Living Life by Heart

Note: I've written this piece for you. You know who you are.

Racing to a business meeting crucial to her current career, Babette’s mind was racing. Could her powers of persuasion crush her client’s doubt? Would she succeed in convincing them of her superiority and strength?

Bang, a tire blew out! Babette gripped the steering wheel as the car pulled wildly. Safely stopped on the desolate country road, she panicked seeing her cell phone had no reception. Forest everywhere, a small lake in the distance. Standing in the afternoon sun, Babette was furious.
Just how was she gonna salvage this day?
-o-o-o-o-o-
The reporter sat politely in the headmaster’s office, eager to begin an interview about campus life. Through the doorway, he saw a young student arrive with a stack of mail. The boy was obviously living with Down’s syndrome, his appearance and gate revealing some retardation.

“Good master, Sir! How are you?” the boy smiled broadly, placing the newspaper and envelops on the desk. “The snow is so beautiful this morning!”

As the boy left the room, the reporter shook his head and whispered quietly to the principal, “How sad. How terribly sad.”
-o-o-o-o-o-
Margie hopped off the back step and headed toward the car. From the garage, she picked up her pink leather golf bag, the heads of the clubs covered in hand knit, multi colored bags. Another day as the professional instructor at the Sand Creek Golf Club. Wow! She couldn’t believe she had landed her dream job at age 26…a golf pro, paid to play golf.

A few blocks away, Margie’s mother and dad sat sadly over their morning coffee. “All that education, and she makes so little money,” her mother worried.

“I know I could have gotten her a job at the bank, but she wouldn’t listen,” nodded her father, “I fear for Margie’s future.”

Babette’s mad.
The reporter is sad.
Margie’s parents are afraid and worried.

Because they can see none of life’s mystery, none of the natural beauty and joy of creation, they have mistakenly concluded that without an opportunity to strive and succeed, life has no meaning.

When we prize the working of the rational mind more than anything else, we lock ourselves into a fast paced race. Achievements logged yesterday don’t count. What counts is the amazing feats of today only, the grand purchases, the latest acquisitions.

So caught up in feeding the mind another challenge, we can't see or appreciate or celebrate

***the unexpected opportunity to stand on the edge of a forest and smell the balsam, listen to the running water

***the heartfelt joy of a happy child seeing new fallen snow

***the blessing of having a job one loves.

Instead, we strive and strain from one goal to another, wondering why contentment and satisfaction elude us. We can't figure out why we continue to feel a sense of separateness between ourselves and all other living things. We move from high to low and back again, mood swinging through each other's dramas.

However, if we confine the activities of the rational mind to the limited domain it has value, (rather like a toolkit needed when the toilet seat needs tightening or a door hinge squeaks) we create space for our heart to guide and direct our day. Highs and lows disappear, replaced by an evenness, a peacefulness, a serenity that is grounded in the constancy of the heart, not the tempermental mind.

In yoga, we do an asana, or posture, that requires a very open and forward thrusting chest. As a teacher, I remind the students to, “Lead with your heart.”

This reminder is not only worth following in the yoga class, but in life itself.
When we are feeling mad, sad or worried, chances are we are being bullied by our rational mind. Telling us that we aren’t good enough, that life is unfair, that others are out to get us.

When such negative energy takes over, it is time to lead with the heart, listen with the heart, and celebrate this great world we call home.

This weekend, I enjoyed some time at the School of Ancient Wisdom outside Bangalore. I watched Priyappa, above, milk his herd of four. Throught the process, a slim gray cat meowed insistently, crying out for breakfast. I was so happy when Priyappa finished milking. When he poured some milk into the lid of an old bucket for the hungry kitten, my joy was so great, I felt I was the cat! I experienced the Oneness of all life.

(Milk lover stalking her milk)
Learning Tai Chi from master Nicholas Packard was another moment of weekend contentment. How beautiful, to look around the plaza at such earnest students, flowing slowly and gracefully in the morning air.

One more image of the weekend opens this posting, the thriving tomato plant supported by young banana tree. Why not? Such lovely simple harmony in the garden. I seek such moments of total balance, where I can be effortlessly supportive, like the banana tree.

Today's secret? Use the Mind only as a tool kit, and live life by Heart.

Friends, the Moon, and a Dog: the World's Great Comforters

My simple second floor quarters at Taralaya, the Naidu farm, affords me a happy view of fig trees, coconut palms, hot pink bougainvillea and other natural wonders.

I've been hearing this quiet crunching noise outside the window next to my bed. Sometimes, the soft footsteps are after dark, other days, in the morning. The adjoining land is so wooded, I have never been able to figure out who or what is walking around on the dry leaves. Yesterday, I spotted my light-footed neighbors: two big water buffaloes! Hardly known as tiptoeing beasts, that is just what they are. (If you want to know what a water buffalo looks like, check out the banner, above. This family of three was walking the beach one February the morning in Pondicherry. Water buffalo milk is rich and creamy, and makes the best yogurt.)

Though I have no blood relations on this continent, I have no shortage of love and comfort around me. My friends are kind and welcoming, what a blessing. Just two nights ago, in celebration of the full moon, three women invited me to meditate in the garden.

We thought about all the women we have ever been related to, and ever will be related to...who live under the same moon, their cycles governed by its magic. Bathed in moonlight, we loved participating in such a timeless ritual, gazing at this captivating white light of night. The same full moon of my great great great great great great grandmothers and granddaughters.

Beyond the companionship of friends, I am blessed by my buddy Simba, the big ole dog who belongs to the Naidu family. Simba and I have become pals this year! I get to walk him a couple mornings a week, and play games like "catch the fig" or "chase the chicoo," using fruit I take from our trees.

Simba also likes to sit on my bed while I write. He sometimes backs his bottom into mine and then falls asleep, in about one second! I also find his head pressed up against my knee, giving comfort.

Simba's head, my knee! Bliss, for us both.

Shopping with Sujata, the Sniffer

My friend and landlady Sujata Naidu and I went shopping for a weekend of parties. Given the importance of the occasions (her son's first wedding anniversary, her husband's birthday) no ordinary market would do. We couldn't even be content with a Super Market.

We went to Total here in Bangalore, known as a HYPER MARKET.

Hyper and high tech or not, Suja relied on her old fashioned sense of smell to buy our fruit. This little montage begins with her getting close to a Melody Melon (isn't that a wonderful name?) and then becoming very serious, even intimate, with pineapples...spelled Pine Apple on the Total Hypermarket sign.

When I posted last week, with photos of the stunning flowering tree, I wished the Internet was able to communicate scent. Today, in honor of the marvelous fruits Sujata selected, I again wish for smell. Wouldn't it be nice if you could just Scratch and Sniff your screen?

Trust me, the fruits were deliciously ripe!

Our parties were a great success. With the help of two friends, we made five big apple pies. Yes, I did smell a few apples, but not all three kilos.

I also had fun decorating the fig tree with cut out letters. When the outdoor party began Sunday morning, we had 25 balloons (yellow, orange, blue and purple) hanging in lush bunches among the figs. But as the heat of the sun wore on, they combusted loudly! Each time, I revealed I have Very Fine Reflexes for my age...and a surprisingly stubborn bladder. Whew!

Just a few brave balloons remained 24 hours later. Curiously, the orange were the first to go.

In his book, Sense and Nonsense of Sickness and Pain, author and healer Peter Mandel writes of the healing characteristics and power of colors. Without this knowledge, we unknowingly (subconsciously?) selected great balloon colors, according to Mandel:

Orange, for joy and happiness

Blue, for peace and infinity

Yellow, for a cheering effect

Purple, brings spiritual strength.

The Need I Say More Tree

Seeking Self Discovery and Deception

Tourists don't come to India, as a rule.
Rather, those drawn to this ancient culture are most likely seekers.
Seeking what?

Answers to life's greatest questions, to mankind's oldest riddles or just an answer to that perennial quandary, "Who am I and why am I here?"

My association with Mother India began in 1970, when I was selected as Kalamazoo (Michigan) Community Ambassador, and sent on an all expense trip to India for several months. Each successive visit I have fallen more deeply in love with the lands and its people, my family's suggestion I, "Get India out of my system" long abandoned.

Today, nearly 40 years into this globe-spanning relationship, I discovered something I've been seeking even longer!

I found a slimming mirror, just like the one I coveted as a girl at my Aunt Ann's house. I bagged no classic spiritual truth of self discovery; I am simply thrilled with a mighty, welcome tool of self deception. A mirror.

My mother's younger and only sister, Ann, and her husband Uncle Bill, had six daughters...the Macdonald family my Midwestern family visited in Massachusetts every summer.

Such glorious vacations included full days at Nantasket Beach and its fantastic amusement park. My brothers remember the tiny Dixie cups of cola ("tonic" according to Aunt Ann; we called it "pop") totally unsatisfying for their growing male thirst. Raising girls only, my Aunt found boys, their behavior and appetites, amusing yet alien.

Images flickering in my beach memory bank:

• my water loving mother, riding the waves, a wild tomboy, untamed by the cold Atlantic's whip


• my father, creating competitions involving smooth, palm sized stones and deep holes


• my busy brothers, darting like sandpipers between the parents


• the six girl cousins holding down the hot horizon, stick figures with pencil-thin legs below blotchy pink and orange bathing suits.

With no soft Massachusetts accent and no picture of me as a Bride of Christ hanging at my Aunt's, I regarded me and my body with great disappointment and growing revulsion. My round bottom and wide hips cast a sickening shadow on the sand. No braids, pigtails or carefree ponytail, my short matted hair fairly screamed, "I'm not a cute Macdonald." I found it safest to stay wrapped in a towel, secretly sucking my faithful thumb.

Only the guest room mirror at Auntie's provided respite from my self loathing those summers. Propped against the wall (Uncle Bill was not handy like my father) the angle mercifully reflected a thin me with long legs like the cousins.

How I loved that lying looking glass; I stared at my implausible reflection long after bedtime.

So, today, nearly half a century and half a world away, I am delighted to find another such mirror here in a Chennai guestroom, at another Aunt and Uncle's home. Another loving mirror that presents me trim, narrow and less. And what perfect synchronicity! Tomorrow, Aunt Boona and Uncle Suren and I head East to the ocean, this time, the Bay of Bengal.

Thank you, Universe, for slimming this seeker, just in time.

(Photo of me in Bay of Bengal added March 1, 2009!)