On GiGi and the Walk Home

More than a year ago, I started writing a sort of “day in the life” log about my experience here. I think back to my emotional state then and I remember feeling raw, exposed, and opened up to the world. Much of that is still true; I often feel raw—riding roller coasters of confidence and sadness, confusion and patterned responses, pure joy and complete loneliness. The richness hasn’t faded, though I notice it seems to move in and out of intensity. My faith has certainly been tested since I arrived, after the momentum that plunked me down in this new life slowed somewhat. But each time I pass through a moment of uncertainty (which can last minutes or days), it seems what’s left behind is a deep inner root. I picture it green and thick like a tough, climbing tree vine, with silver wispy bits. It has a momentum of its own and seems to be eclipsing whatever I once was.

But in the minutiae of my daily life now? Hmm…well, for one thing, there’s my cat. I usually wake up to warm heaviness at my feet and hear a groan, an annoyed growly meow from GiGi as her sleepy face pops up from the bed. Especially when it’s cold, she tries to stay in the warm nook of my bended knee, or begrudgingly walks up to my face to peer down into my cocoon, under the covers. On very cold nights, she charges right in and makes herself comfy under the four plus blankets, either unaffected by the lack of oxygen down there, or rather enjoying it. She meows each morning right in my face so that I’ll feed her.

And she meows a lot! It’s not just talking, it’s a yearning, attention-demanding whine. It is fairly constant, regardless of whether I’ve fed her, watered her, loved her, stroked her, talked to her…or yelled at her. She has been “my” cat for under a year, but I find myself identifying with her traits, in the way we humans love to anthropomorphize our pets. So, although she had 2 previous owners and a personality before I moved in, I still do it…

I guess it’s because I know what it means to be emotionally demanding, to talk too much, to enjoy a marathon cuddle session every night, while still being skiddish and egg-shelly when new people come around, wanting to be petted but too scared to stay still long enough for it. I can empathize with her in the winter, too, because I really hate the wet cold and feel indignant and petulant when I feel I’m not cared for. And I can understand her abandonment issues, taken from her mother at a young age only to lose her first human parent while still young. So, the worst thing is when I realize I have neglected her and her meows, which I do without noticing sometimes. I might be home for 10 minutes before I’ve stopped to pet her or even acknowledge her directly. And on a couple occasions, I just flipped out and yelled at her, after trying everything to attend to the incessant meows. I feel like I fail us both when that happens—her, because she’s just a sweet creature and I’m her only source of human support. And myself, because now I can identify her emotional needs as symbolic of my own (or anybody’s), and have not only neglected those innocent desires, but have actually invalidated them by yelling! Uggh.

So, this is what happens when you move to the middle of the woods with no TV or internet and spotty phone reception! You suddenly step into a hall of mirrors, where everything becomes a lesson, a reflection. Everywhere you look…guess who you see?? Yep! It can be fun when your mood is inclined to vanity and ego-stroking and your perception is positive. “Wow, Stephanie, look at that shining example of a human being you are!” It’s less fun when your ugly blemishes of a personality surface. Ick! But in community, there is no use turning away: there’s always another mirror behind you, whether it’s your cat, or your co-worker, or some other unsparing soul, meeting you with authenticity.

I have never seen that movie Castaway with Tom Hanks, but I know that he develops a relationship with a soccer ball, which makes total sense to me. I believe humans deeply need relationship; we need to understand ourselves and our world by understanding the way we interact intimately with it. So, it’s possible to take anything…any thing that you relate to (cat, soccer ball, spouse, job, food, etc)…and see who you are, see what the world that you have created looks like. Or as one of the book titles by Cheri Huber puts it, “How you do anything is how you do everything.” So, if we’re willing to look, the information is all around us, sometimes glaringly so. The trick is to keep our eyes open. (*Huber has also said, "Live to be in the present. Safety, security, knowing and being right are all synonyms for death." Ka-pow!)

Wait! But this is not minutiae...this is sweeping philosophical monologue that constantly forms in my brain. Which, to be fair, has always been a huge feature of my life. But anyway, back to telling you about my cat…Lady Miss GiGi—as I like to call her when she’s being especially queenish—is a wonderful companion. She lazes around with me on the occasions when I spend time at home; she makes my walk home brighter when she greets me at the top of my hill when I arrive; she meows at me from on top of my windshield when I’m in the car making phone calls in the winter. She’s a true lady, but she can also hold her own—she’ll hiss and swipe at the cat door when raccoons or skunks try to peep their heads inside, and her slightly torn ears attest to more than one run-in with outdoor critters. And just last week, I saw her nonchalantly jump 3 feet in the air to catch a bird in one swipe, crunching its entire body between her growling teeth as she devoured it in front of me (until I couldn’t watch anymore that is). She’s a beauty and I’m so thankful to be sharing this place with her. (And by the way, I haven’t really yelled at her anymore, though I think it’s the cold weather she really meows at, so next winter will be a further practice for me…)

And now…I’ll leave you with a mini-video of my walk home, with GiGi squeaking along beside me.

Journal entry...Summer Solstice in SF

6/21

Summer Solstice today and I am sitting across from Pick Me Up Limo Service in Russian Hill, sipping a glass of French white wine outside of Sarah’s restaurant on Hyde St. and scribbling these words. The air is warm and breezy, and reminds me of the quality of warm, doughy bread for some reason. I’ve visited the city many times in the past year and each time, it seems the weather is unseasonably nice. Sunshine and clear skies, and even warm! I feel spoiled and blessed to be here now.

Could I do this forever? I mean, how could I make this my lifestyle, my modus operandi, how can I build a life around making journeys, taking notice, being open, immersed, writing, painting the world with words? Visual art and creative living…because really, there are few things I love more than a jaunt, a communion with my friends, exploration of some new place, my journal and a glass of wine. What more is there? A community to go home to—a heart to reside in, one that provides me meaning, depth, spiritual support. What is lacking in that? Hmmm.

My ode to the day! I remember that I used to only be able to write from my dark heart, from the pain that motivated me out of a paralysis of fear, with an intensity that burned away any lack of confidence. The darkness still creeps and recedes, fogs over and clouds my vision often. It still does. Even now it does. I also used to think that I couldn't be this happy if I was feeling depressed and dark a week before--as if the happiness must not be real because the sadness was there to prove it false. And somehow, I trusted the sadness more, rather than thinking that it perhaps was the false one. But now, the pendulum swings wide and full in both directions and I know that neither is more real than the other. Both are just passing storms.

But today, the day is long and clear and warm and it is perfectly balanced against the dark. The streets beside me are humming, clicking and ticking, the tracks alive with an electric energy of movement—either already passed or yet to come. The streetcars chug past. They are full and ancient; they look dense, as if heavy with people’s imaginings and a history of continual ups and downs, somehow chugging along up impossible angles with dated technology, and all the passengers bunched up and clinging on with their cameras and their bags, wide-eyed.

Sarah just brought me some warm olives, which is good because the air is cooling down as the sun starts to drop. I’ve gotta walk myself back to the Wharf soon to get my car and see if I can meet up with Marissa to watch the sun set on the longest day of the year...

Earth holidays are my favorite!

Mother's Day for Hope

I meant to post this on Sunday, but got so busy I missed out! But to honor the holiday and my mother, Hope...

Have you ever heard about the political origins of Mother’s Day? The declaration of a national Mother’s Day in 1914 was initiated by Anna M. Jarvis in the early nineteen hundreds, and first celebrated in a West Virginia church as a memorial celebration for women. While this crusade culminated in the successful foundation of the holiday, the movement in this country was rooted in an earlier activist movement, which sought better sanitary conditions, post-war reconciliation, and also inspired a call for peace and resistance to war. Anna M. Jarvis’ own mother (Anna Reeves Jarvis) was an activist in the Appalachians during the mid-1800s who worked to improve health and sanitary conditions by organizing women on both sides of the Civil War in “Mothers Work Days”. Over the course of about ten years, her efforts reconciled Union and Confederate neighbors by working toward a common goal. After the end of the war, she also initiated a “Mother’s Friendship Day” to reunite families and neighbors divided by the war.

But the inspiration for such a day came from a movement started by another woman, who worked for years to create a Mother’s Day for Peace. This woman, named Julia Ward Howe, authored the “Battle Hymn of the Republic” in 1858, and through speaking engagements sparked by her celebrity, became sharply aware of the repercussions of war, including economic crises and the devastation that families, widows, soldiers, and orphans faced. After years of close contact with the post-war conditions, her resistance to the methods of war grew and twelve years later, she wrote a proclamation protesting the use of war to solve conflicts. In fierce, beautiful language, her “Mother’s Day Proclamation” appeals to mothers everywhere to resist the divisions that war creates in honor of our shared humanity. She proclaims, “Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn/All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.” While her efforts to establish a Mother’s Day for Peace never went completely national, her work directly inspired the women whose efforts led to the foundation of the Mother’s Day we celebrate today.

I love this story so much. In terms of an activist movement, the values the women employed were sharp—the perfect combination of universal, inherent, and yet precise. The women spoke from their own experience and thus from a position of empowerment, skillfully relying on inherent values that they practiced daily to appeal to a common goal. And motherhood itself is a strong rallying cry, because who was not born from a mother? It reminds us that we have something in common no matter what our beliefs are, which is priceless in motivating action in a group. It always strikes me how the most revolutionary ideas are often those that are the most natural and practical, because they are unarguable. Values of health and safety, community, development, and non-aggression provided the root for this movement in its various forms.

And history illustrates other examples where women engaged feminine strength to advance a movement, such as the Grandmothers of the Plaza de Mayo in Argentina who demanded accountability from a corrupt dictatorship blamed for the disappearances and kidnappings of their family members during the Dirty War. In Juarez, Mexico, two mothers founded a group called May our Daughters Return Home after their government virtually ignored the deaths and disappearances of hundreds of women, including their daughters. And finally, in the vein of Julia Ward Howe, a group called Codepink protests the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and uses creative tactics and humor to make a call to "redirect our resources into healthcare, education, green jobs and other life-affirming activities."

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom! And Happy Mother’s Day to all of us, a day to celebrate the archetypal divine feminine that continually creates and destroys, protects and encourages, that moves and inspires right action in the world.

Disorientation

Every two months, a group of aspiring yogis and yoginis come to Mt. Madonna for the Yoga, Service, and Community work-study program. It’s the same program I joined just over a year ago, back when I thought I would stay for only 2 months. Now, I work with the team of people who run the program, who hold the space for the fresh faces and open hearts that cycle through. The first few days of the program include an orientation to the land and the work, as well as the culture of the place. An immense amount of information gets relayed, but it still only acts as a sort of cover page to the fascinating history book that has been written over the last 30 years on this mountain! As part of orientation, we spend a couple hours the first morning introducing ourselves, sharing our own history. The last session was the first time I participated in the introductions as a facilitator rather than a participant, and it took place exactly one year to the day that I had arrived here on the mountain…and a funny thing happened.

It was an odd sensation to look around the room, reflecting on the year that had passed and the huge changes to my lifestyle that my decision to be here had required. I decided to speak first at this introduction and shared the sense of surreality that I was feeling. I talked about the first time I had introduced myself and reflected on the fact of how rooted I felt at that time, rooted in the identifications I had described. I had finished an intense 2 years of grad school, had left a frustratingly failing relationship and a dead end at my job, was walking away from a dead feeling in my living situation (haha—how ironic!) and was searching for spiritual community. I was Job seeker, Spiritual seeker, Broken-hearted, Betrayed, but ultimately Hopeful.

But this year, I didn’t feel so connected to that story, or collection of stories, anymore. In fact, I wasn’t sure how to relate who I was anymore, since life and the way I used to identify myself seemed sort of beside the point. It was hard to explain how I perceived myself, since the labels seemed false and most of what I knew about myself seemed more internal now, and very much still in process. I felt like I had painted a picture of my life thus far with that introduction a year ago, and then had started climbing up a hill. When I looked back at the same vista now, it didn’t look the same as it did a few hundred meters below, but I hadn’t yet reached a decent lookout to get a new perspective on the scenery; there were still some trees blocking the long view.

I have been reading up on various spiritual paths, and the immediacy of Zen appeals to me in that it seems to strip away to the truth so neatly. If I ever need to cut the trees out of my field of vision, I look no further than Adyashanti or Nisargadatta. Nondual teachings remind us that the divine is here now, we simply realize it. But to do this, we release the conditioned mind that keeps us locked into rigid identities that have nothing to do with our ultimate, infinite selves. All the stories we tell about ourselves—and more disastrously, believe about ourselves as True—prevent us from connecting to what is bigger and truly True about us. Furthermore (this part really interests me), when we’re stuck in a patterned way of acting based on what we believe ourselves to be, we limit our creativity too, because we are not able to create new solutions or try new behaviors or grow at all. Learning ceases and compulsions set in. It’s easy to sleepwalk through life in this state, which is why the aim is always to awaken…

So, sitting in the introduction circle this year, I thought, whew, how refreshing to not be entangled in some identification of myself as a particular role! This must be what the Masters are talking about, and here’s my chance to practice it. And I did feel good, explaining to the group what my experience was right then, which was pretty textureless of my own story. Well, that good feeling lasted exactly 30 minutes, until the introductions got halfway around the circle, and then I felt frustrated and stupid. I was sitting in the midst of people sharing with such honesty about their trials and their mental illnesses and their physical tests and their broken relationships and I felt I had offered nothing and shared nothing. I felt selfish and cut off, which is really sad in a community of people I want to connect with. I felt like I missed my chance.

After the circle, the feelings starting boiling up and snagging onto all kinds of old feelings and memories and the stories that went along with the uncomfortable feelings. And it just kept growing like a tidal wave, until my wonderful idea of not spewing my story like a personality resume suddenly seemed like it might be the undoing of me! I felt whipped into a frothy panic. This lasted for several days, in which time I tried to journal, meditate, talk to people I trusted, and just be aware of the panic without trying to redirect it into a glass of wine or an indulgent social interaction or exercise or just plain denial. Well, denial wasn’t a real option—although I could hardly believe such a small thing had touched something so deeply disturbing to me, I couldn’t deny that it had. I stay pretty cool usually, but when I get rattled, I skip right over worry and move straight into terror.

Ultimately, through shaky tears, I sorted a good bit of it with a mentor and realized that while it makes sense that I feel distant from a storyline now, the not sharing felt to me like not being known—it felt too close to the alienation and loneliness I felt growing up, and it reminded me of how invisible I often felt next to the unending emotional needs of my mother. The panic was playing out in my body the same way it had decades ago, fed by a fear that I was invisible in this cage of caretaking and would no longer cease to exist as a person with my own needs. And not only that, but this time, I actually did it to myself—abandoned myself right in front of all those honest people and hindered the possibility of connecting by not giving anyone anything to work with. (At least, that’s how the accompanying story to the panic went.) Now I understand why it’s so hard to just drop those conditioned identities—I had spent years building them up as my way of re-creating myself and now this subtle fear: that I had nothing without them. And Jesus, the sensation almost convinced me! I mean, panic is very persuasive. But after being myself with my friend and colleague (an antidote, I figured, to get at the original fear), and working through many other layers of the froth (there is always more…), I felt better. In fact, it became a good opportunity to connect in a way I hadn’t before, and this was true for the other people I talked with, too. As my friend Andrew pointed out, this experience was a good reminder that we are separate beings, that we are alone ultimately in this realm, until we are truly connected with our ultimate Self. In some ways, feeling that loneliness so early on in life was a blessing, because I learned that no earthly thing can ever stop loneliness for good (though I still forget sometimes and try to mitigate it.)

For now, I still want to focus my energy on becoming more than a role; I want to continue my intention that I had a year ago to incorporate my practice in my own body instead of trying to learn something so I can make other people better by teaching them what I learned (yes, I know I have a tendency to do that). I want to do this for me, and if it happens to inspire someone else, that’s great, but it is not my goal. I love the idea of becoming less Personality and becoming more Presence, even though I know now that it may be very uncomfortable moving toward that. Because my ego still wants some recognition, still wants some company, still wants some rules.

Today a new group arrived, and tomorrow morning I will introduce myself again. I wonder what will come out this time. I don’t want to identify completely with all my roles as rigid bastions of who I am, but I do want to honor all the parts of my life that I do value. I want to learn to balance the valuable parts of my own unique humanity as the lovely scenery surrounding me, with the quiet, peaceful place I am climbing toward. I think the story will have something to do with my mother, with my escape to California, with a particular relationship that has acted like a karmic knot I continually try to understand and unravel. I think I might include my fascination with psychology and my years of personal experience with a therapeutic path. I want to include some strokes in there about writing, organizing, and communicating as my art forms and the beautiful community of friends I connected with through the music and art scene in San Diego. And I should probably warn them up front that I can cry at almost any second of any given day. But who knows? We’ll see tomorrow.

Spring Turkeys

Well, I came to Mt. Madonna with the idea of experiencing life in spiritual community, inspired by a love for social dynamics and my own spiritual quest. I am embarrassed to have not included the natural world in that definition, except at the conceptual level, until now. But now, here we are, all the animals and all the people and all the plants and myself. They, carrying on around me, doing their own important work while barely paying any attention to me. Far from relying upon us or anything we might provide, the animals simply tolerating us and allowing us to share their space. Humbling indeed. So, I guess my exploration of the concept of community is expanding everyday. And lately, the natural cycles of this community have brought wild turkeys in hot pursuit around my home and I want to share it with you!

Last summer was my first experience of turkeys roaming wild in the forest. Now, where I grew up in Virginia was actually poultry country—we had a poultry parade and a poultry queen every spring and one of the rival high schools had a turkey as a mascot (the Broadway Gobblers). But turkeys walking around in numbers, grazing on the lawn at dusk, and even roosting in the tall redwoods in the evenings, is not the same thing as a truckload of squashed, feathered bodies, or even a bunch of turkeys on a farm. So, last summer I became acquainted with these wild birds. In the morning light of my previous house, I would sit with my breathing practice, and hear rustling leaf-crunching outside. Looking out, I would see a dozen or so birds, an orderly family traipsing up through the canyon, the baby turkeys distinguished only by their smaller size. They were so cute! Just a miniature version of the adult birds, walking double-time to keep up.

Now that almost a year has passed, they are all the same size as they ruffle through the woods, kicking leaves as they peck around for food. All the same size, that is, until the male birds start their posturing. This is the part that is blowing my mind lately, because their mating shows are amazing! First is the size and embellishment –the toms go from mediocre color and size to the stoutest, most solid beasts you can imagine. In full presentation, their covering looks not like feathers, but more like fur or fat to me. The iridescence and patterning on their bodies is completely surprising, with layers and textures and gorgeous detail. They turn and display and hold open the show and I wonder to myself if this requires muscle, or concentration, or maybe some chemical, to pull this off. It seems it would be tiring.

Meanwhile, the lady turkeys are either: 1) very good at multi-tasking, 2) unimpressed and not even bothering to look, or 3) putting on a very good show of their own by playing aloof. They wander on, kicking leaves and apparently focused only on grazing. This also amazes me, because even if the ladies don’t notice the plumage, the sound is just as convincing. The gobbling, which sounds comical at a distance, is thunderous and arresting up close. The deep bass quality seems to be pulsing out of a barrel in their chests. And the after-echo reminds me of a big rock being dropped into a lake. And then, after a quick running start, they flick open their tails with an impressive humming vibration. This sound I would liken to the light-saber sound effect in Star Wars as it slices the air. I actually heard this sound a few times before seeing it; this time, I sat in my house, debating the relative level of my sanity (once again that is—it’s a daily habit to be honest…) and trying to figure out what I might discover, before peering out my door and being treated to the best backyard nature show ever. (cue David Attenborough).

Well, the Gobblers certainly make more sense to me as a proud, formidable mascot. And I have also learned that turkeys are considered very sacred animals in the Native American tradition, representing renewal, fertility, and gratitude and sometimes symbolizing psychic abilities, much like the peacock. Seeing their display, I remembered the stepping, fanning, drumming dance I've seen at Native American pow wows and could finally understand the powerful spiritual connection. What fascinating and surprising creatures.

I got some great photos from my window after they walked around my house, and even some video so you can see the dance—step, step, step, WHIRR! The stills show 2 toms vying for the attention of a female, but by the time I took video, the male with the notch in his tailfeathers had already outlasted the other and took the center stage.

Who needs TV around here?

The Sun Magazine

I was just reading my copy of The Sun Magazine last night, and realized that I have GOT to share it with the world. It is endlessly inspiring, beautiful, and simple. Sometimes I have to hide it from myself when I get it in the mail, because I might just sit down and read the whole thing cover to cover. And it's actually possible to read every word, because there is absolutely NO advertising to interrupt the tone of the articles or the emotions it may evoke…which my previous roommate can attest are many and strong!


It is a monthly publication, and each issue has the same basic format: it starts with an in-depth interview, usually with an activist, artist, teacher, or other progressive thinker and then has a combination of evocative essays, memoirs, fiction, and poetry. Toward the back, there’s a section called “Readers Write”, where readers can submit their true accounts on a certain theme—some recent examples include “Faith”, “Moving In”, “Deception”, and “Porches”. This is one of my favorite sections, partly for the revealing stories people have to share (the Name Withheld ones are especially juicy), and partly just to witness the paradoxical diversity and commonality within the human experience. It’s also inspiring to read the work of people who are not accomplished writers or artists, but are just normal folks, with sometimes unbelievable stories or really thoughtful perspectives. Finally, each issue wraps up with “Sy Syfransky’s Notebook”, the editor’s short but powerful anecdotes, musings, philosophizings both political and spiritual, or emotional revelations. Because I find his style so honest and humble, I always appreciate having a read of his current thought process. Lastly, there is a page of collected quotes, called Sunbeams, focused loosely on a theme. Here’s one of my favorites (from September 2008):

“I no longer expect things to make sense. I know there is no safety. But that does not mean there is no magic. It does not mean there is no hope. It simply means that each of us has reason to be wishful and frightened, aspiring and flawed. And it means that, to the degree we are lost, it is on the same ocean, in the same night.” ~Elizabeth Kaye

The other thing I love about The Sun Magazine is that it has such a tightly coherent stylistic concept, while still maintaining flexibility through the diversity of the writing and photography submitted. So, no advertising ever. All black and white photography. Sometimes a loose theme running through the issue, which is fun to try to figure out. And to complement the name of the magazine, and reflecting the Editor’s Jewish heritage, the magazine’s inscription is a quote from Viktor Frankl, “What is to give light must endure burning.”

The magazine has had an impact on me in terms of my own writing and I attribute part of my own intention of allowing writing to be a means to transformation to it. It so beautifully exemplifies the kind of quiet revolution I love. But I don't want to take any more fun away from the discoveries you could have yourself, so I'll stop there for now!

Wide-eyed Learning

I wanted to share an excerpt from a book that I am reading which very surprisingly summed up one of my strongest values. I say "surprisingly" because the book is technically an organizational management book called The Fifth Disclipline: The Art & Practice of the Learning Organization by Peter Senge. Sounds dry, huh? Well, although a management classic, Senge's book takes a decidedly more philosophical, more holistic approach than a typical management guidebook would take. I'm not finished with the book yet, but the general idea is that companies can improve their chances of success by taking a systems thinking approach in order to master 3 core learning capabilities. These 3 abilities can be thought of as approaches to problem solving and are: fostering aspiration, developing reflective conversation, and understanding complexity. Well, this just skims the surface of the book, but you can see how the concepts go way beyond markets and profit--I'm reading the book because I'm interested in social dynamics, community development, personal development, and policy-making. And this book connects these concepts under the paradigm of learning...perfect!

The idea of taking a position of learning toward the world is what I am attracted to. It's a perspective I respect and value, and one I aspire toward. It keeps me open and receptive and can protect me from the jaded know-it-all lurking inside. (No one, including me, likes it when she starts preaching and correcting and criticizing.) I see the power of learning as truly transformative, as you surrender yourself to an un-tried course of action, taking a leap of faith into a realm you know little about. The very attitude of learning is hopeful: an extension beyond one's self for a chance at improvement.

So, the excerpt! Mr. Senge says:

"Real learning gets to the heart of what it means to be human. Through learning we re-create ourselves. Through learning we become able to do something we never were able to do. Through learning we reperceive the world and our relationship to it. Through learning we extend our capacity to create, to be part of the generative process of life. There is within each of us a deep hunger for this type of learning. As anthropologist Edward Hall says, 'Humans are the learning organism par excellence. The drive to learn is as strong as the sexual drive--it begins earlier and lasts longer.'

This, then, is the basic meaning of a 'learning organization'--an organization that is continually expanding its capacity to create its future. For such an organization, it is not enough merely to survive. 'Survival learning' or what is more often termed 'adaptive learning' is important--indeed it is necessary. But for a learning organization, 'adaptive learning' must be joined by 'generative learning,' learning that enhances our capacity to create." (pg. 14)

Well, I imagine myself as the first organization I might begin to understand and learn with--an organization of energies, neuroses, experiences, blood cells, ancestral inheritances, memories, ideas, dreams, desires, actions. From there, I ripple out and try to keep my eyes open, heart wide.