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.

Retreats and Party Girl skillz...

I wanted to share some pictures from an event which I helped to plan a couple weeks ago. Actually I was on the planning committee for the larger Community Retreat of which the event was part. Mt. Madonna is a conference center, so we work to provide a retreat space for guests and for the visitors who come to the temple and grounds. Community Retreats are a newer thing (this was the 4th) but they are a time for the residents to reflect and spend time together. This time, the retreat schedule included a workshop with a trainer from the Center for Nonviolent Communication; an art project where each person could create a panel of a giant prayer flag; a community work day; a group dialogue session focused on mission/vision and the future of the community, with input from our resident teacher and with a few readings of original documents regarding "community" from around the time of the Center's founding; a partner yoga class taught by the new resident yoga teachers; and a ritual yagna.

The whole retreat was a big success, but for my part, I wanted to do a dress-up dinner that was catered since we NEVER get catering and we almost NEVER dress up! The idea was a re-TREAT...I mean the thing is called a retreat, but so often it means more work, and what I wanted was a celebration of sorts. So, I got a budget and I organized a full-on Thai feast, preceded by a half-hour of mocktails and jazz piano. Yum and fun! It was a lot of planning but I had a lot of help on the actual day, which is good because we had just one hour to totally reorganize and decorate the main room! We hauled in and screwed together a bunch of tables and decorated them and then, after everyone ate, we turned the chairs toward the stage for a showcase of talent from the community, like a fancy supper club. The talent portion (which I didn't organize) was great because the people that usually perform did (there are SO MANY talented people here!), but some community members that had never expressed themselves until that night did too. There was singing, spoken word, skits, a comedy game, all kinds of stuff. It was so sweet, it came toward the end of the retreat, and people were buzzing for days after! As one of my friends put it so well, the retreat was like a renewal of vows between a couple that had been together for 30yrs (the age of the community). If the retreat was the renewal, to me the dinner night was like a community-sized date between people that know each other well, with a deep understanding, but who get a fresh look, an intimate new perspective on this person they have loved so deeply...like the feeling you get when you look over and realize how amazing and handsome your partner is all over again, and all dressed up just to spend time with you. And how special and grateful that makes you feel...

The whole community retreat thing is right up my alley--I love the self-reflection as a group and the open dialogue process and deepening relationships with the people around me. But I also loved the opportunity to organize the dinner event because in it, I could sense a little of the energy I love from the House music scene, that special jolt when you know the night is going off and everyone is sharing in the same commonality. So, that night, I felt like I got to bring a little of myself and my history and my love for festive social events--!woo hoo!--and offer it up to this place as a gift, as my talent in a way. And I realized the funny thing about a talent is that it's just a gift! It's easy for the person who has it! It's no thing! It just wants to be expressed! And it seems to want to be expressed for the people you love so that you can feel like yourself in your fullest way around them. It felt refreshing to be able to offer it and not be attached to the idea of that role--or ability--or even talent, if I want to think of it that way--defining me. It was just one more thing being exchanged and shared that night, how cool...

So, here is the link to the Slideshow for the full collection of photos.

(Continued from an earlier post)
In general, I preferred the days at Burning Man over the nights. During the day, the natural beauty of the desert sparkled, creating a picturesque frame for each person and scene. My friend and I tried to get reasonable sleep throughout the week and on Sunday, our last full day, we awoke at 10am. We woke to our 3rd RVmate packing everything up to leave, a day earlier than planned. We considered. But this wasn’t right! We had plans with new friends today, and we wanted to watch the Temple burn tonight! We hopped on our bikes to return the furry coats and headscarves we’d borrowed the night before, after the temperature had dropped drastically. This would give us time to think and plan—maybe we’d seen enough during our 4 days and could let it go? We’d had some full days already I guess…

Cruising on my bike, wind fresh in my face, I look around at the scene. The Man burned the night before, so today, I can distinguish the people for whom last night’s party has not yet ended. They mingle happily, sometimes obliviously, amidst the others. I witness a few meltdowns this morning as well; I watch as 2 dedicated people try to reason against frustration and alcohol and lack of sleep manifest in the form of their friend, who pounds her fist on a truck bed. Instead of anxiety, this scene sparks a funny realization of the variety of expression so appropriately related to “burning”. Your skin burns from the alkaline in the sand, your eyes burn from lack of sleep or the fine dust in the air; you may melt down from time to time; you slather on sunscreen in order not to burn; you are paralyzed in amazement as countless ideas are sparked in your consciousness, and of course, you can’t believe how hot and raw people look, a smoking sexiness everywhere.

The burlesquey, circusey style that epitomizes the Burner theme confused me until I experienced it for myself. I used to think the whole style contrived; I still think there’s something odd about dressing the part for something billed as nonconformist and intended to inspire creativity (and I count myself guilty for this by the way) but there are a couple things I learned about this. First, in any social gathering, any culture or society, there exist mutually-created social norms, rules and customs, and in this regard, Black Rock City is a city like any other. Secondly, I found that the style is not only functional, it also exposes the raw, wild west energy of the experience and its severe location. Exposes how, out of the dust, a fresh society throbs to life, burning the sky and then packing itself up and leaving town with the feathered flutter of a cast-off costume. And how, just beneath this pulsation, Bradbury’s ghost lingers about the nooks of the city, portending a coming death. It is an intense but brief encounter, far from whatever role you may be required to assume in your normal life, and there is something darkly sexy and dramatic about this.

Just as you accustom yourself to some feature of reality, it may change form completely. So, every day has its own quality, its own feel. Well, Sunday morning was—forgive me—absolutely Divine. The energy was crisp, quiet, clear. The thumping bass and choppy music was absent and I could hear bluesy tunes, a touch of reggae floating in the distance. It felt like a Sunday, clean and fresh, with a spaciousness that felt different from every other day that week. Out in the middle of the playa, silver ribbons of sand whipped up into the sky like angelic tendrils.

Still riding our bikes around the Esplanade, we float past gorgeous house music easing out of the Philadelphia Experiment camp, and tears start to fill my vision. That was it, my mind was made up. From then on, it was a matter of details. We set our intention and watched as what we needed—a trike to haul our suitcases back across the playa, a ride to our next destination, a place to sleep for the night—materialized before us. What else did we need? Now we were committed, and I felt no fear; once the decision was made, I was optimistic and useful. As everyone reminded us, we couldn’t be in a better place—we would have no problem finding what we needed. They were right ultimately, but not without a few bumps and not without a cost.

So, we collected our gear, traipsing back across the playa behind men in skirts schlepping our stuff on bikes. A mild dust storm kicked up, so we took cover in an art installation inside a metal camper. Colorful lights greeted us from chandelier-type clusters, sea-anemone objects which, if you got closer (and I’m sure that was the artist’s intention), you noticed were a huge variety of sex toys. They were absolutely gorgeous, beads and dildos of all sizes, lit from underneath. We stayed out the storm and promised to come back at night, when the installation was expanded and “even better”. (It was! Giant flowers of light grew out of bins placed around the camper’s opened doors, softening the night’s darkness.) After one more stop—this time to dance an Irish pirate jig in exchange for a rum snow cone—we reached the other side of the Playa and we were free! Our Sunday could begin…

Ode to Community Life

After my vacation to Burning Man and my visit back to SoCal, I returned to Mt. Madonna and looked around (and it really was “around”, because I live in a dome now!) Standing in my new living space, I had the sensation that I had truly come home. I’m not sure if I've been so content or so clear about my intention to be in a place as I feel right now. I’m generally peering into the distance of time or space, planning my next move, rushing through, or lamenting the loss of a past version of my life. I really miss and love my friends in San Diego—I know we have something special and unique, our own community of music, dance, art; emotional support and intelligent conversation; spontaneity, silliness, and fun. That life is irreplaceable and I’m not comparing because it’s not possible! (And anyway, it still exists.) But sometimes I have loved it too much and have slipped too far inside and I know that too. I have a deep-seated hatred of waste, so I cringe when I see my life and my environment turn to excess and I know I can only hold myself responsible. So, if life at Mt. Madonna had a cheerleading squad, I’d be on it right now. And to clarify for those who’ve asked as well as for myself, here’s why I’d praise it:

1. I feel safe here. I feel safe physically, emotionally, financially, and spiritually. This is numero uno…a precious quality that allows for growth and facing anything that comes up head-on and with confidence. My dad pointed out that up here, I don’t have much stress. I argued that really it gets quite frenetic and stressful here at times (it really does!), but then he clarified himself and said, no, I mean, you don’t have many worries there. And it’s true. There’s always food, shelter, beauty, and truly supportive people around. It’s abundantly safe. And feeling safe is required for growth.
2. OUTDOOR SHOWERS! I might miss this the most when I leave Mt. Madonna. During the first shower I took at my new Gnome Dome, I watched as the mist evaporated up the canyon while 3 deer watched lazily from their seats just off my deck. Another shower I used had its platform nestled in a small circle of redwoods and the shower head attached to one of the giant trees. And there are more! I can’t tell you how beautiful, sensual, natural, and sexy these showers feel. They make my day.
3. I have interactions with animals in their natural habitat every day and probably a really unique experience once a week or so. A few: I watched a small skunk overpower a big raccoon once, running so fast into the raccoon that the skunk’s tiny back feet came off the ground! And once, while driving just outside the Center gates, a deer literally flew over the hood of my car! He didn’t dent it at all, but left a visible mark in the wet dust across my hood showing his trajectory. Or just the family of wild turkeys—parents and miniature babies in tow—that traipsed past my house almost daily in the summer. I like that they remind me that I am sharing my home with other creatures which live totally different lives. I am not watching them in the space we have given them, but instead I am allowed to live in peace in my own life next to theirs…it’s humbling and sweet. It’s community life on the grand scale.
4. Interacting with people of all ages and discussing all manner of topics with utmost regard. I have discussed mescaline with an 83 yr old woman; the sadness trees may feel with a 4 yr old; the details of listening and letting go with your romantic partner with a guy with whom I would not even consider a close friend. I can easily sit down to breakfast and launch into a deep discussion about anything, and deep is my favorite conversational quality, other than silly, which also happens pretty frequently, usually out of the unprecedented social situations in which we find ourselves here. I mean, you sort of have to make up the rules as you go because you don’t usually have prior experience with people that communicate primarily with a 2x3” chalkboard, or prior work experience with crews that have no idea what they are doing (including yourself) because burying dead foxes just hadn’t entered the work resume until now. It requires that you jump in and do things you aren’t particularly good at (as far as you know), which is really important for me as I get older and more prone to shying away from unfamiliar things and thus becoming rigid.
5. The intensity. Okay, this is a mixed blessing at times, because you really have to remember to take time out to nourish yourself and process or else you can burn out. I feel up here that there is no running away…the things I normally use to distract myself from the deeper issues broiling away just aren’t as available up here. So it’s me and the skeletons; me and the shadows; sometimes it’s even me and my light and radiant self…and even that is intense! But I thrive on intensity (perhaps we all do? Maybe we all seek divine and mind-blowing experience—it’s the realness we crave…) and I can find it here, safely.
6. The view. It is absolutely breath-taking sometimes. No, it is almost always breath-taking. If it’s not the silhouettes of the giant redwoods, it’s the soupy fog lifting, or the curving coastline and the town of Monterey 25 miles away, or the blinding brilliant sunset streaking the sky coral and purple and magenta. Seriously. I feel blessed just walking around.
7. The smell of the sandalwood incense wafting way down from the temple and into every nook and cranny. Before I came here, it was one of my favorite scents. I almost cried once when it worked its way into the dish room and up my nose, over the smell of the dish detergent and bleach I was scrubbing away with. It seems to be everywhere, even when I can’t see it.

Hell Realms for the Spooky Season

I participated in the Soulmate Trading Outlet at Costco within the Nectar Village at Burning Man ("Bringing top quality soulmates at warehouse prices to the playa since 1998.") It was a really clever way for people to come together and interact in a meaningful way. Whether a true soulmate was the end result was sort of not the point; the “applications” you filled out, the “waiting room” conversations, and the interviews by the members of the camp all figured to be an amazing project in itself and so much fun.

One question on my application asked me to tell one of my secrets. I had to think about this. Well, of course I’m not going to give away something too personal and plus, without some prompting I can’t think of anything that would be juicy to a stranger—a secret seems better when you actually know the person and its context. I mean, almost everyone’s cheated or violated a sacred contract, everyone’s lied, stolen, intentionally hurt someone, probably done things they don’t mention but assume everyone else has done, right? (woohoo, how’s that for revealing some of my secrets?!)

But for some reason, a line popped in my mind that didn’t really answer the question, but seemed to qualify as a secret because I think it may be a fact people don’t know about me. Or maybe I just thought it sounded poetic, who knows? But the line that popped in was, “I love the darkness almost as much as the light. ALMOST.” Looking back now, I think it is actually a mantra I could live by. Or have already perhaps.

The key word, of course, is almost. In that word, years of exploration, years of trial and error, years of stubborn naiveté, years of tears and growth and love and a dawning understanding of the texture of my own shadow—in that word, years of learning by crawling around in the dark have been possible. And I wouldn’t trade it. I wouldn’t caution against learning the boundaries of your person, the limitations and edges which you fear to cross. Those places where you feel yourself unnecessarily suspended and outstretched, overextended. It’s important to know your absolute limits, so that you know you’re safe to navigate all the way up to that point without hesitation. There’s confidence and real strength in that.

BUT BUT BUT. But “almost” means that you go close, but you have to love the light more. Have to. “Almost” means that it is imperative to respect that limit. And that’s because the other side is slippery. It is seductive. On the other side of that line, the rules change and a new reason takes over, one that is noticeably incorrect, uncomfortable, but completely unchangeable. You find yourself agreeing to things you hated before and wondering when the promised payoff will appear. You have to keep walking deeper just to get the clarity to walk out…or so you think. So you go deeper, and it doesn’t get clearer, it gets darker and more confusing and more twisted. It pulls you with a dense and sticky gravity. In this room, people all seem to be very accommodating, they seem to be holding out exactly what you were looking for when you came in. But then you realize they are holding out their hand to take what they think you can offer them. Suddenly, when you can’t hand them what they need, they don’t trust you at all and turn quickly away, searching for a quicker, more open hand. Hungry ghosts with pinhole mouths and distended stomachs with holes in the bottoms look at you with vacant eyes. It’s dangerous here because trust and loyalty are cheap commodities, traded concepts, a mask people wear to see your hand. Have you seen a cornered animal? Scared, untrusting creatures are dangerous creatures. Eyes dart desperately, including your own…

My friend loves vampires. I personally love choke holds and the beauty of a half-dead visage…have always loved heroin chic, dark circles, pale skin. I couldn’t tell you why, at least not with any rationality. Something darkly beautiful has always colored my image of death. Well, my friend says she’d like to meet vampires, and I argued against calling them into her life because I’ve met a few and they are not so great to have around, sucking the life from you and all. She wants to meet the ones in Ann Rice’s books she says, because they are so beautiful and interesting. (Yep, that sounds exactly like the ones I’ve met…!)

But the scariest vampire I’ve met is the one inside. It is the Ego. It is driven by a desire for immortality, seducing us away from the nourishing light of the sun; beautiful, interesting, vapid and empty, casting not even a reflection, neither alive nor dead, exactly where your ego would like you…scared and hungry…all the better for pushing you around and feeding it. It whispers that it will take care of you forever; that unlike the rest of the world, you can live forever with no consequence, with no pain, with no hurt or sadness…but the thing to know about Ego is that its only form of communication is deception. It convinces you that your weakness will kill you and calls you into what feels like strength, but is only more darkness.

I believe it’s important to catch a glimpse. We should meet our shadows and welcome them, should recognize those fatal flaws that are actually the beautiful parts about us, provided they don’t exist in excess, wastefully littered about, pushing out the other parts of us. I hope we dabble in darkness, and then get the hell out.

Burning Man journey #23

Before I went, I’d heard that the first day or so of Burning Man could be totally overwhelming, total over-stimulation of the senses and one’s reason. Perhaps if I had arrived well-rested, maybe simply driven the 2 hours from the Reno airport after a flight from somewhere, I might’ve taken it all in with a giggle. But the journey that preceded our arrival—an arrival all the more noteworthy by the corps of totally nude official greeters at the entrance—was an exhausting adventure in itself and not something I was expecting. Luckily, excitement and delirium lend a special energy, so I was alert as we pulled up to Black Rock City on Wednesday afternoon.


Our arrival was actually the cap-off of a Tuesday 7 AM start to meet my friend and have tea and see the pieces she’d made for the trip (a gorgeous feathered headpiece we would work into a costume somewhere), and an initial grocery stop and car exchange; then a trip to pick up an RV with faulty locks and a scheduling of a locksmith for later that day… to a shopping trip to Costco with our patron who was gifting us this trip; then to hours of my friend and I packing and loading the RV with all our camping supplies, costumes, alcohol and food, wigs, boots, survival supplies (vinegar to neutralize the sand on our skin, nasal spray for the dryness…etc), our trusty bikes, and an industrial size box of glow sticks; after a jarring call from a friend who just learned he has a brain tumor; after making several last stops to drug stores and having one last real shower and shave; after stuffing down some food and then finally leaving San Diego at 10PM and driving 16 hours—sixteen hours—through the night and through freeway closures (can they do that? Just shut down Interstate 5? Apparently yes!) and detours and getting lost and several CDs and yes, come morning, caffeinated cocktails (whoever wasn’t driving had to navigate the bouncing mobile kitchen and flying marinated mozzarella balls—of COURSE it was the half gallon of oily cheese that had to take flight and crash onto the linoleum!—to make drinks and snacks for the driver and the third person if they weren’t dozing, a job in itself. SO…on that first day, the first moment driving into the temporary city felt slightly surreal. I soon learned that the surreal is a state to which one can adjust and accept as normal, and after 4 days in the desert, I wanted nothing more than to embrace that dreamlike reality. I’d enlist the help of strangers, with an optimistic but realistic faith, to stay longer if I had to. And I did.


On Wednesday evening, I hopped on my decorated bike and skimmed the surface of the city, got my bearings. The Esplanade was crawling with bikes, music wafted around on the breezes, and people cruised around in various levels of nudity, costumery, normalcy, and body paint. Giant sculptures soared above our heads and I picked out a few clever theme camps to use as landmarks. It was similar to my imagined picture of it, but on a much larger scale. But the vast emptiness of the center and the distance to the other edge of the city completely blew me away (we camped at 3 o'clock and I could just make out some huge structures across the playa at 10 o'clock). I heard that this year’s population was estimated at 47,000 people, and it must surely be one of the most intensely energetic, innovative, and unconventional collection of people to gather together. My eyes were open.


My experience of that week is still trickling in, conversations and images and even fresh realizations filtering through a processing device in my being I guess. During the week itself, I was impressed and stimulated and sometimes amazed, but something about being there provided me the resources to take it all in without much overwhelment. I’ve always understood that the adaptability of humans is one of our greatest abilities (as well as our most crippling quality) and as the week’s energy slowly grew, my ability to withstand its harshest elements grew with it. On Saturday, after riding through thick dusty sand to an art installation a ½ mile or so out into the vastness, we encountered a complete dust storm. After lowering my goggles and adjusting my bandana around my nose and mouth, we set off for the clubs and bars in the city’s outer ring. What the hell else would you do? How many opportunities do we have in our modern lives to test our reserves, to weather extremes with the intention of enjoying art and freedom and creativity? Should we sit in the RV? Leave early and sit in traffic? You may as well sip on a beverage someone hands you (no money is ever exchanged at Burning Man), meet some other gritty freaks, and dance to house music in a dusty tutu and a bustier…which is what I did...

to be continued...

Pure Fire

From the mountains of the Central Coast of California, where I'm living now, I've watched handfuls of fires pop up unexpectedly. Sometimes they are distant but still visible--a volcano spurting a surreal coal-like orange glow over the ridge behind Monterey (over 80 miles away) in the huge Basin Fire in June. Others seem to lurk around nearby, closing roads and stinking up the air like an ashtray, but never showing their faces or flames. They move fast, OR they might move slow; they change direction, they jump; they burn in areas unreachable and thus un-fightable; they ask you to stay on alert and pay attention but they give you no solid information to work with. I've found that the most frustrating aspect of fire energy is the "hurry up and wait" feeling: my car sat packed, a potential evacuation hanging like a drawn out farewell, making all normal activity or conversation seem useless, or forced, or repetitive. All we could do was check in on the current state of the fire, discuss it from some new angle, and carry on with the day. I kept thinking about the phrase "putting out fires" which is often used to describe the mode of operation in a dysfunctional system like an alcoholic family or a corrupt political system. It's a panicky survival--just a low-grade maintenance, no rich or meaningful life-living. I'm familiar with it, and I hate it.

I noticed, too, how different it is from the extreme blizzards or hurricanes I'm used to on the East Coast, where everyone knows it's coming and then buckles down and waits it out until it ends. Those affect whole towns, states, regions. But the fires here are unannounced and unpredictable, inexplicably hopping around and swiping off parts of the earth like a layer of dust. Strangely, in that, something very clean and total is felt when the fires blow through because something about it requires that you just give in to impermanence and chance.

I wrote this poem seven years ago, after experiencing my first wildfire, and my first winter, in California. I've gotten to know the intricacies of fires a bit more, but this first impression still holds.

Purifier
On the day of the eternal sunset
I awoke,
ashes softly falling from the sky.
A pink haze greeted my eyes
and I couldn't tell you where I was.
My first thoughts trickled out...
purposeful destruction...
pointless devastation?

I woke up
but it seemed the sun was going down,
and my sleepy headed, east coast reality
read:
A Southern California Snowstorm
in the skies that morning.

Collecting my logic,
I rewrite a new story
and I choose this to remember:
That December is still a time to die,
to leave our preconceptions behind.
Cause if it's not the cold, the heat'll get you
down,
choke the air from your throat
and leave you lonely--
yet proud!--
that at least you have yourself
(and no small task at that...)

Sometimes our hope for warmth
becomes the winds on a raging fire.
So, are you ready
for the death and dying?
For the purifying
-Heat-
that melts your need
to search
and learn.
It says give up and start again.

It wants to shed your skin.

Revolution

It is a lazy Sunday afternoon. It is the kind of contented afternoon that feels rich with meaning early in the day, so that the rest of the day is gravy…borrowed time…just extra hours intended for enjoyment. Earlier today, I traded a dish shift with one of the members of the yoga community in which I live so she could have her Sunday morning off. Normally, I don't work with the crew of people working today, and there is always a different feel, a different dynamic depending on who is working and the schedule of the particular day.

The shift was smooth, and I sailed, smiling, through my sink of stainless pots and pans. My mood was encouraged by the selection of traditional gospel bluegrass and the singular sense of home I could hear in the crisp, modest voice of the songstress. One of the crew, Vishwanath, had put the music on for us this Sunday morning. Vishwanath is an older man; I don’t know how old, but he has a full gray beard and long gray hair. He has taken a vow of silence, so he communicates via a pocket-sized blackboard and while he has a boisterous laugh and pleasant demeanor, I consider him a serious man. We chat for a bit (I speak, he writes) about music and bluegrass and then I return to the dish room for the final task of mopping.

So, I am in the process of mopping, and notice myself thinking, “Uh oh, what if I’m not doing this right?” (By the way, the amount of thoughts you can have on just ONE shift, WHOA! Not a good place to try to escape from yourself!) And then I think, “I should slow this down so that Vish will see that I am a good worker (and approve of me).” But I catch myself--trying to impress someone I respect. I realize this with some humor, and tell myself that I just need to slow it down and benefit from the practice myself. I am not trying to rack up brownie points, I came here to deepen my spiritual practice. These dishes, this soapy puddle are my Karma Yoga--selfless service with no attachment to the result of one's actions. And here I am cheating (myself) by trying to get the instant gratification of Approval! And what a booby prize approval is...will I just sit around hoping someone will recognize my goodness and offer me salvation...? At this point, Vish taps me on the shoulder, showing me his chalkboard which says, “Revolution has to come from inside.” Now I’m speechless, so I just nod.

I turn back to my mop, but with tears in my eyes. (My tears…always popping out whenever Truth stings me unexpectedly!) I think for a second how special this place is, but really, I wonder if amazing things are always happening around me and I only need to change my routine and slow down to recognize them.

Young swinger

I really love linguistics and especially wordplay. You know—puns, pidgin, double entendre, esoteric languages between friends. I could nerd out forever on this stuff and in fact, I do. My friend, Andy, is an eager wordplay teammate (in fact, the name of this post came from him) and we like to make up words like beleaguerent, for that variety of drunk who is displaying both the angry belligerent and the beleaguered victim at the same time. Or he might say something like, “Let’s get down to the pool so we can relaxificize ourselves!” because somehow it’s funny to make words longer than they need to be. (By the way, I learned that this process was especially rampant during the Revival days in America when attempts to describe the glory of Lord Jesus apparently necessitated the hijacking of grammar. I learned about this practice on San Diego public radio’s “Away with Words” but I cannot remember the actual word for it. Please help me out if you know what it is!)

SO, the experience I’m about to describe was such a treat for me! But first, have you heard the word "unadulterated"? Well, I looked it up and it means: pure; undiluted; without qualification, ie: milk can be described as unadulterated. But when it's used to describe fun, I have devised my own definition. I discovered the meaning of the word on a summer evening bikeride, warm flowery air at my face as I careened downhill in bare feet. Ever since that night, I have understood “unadulterated” to mean: "not tainted by the rules of the adult world; pure childlike expression." Ahhhhh...remember unadulterated, good time, butterfly in the belly fun??

Well, I babysat a 4 year old today. I am pushing this little boy on his swingset and he is having that kind of fun--laughing in a giggly, spazzy way that is part fun and part fear from the height of the swing.
He is SO HAPPY to have someone to push him on his swing!

Then he looks at me with a huge grin and big brown eyes, his arms and legs twitching with the sensation, and says, "My peepee feels exciting that you're here!" I have to ask him what he said to make sure that I heard him right and then of course I burst out laughing.

By far, my highest compliment this month! And spoken by someone blissfully unaware of the rules of adult etiquette as well as basic grammar. Unadulterated times two.