1st Century BC, and the Turkish bath, with its harara (steam room) has been in continuos use for over two thousand years.

These methods of sweat bathing have elements of religious practice and ritual. But as a form of spiritual healing and purification, none is as powerful as the sacred sweat lodge ceremony practiced by the First Nation and Native American people of North American.

From the arrival of the ‘white man’ until the last century, attempts were made to eradicate the use of the sweat lodge among these people, as well as many other forms of native spirituality that were unacceptable to invading cultures. Despite this, these traditions persevered. Today, the sweat lodge is becoming more commonly used within modern native communities as they re-establish their religious practices and gather to pray for the health and welfare of their communities.

It does not end there. Use of the sweat lodge as a spiritual practice is spreading to non-native people, most likely because of the movement towards ancient spiritual traditions as a means of surviving in a world driven by corporate greed. It is believed that shamanic medicine, such as the sweat lodge, will purge both body and spirit of sickness, thus allowing individuals and communities to develop compassionate relationships with the earth and with its inhabitants. This movement, which is gaining critical mass, is supported by several prophecies and visions that foretell the coming of a tribe of ‘many colours’, where people of all cultures will join to mend the wounds inflected on this earth. (See Native American Prophecies.)

With this in mind, and in dire need of both physical and spiritual replenishment, I searched the Internet for a sweat lodge and found one at Sacred Earth Camp, only a few hours journey from home.

Sacred Earth Camp is in Devon at the edge of Exmoor. The entrance is on a hill overlooking a large clearing surrounded by trees and high moorland: a timeless place tucked into the quiet countryside. Looking down the path, I saw a tepee, a handful of small tents, a natural well, a fire pit, and a bent wood structure which was to be our sweat lodge.

At the tepee, I was met by Bethlehem, our host, who was to perform the ceremony. His warm welcome helped ease the tenseness of the world that I had brought with me. I sensed a gentle heart within this slim, grey-haired gentleman and was immediatly glad I had come. However, before the day was over, I would come face to face with his spirit animal, the Black Bear, a fierce and formidable warrior. Bethlehem's teachings, focused on shamanic healing, are profound. He is a Rainbow Elder and a Pipe Carrier, with a deep respect for the messages of the universe. His medicine name is Sun Eagle Heart.

I entered the tepee and was greeted by a circle of people gathered around a central fire. Fragrant wood smoke swirled around the interior, mixing with soft murmuring and laughter before finding its way out, as if offering the carefree spirit within to the cloudy sky above. It was a large tepee, shadowy after my walk through the clearing. The sun suddenly came out, and someone said, ‘Ho!’

I was given a cup of tea as I took my place. We talked, introducing ourselves as the talking stick was passed, and listening to Sun Eagle Heart's wisdom as he told us of his path in this life and explained to us what to expect during the sweat lodge ceremony. When it was time, we left the tepee to prepare our sweat lodge.

We were to use the hot stone method. Another method is the open fire chamber, which was used among the Inuit, some Pacific Coast tribes and the Pueblo Indians in the American Southwest. (See History of Sweat Lodges.) Many pueblos adopted the hot stone method with the southern migration of the Navaho. Today, the open fire method is used far less than the hot stone, which does not fill the lodge with caustic smoke.

The bent wood structure was slightly oval in shape, roughly two metres across and just over a metre in height. The floor was the natural grass that filled the clearing, and there was a small deep pit in the centre. We draped several layers of blankets over the structure, making sure that no light could reach the interior. We then placed a huge canvas over the structure.

The canvas had large sacred symbols painted on it. It was important that we place the canvas in perfect alignement because the symbols represent the Four Directions: the great powers of the medicine wheel. The entrance faced east, which is the place of illumination and clear vision. From the north comes wisdom and understanding. From the west, we find our inner place, our true essence and our introspective nature. The south allows us to be innocent and to trust each other.

When the canvas was perfectly aligned with the four directions, young Hawk, our fire keeper, began the fire making ritual. He circled the large fire pit, stopping to pray at each of the four directions and placing small piles of tobacco inside the pit to form the corners of the medicine wheel. Whisper, a wise woman, completed the medicine wheel with her prayers and sprinklings of tobacco that formed the circles connecting the four directions. We laid blocks of wood within the framework of the medicine wheel, surrounded it with kindling, and piled the stones onto the wood, which were then covered with more wood. When all was ready, we lit the fire and drummed, danced and sang it to life. It was a powerful fire.

It took several hours for the stones to heat, during which time I rediscovered the soothing effects of fire gazing. When the stones were ready, Hawk cleansed us with sage smoke as we followed Sun Eagle Heart into the sweat lodge one at a time, touching our forehead to Grandmother Earth at the entrance. We made our way clockwise, on hands and knees, around the central pit and settled in. When we were all seated in the sacred circle, Hawk brought us the hot stones. We welcomed each stone into the circle (‘Welcome Stone, Ho!!’) then Sun Eagle Heart closed the entrance.

The stones glow at first in the darkness but quickly fade. Sun Eagle Heart threw sage from his medicine bag onto the stones and it filled the lodge with its pungent scent and sparkled like a miniature universe of tiny red stars. This faded and the lodge was returned to total darkness. It became unbearably hot and I desperatly wanted to escape and return to the coolness of the outside world. We drummed and chanted and prayed and sweated. Eventually, Sun Eagle Heart called to Hawk to open the entrance and a cool breeze rushed in. I had survived the first round.

Something happened in the second round that I was not prepared for. I had expected a test of physical endurance, and wondered if I would last all four rounds. I had not, however, expected a test of my inner being, my psyche, my soul. Illusions are stripped away when your body succumbs to the heat and the dark takes on a substance of its own. All the trappings and pretensions of the outside world become meaningless. With my eyes wide open, I was forced look deep inside for the essense of my truth. I didn't want to do that. I didn't want to reveal my secrets. I began to cry, and could not think of what to say, could not direct my words, so the words I did speak came straight from the heart without censure. I prayed for understanding and for love, which is my deepest desire.

Sun Eagle Heart let us out after the second round for a break. I huddled with my towel and kept thinking, ‘I do not want to go back in there, please do not make me go back in there, I do not want to do this’. I really was dreading the next round because I knew I would have to pray again and wrestle with my demons. I had just met these people! I didn't want to talk about my secret pain to them. I felt so profoundly vulnerable and afraid. But the Black Bear was there, and he made me go back in. Not that anyone said anything to me; I just knew I had to do it. Sun Eagle Heart's animal spirit is a powerful one. Later that evening, he told us stories of dragging people out of their tents who were afraid to go into the lodge. I very much understand that fear.

Round three was the same, except much hotter. Words were ripped out of me and again I cried. I prayed to find spiritual fulfilment within the context of my personal relationships. My heart pain drained from me with my tears in the same way that the toxins drained from my body with my sweat.

It got hotter and hotter. The heat of the last round was so intense that I was pushing my hands into the cool grass underneath me. At one point, I tried to reach under the coverings to the outside, thinking that even the smallest touch of a cool breeze on my hand would give my entire body relief. But I could not find the way out.

Something strange happened in the fourth round. Sun Eagle Heart told us all to pray simultaneously instead of in turn. I opened my mouth, tried to make some sound, but nothing would come out. I think I had become lost in the circle and had misplaced my spirit. I could hear the murmuring around me as the others prayed. Sound takes on colour in the complete darkness of the sweat lodge. The black was filled with the greens and blues of the gentle, quieter spirits and the reds and oranges of those who were praying out their angers. All I could manage was, ‘……. I pray ..... I pray’ in tiny puffs of lilac tinged with blue. I think the Bear was trying to tell me something; that I need to figure out who I am so that I do not lose my spirit in the circle.

When the last round was complete, I was free to go. I emerged with a mind that was peacefully absent of mental noise. There was nothing to think about. I had dropped all my thoughts into the earth, one at at time, like beads of sweat, an offering to the Grandmother. I was firmly grounded in the Sacred Now, and what happened next and what happened in the past was of no consequence.

After changing into dry clothes, I went into the tepee for an evening meal of olives, cheese and crackers followed by rice and curry cooked over the fire by Simon, another gentle soul with a brave and compassionate heart. It was a sanctuary around the fire, a sacred circle of love and companionship. There was spontaneous music; someone had brought a guitar and Hawk really sang the blues. I lay back sleepily and simply enjoyed.

Later, I went to my tent, crawled into my sleeping bag, and slept. Some moles slept under me. I think they came to me for the warmth. I could feel them under the tent bumping around and pushing against my back and legs. Hawk was talking in his sleep a few tents away to the spirits who were visiting him. It sounded like fluent Martian. I wondered if the spirits spoke Martian. The wind blew softly and near dawn there was a spring rain that tapped gently on the tent above me.

In the morning, I went into the tepee and sat in the slightly smoky warmth of easy companionship. Bethlehem made me the best cheese omelette I had ever had in my life; a perfect texture, a golden colour, and magically cooked over the wood fire. Most had left to go back to the world, so it was just me, Bethlehem, Simon and Hawk. And I didn't even have to clean up afterwards! I was in heaven.

So, now I am back in the world, but I can still smell the wood smoke in my hair even though I have showered. I will go back. My spirit guide is calling me; for the teachings, for the sweat lodge, for the nourishing company of other's who are also on a spirit quest, and hopefully, for another cheese omelette.

Lilac Love

2008-04-14T07:25:00.000-07:00

Spring has been here for a while, but we've had some really strange weather the past several weeks. The pre-spring weather was quite nice, actually, but the advent of the full moon and the vernal equinox, which took place at the same time, seemed to have brought about a state of indecisiveness with the weather, with brilliant sun and dark clouds cycling through on almost an hourly basis. We actually had hail and sunshine at the same time two days ago.

But the tulips and the lilacs are undaunted by this weather fickleness. I bought hundreds of tulips last December because they had gone on sale, thinking that they would come up anyway despite the fact that they should have been planted in October and November. The untimely planting hasn't seemed to faze them, and they are celebrating a massive display of spring fecundity.

I have a white lilac bush at my front door that is letting every bee in the neighbourhood know it is ready for lilac sex. What a tart! And what a lovely way to express it! Everyone who comes to my door, postman included, must surely be put in a happy state of lilac love. Can springtime get any better?

The pigeons are chasing each other around. Or rather, the male pigeons are chasing the female pigeons around. Great. More pigeons. And why are male pigeons such brutish clods when it comes to courtship? They have no finesse whatsoever. No wonder the females fly off. I feel sorry for the females. There's not a single attractive male in the bunch. And the really sad thing is, that they will eventually have to give in and settle for one of the brutish clods.

I haven't seen any evidence of squirrel courtship in the garden. Squirrels must be much more civilised. I have two squirrels out there that I have been keeping an eye on all winter - Fang, so named because he chewed a hole in the shed door to get to the bag of peanuts, and Daisy. Daisy has white ears, and she is a doll. I think they make a nice couple.

A troop of squirrels came through the garden a few weeks ago, marauders, led by a thug with a deformed ear. His name was Igor. They commandeered the peanut feeder, or rather Igor did, while the other misfits waited their turn, scampering over the patio furniture, marking it the way my Yorkshire Terriers mark the lamp posts when we go for a walk. I let the Yorkies out, who chased them all away, and I haven't seen hide nor grey hair of them since.

I can imagine that Fang and Daisy are making ready for the next generation. I'll probably see the little ones out in a few week's time, chasing each other high up in the tree branches, a baby squirrel acrobatic team. I've been keeping an eye on Daisy, but I haven't noticed if she is putting on weight, so maybe it's too early yet to be thinking of extra peanut feeders or baby squirrel food. We shall see.

In the meantime, I sit here in my conservatory, experiencing the mecurical weather of this particular spring, allowing myself to be wonderfully surprised each day as my garden finds new expressions of lilac love. I know that next spring will be different, just like last spring was different from this one. But what does the garden know of next spring or the last one. All that is important is this spring, this moment, and the wonderful presense of life.

My Grandmother's People

2008-04-07T07:08:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I came across a Certificate of Indian Blood For The Pueblo of San Juan that stated:

I, hereby certify that Aurelia (Montoya) Chavez is listed on the San Juan Pueblo Census Roll, dated October 1, 1982 an official record of this office, as being 3/8 degree Indiam blood with census roll no. 458 dat of birth 05/15/04.

Signed Govenor, Pueblo of San Juan, (unintellegible signature) Date June 29, 1990.

Someone sent this to me 12 years ago - the woman who was looking after my grandmother. It didn't come with an explanation and I don't know why she sent it. At the time, I wasn't much interested in these things, so it went into the filling cabinet and that was that.

But it does mean a lot to me now.

I started some research to find out more about my grandmother's people. I came across a story told by a woman who was made to feel ashamed of who she was. She speaks much like my grandmother spoke, and the singing in the background reminded me of my grandfather. This story is sad for me because they never talked to us about these things. I think they, too, were ashamed.

Being ashamed of who we were was something I grew up with. I was terrified of anyone in authority. Teachers in school, doctors, priests, the nuns, even shop keepers -- my heart would race and I had trouble speaking whenever I came face to face with these people. As an adult I could never speak to my managers and I am only just now getting over the fear of my doctors.

The sadness is that my father was made to feel this way. But I don't think it effected him the way it did me. He was a fighter, one of the strong ones. He kept running away from the BIA schools. In the end, this thing, this attitude about the Indian people, did him in. He could accept who he was, but he couldn't accept that the woman he loved dispised him for it.

This journey into my past, my families past, makes me want to weep. There is a little girl inside of me like the little girl in the story. But when she ran home to mama, she was told to be quiet and made to sit in the corner. The loss.... How different things would have been if we had been taught to be proud instead of ashamed. I don't blame the government, although their role in this is significant. But I do wonder about the people in my family who didn't teach us differently. I think they wanted us to be white. It was a betrayal. This must be why family loyalty means so much to me. The words "my people" are sacred.