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.

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.

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.