Monday, May 26, 2008

Back in the Green Mountains

Again relying on the kindness of strangers, I flew across the friendly skies Sunday. Traveling from my parents' home in Michigan, via Chicago and Baltimore, back to Burlington, Vermont...and into the waiting arms of dear friends, Clint and Marion Stevens, I was dropped off 12 hours later at Shantivanam, our Peace Forest in Glover. So grand to be back home with my dear husband and doggies. Lots of loving to catch up on. We are blanketed in gratitude.

As a Memorial Day Weekend traveler, I met wonderful parents, indifferent parents and tired parents. I met the same categories of children, not necessarily in matched sets! Also witnessed an Attitude Face Off between a cranky passenger and a depressed airline employee...a real meltdown. In such moments, we send METTA...burning love radiating from the chest, to the entire room. I've seen it work many times, once in Hyderabad I sent METTA from a second floor apartment, to an angry motorcycle-car collision below. We watched the two drivers part with smiles.

In Baltimore, I met this stainless steel lady who directed me to the restroom! I couldn't resist having my picture taken with her, such an icon for the full bladdered. Did you know that the police ride bicycles in this airport? So cool.

We are about to march into a Vermont June, in all its green glory. My 85 year old Father is having some fairly routine surgery June 1; I ask praying friends the world 'round to remember Roger and his great team of health care professionals. May he be home and healing and pain free soon. And may my Mother feel worry-free throughout.

Another quote from this epic I'm reading, Shantaram (which means Man of Peace): "The real trick in life is to want nothing and to succeed in getting it." May we all succeed in this pursuit, and feel great happiness. I send love to all readers, especially my Indian friends I was with just two weeks ago.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Reflecting On India

Seven days ago and more than 50 degrees warmer, I was in my beloved India. Back in the USA, I'm reading Gregory David Roberts' Shantaram, and found this lovely paragraph, which speaks for me:

“You must be careful, here, with the real affection of those you meet. This is not like any other place. This is India. Everyone who comes here falls in love---most of us fall in love many times over. And the Indians, they love most of all….there is nothing strange in this….It happens often, and easily, for the Indians. That is how they manage to live together, a billion of them, in reasonable peace. They are not perfect, of course…..But more than any other people in the world, the Indians know how to love one another.”
(Shantaram, by Gregory David Roberts, page 85)
(picture taken in January, at a meeting with a CFCA mother's group in Hyderabad. How easy it was to fall in love with these hardworking souls!)

Saturday, May 17, 2008

Back in the USA!

Dear friends, I am sitting on the sofa in my parents' home, in Kalamazoo, Michigan, enjoying re-entry into the United States. Thanks to all for your good wishes for a safe trip back, I had just that. And all of the lovely treasures I packed in my suitcases arrived in tact, too.

Spring is here, lots of trees in flower and flowers ready to bloom.
Wanted to share this lovely quote from the Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh. I found it on the back of the menu at the Tranquilitea Tea Shop, at the front of the farm where I lived in Bangalore. On my last day in India, I sat with my friends Raj and Veera at the tea shop, where we toasted my departure with cold, peach flavored ice tea.

"Drink your tea reverently and slowly, as if is the axis on which the world revolves---slowly, evenly, without rushing toward the future. Live the actual moment. Only this moment is life."

Friday, May 9, 2008

Being Effulgent and Intrepid (and a little doughty!)

A new friend, Sriram, is ramping up his ability to speak English. A polite and bright young man, he works for a large Indian retailer. Sriram knows that being able and comfortable communicating in English is essential to career success and advancement.

What fun it is to help him gain confidence and proficiency in this discipline. Answering Sriram’s questions about what a word means (he’s been reading aloud some positive affirmations by Louise Hay!) rekindles my own love of words, their origins and meanings.

In the spirit of celebrating the power of words in our lives, allow me to recommend two marvelous adjectives today. Adjectives, as we know, describe or qualify a noun or verb, making some quality more specific. I love these two powerhouse adjectives, and promote them as characteristics worth cultivating.
Effulgent
Shining forth brilliantly, radiant. As if radiating light, “the beaming sun, the effulgent sunflowers."

Intrepid
Not trembling or shaking with fear; fearless; bold; brave; undaunted; courageous. As in, "an intrepid explorer; intrepid spirit." Resolute; daring; valiant; heroic; doughty.
Doughty? I had to look that up…steadfastly courageous and resolute; valiant. As in, "I am determined to be doughty today!" Yes, let's be doughty, the world definitely needs the expression of such strength right now.

Leaving the "town of boiled beans!"

Welcomed in Hyderabad in January.


From May 1, 2008, TIME magazine:
In India last week, the high-tech boomtown of Bangalore was wiped from the map. No, it wasn't hit by a nuclear attack or a natural disaster. Instead, the city simply ditched its British colonial--era moniker in favor of Bengalooru, which, in the local Kannada language, means "town of boiled beans." Other big Indian cities have already taken new names--Bombay is now Mumbai and Madras became Chennai. According to Kannada writer and Bengalooru advocate U.R. Ananthamurthy, such moves are a long-overdue reassertion of local identity. "It was the colonizer who changed the name first," he says.
What an honor to be living in Bengalooru during this time of remembering its roots, reclaiming its identity. In a way, that description could also cover my last six months in the city of seven million. I have so enjoyed the sun and the wide open days, which have taken me into the homes of the working poor, the orphaned, the middle class, the extraordinarily fortunate and everyone in between. In all circumstances, I have been treated so kindly, so warmly.

Living on a continent with no blood kin or established support system, I have had that rare opportunity to observe myself, to witness my life unfolding without the benefit of any existing connections or relationships. I relearned that I love my own company, yoga, reading, writing, trees, silence, flowers, sewing, playing with watercolors, colored pencils and glitter, dogs, swimming, meditation, walking, laughing, worshipping, movies, hot tea, fresh fruit, birds, the night sky, incense, kids and happy people.

I also have been well reminded of the joy of serving others, listening to their stories and encouraging healing and wholeness. Yes, this Indian experience has been most universal, as human beings are more similar than different, regardless of country.

Thank you, Bengalooru, Mother India, and dear friends in many cities. I will cherish you and the lessons you taught me, holding this precious time in my heart.

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

Shadowing and Eating Sunshine

In American schools and businesses, the concept or practice of "SHADOWING" is common. A prospective student or employee follows an experienced person around, to learn about the new environment and get a sense of what it would feel like to become part of it.

Yesterday, I went shadowing with my friends, Raj "Rashi" Shekar and Veerabhadrag, to Svyasa University, 40 kilometers from where I stay in Whitefield, Bangalore.

Svyasa is reported to be the only university that offers a PhD in Yoga! I was totally fascinated by the programs in yoga therapy, and especially the research being conducted on how yoga can help heal such diverse afflictions as diabetes, post traumatic stress syndrome, asthma and schizophrenia! In my own practice, here and in Vermont, I have developed some protocols for serving people with these diagnoses, which I include in my ebook, Please Be. Seated. Healed. Happy. (see right upper corner of blog for link.) To see the body of work being done at this University, to visit the 15,000 volume yoga library, was paradise!


With Saraswati, the Hindu Goddess of Knowledge,
at the entrance of Svyasa University, Bangalore.

The University was founded about 30 years ago by Dr. and Professor H. R. Nagendra, and is based on the teachings of the late Indian saint, Swami Vivekananda. Vivekananda taught that, "The goal of life is to manifest the divinity within," which the University has embraced, "promoting this great wisdom of Yoga and Spiritual lore not only for alleviating human suffering but also for individual growth and universal peace, harmony and brotherhood."

Raj and Veera at the Banyan tree, behind the Temple.

Our day also included some time for meditation at a temple Veerabhadrag built when he was just 28, some 20 years ago. Imagine buying land and building a temple for the public to use. Today, Veerabhadrag is a busy lawyer in Bangalore, who still finds time to go and sit in the quiet of his country temple. On the grounds are two 300+ year old Banyan trees. One incredible feature of these trees is that they sprout roots way above the ground, that then grow down and into the soil. Rashi explained that this unique quality signifies the holiness of the Banyan, as it takes energy from the heavens and brings it down into the earth.

Driving home, we stopped at lush grape orchards and ate both sweet dark purple and green grapes, as well as cucumbers just picked from the fields. What fun to stop at a stand and have a cucumber peeled for us, sliced and sprinkled with seasoning. Eating sunshine and shadowing, a great day.

Sunday, May 4, 2008

Awakening to the Joy of NO!

A good deal of my Bangalorean winter has been spent listening to middle aged and older women who can't say No and are miserable because of it.

In India, is seems the combination of cultural expectations and family roles makes it at least twice as hard as in America, if not more, for women to get out of situations where they are incredibly unhappy, angry, resentful and depressed. Just a few months ago, I worked with a new friend to set up her blog, OpenTruthBox, where she writes and writes about this very dilemma: finally speaking the words she has had caught in her throat for 70+ years.

Younger women seem less influenced by these pressures and more brave to speak their truth. I’ve noticed the present generation of 20 and 30 somethings is quite remarkable, demonstrating a quiet courage to speak honestly and succinctly, not getting roped into doing things they don’t want to do.

A wise Buddhist friend of mine says that there are basically four ways we live our daily lives: We
1-do it and enjoy it
2-do it and don’t enjoy it
3-don’t do it and enjoy it
4-don’t do it and don’t enjoy it

This past six months, I’ve been in contact with many women who are masters of the second way of life, Do It and Don’t Enjoy It.

Readers who don’t suffer with this disorder might not find this posting of any interest. Consider yourselves lucky! Because those who suffer from it (almost exclusively a women-only syndrome) don’t just suffer emotionally and mentally. A way of life, saying Yes when you mean No often leads dangerously into two more difficult domains: physical illness and the desire to die.

Not able to say No, these women begin to experience a series of health problems we can directly connect to their dishonesty. (For more on this subject, read Gabor Mate’s, When the Body Says NO, the Stress Disease Connection, or any book by Louise Hay.) Able to blame their body as the reason they can’t say Yes, chronic illness becomes a great companion, rescuing them from their lies. “I would love to say Yes, but I am just too sick.”

My message is “Rather than opting for sickness or death as a way to end this self destructive cycle, self care is the healthy way out.” In our yoga therapy sessions, I stress learning how to love oneself, and in the process, learning to say No when things aren't good for us or are not of interest.

Simply being clear and saying "Yes" only when we mean it may appear to be a straight forward no-brainer, but it is clearly the hardest task these women have ever faced.

Conditioned or programmed to put everyone else first, be it their parents, husbands, children, bosses, guru, customers, neighbors, relatives and friends, they endure an empty aching rage within, which leads to physical ailments. Fibroids, hemorrhaging, migraines and rashes are the most common health problems I have encountered, though more serious symptoms, that look like the early stages of deafness, blindness, MS and Parkinson’s, also present. One friend keeps telling me, “My emotions are muted. I don’t feel anything. I don’t even want to get out of bed or do the little things, like make a cup of tea.”

A friend says I am analyzing this situation too severely, that all I am witnessing is a wonderful example of Indian hospitality, that incredibly generous spirit of opening one’s home and life to others, without hesitation.

Sorry, I don’t agree. Granted, the West has a lot to learn about genuine hospitality from the East. But welcoming others must not be practiced as an obligation or mindlessly, without due consideration of the giver’s capacity. The last thing I want is to be invited to someone’s home when they are too tired or sick or disinterested to host! For a woman who has trouble putting herself first, recognizing her bad habit not only hurts her but others is often where she begins to Awaken. “You mean it isn’t nice to the other person to pretend? You mean I am teaching my children to be dishonest?”

What Stops Us From Saying No?
Guilt is a big bad barrier to truth telling. “They won’t like me. They will think I’m not nice.”

Fear. “They won’t like me. They will think I’m not nice.”

So ingrained is RRS (Reverse Response Syndrome, my own term) that afflicted women have no qualms about repeatedly and frequently lying throughout the day! When I point out this rather shocking distinction, laughter and nods follow. “Oh, yes, it is much easier to lie than tell the truth, for sure!” they confess. In other words, they would rather sacrifice their health, happiness and integrity for others. They would rather look good than feel good. They would rather offend themselves than others. PLEASE NOTE: at first blush, this last sentence has a rather noble ring to it, almost a humble tone. But be warned: it is only false humility we hear, as the apparent graciousness isn’t real or honest.

I’ve met women living on disability, virtually bed-ridden, who’ve spent their entire adult lives saying “Yes” when they meant “No.” They are depressed, lonely, despondent and deep down…really angry. Mad at themselves, mostly, and also, to varying degrees, at those they consider their “victimizers, violators or abusers,” (their terms)

As a compassionate listener, I have learned to respond with a kind of holy indifference, or dispassionate discernment. Lifetime habits and addictions have tight grips. The hinges of the heart and psyche may even be rusted closed. Yes, I believe in miraculous healings, but I also know such events are not orchestrated by humans.

Each of us has our own path, be it the easy way or the hard way. I have come to see my role as a cheerleader for the truth, a supporter of honesty, an encourager of self love. (I avoid offering sympathy, as this energy does not motivate people to discover and use their voice and power.) I hold up a mirror and ask questions. Fortunately, I have no need to judge or criticize these women. I have great love and respect for their tender Awakening. After all, I am the wounded healer. Their story was once mine. I find strength in cherishing my own Awakening, and some basic truths I have collected along the way:

“Nothing has more strength than dire necessity.” Euripides

“Healing is a matter of time, but it is also sometimes a matter of opportunity.” Hippocrates

“People only see what they are prepared to see.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

“No single event can awaken within us a stranger totally unknown to us. To live is to be slowly born.” Antoin de Saint-Exupery

“You can wake a sleeping person, but you can’t wake someone pretending to be asleep.”
Suresh Reddy

(Dedicated to R., L., N., S., B., D. with love and hope.)

Friday, May 2, 2008

How Can I Have Faith in the Face of Horror?

Today, a friend of 30 years challenged me in the following email to explain how I can believe in God or have faith, with the news of how a depraved and damaged Austrian father tortured his daughter for the past 24 years.---Bethany
(Baby Navia and Mama Nagu. A Mother's Love affirms my faith.)
Hi Bethany,
Have you been reading on the news web pages about that horrific man in Austria who imprisoned his daughter at age 18 in the basement of his house with no windows, no daylight and no way out for 24 years and then repeatedly raped her where she had 7 children by him? She had twins at one point and one died from not having what it needed and he burned the dead baby in the furnace. He told his wife and people she ran away at 18 and then he took in and raised 3 of her children saying his daughter had left them on the doorstep because she could not raise them. Three other children, ages, 5, 18, and 19 never saw the light of day and stayed imprisoned in the cellar with their mother. The only reason they were found out was the oldest daughter started to have convulsions and the mother talked her father into taking her to the hospital where she is still in an induced coma.
The hospital suspected something else was wrong and the mother told them what had happened to her after they promised her she would never have to see her father again.
This piece of garbage that poses as a human being robbed this woman and her children of their childhood and their lives.
It is one of the most horrific stories of cruelty to someone I have ever heard.
My question is how can there be a god to allow this to happen? How can you have faith when this was allowed to happen to this poor woman and her children? B.P.

I thank B.P. for her question, and offer up these thoughts:

For as long as some people have professed a faith in God, other people have asked, “How can bad things happen to good people? Where is your God now?” Evil people especially provoke this question, from Hitler to Hussein. In my own family, we have wondered about untimely death...why my grandmother died in childbirth, leaving behind five young children…including my Father, her last baby.

The short answer for me is that, my God (a.k.a. the Divine, the Universe, the Higher Power, the Higher Consciousness) is Love, the energy within that fuels us to say, “What that man did was sick, disturbed and terribly cruel. This tragedy runs counter to everything we believe about families and relationships.”

The revulsion men and women around the world feel about this inhumanity is precisely why I have faith. How else can we explain our shared, innate sense of right and wrong? Each of us carries an inbuilt guiding light, that directs us to distinguish good from bad. I believe this inner direction is the Divine.

I have faith that the vast majority of people on this Earth are caring, loving, and decent. The Austrian Horror Show is a one in three billion family anomaly, quite possibly caused by generations of sexual abuse and/or mental illness. Do you remember this line from Anne Frank's diary, "In spite of everything, I still believe people are good at heart." I do, too.

If you are asking me why did God allow this man to commit this crime, or why didn’t God stop this man, I don’t believe in a God that resembles a Genie in a Bottle or the Wizard of Oz. We individuals are the expression of Creation, you and I are the agents of the Higher Power, we represent the Life Force. God acts through us.

The Presence of Love on this Planet, which I believe is the energy that sustains us, does not mean that children won’t die of leukemia, companies won’t manufacture bullets or innocents won’t be killed by drunk drivers.

What the Presence of Love (referred to as God or Allah by some) means is that when we learn of sad events, we automatically reach out to those who are hurting, to reduce the suffering, to comfort the victims and their mourners. Being a woman of faith doesn’t mean I believe Nothing Bad Will Happen. It means that when I hear about it, I will naturally be drawn to offer mercy, support and hope to those who suffer. It means that I will be the Presence of Love in the lives of those who are in pain, fear, anxiety, depression or grief.

Just last month, B.P., you wrote me of your involvement in a risky rescue of a young mother and her toddler in another state, virtual captives of an abusive husband. Your willingness to help a stranger in danger affirmed and strengthened my faith in a mighty way. You did the right thing. You Loved.

My experience of God or my sense of a Higher Power defines and shapes how I look at the world and how I respond in the world. My God isn’t Mr. Fix It or a Celestial Policeman. My God is the Greater Self, the Universal Consciousness that makes the Human Race stand up and cry out, “How could a father do that to his daughter?” To paraphrase one of the great 12 Steps of the AA tradition, (step 2): I believe a Power greater than myself can restore us to sanity.

That power is Love or God, and the sanity we seek is a strengthened global commitment to humane treatment of all living things, with greater protection against abuse and neglect of those most vulnerable members of the human family: women, children and elders.

In the shadow of this human tragedy, let’s pledge to root out abuse and neglect from our own families and communities, and assure all children are wanted, fed, safe and respected. Witnessing Acts of God like tsunamis and hurricanes, let us remember to Act as God. More than ever, what the world needs tonight is Love, Sweet Love.

(A caring mother in Hyderabad makes sure her son gets his morning wash.)

Shared Responsibility

My American blood was itching to boil. No wonder this was called a waiting room.
Seven of us were waiting for the eye doctor. Not one word was uttered. Nagaraj, my driver, and I were the first to enter the clinic for evening hours, so we knew no patient was before us.
One person after another walked in and quietly took his or her place on a plastic lawn chair. A thin male clerk leafed through papers. Where was the doctor? What was happening? I laughed to myself about the book I brought to read at the vision clinic, Malcolm Gladwell’s Blink.
Some patients were in pain, some were very old, some barefoot. I told my blood to stay cool, that I had no schedule and a good book. I began to think about why I was there. No way did I need an eye appointment as badly as these folks. Did I really need to ‘get a good deal on glasses in India’? My real agenda was to have Nagaraj get his eyes examined.
Nagaraj is 52, a small man with four children. He and his wife Indrama live here, at Taralaya, and work for the Naidu family, from whom I rent a room.
A few months ago I made a tough decision. I could no longer go into the city in a car driven by Nagaraj. Either he was gonna kill us or someone else. I especially feared for pedestrians. Night trips were harrowing. As if continuously announcing our arrival, Nagaraj honked way more than other drivers, and most drivers in India honk a lot.
In cabs driven by Saleem or Noushad, two lovely young Muslim men, the horn was never used. I was stunned by the silent rides, and how I didn’t feel exhausted after a taxi trip.
“Nagaraj can’t see!” I told Suja, my landlady. “I think he has cataracts or some problem with night driving. I just can’t go outside Whitefield with him anymore.” I was aware of the awkwardness of my stubbornness, but I felt unsafe in Nagaraj’s car. I cringed at the juggling of cars and other drivers to suit my occasional need to go somewhere (cashing traveler’s checks), how I inconvenienced those regularly traveling into town. I felt badly being the demanding, unreasonable American who stopped riding with Nagaraj. (Though privately, I knew my family would be happy hearing of my self imposed grounding.)
But last week, I saw how incredibly near sighted (pun appeared on its own just now, I swear!) I was acting. Though determined to not be selfish or self centered, that was exactly how I was behaving!
If I was scared, how must Nagaraj feel? He was the frantic, honking man behind the wheel, watching flashing lights and roaring lorries fly by! Was boycotting his car the only responsible action I could take? I began to think he might be really scared about losing his job, afraid to tell anyone he couldn’t see.
Why not get Nagaraj an eye appointment? What the heck had I been thinking? Or not thinking? Were my safety concerns confined to my butt alone? Granted, none of Nagaraj’s frequent passengers seemed to share my views. But still, did I not have a greater duty here, beyond protecting myself?
Finally, the eye doctor arrived, and I ended 55 minutes of rumination. We paraded into the examination room, where I shared my concerns about Nagaraj’s eyes. The exam commenced, Nagaraj perched like a small boy in the bulky chair, chin tucked tensely onto the testing equipment, his feet not touching the floor.
As the doctor worked, I continued to observe my thinking. Was I actually hoping this man had cataracts, to somehow validate my concerns? Just how big is this ego of mine?
I listened to Nagaraj’s attempts to see the eye chart. Whoosh! A consuming heat of pure love infused my chest, arms, back and eventually, my whole body. He looked so sweet and vulnerable, like my friend Michaela, when I took her for an eye appointment a few years ago. I felt so happy to be there, I wanted the doctor to do something, to help Nagaraj see better. After so many months of fearing rides with Nagaraj, we were now swapping fear for hope and taking action.
Turns out, Nagaraj’s five year old glasses aren’t strong enough, and that he has the very earliest signs of cataracts, nothing to be worried about now.
We stepped back into the waiting room. I assured the clerk I didn’t need an appointment and Nagaraj tried on frames. I called him Professor Nagaraj and Dr. Nagaraj or the Politician, as he put on one distinguishing pair after another. He settled on some light weight pale bluish-gray plastic frames. We placed an order for glass lenses, and were told to pick them up Tuesday. I told Nagaraj that donations collected from students at my yoga classes were covering the bill. “Yoga dollars!” he grinned.
I was happy, so happy, for Nagaraj. I swelled up with happiness, more like love, as I thought about his safety, job security and his family waiting at the farm. We smiled all the way home. With no common language, there was no chatting, but the unlike the strained silence of the waiting room, our truck was filled with joy.
Back at Taralaya, Nagaraj parked the car. “Thank you!” he said. I said all I wanted to say in return, “Thank you!” What a wonderful moment. Returning to the US in just two weeks, I’m glad glad glad to know Nagaraj will see better on the job.