One Precious Incarnation

I think we shield ourselves from pain.    No great leap there.     Or we shield ourselves from the potential for pain.    Again, not a great leap.     Obviously we try to protect ourselves from the gross forms of pain.    Pain to the body.    Protection for the body.    But also from pain in subtler realms.    Emotional.    Mental.

Intimate relationships bring these issues up for me.    I can’t speak to the rest of the world but in contemporary American society it seems to me that we throw ourselves into intimate relationships with one another.    With near strangers actually and yet we protect our tender hearts from potential pain.    I certainly have done that.    I’ve witnessed it.    It’s been done to me.    In fact, I’ve seen it so much that I would have to give it statistical significance.      It’s like we give our bodies without our hearts.     Is that a disconnection?    Is there a more organic way to be in relationship?

I’m not even going to say that we do this because of a decadent, declining civilization.    When I survey other cultures I don’t see many positive models either.     Burkas?    Acid burned women?    No.   No.    That is not the way.     But what is the way?    How do we, in this modern day, have intimacy AND be open?    Can we do both of them?     What is the balance?     How to be real and vulnerable and fearless?

I don’t think there really can be an answer.    For there to be AN answer there would have to be a universe with ONE way.     I don’t think that can be or at least I’m not in alignment with that way of seeing.    So, I’ll just hang out here in the uncertainty.    I’m not happy about it but I’m here.     I’ll just hold the hope that some organinc solution may arise.     It may not but I usually feel pretty awake.     And hopeful.

from an image search "waiting"

Here I am in my office.    At my desk.    8:27 pm.    August 31, 2010.    I’m kind of uninspired.    A little nervous about this Lyme’s Disease.    My leg is tingling and my neck hurts a little.    And I don’t really have much to say.

This blog site was a gift from a friend.    I’m not sure if she still considers me a friend.     So I feel like this blog is kind of dying.    I hope not.     I really enjoy the posts.    I really enjoyed how it called me back into the office to make music and see connections.     It was like an open mic or something.

Maybe I’m just in a weak relationship with it at the moment.    There have been other things on my mind.    I still do all those fun things I like to do at night.     Like music.     With Tyler and hopefully Rose soon.    Lots of keyboard.    All the time.   You know me and my little music videos.    Remember this is a scratch pad.    No biggy.

What else?     Tantric Yoga in Albany with Lauren Toolin.    I would really like to be nearer to her and take her classes frequently.   Lots of deeper ways of doing asana.    Turning them into mudra.    Long story.    I could do them but would need to practice.

Oh yeah!    Dinner at Rita Schwab’s!    Beautiful home in the Catskills at Mt. Tremper.

There’s another thing I’d love to talk about now that I’m here.    It’s sometimes delicious.    Sometimes challenging.    Sometimes exhausting.    Useful.    Human colored.     Empowered.    I’m not in a position to talk in great detail about it.   There’s a whole lot though.     Aaaah!

from an image search "Mt. Tremper"

I’m dramatizing. Lost role models. Death of JFK. His long hair. Our dead father. My dead father. My chart. Astrology.

I find I often have fantasies of identity. Who am I in my job? My creative endeavors. Who can I relate to? What archetype drives me? I pick it up and roll with it. It gives me strength. Or at least, passionate inspiration. And I go on. In my moldy FEMA trailer. On my migrant worker wages.

And yet I’m fairly happy. Good natured and yeah, happy. Beautiful gf. I play keyboard daily. Bach. Photoshop. Meditation. Chanting the names of God. Organic food. Pretty happy. Very blessed.

Gettysburg. A rare choice. “Stand firm ye boys from Maine”. The center of the circle. The North came from the South. The South from the North. The pendulum swings. At the extreme right flank of the entire Union army. The significance blows me away.

I feel like this in my job sometimes. As I said, I’m dramatizing. I feel that way though. Bayonets of spirit. Little Round top of the heart. I really feel that way. Role models. Resurrected Fathers. Homelands. I love my country. I love my world.

image search "Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain"

Being kinetic helps me feel integrity.    Moving my spine.     Taking a seat firmly in a pose.    Holding it and moving it in space and time.     Perhaps shamanically.    Or maniacally.     I like it.    It pleases me.    It restores something in me.

And music.    My hands and fingers are thumping the breasts of a fine lover.    Drawing out her milk.

These things bring a firmness of integrity.    Integument.   Integrated.    Asana.    Seated.     Firmly.

I long for this feeling.    This sensation.    I long for it.    As polished rocks in the rain.

Sit up and look.    Or pull.    Pull in threads of attention.     Into my skull.    Behind my skull.

A comet’s coma as she nears the sun.

from an image search "Bamboo"

from an image search "Bamboo"

from an image search "Bamboo"

I don’t remember if I told you this or not.     On my drive up North from Florida to the Hudson Valley, I made it a point to drive through the Shenendoah Valley.     I went right up the great ancient spine and in its Valley.     I wanted to bring healing to the old ghosts of those young men who died in Virginia.    Those great young men of the United States and of the Confederate States of America.

I had watched much of the Ken Burns documentary about the Civil War.     Many men died.     Much blood.     Much suffering.     May all beings be free of suffering and the cause of suffering.

Stonewall Jackson was a very eccentric man.     Military education.     Curious fellow who believed he had to keep one arm in the air so he wouldn’t go out of balance.     He believed it was Man’s duty to pray and fight.

I believe the same thing except for me, fighting is more an internal struggle with authenticity.    One should fight a subtle fight with one’s dharma or true self or life mission.   One should find it and struggle for it.    It’s Chogyam Trungpa’s the Sacred Path of the Warrior.     What kind of warrior?    What is the Sacred Path?

I can relate to Stonewall.    General T.J. Jackson.   A great man.    A great general.    Carl Big Heart just told me I look like him right now.    Like 15 minutes ago.   Or at least he had a vision of the general when I galloped into the DH.    Interesting.    I kind of like that.    Here’s to you brave, fallen men.

from an image search "Stonewall Jackson"

Me

Last night was a beautiful night in the Hudson Valley.    The full moon had come and gone, the temperature was pleasant and there was a tender wind blowing through the campus.    I brought my guitar out to the front lawn during dinner and my friend Lauren and I sang up quite a Kirtan storm.     Ripples of devotion rolled over the lawn and babies frolicked and adults opened their hearts and unicorns came to eat out of our hands.    It was pretty sweet.

A nice Indian lady took notice of us and came down to investigate.    She came close but not too close and at the perfect moment made eye contact and asked to come closer and sit down with us and sing.     How could we refuse such propriety?    She sat and we all just allowed ourselves to be taken away on a magic carpet of Bhav.

Quite a bit later after the ragas moved over us and under us and through us and from us and we softly settled and sat with each other in silence she asked where we learned the music.    We each told our tales and shared stories and enjoyed the dusk blending darker.    We talked about gods and goddesses.    Terrible forms and gentle forms and we got talking about how they should be invoked and sung to.    Something I found kind of neat was how she talked about the combination of alcohol and spiritual practice.

When I was learning Indian Music, my teacher would under NO circumstances allow our group to play at a bar or around alcohol nor would she allow us to be booked for a dinner party.    She said that as Classical Musicians we were to be received with respect.    Part of me liked that.     Not the asshole part of me but the part of me that wants to be a bridge for all beautiful things to cross over into our world.    I find that my full attention and the full attention of others is a midwife to the joyous beauty that wants to be born through me.    It’s why we practice relaxtion in yoga.    So the tasty stuff will poke its nose out.

The Indian Lady had an interesting take on this.   Jyoti was her name.    She said it had nothing to do with gods and goddesses and medieval ideas and icons of holy men or anything like that.    For her it was simply that there’s a certain energy or vibe around drinking and a certain energy or vibe around doing spiritual practice or anything else for that matter and that to improperly blend those energies causes and energetic dissonance.    This disonance leads to what she called “kundalini sickness”.

I just SO got it.     It’s the flow.    The vibe.    There’s a time and place for things.     Beauty rises organically.    It’s the Inspiration of the Muses in Hesiod.     It was my toast and coffee this morning.     My whiskey and the Wire.    Nothing wrong or right.     Just notes that are in harmony or not and I am the player of the song and the conductor of the symphony.     A great lesson.

from an image search "kundalini"

from an image search "kundalini"

from an image search "Saraswati"

I’ve never heard of a loose, relaxed corpse.    They’re stiff right?    Make me a stiff corpse.    Make a symmetrical corpse.     As though you are a newly deceased Pharoh being embalmed.     Look beautiful in your diamond death.     Press your lower back to the floor.    Tuck your chin.    Take a breath and release everything into a loose, relaxed pose.

Put your attention at the space between your eyebrows.     It is a cave.    Pour into that cave a cool, green jade.    Put your attention in your throat.    Move the soft jade like a liquid to your throat.     Move it to your heart.    Relax.    Breathe.

Allow the liquid, cool jade to move downward toward your navel center.     Downward to your deep core.    Deep inside your abdomen.    A jade cave.    Imagine a silver thread through these places in you.    Jade cave.    Silver thread.   Breathe.   Relax.

from an image search "Jade Art"

from an image search "Pharoh Embalming"

from an image search "William Blake"

from an image search "Corpse Art"

I said this recently to a friend. And then I thought, “Am I some kind of douche?” I do keep in touch with people, but not as much as other people do. Is there something wrong with me? Am I unsustainable in my relationships? Am I too busy? Too selfish? Maybe I’m just thinking too much about it. I feel like I’m a pretty good friend. Do I really need to email or call people just to say hi? I kind of do if I think about them. I’ll be like “hey, just saying hi”.

Keep in touch. Interesting that we actually say that. Think about it. What does “keep in touch” really mean? It means stay close enough that I can touch you. Is this expression a hold over from some simpler cave man times? You know, like most of the rituals around matrimony. A big white horse in an Indian wedding. The best man for the groom.

When I was in grad school I took a class on the Philosophies of Love. I learned so much and even though I spent most of my research time in Plato’s Symposium I remember a bit about Aristotle. He wrote about the notion of “Philia” or friendship. What always stayed with me is that according to Aristotle to actually be someone’s friend you have to interact or communicate with them frequently. If you don’t you’re not friends. I have friends I haven’t spoken with, emailed, or touched in a long time. Are they still friends?

Anyway, I thought I’d share my thoughts.

from an image search "Aristotle"

from an image search "Aristotle"

from an image search "Aristotle"

I was chatting with Yoga Teacher, Jill Miller in the cafe a minute ago.    The vibe was open and inviting.    She’s here doing one of her teacher trainings and I saw her a couple of days ago but have been so busy I couldn’t connect.  So I’m getting a raw gelato and she was standing there and I starting talking with her.    I guess I was talkative from all the interviews we shot today.

Something that I always wonder is “how do you keep up a practice while being constantly on the road”.    We talked for some time and then she asked me that same question.    Now I’m not on the road but my job can be grueling and I have to maintain.   So what is it I do?

One of the things I told her is that I have to play piano and sing.    I chant.    I sing Brazilian songs.   Irish songs.    Vedic mantras.    Kirtans.     I howl.    I scream.    I have to.    It’s part of my medicine.    It’s part of my practice.     I do it until I just can’t do any more.    It’s like wailing, laughing, breathing, improv.     I write these little songs and like little friends, they help me grounded.

Today I was playing piano and just wanted to be surrounded in pink.    I love pink.     It feels soothing.    It is sunset.    It makes me think of coming night.     It takes the edge off my red.    It makes me know the purple and indigo.      I can rest in pink.    Soften in pink.    Soften into night.

from an image search "purple night"

from an image search "fireflies art"

from an image search "fireflies art"

from an image search "fireflies art"

from an image search "purple fireflies art"

Sometimes I feel like some multilimbed Hindu God.    It’s like I really, experientially feel my many limbs.    Two heads.    Eight arms.     Each hand holding a different prayer object.     One hand a drum, another a pipe, and another a piece of fruit.     My hair is tied up in a serious turban.

Somtimes I feel like a mythological creature from the Ur myths of our civilization.    A centaur.    A cyclops.    Medusa.     Except its subtle.     It’s inside.     It’s like my mind is able to shapeshift into the forms but it’s still inside.   I don’t forget my human body.    I remember.      I create space.    Is it Prajnaparamitta?    I don’t want to go there.    Especially missing tonight’s talk

The space I create allows creative form to arise.     It takes many shapes.    Humanoid shapes informed by all the relations in my life.    I have D’s back.   J’s spine.    M’s plumb line.     L’s discipline.   B’s arms.    M’s third eye.

It can be scary at times.    It can be sensual.    Pleasurable.   Deplorable.    Uncertain.     It can be the sound of the sea in the mouth of a conch.     I am washed in the sea.     A conch whispers to me of centaurs.    It’s pink lips kiss my ears.

Drum and Cello 2

image search "Conch"

image search "Centaur"

image search "Lamia"

image search "Hindu God"

I am good and drunk now.    Have been since about 2:30.     Jameson’s.     I’m watching too much “Wire”.    I am half Irish though.    Race of poets.     My grandfather was a New York City police.     I raise a glass to him.    I never met him.    I raise a glass to my country.     I hope it’s leaders get their heads out of their asses.

Being drunk at this time of the day  is disorienting.    I had a minor freak out this morning.    Remember from my “driving at high speeds” blog from months ago.    That plus the spider bite.    I thought my leg was getting better and then I looked closely at it this morning.    It’s all red and dead looking.    It freaked me out.    Luckily I manifested a Chinese Medical doctor and a Western Medical/Chinese Medical doctor to look at it.    The second doctor did some weird chi gathering on it and told me not to worry.   It was my body releasing some heat.    He really set my mind at ease.    May he be blessed.

At about that time, my inner state got all out of yoke.    Totally groundless.    Body.    Then mind and emotions followed.    Disunion.    Disharmony.    Uncertainty.    After it all worked out and I felt a little better I decided to nap, practice piano, and drink Irish Whiskey.    Maybe I’m weak although I did sit with my friend at 6.    I did do all my chores.     I just had to let it go.    My mother drank and smoked her whole pregnancy due to some crappy medical diagnosis which ended up being bullshit.

So I was unhinged.    Disharmonious.    Drinking made me feel like a fish swimming.   Finding it’s ancestral waters.    It’s what I know.

from an image search "Jameson's"

from an image search "Irish Poet"

from an image search "NYPD"

from an image search "Green American Flag"

from an image search "Irish Poet"

from an image search "Trout"

Looking for a consort. Consort in the sense of the Vajrayana. Not sure I want that. Rinpoche smiles. What does that mean?   Spiritual Friend?   Are they all? Aren’t they all? Spiritual Friend, check. Consort, maybe. Breath. Emotion. Ding an sich. Little Sister.

Starry Night. Milky Way. Pleiades. The Archer’s Bow. A tail posed to sting. It got me 3 weeks ago. Maybe. Consort? Are you sure you want that? Lightning. Crumble. Soften. Hold on. Hold on to the Rosy Dragon’s Mane. She has purple hooves with red streaks. Golden steam emanates from her frothing snout.

Jade. The congealed semen of the Celestial Dragon. Take that jade down. Down the ladder through my skull. Let it lie in the cave of my heart. Let it rest there. Cool me. Create space. A space in my heart. Let the silver ocean of all possibility lap it’s waves against the jade sculpture of my heart.

from an image search "Green Tara"

from an image search "Green Tara"

from an image search "Yab Yum"

I just attended an interesting sort of blessing, faith healing thing. I felt nothing. I’m not upset. I don’t want my money back. Actually, sitting quietly ahead of time was more useful. It was meditation with a little relaxation. And the fellow said some true things. Things that are just good manners like “we’re all one” or “we’re made from stardust”.

It reminds me of one of my friends who’s always expecting the aliens to come and rescue the planet. There’s always a part of me that hopes that’s true but more and more I’m thinking it just really doesn’t matter. Aliens could come in some huge Pyramid shaped ship. Jesus and his copilot Sasqwatch could be piloting a small moon sized, Mayan calender inscribed spaceship made of congealed unicorn tears and it wouldn’t freaking make a difference. I would still have to make it to my meditation cushion. I would still have to keep my heart open when it wants to close. We, as a species, would still have to clean up this oil spill. We would still have to learn how to get along. It would change nothing.

I know I’m sort of cynical. I know that. In fact, I’ve been reflecting lately how damn easy it is for me to post angry, cynical blogs. I can do those in my sleep. I’m not really angry. I just want to get busy being fearless and joyous. I’ll take an easy path if there is one. I’m kind of minimalist that way. We could, each of us, transform SO FREAKING MUCH in our own lives if we just notice things. That’s where I’m at anyway. There and holding space. Maybe if I hold space long enough a UFO will come through it. Maybe not.

My heart just melted a little.    One of my students came up to me in the Dining Hall.    I was gnawing on my third piece of pizza and just kind of getting into it.    Lots of other folks were chatting.     He sat down.    He’s a big dude.    He looks like he could be a Celtic Warrior.     Like he should be covered in blue woad with some horns on a helmet and a necklace of his enemies’ shrunken heads.

He sort of just plops down all slumpy like.     He definitely had some gravitas.    Like contemporary American gravitas.     I kept chewing my pizza  not really trying to get into conversation and not really not trying to.     The energy of the evening eventually led me  to stand and move on.    I moved deliberately but not pretentiously.    As I’m turning the corner the Celtic Knight says, “I guess this is the opposite of Looch Yoga”.     I turned to acknowledge his comment and hold space but didn’t really know what he meant and then it hit me.    His posture!    He was in last night’s class!   He’s all slouchy.    I got it.

I whirled around and said “this is a great Looch Yoga opportunity”.     Immediately the table got electrified.    I sat down and it was like I was possessed by my mad scientist muse.    I explained very quickly the psoas muscle and we had a two minute sitting qi gong/yoga/Looch sesh.     They loved it.     I explained how the slumping is not the problem.    It’s the lack of attention and awareness.

It is my opinion that any pose can work for meditation.   I believe Pema would agree but I think she’d expand it to say anything can be a support for meditation.    (See several posts ago).    In this particular case we were using the slouching as a sort of tilled seed bed to grow awareness and attention.    We used the psoas to assist.    I can’t really describe exactly what we did and will have to leave it at that but know that my heart melted a little in that moment.

Service Drums 3

from an image search "slouch"

from an image search "blue woad"

from an image search "slump"

from an image search "Pict"

I taught some yoga a little while ago.    The time always goes by so quickly.    I had lots of nice things planned and before I knew it, class was over.    And it was at a crappy time.   At Omega, there’s a thing called “Transition Day” when the whole campus turns over for new guests and workshops.    Teaching in the middle of it ensures few will show.    I changed the time for this upcoming week.    I hope more people will be able to come.

So I focused a lot of attention on the upper chest today.    I love the sort of dressed down Natarajasana.     Not the full on one from the pictures.    Too much to think about.    I like to really sloppy the posture down and build up organically to the classical pose.     I want my students to grow INTO the pose taking their attention, breath, and self with them.    I like how the Nataraj opens the upper chest.    I like how the foot pulls the hands and arms through the back and all of that while in balance.

Great posture is something we always tell children to think about but I have rarely ever had a teacher truly teach me how to do it.     Except in Ballet.    But even in ballet they didn’t really say posture.    They just assumed all the exercises would build great posture.    Tonight’s class ended up being about posture.     It’s a class I personally would have loved to take.

These pictures I’m posting make it look like there’s a right and wrong way to do posture.    I don’t like that frame.    Let’s say it’s ok to take any posture you want AND to that add some awareness.    To that, add a little intention to change what’s there.    Then notice what’s happening.     With that, let’s walk into our lives with some new and fun patterns.    Let’s play in our lives and relationships with our new and more conscious awareness of who we are and how we stand in our lives.

from an image search "posture"

from an image search "Natarajasana"

I had a conversation with a cat the other day. Or, not really, but sort of. Obviously we didn’t use human words. I had to learn some cat and she had to be patient with me. Pretty much like learning to speak any foreign language. I think with animals you really have to listen. You have to watch what they do and sort of put yourself in their position. Notice. Observe. And play a little.

It was the late afternoon and this great cat was hanging around my yard. I normally don’t like the cats around because they eat all the little birds and scare the forest creatures. Domestic cats are notorious for doing this. Australia won’t let them outside and it’s well known that European sailors brought them to the South Sea Islands to control rat problems on the ships and they proceeded to eat everything. So they sort of occur in out of balance situations. Don’t get me wrong. I love cats. I embody cat energy. But the cats don’t really belong in this particular forest.

So I love this little cat and I let her into my trailer and she did something very interesting. Now maybe I was a little TOO into communicating with her but I noticed she immediately moved to the back of the trailer. It’s as though if the the trailer were a stream bed and water flowed through it, she went to exactly the place where the most flow stagnation would be. Huh? Think of the places where the light hits and makes information available to the human mind in visual form. This would be the stream bed. The places where my attention collects most frequently may be correlated to where the visual information is. That is, the places where the light is and that are available to my human dimensions. Then there are places where my attention does not go. These places are dark. Forgotten. Cobwebby. A little spooky. Low. In shadow.

She went there. She went there immediately. It’s like she knew or something. But then again, she’s a cat. They do that. She went to the darkest, dankest, most unobserved place, checked it out, came and got some attention from me and went back there. I found this very interesting. Looking at her behavior from a mystical view, she’s a prayer animal. She taught me something. She taught me to look courageously at my shadow and to spare no time doing it. I may not always do this because I am largely diurnal and like the light but the cat showed me something and I hope at least to remember her teaching.

from an image search "cat"

from an image search "cat art"

from an image search "cat art"

I raced back to Omega with the intention of writing all kinds of great observations from Shambhala lV today but as I thought about it on the delightful drive home through the Shawangunks I decided I can’t steal the fire of the Shambhala Trainings and give them out. It would be a total spoil for you if I told you what we’re doing. You’ll wish I didn’t so that when you experience it for yourself the light them will shine upon you like soft moonlight on a summer night.

from an image search "Shawangunks"

from an image search "Shawangunks"

But I did notice something interesting today. We were supposed to have tea at 4:30 but at 4:10 the AD Collette announced that we’d be having a longer tea but it would be silent not as a punishment but as an experiment. No biggy. I could be silent for years. At least I could not talk for years. I would of course still sing and chant and make music. I will NOT be a part of any trainings that would take THAT away from me and besides I think the silence is really about reprogramming our unconscious need to talk not to be noisy in creative ways.

So, I was into the tea. Half an hour of silence in this golden afternoon is a delight! The weather was perfect and sunny and these pictures don’t do the area justice. We were on porch about 5 stories up in the trees looking over a coi pond and Shambhala gazebo nestled in a tiny valley and the sun was coming right to us! It felt like our own slice of Shangri La.

art by Alexandra Geiger

from an image search "Sky Lake Lodge"

from an image search "Sky Lake Lodge"

from an image search "Sky Lake Lodge"

from an image search "Sky Lake Lodge"

So here’s a freaky thing I noticed: People were cool with the silence. It seemed. But we had lots and lots of room in the meditation center. I mean there were only like 20 of us with a huge porch in paradise, a huge commone dining area that had some feng shui dividing it into what felt like distinct zones. The big kitchen. The foyer. The unbelievable huge lower level and countless places to sit. And yet, people had to sprawl out. It’s like once they knew they couldn’t chat there idea of personal space got so inflamed. Each person had to take up a bubble of twenty feet in diameter. I kid you not and am not exaggerating. It was as clear as the golden afternoon.

So I thought “screw that” and sat right next to someone. I mean like almost in their lap. It was a little bit of an awkward moment but it worked out gently. I figure we’re all one tribe and I don’t have an particular need to isolate myself in a bubble and blot out everyone else on the planet. That kind of personal sprawl is not sustainable. I don’t support it in our cities and I’m not buying it in a meditation retreat. It’s ugly and in bad taste.

from an image search for "sprawl"

from an image search for "traffic"

Interestingly enough I was also playfully called a troublemaker later in the afternoon for asking a question about how to deal with the internal conflict around trying to be peaceful and not taking catastrophes like the Gulf Oil Spill seriously and wanting to become more active in preventing future catastrophes of the same sort. Moments like this make me miss NYC. The subways force personal space adaptive behavior syndrome. Even walking on the streets to some degree. I would rather it this way. Let’s say we all are stacked in really close in work and home and then we have great unspoiled nature that we can go into and heal. Don’t get me wrong, I like my own space but I feel hiding behind too much space is not rewarding in the way that teaches impermanence and joy in the space you do have.

from an image seach "crowded nyc"

I’m finally done with my antibiotics. I had to quit them early. The side effects were terrible. I felt spaced out. No appetite. Headachy. My genitals were shrinking. All kinds of nasty shit. I’d rather have the teaching of the spider nation. May it’s nectar race through my body.

On a bright note, I’m in Shambhala Level lV across the river for the next two days. Ironic. Most people come to the place where I work to do meditation retreats. I leave for meditation retreats. That and for whiskey in the city with good music, and falafel.

Here’s something cool that I’m still processing. The teacher is Steve Clorfeine who is a performance artist and all around bad ass. He drew strong analogies between the spiritual path of the Shambhala Lineage and Improvisation. Freakin’ finally! I’ve been filling the ears of anyone who’d listen for years about this connection. Really good improv IS spiritual and vice versa.

Really good improv starts with the Yes/And. Yes/And rather than No/But. Or the sneaky, codependent Yes/But. Yes/And is spiritual because it is the best way to deal with life. Whatever happens should be received and worked with not resisted and resented. This happens in meditation as well. Apparently, one of the themes of Level lV is “inquisitiveness”. Pema’s talked about this. Whatever comes up should make you very inquisitive. That is freaking Yes/And! Total freaking breakthrough for me tonight. High fives all around.

Here is some bullshit. I’ve had a busy week with a busy weekend to follow. I’ve got lots of work to do, friends wanting to visit and I’m teaching a yoga class this evening. I was really looking forward to this class. Then I was bit by a spider.

We’re actually not sure if it was a spider although everyone (and the internet) seem to think it was. And the silly part is that when people ask me why I’m limping I told them it was a spider and they’d kind of snicker a little. In fact, I myself think it’s a little funny. So I started telling people I was attacked by an animal. This is true and since we don’t really know what it was I guess it works.

These spider bites are nothing to mess around with. I always heard you only had to worry about the Black Widow and the Brown Recluse. That is bullshit. This little one poked me and the wound got infected and now I’m on antibiotics.

And I’m supposed to teach yoga in about 4 hours. This little wild animal has laid me low. It’s reminded me I’m not the superhuman I thought I was.

Oh yeah, everyone also jokes with me about losing the leg. That is NOT funny asshole! I guess I’m doing ok. I’ll just pretend I’m some guru and order people around in yoga. The good stuff will have to happen next time.

from an image search "jumping spider"

Did you know the word “Apocalypse” means “the lifting of the veil”?    I find that comforting.    As a child I was terribly afraid of evil and of images of the Devil.     It was horrible.     I prayed to be free of fear.     When I was older I read Hal Lindsey’s The Late, Great Planet Earth.    It really messed me up.

For those of you not familiar with the book, it’s Hal Lindsey’s interpretation of the End Times from the Book of Revelations.    It was useful only for engendering fear and fatalism in me.   I do not recommend the Christian/Zoroastrian reading of the Bible.    I’m not into Fundamentalist Christians or any fundamentalists for that matter strapping explosives to themselves or wrapping themselves in verses from the Koran and blowing themselves up or basically being narrow.   I don’t think it’s helpful.

So I had a healthy fear of the Boogeyman.    Fear of God.   I still don’t really understand what that means.     Armageddon.     Heavy Metal.     And Apocalypse.      It means the “lifting of the veil”     When you look at the esoteric meaning it is not some scary Ragnorok.    It is simply the falling away of illusion.    The falling away of false perception.     And don’t we have a lot of that?

I recently saw a You Tube video about a Hopi Prophecy that supposedly predicted this oil spill.    The Bible too from what some are saying.   I don’t know how long we humans will still be here at the rate that we’re destroying our only home to save a couple hundred thousand on acoustical sensors that WOULD HAVE COMPLETELY PREVENTED the oil spill.    I hope however long it is we have the strength and courage to wake up.    To transform ourselves and serve those who wish for consciousness.   To lift the veils.

Jane Goodall “Lost Wisdom” from Omega Institute on Vimeo.

All the pictures I’m going to post come from this website:

http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/nation/la-na-oil-spill-html,0,6610369.htmlstory

Well it is on! I am teaching a Yoga class this week. As I told you in an earlier post dear reader, I’ve been developing a curriculum for yoga. Things that I personally do or would like to do in a group setting or class. I’m not about to claim that I am teaching Classical Yoga but I don’t really think any of the rock star yogis can really claim that either. So I am really just going to do things that I like. Things that I find useful and inspiring. I will keep my intention to lead the class toward embodying and being authentic but I will take the “scenic way” to get there.

I have this nice bit worked out on “Om”. I’ve been rehearsing it. I think I will let the character of the teacher very precisely announce in a stentorian, authoritative voice “12 oms.” I will then add some theory and light up the Casio. Of course the theory will be from the Mandukya Upanishad and I will probably talk about the Upanishads and their history. It’s good to know. I like playing with the contrast between humor and rigidness. I would do this when I taught at the University. It got laughs. I think laughter is essential to learning.

I’m calling the class “Looch Yoga”. “Looch” is a derivative of my last name Carlucci. I often think the teachers of yoga are in such a hurry to brand their style. It feels like sprawl. It feels like strip malls and fast food signs on the major roads in US towns. I don’t like it. I’m calling it after my own name to really own that is my own style. I’m not teaching lessons from swamis. I’m not trying to uphold some tradition. I’m not using a Sanskrit name. It’s just me doing things that make me feel connected.

I’ll see how it goes. I can change up to something more classical or something more kung fu. The class may want something else as it evolves. But I also want to give this curriculum a good run. You know, “Sthira sukham asanam” and all. So, we’ll see. There will Qi Gong, Chanting, asana, meditation and unicorn shapeshifting. There will hopefully be joy and connection. Atha Yoga Nu Shasanam or whatever.

from an image search "Grass script calligraphy"

"Tarot Card Fool" by Yoshitaka Amano

from an image search "Grass Script Calligraphy"

Everyday is a miracle. I am fortunate to live in so much abundance. I am grateful. I had the day off and enjoyed it so much and am winding down. I was hoping to post a photoshop exercise I was working on but I don’t think I’m going to manage it.

I’m about to walk out of the office (it’s the only place at Omega where I have reliable internet) and I checked our Vimeo site. I saw my colleague Serra put up some new content. I checked it out. Marianne Williamson, Deepak, good stuff.

Then I rolled my mouse a little lower and saw Julia Butterfly. I really dig her message. I had to watch one. It brought some happy tears. I love this piece of content. I love how she loves life. I wish that love for all beings.

Julia Butterfly Hill “The 6 R’s” from Omega Institute on Vimeo.

http://eomega.org/omega/faculty/viewProfile/35638fe80b04badf62774fa249c5e6d0/

Julia Butterfly Hill is known for climbing a 1,000 year-old redwood tree in 1997 when she was 23 years old, and remaining there without touching the ground for two years, as part of a successful effort to call worldwide attention to the destruction of California’s ancient redwoods. Since then, she has addressed the U.N., lobbied Congress, and continued to stand on the front lines of environmental and social justice issues all over the world. She is the author of The Legacy of Luna: The Story of a Tree, a Woman and the Struggle to Save the Redwoods and One Makes the Difference: Inspiring Actions That Change Our World.

I got caught in the office. There were fireworks exploding over Main Field. No one had any idea why. It was probably 10′s of thousands of dollars of fireworks. AND, if you know Omega, you know that they were going off maybe where the powerlines are just to the west. Although that is silly right? Who knows? Maybe they could be going off in Rhinebeck but we all think it was right behind campus. Weird.

It’s June 4th. Could someone have gotten the date wrong? Could this person be wondering why no one showed up. It was a beautiful show though. I took it upon myself to make everyone laugh while yelling “AMERICA” at the top of my lungs whenever there was thunder or flashes.

We love fireworks. Now it’s raining and I’m waiting to walk back to my trailer. Beautiful night. I did a photoshop tutorial. God bless the internet. God bless CS4. God bless America with your random June 4th fireworks display!

Waterfairy

Puppy dog tails and billowy sails, children’s pails filled with oily snails.

Powdered things church bells ring weakened bee stings

Super glue, Italian shoe, Green brew, turtle stew

Doggy walk, talking stalk, William Faulk

Spuds and cheese, Mountain Breeze, Apostrophes

Wacky shoots and turquoise roots

Silver flutes and champagne loot

Tender leaf, fleet footed thief

shapely moon

see you soon

from an image search "Green Wind"

from an image search "Green Wind"