November 16 & 17, 2009
I attempted to sleep once more but became alerted by the considerable fidgeting of seatmate to the left. I was present to my irritation several times during the whole ordeal and before I gave her the international “you’re disturbing me” expression complete with a deep sigh, I said yet another prayer. “God please forgive me for my unwillingness to embrace this moment. Please grace me with compassion and patience and help me to see what this telling me about myself. I trust that everything that shows up on this journey is for my expansion. I choose to fully embrace this moment. I pray that I will soften and be of service to this beautiful expression of God that has appeared to the left of me. Amen”
I completed my prayer and looked over at her with a “How can I help you?” expression to discover that she become trapped in her aisle seat. The opening had become too small for her frame, especially with the passenger seat in front of her fully reclined. She was sweating and only ensnared herself even worse by her intense struggle. It reminded me of a recent wildlife program, which showed the dramatic rescue of a helpless polar bear cub that had gotten snared by a trap. It too fought hard to free itself only to increase the chance for injury. “I must do something! I can’t let this innocent creature suffer for one more minute.”
Knowing that aisle seat armrests are suppose to lift up, I got on my knees in my seat and lean into her round mass to locate the release button to free her. She somehow realized I was attempting to her, yet she continued to struggle. The commotion finally alerted our cabin steward and he too attempted to release the armrest without success. He reached for her to take his hands so that he could free her, but she pulled away from him lifting her arms as if she was protecting herself from a blow. How is it that any transatlantic flight attendant is unaware of the cultures they serve? When he became frustrated by her refusal to accept his assistance, I said, “She can’t touch you! Her culture prohibits a woman being touched by any other male, like a husband or son. The man in front of her woke and straightened his chair as her mass exploded into the aisle. We had drawn many onlookersduring this melodrama, which all breathed a sign of relief as she was freed, much like I did as I saw the small cub running across the ice to its mother after being freed by a few brave human beings.
Buddha-lady went to the restroom and I took the opportunity too or I’d have to crawl over Mooshi, her mother and another passenger to exit right, if I should have to use the facilities later. While in the galley I asked to be moved to an open aisle seat to prevent another entrapment. The flight attendant said. “Look around, there are no aisle seats available.” I took the long way back to my seat in hopes of finding an open seat. I did. It was an aisle seat several rows in front of ours. I asked the handsome longhaired European man, who witnessed the recent commotion, if the seat next to was vacant. The tray table was down holding an uncollected dinner tray so I wasn’t sure. He looked at me with such disgust you’d think I asked him to hold a fresh bag of pooh. I told him it would be me sitting next to him since it would be difficult for me to get in and out of my seat should I need. He softened and agreed. I was thinking how nice it would be to sit next to such a hottie and what amazing conversation we might have. But before I could collect my belongings, the flight attendant was already moving Buddha-lady into the vacant seat I had found. He had come behind me to ensure that the armrest would release. So instead of my belongings, I picked up her shoes from the floor with my left hand (very important that left hand is used for unclean things in her region of the world) and brought them to her when she went into a series of bows as if she was having a “darshana” (Sanskrit for seeing an avatar or holy person). She thanked me, but Mister European-Calvin-Klein-model just glared at me as though I set him up. I went back to my seat and wondered what he might be resisting that the present of Buddha lady would assist him in letting go? Again, his journey!
I went back to my seat, now on the aisle and stretched out thinking I might be able to sleep now. No go. I sat up, pulled a little battery-operated pin light with a clip, pulled the Velcro loose on the seat back in front of me and clipped the light to illuminate my journal. The overhead reading lights are just too bright and would disturb my fellow passengers in their slumber. I wrote in my journal for a long time and then pulled out the laptop to work on a video of the little Jewish angel I saw yesterday in Lower Manhattan.
Before too long the flight attendants were making their way through the cabin with water. People stirred as blinds began to open. I was hoping for light, but it was still dark. We were landing early, about 4:40 am, so I should be ahead of the morning commuters.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Day 4: Road to India - Bronx, NY, USA to London, UK
November 16, 2009
I woke about 8:00 and putts around a bit before I got serious about closing my backpack. I was in consolidation mode with my toiletries and condiments. I really must wean myself off the sugar substitutes and the powered creamer. I was going to bring the small jar of Metamucil, but it held me up at security at the Long Beach Airport so better make it smooth sailing, which is what it for anyway. Ironic….
I was on yet another skype calls with mum and Yvonne as I zipped my bag closed with some strenuous effort. It’ll all flatten out soon and the teeth of the zipper will go from a tight smile to a casual frown.
I looked at the clock with un-made-up-eyes and panic set in. I putts alright! I had to be out of the flat in 20 minutes. Okay, here comes the all-natural Tracy out in the world. Man, I remember a day when the thought of going out in public without make-up would mortify me. Not these day. I love showing up just as God intended me to at this age. I mean after all wouldn’t a tube of mascara be there at the cutting of the umbilical cord if our creator didn’t do the job well enough? I spent over two decades coloring my hair only to choose a journey that doesn’t support carrying a bottle of Clairol around with me to discover that my Creator did a ‘bang up job’ (I’m in England as I write this ;-). Now, people stop me on streets, buses, trains and planes to ask me for the name of my hairdresser, my response, “GOD, she’s very talented isn’t she?”
I gifted my special hostess with “The Laws of Spirit”, an amazing book by Dan Millman and a starfish on a silver chain. These items were mine but I realize now that some of what I brought with me was always intended for others. I felt the vibration of that necklace and book shift to another frequency that was no longer the one I was vibrating on.
Carrie helped me to the train station to be sure I was going the right way. Good thing too, as I headed for the ‘Uptown’ platform. Carrie yelled from outside the black heavy gates of the subway “No, go Downtown!” I will get off at 125th Street station in Harlem where I need to catch the M60 to LaGuardia.
I came out of the subway and thought ‘Now what?” and saw other luggage-toting folks and turned to follow them. Sure enough, they led me to the M60, which was at the bus stop. I ‘dipped’ my pass in the slot and it popped up signaling that it was okay to board. I spied an open seat right at the front across from Camika. She is dressed in many bright colors, with 6 inch-round transparent plastic rainbow loop earrings I’ve ever seen. She conceals some of her colors with a black and white tweed coat and black suede slouch boots. She’s voluptuous with a friendly and welcoming smile. I begin to chat her up and learn that she’s off the Columbus, Ohio only until February, because as she says, “it’s hard to go from fast to slow” so she has every intention to return to New York City.
We exchange emails and promise to become friends on Facebook. We approached the airport, which I’m completely unfamiliar with, since I always used JFK. Yet, I remind myself that God is always guiding, directing and protecting me! I’m walking through this journey with a peaceful presence that speaks to me in the stillness. As Camika and I almost step off too early I hear that presence speak to me through another. I thought that there were wise people and they speak with wisdom and there are not so wise people who speak nonsense; and I’ve listened to both. I never realized until now that God speaks to me through everyone and not every message has to be ‘wise’ or ‘profound’. Now I realize I needed that wisdom of that lovely man that said, “This isn’t your stop! Wait and I’ll tell you when it’s time to get off.” I intuitively knew that was God. Gandhi says, if you don’t see God in the next person, do not take another step.” Me, I keep walking. Man, does God look and sound great!
I take a short flight in a very small plane to Dulles and get a bite to eat in the food court before proceeding to security. Matt and Jeff are at the next table taking about all things male and mid-20ish. Jeff is in the Air Force after examining his life purpose (so profound for his age), which had him in the Baltic’s helping people rebuild their communities and lives. He really ‘got himself’ while servicing others and now his friend, Matt, from Queens, is inspired to be an officer and not so much to follow his friend’s footsteps but to set his own.
They joined me at my four-top table and sat for about half an hour and we talked about the possibilities of leading an epic life. All though out communing Jeff called me “Ma’am” and each time I heard it I thought about how I probably look the age of their mothers and yet I just don’t feel like a ‘ma’am’, I’m not even sure I know how to ‘feel’ like a ‘ma’am’. They said their good-bye’s and I called Yvonne and mom to tell them I’d skype them in the Dulles Airport. As Jeff shook my hand he said, “Ma’am, you sure do inspire me!” Funny, because he really moved me and gave me the opportunity to look at what I’m doing in the big way as he sees it!
I read “Soul Identity” on my Kindle and before I knew we were down. I exited the small plane and walked around those who collected their carry-on luggage at the bottom of the stairs. Even the smallest carry-ons were to big to fit in the overhead compartments. I surveyed my surrounds from where I stood. Peeped out a monitor and noted my gate. I had to take an shuttle, which looked more like was a prop leftover from one of the Star Wars movies. It was a box-like train car without a protruding driver’s area you see on most people movers, and moved with robotic jerks. I mentioned it to the lady next to me and she laughed out loud as she thought about it, never being able to place what they truly resembled until now.
I knew that I was now in the larger part of the airport. Hundreds of people walking so fast you think someone yelled ‘fire’. “Really people, slow down for your heart’s sake.” I thought.
I used the facilities and looked for an outlet to top off the charge of my laptop. I wasn’t the only one. I was having difficulty getting online and asked the people around me if the airport had free Wifi. Mostly they chuckled and turned away, except for Mesha, (spelled phonetically) who said, “Here, use my laptop.” There was God again!! I asked if he had skpye, he did, brought it up, I signed on and was talking to mum and Yvonne again. We chatted until Mesha had to board his flight that left earlier than main. He was on his way home to Seattle ( I think). He was in some amazing warm place with his girlfriend, which he was able to go because he telecommutes from home, which he can do wherever ‘home’ might be as long as there’s Internet access. I really must keep my pen and pad handy at all times. I will ask him where he visited when we connect on Facebook sometime soon.
They called my flight and as I stood in line to hear the call my boarding group I got a ‘message’ to use the restroom one more time so that when I get settled in my seat and the Melatonin begins to take effect, I can go right to sleep. That wasn’t the ‘plan’ at all. I was in the middle of the center row of seat in the back of the plane and when I got to my row there was a lovely Buddha-round Indian woman in a ivory Sari with only a black fleece hoddie to keep her warm when she lands on the cool and windy side of the pond. She was on her cell, which I’m sure every passenger that had board thus far was aware of. She was speaking with such passion in a language that I’ll soon get accustomed to hearing on a regular basis. I didn’t learn any Hindi before leaving, yet I’m hoping the children that I help to know English will help me speak their language. I stood for some time motioning that I needed to get in, but she just continued her call. There was great fear in her voice an emotion that needs no translation. After a few minute a male flight attendant approached me with an impatient, “what’s the hold up” expression. Finally she ended ‘this’ call to allow me to climb in to my seat. She had put her two pillows and blanket in my seat, for safe-keeping I guess, so when I lost my footing and fell into my seat I had a lovely soft landing.
The plane began to fill up and I knew that we were about loaded and would take off soon. I missed the traditional last “I love you and will call when I land.” phone call to a loved one before the plane doors close. When the doors close it also indicates the “no more cell phone use” status that few heed. So I had my seatmate to the left, who will be to my right? Just then an Indian mother and her 20-something daughter climbed into the seats to my right. This young woman would become my next ‘best friend’ which his what my great niece, Ava, says whenever she meets a new friend. Ava has a world full of potential best friends. I’ve come to adopt that mindset. I love that I borrowed it from her.
Mooshi, is 25 and has been studying to be a doctor like her father that immigrated from India to Tennessee, but he no longer practices “due to his age when he immigrated”. Mooshi and her mother speak Hindi as well as the dialect from her region (or state) in India. Mooshi also speaks some Spanish. She’s lovely and so very vibrant. Her mother is obviously devoted to her and desires to protect her and reveres her as she listens carefully as Mooshi speaks fluent English with such ease. Mooshi was born and raised to about 13 years old in India and then they came to the states. Why Tennessee, I didn’t think to ask at the time because we were busy talking about pop culture, traveling (US and in India), boys and men (she’ll marry an Indian because she says, “she loves and is loyal to her culture”). She smiles and pushes her long black hair away from her face.
My seatmate on the left is solo and is terrified of flying. She’s on the phone with her daughter again and as soon as she sees another Indian she gives her a quick bio and hands her cell phone to Mooshi’s mother. She has a quite extensive conversation with sad Buddha-lady’s daughter and hands her back the phone, without terminating the call. These loud conversations go on for a few minutes as all the passengers get situated and buckled in. Each time this freighted woman dramatically adds to her story and in doing so she leans across my seat as if I’m not even in it. I say a quick prayer that God will calm her heart and mind for the journey and like the tiger who jumps through the ring of fire, will realize that she’ll come down safely on the other side. After the third-or-so talk with the woman’s daughter Mooshi’s mom is starting to get a bit impatient. Yet, I’m learning that Indian patience go way beyond the patience of the average Westerner, which since I’m one and will go easy on my fellow Americans, but truly they would have told the woman to “get over herself and chill so they could enjoy the flight.” So the line up is this, Buddha lady on my left, Mooshi’s mom on my right and Mooshi on the right of her mother. So we’ve got two sets of women caring on conversations over other women, and somehow we’re making it work. Finally, Mooshi and her mother change places “so that Mooshi and I can talk and her mom can sleep.” My frightened seatmate is now further away from her touchstone.
Mooshi and I begin planning our flying time entertainment schedule, which movies we’ve seen which ones we hope will be available, have dinner, a potty break and off to sleep. I love schedules these days, because I only make them to break them. I glance at my seatmate as I settle down to watch the first season’s episode of “Flashforward” on my iPod, because there were no movies on that I hadn’t seen or wish to see again. I look over and gently lean forward to confirm that I was seeing tears running down Buddha lady’s cheek. She fidgets and leans into the aisle as one would lean out into the road when waiting for a bus to come. I assume that she’s waiting for the dinner service, which might take her attention off her dilemma, but as the cart makes her way she tells Mooshi that she is fasting today. When the male flight attendant assigned to our area comes by with dinner cart filled with trays and the plastic and foil containers disguised as dishes half full with just enough to make you want to ask for more, I happy to be of service to her and tell him she’s not eating.
I’m thinking, “Great if she’s fasting I’ll take hers and mine, which might make a whole meal." I’m hungry but seconds later I think that eating too much would interrupt my sleep. Now I wished I had taken hers too, because I was wide awake the whole flight. “Pasta or chicken” the flight attendant asked. I took chicken and Mooshi choose pasta. Taking one look at her pasta I thought I choose wrong. Still guided and directed, the chicken was amazingly tasty. I polished of the salad, diced chicken in red peppers and stashed my packaged chocolate brownie into the seat pocket in front of me for later.
Buddha lady watched us all eat which a drooling expression. Her devotion to God is stronger than her desire to eat. They picked up the trays and begin to put the cabin to bed. I saw Buddha-lady peer into the screen of my iPod, and I turned it in her direction to help her see the screen. She looked away. I pointed to the TV screen in the seatback in front of her, pulled her headphones out of her seat pocket and hand-motioned that I would help her find something to watch. She waved me off with a half-nameste’ bow. “Okay” I thought, leave her alone and let her be with her fears. This is her journey just as yours is yours.
I woke about 8:00 and putts around a bit before I got serious about closing my backpack. I was in consolidation mode with my toiletries and condiments. I really must wean myself off the sugar substitutes and the powered creamer. I was going to bring the small jar of Metamucil, but it held me up at security at the Long Beach Airport so better make it smooth sailing, which is what it for anyway. Ironic….
I was on yet another skype calls with mum and Yvonne as I zipped my bag closed with some strenuous effort. It’ll all flatten out soon and the teeth of the zipper will go from a tight smile to a casual frown.
I looked at the clock with un-made-up-eyes and panic set in. I putts alright! I had to be out of the flat in 20 minutes. Okay, here comes the all-natural Tracy out in the world. Man, I remember a day when the thought of going out in public without make-up would mortify me. Not these day. I love showing up just as God intended me to at this age. I mean after all wouldn’t a tube of mascara be there at the cutting of the umbilical cord if our creator didn’t do the job well enough? I spent over two decades coloring my hair only to choose a journey that doesn’t support carrying a bottle of Clairol around with me to discover that my Creator did a ‘bang up job’ (I’m in England as I write this ;-). Now, people stop me on streets, buses, trains and planes to ask me for the name of my hairdresser, my response, “GOD, she’s very talented isn’t she?”
I gifted my special hostess with “The Laws of Spirit”, an amazing book by Dan Millman and a starfish on a silver chain. These items were mine but I realize now that some of what I brought with me was always intended for others. I felt the vibration of that necklace and book shift to another frequency that was no longer the one I was vibrating on.
Carrie helped me to the train station to be sure I was going the right way. Good thing too, as I headed for the ‘Uptown’ platform. Carrie yelled from outside the black heavy gates of the subway “No, go Downtown!” I will get off at 125th Street station in Harlem where I need to catch the M60 to LaGuardia.
I came out of the subway and thought ‘Now what?” and saw other luggage-toting folks and turned to follow them. Sure enough, they led me to the M60, which was at the bus stop. I ‘dipped’ my pass in the slot and it popped up signaling that it was okay to board. I spied an open seat right at the front across from Camika. She is dressed in many bright colors, with 6 inch-round transparent plastic rainbow loop earrings I’ve ever seen. She conceals some of her colors with a black and white tweed coat and black suede slouch boots. She’s voluptuous with a friendly and welcoming smile. I begin to chat her up and learn that she’s off the Columbus, Ohio only until February, because as she says, “it’s hard to go from fast to slow” so she has every intention to return to New York City.
We exchange emails and promise to become friends on Facebook. We approached the airport, which I’m completely unfamiliar with, since I always used JFK. Yet, I remind myself that God is always guiding, directing and protecting me! I’m walking through this journey with a peaceful presence that speaks to me in the stillness. As Camika and I almost step off too early I hear that presence speak to me through another. I thought that there were wise people and they speak with wisdom and there are not so wise people who speak nonsense; and I’ve listened to both. I never realized until now that God speaks to me through everyone and not every message has to be ‘wise’ or ‘profound’. Now I realize I needed that wisdom of that lovely man that said, “This isn’t your stop! Wait and I’ll tell you when it’s time to get off.” I intuitively knew that was God. Gandhi says, if you don’t see God in the next person, do not take another step.” Me, I keep walking. Man, does God look and sound great!
I take a short flight in a very small plane to Dulles and get a bite to eat in the food court before proceeding to security. Matt and Jeff are at the next table taking about all things male and mid-20ish. Jeff is in the Air Force after examining his life purpose (so profound for his age), which had him in the Baltic’s helping people rebuild their communities and lives. He really ‘got himself’ while servicing others and now his friend, Matt, from Queens, is inspired to be an officer and not so much to follow his friend’s footsteps but to set his own.
They joined me at my four-top table and sat for about half an hour and we talked about the possibilities of leading an epic life. All though out communing Jeff called me “Ma’am” and each time I heard it I thought about how I probably look the age of their mothers and yet I just don’t feel like a ‘ma’am’, I’m not even sure I know how to ‘feel’ like a ‘ma’am’. They said their good-bye’s and I called Yvonne and mom to tell them I’d skype them in the Dulles Airport. As Jeff shook my hand he said, “Ma’am, you sure do inspire me!” Funny, because he really moved me and gave me the opportunity to look at what I’m doing in the big way as he sees it!
I read “Soul Identity” on my Kindle and before I knew we were down. I exited the small plane and walked around those who collected their carry-on luggage at the bottom of the stairs. Even the smallest carry-ons were to big to fit in the overhead compartments. I surveyed my surrounds from where I stood. Peeped out a monitor and noted my gate. I had to take an shuttle, which looked more like was a prop leftover from one of the Star Wars movies. It was a box-like train car without a protruding driver’s area you see on most people movers, and moved with robotic jerks. I mentioned it to the lady next to me and she laughed out loud as she thought about it, never being able to place what they truly resembled until now.
I knew that I was now in the larger part of the airport. Hundreds of people walking so fast you think someone yelled ‘fire’. “Really people, slow down for your heart’s sake.” I thought.
I used the facilities and looked for an outlet to top off the charge of my laptop. I wasn’t the only one. I was having difficulty getting online and asked the people around me if the airport had free Wifi. Mostly they chuckled and turned away, except for Mesha, (spelled phonetically) who said, “Here, use my laptop.” There was God again!! I asked if he had skpye, he did, brought it up, I signed on and was talking to mum and Yvonne again. We chatted until Mesha had to board his flight that left earlier than main. He was on his way home to Seattle ( I think). He was in some amazing warm place with his girlfriend, which he was able to go because he telecommutes from home, which he can do wherever ‘home’ might be as long as there’s Internet access. I really must keep my pen and pad handy at all times. I will ask him where he visited when we connect on Facebook sometime soon.
They called my flight and as I stood in line to hear the call my boarding group I got a ‘message’ to use the restroom one more time so that when I get settled in my seat and the Melatonin begins to take effect, I can go right to sleep. That wasn’t the ‘plan’ at all. I was in the middle of the center row of seat in the back of the plane and when I got to my row there was a lovely Buddha-round Indian woman in a ivory Sari with only a black fleece hoddie to keep her warm when she lands on the cool and windy side of the pond. She was on her cell, which I’m sure every passenger that had board thus far was aware of. She was speaking with such passion in a language that I’ll soon get accustomed to hearing on a regular basis. I didn’t learn any Hindi before leaving, yet I’m hoping the children that I help to know English will help me speak their language. I stood for some time motioning that I needed to get in, but she just continued her call. There was great fear in her voice an emotion that needs no translation. After a few minute a male flight attendant approached me with an impatient, “what’s the hold up” expression. Finally she ended ‘this’ call to allow me to climb in to my seat. She had put her two pillows and blanket in my seat, for safe-keeping I guess, so when I lost my footing and fell into my seat I had a lovely soft landing.
The plane began to fill up and I knew that we were about loaded and would take off soon. I missed the traditional last “I love you and will call when I land.” phone call to a loved one before the plane doors close. When the doors close it also indicates the “no more cell phone use” status that few heed. So I had my seatmate to the left, who will be to my right? Just then an Indian mother and her 20-something daughter climbed into the seats to my right. This young woman would become my next ‘best friend’ which his what my great niece, Ava, says whenever she meets a new friend. Ava has a world full of potential best friends. I’ve come to adopt that mindset. I love that I borrowed it from her.
Mooshi, is 25 and has been studying to be a doctor like her father that immigrated from India to Tennessee, but he no longer practices “due to his age when he immigrated”. Mooshi and her mother speak Hindi as well as the dialect from her region (or state) in India. Mooshi also speaks some Spanish. She’s lovely and so very vibrant. Her mother is obviously devoted to her and desires to protect her and reveres her as she listens carefully as Mooshi speaks fluent English with such ease. Mooshi was born and raised to about 13 years old in India and then they came to the states. Why Tennessee, I didn’t think to ask at the time because we were busy talking about pop culture, traveling (US and in India), boys and men (she’ll marry an Indian because she says, “she loves and is loyal to her culture”). She smiles and pushes her long black hair away from her face.
My seatmate on the left is solo and is terrified of flying. She’s on the phone with her daughter again and as soon as she sees another Indian she gives her a quick bio and hands her cell phone to Mooshi’s mother. She has a quite extensive conversation with sad Buddha-lady’s daughter and hands her back the phone, without terminating the call. These loud conversations go on for a few minutes as all the passengers get situated and buckled in. Each time this freighted woman dramatically adds to her story and in doing so she leans across my seat as if I’m not even in it. I say a quick prayer that God will calm her heart and mind for the journey and like the tiger who jumps through the ring of fire, will realize that she’ll come down safely on the other side. After the third-or-so talk with the woman’s daughter Mooshi’s mom is starting to get a bit impatient. Yet, I’m learning that Indian patience go way beyond the patience of the average Westerner, which since I’m one and will go easy on my fellow Americans, but truly they would have told the woman to “get over herself and chill so they could enjoy the flight.” So the line up is this, Buddha lady on my left, Mooshi’s mom on my right and Mooshi on the right of her mother. So we’ve got two sets of women caring on conversations over other women, and somehow we’re making it work. Finally, Mooshi and her mother change places “so that Mooshi and I can talk and her mom can sleep.” My frightened seatmate is now further away from her touchstone.
Mooshi and I begin planning our flying time entertainment schedule, which movies we’ve seen which ones we hope will be available, have dinner, a potty break and off to sleep. I love schedules these days, because I only make them to break them. I glance at my seatmate as I settle down to watch the first season’s episode of “Flashforward” on my iPod, because there were no movies on that I hadn’t seen or wish to see again. I look over and gently lean forward to confirm that I was seeing tears running down Buddha lady’s cheek. She fidgets and leans into the aisle as one would lean out into the road when waiting for a bus to come. I assume that she’s waiting for the dinner service, which might take her attention off her dilemma, but as the cart makes her way she tells Mooshi that she is fasting today. When the male flight attendant assigned to our area comes by with dinner cart filled with trays and the plastic and foil containers disguised as dishes half full with just enough to make you want to ask for more, I happy to be of service to her and tell him she’s not eating.
I’m thinking, “Great if she’s fasting I’ll take hers and mine, which might make a whole meal." I’m hungry but seconds later I think that eating too much would interrupt my sleep. Now I wished I had taken hers too, because I was wide awake the whole flight. “Pasta or chicken” the flight attendant asked. I took chicken and Mooshi choose pasta. Taking one look at her pasta I thought I choose wrong. Still guided and directed, the chicken was amazingly tasty. I polished of the salad, diced chicken in red peppers and stashed my packaged chocolate brownie into the seat pocket in front of me for later.
Buddha lady watched us all eat which a drooling expression. Her devotion to God is stronger than her desire to eat. They picked up the trays and begin to put the cabin to bed. I saw Buddha-lady peer into the screen of my iPod, and I turned it in her direction to help her see the screen. She looked away. I pointed to the TV screen in the seatback in front of her, pulled her headphones out of her seat pocket and hand-motioned that I would help her find something to watch. She waved me off with a half-nameste’ bow. “Okay” I thought, leave her alone and let her be with her fears. This is her journey just as yours is yours.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Day 3: Road to India (Bronx, NY, USA)
November 15, 2009
Today, I woke up with freedom on mind. I remembered how I felt oddly homesick the days leading up to my departure. I asked a few people close to me if it’s possible to be homesick without leaving home? They would hug me and made some audible “awe” sound, as if to say “isn’t that sweet” and “I have no idea what you’re taking about but your leaving and allowed to be a little weird” and we’d move on to whatever we were doing.
Up until a few days ago I took it for granted that I knew what it meant to be homesick, but now I realize I don’t have a clue. It’s not what I felt at 19 years old as lay crying in my rack in the dark of night in a squad bay that held the 50 some young women marines that made up the platoon 5A. I cried then because I was feared that I might not be able to keep up with the demands of being someone I had yet to become and of the five Drill Instructors that wouldn’t think twice of kicking my ass to be sure I became her. It would have been so much easier to be home with mom so I cried, and someone decide to diagnosis me as ‘homesick.” So what is it? I guess it’s what one feels when they are afraid of feeling the growing pains of becoming something more than they are now, or simply know they can be more.
I’m not homesick today! Today I woke up steady and grounded in the faith and trust I have come to know as the center of me. Here I am in all my glory, one healthy 51-year-young poised woman who lives life each day with the wonderment and optimism of a child. Not knowing whom I’ll meet or even what I might do today, but with all the confidence that it will be good, no matter whoever I meet and whatever I do!
I blogged after the usual pee and tea about 10:30, which could be considered early since I finally falling asleep at 3:30ish. I skyped, showered and dressed knowing I would be going into the City for last time for who knows how long. It’s all about this precious and blessed moment in time, right now! It was 14:00 when I made my way to the ‘D’ train headed for downtown, and then my stride straightened as the picture of Lower Manhattan came to my right brain. I knew immediately that was my destination and said, “Yes” probably audibly for my fellow subway passengers to hear. I rode the vibration of the train listening to a ‘mixed tape’ on my iPod that my friend Dan made for me when the thought “I need to change trains” came and instead of checking my subway map tucked into the back pocket of my travel purse my friend Irma gave me, I jump off the train at the next stop. I asked a platform conductor to direct me to my destination and he said, “Oh Yes, all you need to do is cross over and catch the ‘A’ train to Chambers”. My heart sang and I looked up to God, my prayer of gratitude penetrating the yards of steel and concrete between the sky and me. I’m beginning to feel quite sure that God has sent instructions to every earthly angel to roll out the ‘convenient’ carpet (what color is that anyway?) to ease my every step.
I went straight to Ground Zero, camera ready, iPod playing one of “Dan’s favorites”, which has become one of mine. I don’t know the name of the angel that’s singing the words in my ears (“be still and know that even when you are lost and lonely and hope is gone you’re not alone. Through the darkness see there’s a light, remember that God loves you.”) I scanned Ground Zero with my video camera from my perch atop marble planter in front of the Millennium Hotel, I began to weep as I thought about the great sadness that fell on this place only eight short years ago. I want to tell them “through the darkness see the light and remember God loves you.” Thank you Dan for choosing this song to carry me on my journey.
It was 68 degrees at 15:00 in Manhattan in the middle of November. The gods are happy! I walked around the corner and saw a mother and her young son sitting on the concrete steps. There was some teaching going on, maybe for their faith or religion because he wore a small black cap on his of his head with a beautiful braiding on it and he was mimicking his mom. It was something out of a old-world Jewish fairytale. As I walked by them I was swept into their endearment. I filmed them and eventually walked on. It was difficult because the energy there was clean and Godly.
I went to the nearby park with the fountain and old flamed lanterns. I’ve never known the name of this graceful place. I walked along filming the trees, which are changing late in the year, another one of my mysterious gifts. I’ve had every intention to come here for the changing of the leaves/season, since Christmas of 2008.
I left there with an equally graceful farewell. I’m comfortable with telling things and places ‘farewell’ for I share this world with them too. I made my way into the subway and was redirected to 59 Street by the interrupted train schedule due to reconstruction of the tracks. I embraced those ‘interruptions’ and heed them as co-creations with the divine. I exited the station and went straight for Central Park as the sun was setting. I picked up a few leaves (one is in my journal and the other is now on it’s way to Yvonne for her scrapbook). There’s a café just as you enter the park and I returned to it for a cup of tea and to sit at a small tabled lit by the café’s bright lights. I sat for over an hour journaling until my fingertips became chilled (I wore the fingerless gloves mom gave me). The Starbucks, that mom spotted Raquel Welch at in 2002, was right behind me. I first stood in line for the restroom and when it was mine turn I entered and locked the door behind me and then noticed an official looking set of keys still in the storeroom door. I finished my business and return the keys to the barista. His mouth dropped open and said a passionate ‘thank you’. The manager said what can we get you. I got a chai tea and coffee cake on the house. There’s wasn’t an open seat when I entered but as soon as collected my treats I saw that someone was leaving a large table. I pulled out my laptop and skyped mom and Yvonne and when she saw my leaf she requested and since I was completing my thank-you cards I dropped the small one into her card. I was happy to share my large table with August, from Africa, but now a Manhattan-ite.
This is my last evening in NYC and thought it might make sense to get home for a good nights sleep so I headed for the subway after a quick stop at the mailbox at 61st. I got a call from my friend, Krista, so I stopped at the entrance of the 59th Street station (Columbus Circle) to hold the call. I was chatting away and saw a familiar face coming out of the subway. He paused and a few seconds later we placed each other. It was Aaron, an eHarmony match that I dated in the Inland Empire, coming out of the station. He was there on unplanned vacation. He asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be in India?” I explained and we said our good-byes and I went into the station in perplexity.
What does this mean? What do I want to make it mean? Especially since running into David, an old boyfriend I dated 13 years ago, in a Riverside CVS drugstore two-days before I leaving. (we are both single.) At that moment I thought, what am I missing here? I let it go and went on my journey and now I have run into another man whom I thought had the potential to be my life partner. After some soul-searching, I see that there’s something that these men have in common, besides me of course, and that’s how held a belief that something will prevent these men from wanting me and if they don’t, I’ll generate it. I have an amazing opportunity to transform this, if I haven’t already with my most recent liberation.
Today, I woke up with freedom on mind. I remembered how I felt oddly homesick the days leading up to my departure. I asked a few people close to me if it’s possible to be homesick without leaving home? They would hug me and made some audible “awe” sound, as if to say “isn’t that sweet” and “I have no idea what you’re taking about but your leaving and allowed to be a little weird” and we’d move on to whatever we were doing.
Up until a few days ago I took it for granted that I knew what it meant to be homesick, but now I realize I don’t have a clue. It’s not what I felt at 19 years old as lay crying in my rack in the dark of night in a squad bay that held the 50 some young women marines that made up the platoon 5A. I cried then because I was feared that I might not be able to keep up with the demands of being someone I had yet to become and of the five Drill Instructors that wouldn’t think twice of kicking my ass to be sure I became her. It would have been so much easier to be home with mom so I cried, and someone decide to diagnosis me as ‘homesick.” So what is it? I guess it’s what one feels when they are afraid of feeling the growing pains of becoming something more than they are now, or simply know they can be more.
I’m not homesick today! Today I woke up steady and grounded in the faith and trust I have come to know as the center of me. Here I am in all my glory, one healthy 51-year-young poised woman who lives life each day with the wonderment and optimism of a child. Not knowing whom I’ll meet or even what I might do today, but with all the confidence that it will be good, no matter whoever I meet and whatever I do!
I blogged after the usual pee and tea about 10:30, which could be considered early since I finally falling asleep at 3:30ish. I skyped, showered and dressed knowing I would be going into the City for last time for who knows how long. It’s all about this precious and blessed moment in time, right now! It was 14:00 when I made my way to the ‘D’ train headed for downtown, and then my stride straightened as the picture of Lower Manhattan came to my right brain. I knew immediately that was my destination and said, “Yes” probably audibly for my fellow subway passengers to hear. I rode the vibration of the train listening to a ‘mixed tape’ on my iPod that my friend Dan made for me when the thought “I need to change trains” came and instead of checking my subway map tucked into the back pocket of my travel purse my friend Irma gave me, I jump off the train at the next stop. I asked a platform conductor to direct me to my destination and he said, “Oh Yes, all you need to do is cross over and catch the ‘A’ train to Chambers”. My heart sang and I looked up to God, my prayer of gratitude penetrating the yards of steel and concrete between the sky and me. I’m beginning to feel quite sure that God has sent instructions to every earthly angel to roll out the ‘convenient’ carpet (what color is that anyway?) to ease my every step.
I went straight to Ground Zero, camera ready, iPod playing one of “Dan’s favorites”, which has become one of mine. I don’t know the name of the angel that’s singing the words in my ears (“be still and know that even when you are lost and lonely and hope is gone you’re not alone. Through the darkness see there’s a light, remember that God loves you.”) I scanned Ground Zero with my video camera from my perch atop marble planter in front of the Millennium Hotel, I began to weep as I thought about the great sadness that fell on this place only eight short years ago. I want to tell them “through the darkness see the light and remember God loves you.” Thank you Dan for choosing this song to carry me on my journey.
It was 68 degrees at 15:00 in Manhattan in the middle of November. The gods are happy! I walked around the corner and saw a mother and her young son sitting on the concrete steps. There was some teaching going on, maybe for their faith or religion because he wore a small black cap on his of his head with a beautiful braiding on it and he was mimicking his mom. It was something out of a old-world Jewish fairytale. As I walked by them I was swept into their endearment. I filmed them and eventually walked on. It was difficult because the energy there was clean and Godly.
I went to the nearby park with the fountain and old flamed lanterns. I’ve never known the name of this graceful place. I walked along filming the trees, which are changing late in the year, another one of my mysterious gifts. I’ve had every intention to come here for the changing of the leaves/season, since Christmas of 2008.
I left there with an equally graceful farewell. I’m comfortable with telling things and places ‘farewell’ for I share this world with them too. I made my way into the subway and was redirected to 59 Street by the interrupted train schedule due to reconstruction of the tracks. I embraced those ‘interruptions’ and heed them as co-creations with the divine. I exited the station and went straight for Central Park as the sun was setting. I picked up a few leaves (one is in my journal and the other is now on it’s way to Yvonne for her scrapbook). There’s a café just as you enter the park and I returned to it for a cup of tea and to sit at a small tabled lit by the café’s bright lights. I sat for over an hour journaling until my fingertips became chilled (I wore the fingerless gloves mom gave me). The Starbucks, that mom spotted Raquel Welch at in 2002, was right behind me. I first stood in line for the restroom and when it was mine turn I entered and locked the door behind me and then noticed an official looking set of keys still in the storeroom door. I finished my business and return the keys to the barista. His mouth dropped open and said a passionate ‘thank you’. The manager said what can we get you. I got a chai tea and coffee cake on the house. There’s wasn’t an open seat when I entered but as soon as collected my treats I saw that someone was leaving a large table. I pulled out my laptop and skyped mom and Yvonne and when she saw my leaf she requested and since I was completing my thank-you cards I dropped the small one into her card. I was happy to share my large table with August, from Africa, but now a Manhattan-ite.
This is my last evening in NYC and thought it might make sense to get home for a good nights sleep so I headed for the subway after a quick stop at the mailbox at 61st. I got a call from my friend, Krista, so I stopped at the entrance of the 59th Street station (Columbus Circle) to hold the call. I was chatting away and saw a familiar face coming out of the subway. He paused and a few seconds later we placed each other. It was Aaron, an eHarmony match that I dated in the Inland Empire, coming out of the station. He was there on unplanned vacation. He asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be in India?” I explained and we said our good-byes and I went into the station in perplexity.
What does this mean? What do I want to make it mean? Especially since running into David, an old boyfriend I dated 13 years ago, in a Riverside CVS drugstore two-days before I leaving. (we are both single.) At that moment I thought, what am I missing here? I let it go and went on my journey and now I have run into another man whom I thought had the potential to be my life partner. After some soul-searching, I see that there’s something that these men have in common, besides me of course, and that’s how held a belief that something will prevent these men from wanting me and if they don’t, I’ll generate it. I have an amazing opportunity to transform this, if I haven’t already with my most recent liberation.
Day 2: Road to India - Bronx, NY, USA - Part 3
November 14, 2009
It didn’t much begin considering the time that Day 2 “ended”. It was 12:30 am (EST) when I was still on one of many Skype calls with my sister and mom. Mummy with her maternal Blair Witch in the camera sweetly saying, “Go the bed, you must get your rest!”. I hung up with mum believing I was off to sleep, but I had the video bug. I had such a wonderful day and evening that I thought surely my vicarious travel-mates would enjoy the wonders I experienced. So there I was speeding down the technological learning curve and my geek-car was handling “like it was on rails.” I was slicing and dicing my NYC video clips like a true IT chef, as I matched my evening with “I got a feeling” by the Black Peas. I was sharing my evening and it was pure joy!
I was so excited for those loved ones who have shared NYC experiences with me to see the video. As I watched the end of the video when Mr. Yellow M&M knocks on the screen, I wanted to tell him, “yes, I’m here enjoying the moment like no other.”
Wow, I was away from home and feeling such joy, how could this be? Less than three years ago home was where I hung my many hats, but now that I have a deeper and more abiding love for my family home is now wherever they are and that could be in Timbuktu and it would still be home for me. I have always ‘loved’ my family, that come with the chromosomes, yet the love I have for them now is so expansive that when totally present to it I begin to well-up and “my eyes sweat”. This love is too big for my body and it escapes like a sweet perspiration that those with similar emotional bonds instinctively know they got a whiff of that precious home that lives deep within their souls.
Friday, Chuck stayed back to allow Yvonne and mom to be alone with me as I departed, I assume this is the case, but I’m even grateful for the assumption that it could be so. When it was time to say “good bye” we walked toward each other, and as he approached me I said, “there’s only one thing I want…” and before I could say that I wanted a two-armed hug, I was already in them both! This meant so very much to me and I welled up and made a quick move to dawn my sunglasses so not to make him uncomfortable by my tears. I love every member of my family equally, yet the way I express it is unique to each member.
The next noise I heard was the familiar and comforting sound of keys unlocking the door (my “roommate” Carrie, is home!). This is one of my favorite sounds lately since I had been living with others over the past two months. I’ve been surprised by my many new favorite tastes, both literal and figuratively, lately.
I was glad the Star, a name I’ve taken to calling her since I know her aspirations, was home and I was excited to show her cameo appearance in my first completed YouTube video. She laughed in her usual joyful way that includes an innocent shyness with head going back and hands coming forth as if trying to regulates how much escapes her reservoir of happiness. This can make you forget that there’s a bold black woman there that makes her appearance especially when giving a New York taxi driver explicit direction to her Bronx flat, “You were suppose to turn right there and that’ll be coming out of your tip!” I wonder if someone told her not to be “so loud and expressive” when she laughs? If so, they did her and all of us a disservice!
We watched the video and chatted about the day and evening, work and play, dreams and fears until after 2 am. I was so split; should I roll with the fun or obey my mother and go to be. I laid down and stared wildly at the ceiling. I shifted from one side to the other, but my body said, “You’ve past the threshold Lady, better think of something else.” So I did. I remembered the Tylenol PM mom gave me in the convenient hard-to-open packet. I took only one, boiled water for some Vata tea Sue gave me, and reached for the book, ‘Becoming Human’ Shannon gave me and read the first chapter on “Being Simple” and there it was! I forgot that I’m ‘processing’ the latest detachments from earlier that evening. After a magical and almost weightless experience in the glistening lights of Time Square I return ‘home’ and became heavy again. I knew it was time to go into the dark caves of my psyche, which needs to hold on to things to sustain its existence, and purge yet again. I opened the wings of my Osprey backpack and pulled out all they held. Knowing that I chosen to have only ONE bag. That meant that two had to go. I began by making two piles, what I needed, and what I could live without. I dug deep and pulled open three small space bags. Each one took a deep inhale as if holding its breathe and I did the same and rescued the wrinkled clothes as I heard mom’s inquiry, “You really need that many tops?” as I split them between the two piles.
In my defense, I have no idea how to live this new existence, as I ignored mum’s warnings and shoved them tightly into my bag the night before I left. It took me to haul all this to NYC to come to realize that all I clung to was helping me cling to the past or better yet, what I knew of life up until to now. I could just hear my ego crying out, “ If you don’t have that Ado(red) tank top how will people know that you’re one of those ‘socially conscious individual’ who pays $29 for a cotton tank to show you care?” As the discard pile got taller I realized that I was purging what made me who I was to the external world and I felt my own wings expand revealing more of who I am internally. I thought I was as liberated as I could be, yet now I know I can go deeper, bringing light to those dark corners of my mind while opening my soul!
I realize I’ve been listening to “Psalm 23” over and over again as I journal, not just this time but while I’ve written every entry since I started my “road to India” journaling. I don’t feel like I’m walking through the ‘valley of the shadow of death’ but some darkness, yes, certainly. I am comforted by the fact that I am “God’s forever.”
Another quote from my journal:
“I travel a lot; I hate having my life disrupted by routine.” – Caskie Stinnett
It didn’t much begin considering the time that Day 2 “ended”. It was 12:30 am (EST) when I was still on one of many Skype calls with my sister and mom. Mummy with her maternal Blair Witch in the camera sweetly saying, “Go the bed, you must get your rest!”. I hung up with mum believing I was off to sleep, but I had the video bug. I had such a wonderful day and evening that I thought surely my vicarious travel-mates would enjoy the wonders I experienced. So there I was speeding down the technological learning curve and my geek-car was handling “like it was on rails.” I was slicing and dicing my NYC video clips like a true IT chef, as I matched my evening with “I got a feeling” by the Black Peas. I was sharing my evening and it was pure joy!
I was so excited for those loved ones who have shared NYC experiences with me to see the video. As I watched the end of the video when Mr. Yellow M&M knocks on the screen, I wanted to tell him, “yes, I’m here enjoying the moment like no other.”
Wow, I was away from home and feeling such joy, how could this be? Less than three years ago home was where I hung my many hats, but now that I have a deeper and more abiding love for my family home is now wherever they are and that could be in Timbuktu and it would still be home for me. I have always ‘loved’ my family, that come with the chromosomes, yet the love I have for them now is so expansive that when totally present to it I begin to well-up and “my eyes sweat”. This love is too big for my body and it escapes like a sweet perspiration that those with similar emotional bonds instinctively know they got a whiff of that precious home that lives deep within their souls.
Friday, Chuck stayed back to allow Yvonne and mom to be alone with me as I departed, I assume this is the case, but I’m even grateful for the assumption that it could be so. When it was time to say “good bye” we walked toward each other, and as he approached me I said, “there’s only one thing I want…” and before I could say that I wanted a two-armed hug, I was already in them both! This meant so very much to me and I welled up and made a quick move to dawn my sunglasses so not to make him uncomfortable by my tears. I love every member of my family equally, yet the way I express it is unique to each member.
The next noise I heard was the familiar and comforting sound of keys unlocking the door (my “roommate” Carrie, is home!). This is one of my favorite sounds lately since I had been living with others over the past two months. I’ve been surprised by my many new favorite tastes, both literal and figuratively, lately.
I was glad the Star, a name I’ve taken to calling her since I know her aspirations, was home and I was excited to show her cameo appearance in my first completed YouTube video. She laughed in her usual joyful way that includes an innocent shyness with head going back and hands coming forth as if trying to regulates how much escapes her reservoir of happiness. This can make you forget that there’s a bold black woman there that makes her appearance especially when giving a New York taxi driver explicit direction to her Bronx flat, “You were suppose to turn right there and that’ll be coming out of your tip!” I wonder if someone told her not to be “so loud and expressive” when she laughs? If so, they did her and all of us a disservice!
We watched the video and chatted about the day and evening, work and play, dreams and fears until after 2 am. I was so split; should I roll with the fun or obey my mother and go to be. I laid down and stared wildly at the ceiling. I shifted from one side to the other, but my body said, “You’ve past the threshold Lady, better think of something else.” So I did. I remembered the Tylenol PM mom gave me in the convenient hard-to-open packet. I took only one, boiled water for some Vata tea Sue gave me, and reached for the book, ‘Becoming Human’ Shannon gave me and read the first chapter on “Being Simple” and there it was! I forgot that I’m ‘processing’ the latest detachments from earlier that evening. After a magical and almost weightless experience in the glistening lights of Time Square I return ‘home’ and became heavy again. I knew it was time to go into the dark caves of my psyche, which needs to hold on to things to sustain its existence, and purge yet again. I opened the wings of my Osprey backpack and pulled out all they held. Knowing that I chosen to have only ONE bag. That meant that two had to go. I began by making two piles, what I needed, and what I could live without. I dug deep and pulled open three small space bags. Each one took a deep inhale as if holding its breathe and I did the same and rescued the wrinkled clothes as I heard mom’s inquiry, “You really need that many tops?” as I split them between the two piles.
In my defense, I have no idea how to live this new existence, as I ignored mum’s warnings and shoved them tightly into my bag the night before I left. It took me to haul all this to NYC to come to realize that all I clung to was helping me cling to the past or better yet, what I knew of life up until to now. I could just hear my ego crying out, “ If you don’t have that Ado(red) tank top how will people know that you’re one of those ‘socially conscious individual’ who pays $29 for a cotton tank to show you care?” As the discard pile got taller I realized that I was purging what made me who I was to the external world and I felt my own wings expand revealing more of who I am internally. I thought I was as liberated as I could be, yet now I know I can go deeper, bringing light to those dark corners of my mind while opening my soul!
I realize I’ve been listening to “Psalm 23” over and over again as I journal, not just this time but while I’ve written every entry since I started my “road to India” journaling. I don’t feel like I’m walking through the ‘valley of the shadow of death’ but some darkness, yes, certainly. I am comforted by the fact that I am “God’s forever.”
Another quote from my journal:
“I travel a lot; I hate having my life disrupted by routine.” – Caskie Stinnett
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Day 2: Road to India - Bronx, NY, USA - part 2
November 14, 2009
What's left of my worldly possessions is still too much! They are still heavy on my back and now I realize they are too heavy on my mind and my attention. I don't want to have to focus on what I have and what I must carry to the next place. I realize my holding on to that extra weight represents the debris left exposed after the initial purging and detachment. Oh what fun, I get to dig deeper and excavate more of what I haven't dealt with. I welcome it! The Spring-cleaning of my heart and soul of all that impedes it is a process I could embrace.
I only hope that after it's done I'll have at least one pair of shoes, some undies, a shirt and a pair a comfortable jeans. I don't see myself as someone who would shed all her clothes, cover my body with ash and sit by the road chanting and giving blessings to the occasional passer-by. What I'm sure of is that there's more detachment for me to do.
What's left of my worldly possessions is still too much! They are still heavy on my back and now I realize they are too heavy on my mind and my attention. I don't want to have to focus on what I have and what I must carry to the next place. I realize my holding on to that extra weight represents the debris left exposed after the initial purging and detachment. Oh what fun, I get to dig deeper and excavate more of what I haven't dealt with. I welcome it! The Spring-cleaning of my heart and soul of all that impedes it is a process I could embrace.
I only hope that after it's done I'll have at least one pair of shoes, some undies, a shirt and a pair a comfortable jeans. I don't see myself as someone who would shed all her clothes, cover my body with ash and sit by the road chanting and giving blessings to the occasional passer-by. What I'm sure of is that there's more detachment for me to do.
Day 2: Road to India (Bronx, NY, USA)
November 14, 2009
I woke with some sinus pressure which I released pretty quickly with a couple of tylenols and applying pressure to my sinus bones with my index fingers. I got up at 6:44 am to do the usual pee, tea and a quick sort out of what I'm purging today. My bags are just too heavy!
I'm at my new friend, Carries' apartment in the Bronx. It's beautifully basic, without a hint of pretension. I love its simplicity. Carrie is a rising star, it even says so in the bathroom on a handwritten affirmation taped to the mirror. It's a small, well situated one bedroom minus adequate closet space that found typical of NYC apartments. (An alarm sounds that I first think is the alarm of a huge truck backing up on the narrow street just outside, but realize that it's coming from the bedroom. It continues for a long minute which tells me I didn't need to do the tip-toeing I did while putting the kettle on for tea. I clanged a few cups together and thought "eeekkk I'm going to wake my gracious hostess from her slumber!" I realize now that she, like me in my 20s, would wake if a mac truck plowed right through the middle of my home.
The first cupboard I opened was where I would have put mugs if I had lived her. Bingo, right in front was an obvious favorite, with the smaller mugs to the back. You know those ones that feel somewhat awkward in the hand, but this one is yellow (the fung shui color of health) it's round with a perfect handle to slide 3 of 4 fingers into while holding the mug with the left for the occasional hand-warming on a NY winter morning.
(The alarm sounds again for the third time.) back to the simplicity of my temporary resting place. The walls are landlord-white and somewhat bare except for the few chromed famed posters having something to do with plays, actors and the awards they when. There's a lanyard hanging with my host's full name printed about the title "actor". The TV is small and just barely holds the cable box perched on top. It sits on a box draped with a gold silk curtain or table cloth and in front of that is my backpack, carry-on bag-now only half full after a quick purge as my tea brews-and my laptop bag. A book shelf made of light wood holds books about enlightenment and screenwriting, a box labeled "Playbills" and two Absolute bottles collecting pennies.
I love this place, it's functional nature is so honest! There's a purity here, no place to hide oneself, an authenticity that makes it a welcomed home that sincerely says, "come as you are!" I look forward to getting to know my generous host more over the next two and half days. Being in this place reminds me of what Rumi said, "Wherever you are, be the soul of the place" and that's what and who I'll be. I go to London in a few days. yet the riddle I've taught my niece, Ava, comes to mind, "What time is it? and Where are you?" allowing her to use only one word for each answer, "Now & Here", and if not I am no where.
I woke with some sinus pressure which I released pretty quickly with a couple of tylenols and applying pressure to my sinus bones with my index fingers. I got up at 6:44 am to do the usual pee, tea and a quick sort out of what I'm purging today. My bags are just too heavy!
I'm at my new friend, Carries' apartment in the Bronx. It's beautifully basic, without a hint of pretension. I love its simplicity. Carrie is a rising star, it even says so in the bathroom on a handwritten affirmation taped to the mirror. It's a small, well situated one bedroom minus adequate closet space that found typical of NYC apartments. (An alarm sounds that I first think is the alarm of a huge truck backing up on the narrow street just outside, but realize that it's coming from the bedroom. It continues for a long minute which tells me I didn't need to do the tip-toeing I did while putting the kettle on for tea. I clanged a few cups together and thought "eeekkk I'm going to wake my gracious hostess from her slumber!" I realize now that she, like me in my 20s, would wake if a mac truck plowed right through the middle of my home.
The first cupboard I opened was where I would have put mugs if I had lived her. Bingo, right in front was an obvious favorite, with the smaller mugs to the back. You know those ones that feel somewhat awkward in the hand, but this one is yellow (the fung shui color of health) it's round with a perfect handle to slide 3 of 4 fingers into while holding the mug with the left for the occasional hand-warming on a NY winter morning.
(The alarm sounds again for the third time.) back to the simplicity of my temporary resting place. The walls are landlord-white and somewhat bare except for the few chromed famed posters having something to do with plays, actors and the awards they when. There's a lanyard hanging with my host's full name printed about the title "actor". The TV is small and just barely holds the cable box perched on top. It sits on a box draped with a gold silk curtain or table cloth and in front of that is my backpack, carry-on bag-now only half full after a quick purge as my tea brews-and my laptop bag. A book shelf made of light wood holds books about enlightenment and screenwriting, a box labeled "Playbills" and two Absolute bottles collecting pennies.
I love this place, it's functional nature is so honest! There's a purity here, no place to hide oneself, an authenticity that makes it a welcomed home that sincerely says, "come as you are!" I look forward to getting to know my generous host more over the next two and half days. Being in this place reminds me of what Rumi said, "Wherever you are, be the soul of the place" and that's what and who I'll be. I go to London in a few days. yet the riddle I've taught my niece, Ava, comes to mind, "What time is it? and Where are you?" allowing her to use only one word for each answer, "Now & Here", and if not I am no where.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Day 1: The Road to India (Riverside, CA, USA)
November 13, 2009
1:41 am - Today began by being awakened by my mum going to the restroom. She came back to bed to fall asleep almost immediately. I was glad because, as she reported yesterday, she was 'exhausted'. I laid there in the bed I have shared with my beloved mother on and off for two months, a pattern broken only by a week or two of housesitting for my sister and brother-in-law, caring for their large house and their small dog, Noka, allow them to travel worry-free. I digress.
I laid there listening to Ash purr on my right (a cat I've come to affectionately love from merely tolerating a few short months ago) and mom on my left doing her own kind of purring as each exhale is pushed through closed lips making a kind of puffing sound. A sound that my sister just admitted that she recently woke up doing that same puffing-snore. "Mirror, mirror on the wall, I am my mother after all." Not such a bad plight I think.
I laid there a bit more and reached for mom's hand and held it while I said a silent prayer that she would be able to find herself-her true self as she examines her life. This after confessing that she has somehow gotten lost in the lives of others. Who is she beyond the mother of Tracy and Yvonne, or Gigi to Ava, Haylee, Paige and the new baby on its way? I believe this is an exciting time for her as well.
I let go of her hand and sat up disturbing Ash only slightly as he resettled on my now vacant pillow. I pulled the bedroom door closed enough to prevent the light in the kitchen from seeping into the bedroom as I put the kettle on for tea. I switched on the lamp aside the sofa to begin this journal entry. I poured some water into a small glass and dropped an Airborne tablet into it thinking that it would would keep my immune strong as I get weak from rising so very early.
When I first got up and begin switching on the lights I crabbed my Kindle (a gift from my new yet life-long friend, Sue) thinking I would read, but the call of the crisp pages of this new journal (another gift from my beloved friend, Ester) was calling to me much louder. I wasn't going to take this journal with me due to the added weight it would give to my already heavy bags. But the thought of re-gifting it (probably to mom as much of what I choosing to leave behind is going to her) just didn't seem--not 'right' so much as the desire to have a wonderful connector to such an adored friend as she. I also picked up mom's guestbook that was laid open last Sunday at the potluck, farewell birthday party for me. I want to pull out the pages that hold the precious sentiments of my loved ones and take them with me, but that too doesn't make sense after purging a third of what I thought would fit in my 28" Osprey backpack (man, am I relieved it has wheels!) I will soon come to learn that if truth be known I'll only need a third of what's in it now. What I find profound is that the last entry in the guestbook was penned by my own hand nine years and two days ago, which reads, "Saying it is one thing, but living it is something else entirely. I wish this new [Shirley Valentine] group will empower us all to fulfill our potential!" I find that to be more than a coincidence and feel certain that I am moving closer and closer to fulfilling my own potential. I thumbed through the eight pages that contain the most encouraging words ever bestowed on me. (I almost wrote 'ever given' then an ever so brief argument with my ego which accused me of using 'bestowed' to impress. It lost the battle as I retorted "word of this nature are not given! They can only be 'bestowed' because they are said based on the way the recipient is 'being'." This is what is so humbling about what has been written on those pages. It's proof that I made it out of the cocoon and I'm ready to fly. I replaced the copy of the invitation to the party in between the pages for safe-keeping and as I closed the book I felt a sense of responsibility to fulfill the wishes of the authors of those words.
I'm so enjoying my second to last cup of tea (2nd to last considering we won't leave for Yvonne's for our drive to the airport of another six hours and anticipate having another). This one is perfectly sweetened with just the right amount of creamer for the long brew I gave it.
--This journal has inspiring quotes written on every forth page. The two that accompany this post are;
"Adventure is worthwhile." Amelia Earhart
and
"Do not go where the path may lead; go instead where there is no path and leave a trail." Ralph Waldo Emerson
1:41 am - Today began by being awakened by my mum going to the restroom. She came back to bed to fall asleep almost immediately. I was glad because, as she reported yesterday, she was 'exhausted'. I laid there in the bed I have shared with my beloved mother on and off for two months, a pattern broken only by a week or two of housesitting for my sister and brother-in-law, caring for their large house and their small dog, Noka, allow them to travel worry-free. I digress.
I laid there listening to Ash purr on my right (a cat I've come to affectionately love from merely tolerating a few short months ago) and mom on my left doing her own kind of purring as each exhale is pushed through closed lips making a kind of puffing sound. A sound that my sister just admitted that she recently woke up doing that same puffing-snore. "Mirror, mirror on the wall, I am my mother after all." Not such a bad plight I think.
I laid there a bit more and reached for mom's hand and held it while I said a silent prayer that she would be able to find herself-her true self as she examines her life. This after confessing that she has somehow gotten lost in the lives of others. Who is she beyond the mother of Tracy and Yvonne, or Gigi to Ava, Haylee, Paige and the new baby on its way? I believe this is an exciting time for her as well.
I let go of her hand and sat up disturbing Ash only slightly as he resettled on my now vacant pillow. I pulled the bedroom door closed enough to prevent the light in the kitchen from seeping into the bedroom as I put the kettle on for tea. I switched on the lamp aside the sofa to begin this journal entry. I poured some water into a small glass and dropped an Airborne tablet into it thinking that it would would keep my immune strong as I get weak from rising so very early.
When I first got up and begin switching on the lights I crabbed my Kindle (a gift from my new yet life-long friend, Sue) thinking I would read, but the call of the crisp pages of this new journal (another gift from my beloved friend, Ester) was calling to me much louder. I wasn't going to take this journal with me due to the added weight it would give to my already heavy bags. But the thought of re-gifting it (probably to mom as much of what I choosing to leave behind is going to her) just didn't seem--not 'right' so much as the desire to have a wonderful connector to such an adored friend as she. I also picked up mom's guestbook that was laid open last Sunday at the potluck, farewell birthday party for me. I want to pull out the pages that hold the precious sentiments of my loved ones and take them with me, but that too doesn't make sense after purging a third of what I thought would fit in my 28" Osprey backpack (man, am I relieved it has wheels!) I will soon come to learn that if truth be known I'll only need a third of what's in it now. What I find profound is that the last entry in the guestbook was penned by my own hand nine years and two days ago, which reads, "Saying it is one thing, but living it is something else entirely. I wish this new [Shirley Valentine] group will empower us all to fulfill our potential!" I find that to be more than a coincidence and feel certain that I am moving closer and closer to fulfilling my own potential. I thumbed through the eight pages that contain the most encouraging words ever bestowed on me. (I almost wrote 'ever given' then an ever so brief argument with my ego which accused me of using 'bestowed' to impress. It lost the battle as I retorted "word of this nature are not given! They can only be 'bestowed' because they are said based on the way the recipient is 'being'." This is what is so humbling about what has been written on those pages. It's proof that I made it out of the cocoon and I'm ready to fly. I replaced the copy of the invitation to the party in between the pages for safe-keeping and as I closed the book I felt a sense of responsibility to fulfill the wishes of the authors of those words.
I'm so enjoying my second to last cup of tea (2nd to last considering we won't leave for Yvonne's for our drive to the airport of another six hours and anticipate having another). This one is perfectly sweetened with just the right amount of creamer for the long brew I gave it.
--This journal has inspiring quotes written on every forth page. The two that accompany this post are;
"Adventure is worthwhile." Amelia Earhart
and
"Do not go where the path may lead; go instead where there is no path and leave a trail." Ralph Waldo Emerson
Day 0: "Disclaimer"
Notice:
I use to blog to attract new coaching clients and in general to impress others. I detach from the need to impress you or anyone else that reads this blog. This blog is a personal undressing of my life. Anyone who reads it will be merely voyeurs peering through the window to witness the exposure of my soul.
I welcome your comments but I do not rely on them to gage the value of my life or my journey. It may sound harsh but there it is. you get to deal with that as I deal with the dismantling of my past to leave it just there, in the past.
I use to blog to attract new coaching clients and in general to impress others. I detach from the need to impress you or anyone else that reads this blog. This blog is a personal undressing of my life. Anyone who reads it will be merely voyeurs peering through the window to witness the exposure of my soul.
I welcome your comments but I do not rely on them to gage the value of my life or my journey. It may sound harsh but there it is. you get to deal with that as I deal with the dismantling of my past to leave it just there, in the past.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
What is silence?
What is silence? It’s not the quiet you find in any location because pretty much wherever you are there will be a barking dog, a meowing cat and always bird song or the chirp or a cricket, and if there is none of that you’ll always have the chatter of the mind making comments like, “isn’t this peaceful” or “you know you should be going.”
I think silence just might be not a where but a when. Silence is when we embrace the un-embracable. When we are in full cooperation of whatever sounds or thoughts we hear. Silence can only be experienced when one is in harmony with the dogs, cats, birds or the constant chipping of the mind. There’s nothing more peaceful than the silent created by the unconditional acceptance of the whole world before us, no matter if it’s dressed in its coat or war or a saffron robe.
This is my world just as it is right now, in the whine of the freeway, the clang of a teacup placed not so gently on the glass patio tabletop. Silence is the yellow-orange juice seeping out of frozen mango squares into the bottom of the bowl—can you hear it? It’s varied and distant bird song and the constant hum of the vibration of my physical body reminding me I’m an energy being adding my harmonic instrument to the universal orchestra of life.
I think silence just might be not a where but a when. Silence is when we embrace the un-embracable. When we are in full cooperation of whatever sounds or thoughts we hear. Silence can only be experienced when one is in harmony with the dogs, cats, birds or the constant chipping of the mind. There’s nothing more peaceful than the silent created by the unconditional acceptance of the whole world before us, no matter if it’s dressed in its coat or war or a saffron robe.
This is my world just as it is right now, in the whine of the freeway, the clang of a teacup placed not so gently on the glass patio tabletop. Silence is the yellow-orange juice seeping out of frozen mango squares into the bottom of the bowl—can you hear it? It’s varied and distant bird song and the constant hum of the vibration of my physical body reminding me I’m an energy being adding my harmonic instrument to the universal orchestra of life.
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