Tasting Sunshine

I've spent the last week living and working on a Modern Monastery in Vermont and yesterday, I tasted sunshine for the first time.

Thank you to Miles and Peter for getting me out here!

In this beautiful natural setting, away from the hustle and bustle of Philadelphia and the consistent deadlines of a masters program, I feel like I am reawakening to the experience of being alive. This feeling of being more fully alive and aware of the present moment has revealed itself in small ways like really tasting the (distinctly sunshine-y) flavor of tender greens or being far more aware of my thoughts and emotions as they pass through my body. It is as terrifying as it is exciting because it's revealing how numb I've been for so long.

I am becoming more aware of my internal thinking, feeling, and seeing here.  I am noticing that often love and care come to me as both thoughts and feelings. I am noticing that humor comes to me as a thought: "that's funny" and as a feeling of amusement bubbling up from my belly. But the truly joyful sense has been internal "seeing." Ideas bubbling to the surface of my mind as images, pictures, abstract concepts, metaphors, ideas.  I didn't realize how rare and precious this form of thinking was. They come during moments of inspiration, joy, curiosity, excitement and yes, sometimes sadness. When I am imagining an acquaintance as they must have been as a child or trying to understand how the experience of eating hits my body I feel full after a time and I think how lucky I am to have food (or I think this soup could use a little more salt) but then there are moments when I see the flavor of a juicy piece of cantaloupe or a tender leafy greens in my mind's eye. I can see the delicate flavor of sunshine or sweetness as a burst of light or an abstract image. A visual idea.

Dichotomies abound here. I am currently typing on my computer and have the freedom to use my cell phone to call friends and family. It feels weird to have these amenities and reminders of the modern world in this place dedicated to presence and practice - and healing, learning, truth, goodness, love. But what I deeply respect about the Center for Mindful Learning is its ability to conform to the modern world without losing the intention of awakening and responsibility. We begin and end the day with two hours of meditation and chanting.  We eat breakfast in mindful silence. We support each other in the joys and sorrows of trying to be more fully awake - and alive, caring, loving, intentional, aware, present.  We ask each other and ourselves: are you breathing? Feel your breath. Breathe deep into your belly. What is your body feeling? What is your mind thinking? Are your thoughts words or pictures? As you sit in front of your computer screen or your cell phone, where is your mind? When you are eating breakfast where is your mind? What are you seeing, feeling, thinking inside and outside? Is there something beyond looking in and looking out? How can you sense a place between and beyond inside and outside of the body if you can not perceive of it with the human senses? Hmm.

It is so fascinating to look closer at the daily, moment to moment experience of being human. And damn, am I realizing how numb I've been for so long.

These are some things that have come up for me lately:

    I miss my Dad.

    I am scared when I think about the future.

    I feel regret, shame, embarrassment, disappointment, sorrow when I think about the past.

No wonder my unconscious mind and body have tried to protect me from these sensations.

I also feel a great deal of joy and humor - more than I realized was inside me. It bubbles up like a natural spring and I am so grateful to feel this - as grateful as I am to feel the darker sensations of being human.

It fascinates me to notice how I have denied the needs and messages of my own loving body.  Hello there body, thank you for working so hard - I am listening, looking, feeling - I am paying attention to the present moment.  I am grateful for this awareness. So grateful for the challenge of uncomfortable truth as it presents itself in various forms of longing, clinging, desiring.  Seeing these experiences - this suffering - as a gift, deploying curiosity and awareness as tools to understand and explore the important messages and information coming in and out through the body - I am excited (and apprehensive) to see what I learn next.

A bonfire and some authentic circling near the lake

Asking the Right Questions

What is more powerful: good advice or a good question?

When I was a sophomore in college, and my father was deeply entrenched in a drug addiction I knew very little about, I started getting headaches.  I went to the doctor to try to figure out what was going on - was I iron deficient, vitamin D deficient, under too much stress?  The doctor asked me a number of questions about my daily routine, my eating habits, my level of stress and then, seemingly out of the blue, he asked me "how is your relationship with your dad?"

He had somehow stumbled upon the right question.

My reaction was intense and immediate.  "Not good" I choked.  I began to tear up as we discussed my sadness and frustration about how disconnected I felt from my dad.  By the end of the appointment, I had a "prescription" to send my dad a letter - sharing my life with him on my terms.  I don't remember if my headaches went away immediately, but I do remember the tension subsiding from pinpointing the source of my stress and discomfort.

So how had my doctor known to ask the right question?

He made an informed guess.

I'm realizing now, years later, just how powerful a guess can be. And how powerful it is when we are willing to be wrong.

I recently spent a week volunteering at a non-violent communication camp on Vashon Island, Washington and one of my favorite lessons of camp was the value of an empathy guess. To paint a picture of this magical place: families come together for one week each summer to learn to be more courageous and loving with their words.  The farm that we stay on is grassy and warm, the blackberries are ripe and abundant, and if you choose you can set up your tent in the apple orchard in the shade of a ripe apple tree.  Meals are communal, time is more flexible and held by the ringing of a gong, and every offering is optional - even children are in choice about their day.  In this environment of intentional empathy, openness, and courage, transformational things can and do occur for individuals and groups.

An example of an empathy guess might look like this: "Are you feeling ____ because you need ____?"  Simple. It doesn't have to be this formulaic but the results can be profound. I have often worried that guessing at what someone was feeling might make them feel misunderstood or frustrated. I'm finding that it is more likely to show that person that you care.  And when you finally get it right the relief can be immediate.

My favorite analogy for the empathy guess is that of scratching a friend's back.  You might ask "is that right?" and they might reply "no, just a little to the left."  "How about now?" and perhaps they respond "a little further down."  When you finally find the itch  and scratch it the relief will be immediate for that person!  And the effort you put into finding the right spot will not be resented in any way...you are working together to understand the need and help it get met!

So to answer the initial question, good advice can be useful but good questions can be transformative. Asking a poignant question instead of suggesting, judging, coddling, or sharing one's on experience can allow an individual to explore their inner self in new and profound ways.  What is alive in you? What do you care about?  What could make life more enjoyable right now?  These are the main questions of NVC. Better than any advice I have ever received, I am grateful for the poignant questions that have encouraged exploration and growth.

Intentional Living and Tikkun Olam

In the last three weeks, I have floated in the dead sea, snorkeled in the red sea, splashed in the sea of galilee (known in Israel as the Kinneret) and frolicked in the sand of the Mediterranean.  I have dipped in a purifying mikvah, explored an underwater cavern, prayed at the western wall, and sung in an abandoned cistern.  I have eaten shwarma, falafal, bomba, and more than my body weight in hummus. I am amazed at the beauty of this place; the limestone rock used for almost all construction, the amazing mix of languages, accents, ethnicities, and stories. I’m not sure I realized how beautiful a desert could be before coming here. I’m not sure I could have imagined the resilience and daily intention of a group of people.  And even when my opinion or point of view differs, perhaps especially when it does, I have found myself deeply impacted by the people and ways of life here.

Intentional Living

The gaza border

Near the end of my ten day adventure with Israel Outdoors, we visited a kibbutz in Sha'ar Hanegev - a community minutes from the gaza border. The act of living in this community - the simple act of breathing - takes courage and intention and I have been blown away by it. No one chooses to live in a war zone, within range of rocket fire, just because. It's not something that just happens, it is a conscious decision.  While getting a tour of the kibbutz from one of the residents, I was able to hear her story of why she has chosen to live there - putting her children and herself in harms way.  She has chosen to live on the perimeter of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict because she believes with her whole being that this is the best way for her to support her country.  It is hard for me to imagine doing the same, but the power of her commitment is something I respect on a very deep level.  I was equally amazed to hear the sound of child laughter all around us on the Kibbutz even as we spoke about such an emotionally and politically charged topic.  At one point our tour guide paused to regain her composure and all I could hear were children as they laughed and played on the playground. It is amazing and a little unnerving to see how life continues here.  It is amazing to see the resilience of the human spirit in action.

Children at play on the kibbutz playground minutes away from
the gaza strip and seconds away from potential rocket fire

After leaving Sha'ar Hangev, I couldn't get the idea of intentional living out of my head.  It is one of the things that has struck me most about daily life in Israel - not just near the the gaza strip or the west bank but throughout the country.  People seem to truly be living each day, compelled by the constant reality of death and danger.  I am now a week and a half into an extension program with Livnot U'Lehibanot - which in hebrew means to build and be built.  I have been volunteering and learning in an orthodox jewish community which is an experience all together new to me.  Again I am struck with the existence of daily intention, this time in a religious form. My amazing coordinators (who I feel honored to now call friends) pray three times a day and before every meal.  I am in awe of their dedication and commitment to their beliefs.  Many of them even practice shomer negiah (guarding touch) which means they are saving their touch for their current or future spouse and do not touch anyone else of the opposite sex who is not a family member. Once again, this is a way of life that I can never envision myself participating in, but in their absolute commitment to their personal beliefs, they have my deepest respect.

Our fearless coordinator, Yifat,
 making challah for shabbat

These instances of intentional living inspired me last week to do a 12 hour speech fast as way to exercise more intention into my own daily life. It was truly a wonderful experience. I have a desire to listen more, talk less, and make sure that my words are spoken more for the benefit of others than myself. I realized after the fact that it was my first time fasting or restricting myself in any meaningful or purposeful way. I intentionally chose to restrict one of my most natural and comforting forms of communication and it was interesting to see how it changed my interactions with those around me. There were moments when I felt silly surrounded by my peers – the only one not speaking, but they were beyond supportive.  I am incredibly grateful to my new friends in the Livnot program for giving me the safe space to experiment and try this out.  It has definitely added more weight to my awareness of the power of my words and I am so excited to continue incorporating intention into my life in new and meaningful ways. 

Tikkun Olam

There is another concept that has left a deep impression on me while in Israel and that is the Jewish concept of Tikkun Olam - repairing the world.  There is this idea in Judaism that it is our duty as human beings to perform mitzvahs or acts of kindness and that these acts elevate us, drawing us closer to the most authentic and selfless version of ourselves. The world we live in today is deeply suffering and deeply in need of healing and a greater commitment to selflessness.  Being in this country and hearing the stories of daily violence, fear, anger, and misunderstanding has only made it more apparent to me.   For someone committed to compromise and love, this country poses a huge challenge and my time here has uncovered far more questions than answers. I am amazed at the realities I am discovering and at times incredibly overwhelmed by the issues at hand - the polarized ideologies that turn people to us vs them mentality. In spite of this, the stark reality of these issues only strengthens my resolve  to do what I can, where I can, when I can  to make this world a better place. Tikkun olam – repairing the world.   In this concept I have found the theme of my trip and I truly want to dedicate the next few months, and perhaps my entire life, to this idea.  I want to take personal responsibility and personal action to leave this world better than I found it.  At every turn I want to contribute light and goodness to the proverbial melting pot. I know there is only so much one person can do, but I find comfort in knowing that I am not meant to do it all.

The city of Tzfat

Choose Your Compass Wisely

I've been navigating my way through life

Trying to avoid the obstacles.

Trying to avoid failure; heartache; mistakes.

What would it look like

Instead

To point towards opportunity?

Towards destiny.

A dream of soul affirmation.

A quest for resonant frequency.

A future not governed by fear,

But guided by light.

The Mystery

It’s a circle –

This things called life.

It ends where it begins.

People say we are alone in death,

but we are never alone.

Maybe that is why

we are drawn to the sound of the ocean.

The constant shushing –

Like our mother’s heartbeat.

The blood rushing right past our ears in utero.

Maybe that's why we long

To hold each other so tightly –

Feel the comfort of immobilization.

The small voice of our deep longing

Reaching out to the greater longing of the earth –

The eternal, universal ache.

We are never alone.

We are singing the same song.

Sush and listen:

Your heart is pumping the beat –

Dance to it.

Honor the throbbing pitch –

Join it.

The breath in your lungs,

It brushes against the sky.

Add your strokes to the symphony

Of color there.

A dab here, a drop there.

A brilliant canvas.

The mixing pot.

Take what you need,

Give what you can.

There is no plan.

Every movement is beautiful –

Adds to the greater whole,

The bigger picture.

The mystery:

How do we know the same tune

Without consulting the book?

The answer:

We are made from the same stuff.

Nothing but children,

finger-painting in the bathtub.

Play Like a Child

A small memory of my dad came to me last night as I was drifting off to sleep. When I was young, my dad used to travel internationally on business, and on one particular stop-over somewhere in Europe, he sat down for a fancy multi-course meal complete with an over-the-top dessert. Unfortunately, the dessert was so over-the-top with delicately spun marzipan over gourmet chocolate ganache that he was running dangerously late for his next flight by the time his dish came out.  In a frenzy of what can only describe as assertive"daddy energy," he deftly wielded his spoon to crunch the masterpiece into bite-size pieces.  The waiters and waitresses looked on in dismay as he shamelessly stuffed spoonfuls of chocolate and delicately spun sugar into his mouth before pushing himself gracelessly from the table. Although I did not witness the event first hand, I  have crafted a hilarious rendition of this story in my head over the years. Shameless, uncoordinated, congenial, playful.  This scene is a wonderful reminder of who my father was.   And it reminds me who I want to be.  It is a memory full of grace because it reminds me not to take myself too seriously.  I imagine my dad, 6'8," in full business attire, briefcase in tow, demolishing a beautifully handcrafted work of edible art.  And it makes me smile.

Why take ourselves too seriously?  There is always a plane to catch, a report to finish, a deadline to meet, a social engagement to honor, or dinner to get on the table.  That insistent voice in our head is often there telling us we must continue forward at top speed or everything will fail.  Yet very few things are actually that fragile; very few things are so set in stone.  When my father died, the best advice I got was to simply breathe.  The second best advice I got was to be kind to myself. Breathing comes so naturally to us that we often forgot to focus on it; forget to give ourselves the time to decompress and listen to our bodies and our mind. What charms me most about the memory of my father is how clearly he had over extended himself in that moment - almost missing his flight as he waited for dessert - and yet, in his own graceless way, he was able to handle the slip-up with grace. We have little control over many things that happen to us in life but we do control how we respond to them. My father was able to make the situation playful and find a way to laugh at himself in the re-telling.

Slowing down to savor may not always be possible.  Being mindful of our actions, our emotions, our body, may not always possible. But everything we do, stressful and hard or fun, joyful, passionate, everything we do can be done with a sense of humor.  Everything we do can be done playfully.  My mom was trying to motivate herself last night to fill wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow with manure for the garden.  A friend of mine is trying to energize himself for yet another trip across the country when I imagine it feels like he just unpacked his bags.  What would it look like to view even these obligations of dread and discomfort with the amazement, the curiosity of a young child exploring a new playground, a new backyard.  When we can laugh at ourselves and our mistakes and welcome the adventure unfolding before us, even the most daunting of hurdles can become explorations into better understanding ourselves and the world around us.  When we can learn to not take ourselves too seriously, the world becomes our playground.

Lonely, But Not Alone

Sometimes, I feel lonely even in a room full of people.  It's not that I feel unloved or under-appreciated.  It's not that I need more time with friends.  It's not that I really want to talk about it -- or that talking will help.  It's just that, even when I'm with people I love, respect, and enjoy spending time with, it can be difficult to feel known.

What is the cure to this loneliness? It does not seem to be the simple fix of more social interaction. Yesterday, I had coffee with one friend and lunch with another.  Everyday, I have so much love and support from my co-workers and family.  There are amazing people in my life that remind me how to play and laugh. And yet, the feeling often remains. I doubt I am alone in this feeling though it is so fleeting that I often forget it exists.

Perhaps we feel lonely because we are not working to be our own friend.  One can feel lonely even surrounded by the best people if they are not giving themselves the care and compassionate attention they would give to others. So, maybe it's not so much a question of curing this feeling of loneliness (with more social interaction, more physical activity, more connection) but having the courage to sit with the discomfort and the unknown within ourselves; slowing down enough to listen to and have a meaningful relationship with the inner voice, the inner self that is too often ignored.