II

I cannot find the string that binds
my being to this universe.

The cord that fed me then bled abandoned.

The twining stump at my belly,
reminding me that I was once a part of something more.

True North

The Heart has a compass of its own, different from the affairs of men.

It's My Nature...

There's an old fable that's been passed around a bit which I'm going to reach for once again to introduce a thought.

A scorpion and a frog meet on the bank of a river. Now the frog is mighty afraid of the scorpion but the scorpion just asks, "Frog - will you carry me across the river on your back?". The frog replies, "How do I know you won't sting me while I'm carrying you?" The scorpion says, "Why then I would drown." The frog mulls this over a bit and reluctantly agrees. Halfway across the river the frog feels a sharp prick in his back and realizes that the scorpion has indeed stung him. He cries out, "Why scorpion, why have you stung me, now we'll both die." And the scorpion replies, "It's my nature..."

How often do we engage in acts of self destruction, in deeds that leave us feeling less than whole, behaviors we perform that leave us looking at ourselves and saying - I don't like what I just saw. How hard do we beat ourselves up when we realize that we've done this. How intensely do we critique our own nature? And perhaps more importantly - if there is an aspect of our being that we recognize as problematic, now I'm not talking about losing five pounds or eating more vegetables, I'm speaking more towards a core personality trait, is it possible to do something different? Can we change our nature?

Well, it begins by accepting what is true. This may be the hardest part. We have a nagging suspicion that something's not right or we'll look in the metaphysical mirror and go "why did I just do that?" All too often we blow it off, blame it on other people or say that's just the way I am. We don't really own the experience - we disassociate ourselves. It's not our fault or they don't understand me so I don't really care.

On the other hand, we may retreat into our own heads and put up defensive walls. We begin with "I'm a bad person" and let the dialogue continue from there, dragging us down in the muck of our own self wallowing. Somehow we think that this will redeem us, purify us in some fashion as if doing penance is our own little way of keeping score with God. "Have I broken even yet, Lord?"

All this begs the question - are you really bad? Is what you're doing really all that harmful? It may leave you with a small distaste but are you hurting people aside from yourself? If the answer's yes then you need to fix this, that's just not good karma. If the only person being maligned is little ole' you then you have the option to either accept it or work on growing into some other frame of mind.

Here is the litmus test. Who is being hurt by the way you act? If it's just you, relax, work on fixing it, chuckle when you fall into old patterns but then realign yourself and go out to test yourself again and again. This is spiritual growth, it's the only game worth playing so enjoy the contest between your will of now and your will to become.

If you're causing harm to others well, that's a much more serious proposition. This may at times be difficult to recognize. A disservice to someone may not be as forthright as dealing them an emotional blow. It may be that you are subtly preventing them from growing towards what they could potentially become. Perhaps you interact with them in a less than honest fashion, leaving the residue of guilt after each conversation. The Universe does not appreciate this.

In this case, possibly, you are the scorpion. Think long and hard here. What you do may provide you some obtuse pleasure or feel justified in your own personal weaving of the the world but ask yourself - am I also drowning in the process?

We can change, we have many options. We can choose not to sting but rather have a conversation and get to the other side. We can seek to avoid crossing the river for it may not be all that important. Some may say, this is the only way I'm going to learn how to swim, so be it but I'm not writing any insurance policies on you. And then there is a faction out there who I have run across that just accept this as the way it is. This is my nature...

For those of you in the last category, inevitably you know who you are, pay heed. The Universe has gifted you awareness for a purpose, do not squander that bounty. Do not let your nature in this limited plane define your existence, rather let your true essence guide you and grow into that being that is your spiritual inheritance. Do not strike when your purpose is merely to get to the other side, you have the choice. Nature is not the final arbitrator of our actions rather it is our intent, our determination, our desire for enlightenment that shepherds our growth and truly gives us the ultimate pleasure. Hold thy sting, enjoy the ride, get to the other side.

Another Thought

The cold that cleanses, the wind, which etches its freedom on my soul.

The Other Side of Blue

Been feeling sad lately and I don't think I'm alone. Seems like waves of melancholia are passing over and through us. I see it in the faces of the people I pass on the street, as they sit on the subway or wait in line. It's the time of year, it's the weather, it's post-resolution realities, it's the aftermath of the joy and excitement from a change in government, it's many things. I believe a large part of it is that we undergo growth more this time of year than any other. Most of us have taken a good look at ourselves over the holidays, they always seem to bring a reflective mood, and are now setting out on some course of action, some refashioning of ourselves into a newer, stronger persona.

They say sorrow is the Spirit carving space into your soul so you can have more room for love. I buy that. Being inconsolable for a bit is a necessary task much like cleaning out the closet - reorganizing and refolding. We need these sad times. They are what brand the acts of change we strive to undertake with earnestness. Without sorrow we would not have the feeling of "hey, I've been down but now I'm getting back up on my feet". There would be no sense of accomplishment, no momentum to propel us as we journey. It's a needed perspective pure and simple. Sadness is an absolution, a necessary mourning for the changes we are about to undergo. The spring will bring a different you and this is simply a way of honoring those habits and rituals you will leave behind.

The key though is to know when you've had enough. Being down can be somewhat addictive. It's a place where you don't have to take action, where you don't feel as responsible for invigorating your life and implementing events that you want and desire. It's a place where you can blow things off easily and that makes it seductive. Coming out of sorrow is like coming off of a fast, there are right ways and wrong ways. The wrong way is to bounce in and out, taking tepid steps and dragging it on long past the point of its purpose, making it a crutch that you lean on when things get a little tough. The wrong way is to not to be aware and acknowledge that you're ending a period of temperamental discomfort. Sort of just burying everything and becoming super cheerful to all around you. Melancholy is a useful, necessary tool for our emotional enlightenment, we should honor it as such.

The right way is really up to you. It's certainly a very individual thing but be assured within you lies the proper manner and methodology for spiritual growth after a period of such reflection. You just have to find it, as you've probably instinctively found it in the past. I have a whole toolbox full of things that I use. In this period I'll reach in and try different devices to see what works at any particular moment and sets me on the right path.

There's a line a friend said to me many years ago. "You're the kind of guy who, if he was shot down deep within enemy territory, would not only make his way back to friendly lines but leave behind a string of franchises on the way out". Twenty-plus years later I can still pull up that conversation in my mind's vision and it still brings a smile to my face. This is a tool.

I reach for the paints or writing or something creative - you should too. Right now I've fired up the piano and I've been trying wrap my head around some blues. I am so rusty but I've managed to lay down the beginnings of a new song. I don't really know how it goes yet but it includes the line - "Your teeth don't fit that bite mark no more". It may become a classic someday. Another tool. Figure out how to make yourself smile and the Spirit will know where to take you.

So, to wrap things up, it's ok to be sad, particularly this time of year. In fact, it's almost mandatory, you've got to make way for the new. However, when you're ready to start growing, then take off, like a shoot out of the soil and don't look back and don't forget. Go as high and as wide as you are able, soak up the sunlight, reach deep into the earth, prosper and flourish. Become everything you can in the season of You.

The Word is Propitious

It is not the unknown we should fear, rather it is the small acts of indecision that whittle away our self confidence.

The Gentle Way

I was out to dinner the other night with a friend of mine. We were talking about teaching yoga. She's well on the path to becoming a brilliant yoga teacher. Some small tweaks here and there and a bit of seasoning and she will grow into a fine instructor and an even more compassionate caregiver. She asked me about my goals, whether I would continue to advance my studies and teach someday. I am and will I'm sure but I had to tell her that I'm not ready to teach yet. Not simply because I'm still new at this yoga thing with only a couple of years under my belt but also because the role of teacher to me is sacred and it requires an intense period of self study before I can honestly commit to this intention.

Thinking about this took me back many years to one of the first lessons I learned about teaching. When I was young, so very young and so very foolish, I entered the military. I was full of Hemingway and Kipling and thought how romantic it was to be a soldier seeking adventure in foreign countries. This was before these Gulf wars, at a time when it was generally smaller teams that went into the mountains and jungles and performed various tactical maneuvers. I became very good at what I did and eventually found myself in charge of a small unit training for eclectic sorts of combat missions. While on an exercise I made a decision that ended in the death of one of my men, not a bad decision, just the wrong one. It struck me harder than most and it became clear to me that I was not meant to be a soldier, I could not accept this kind of responsibility and still function, still be human, so I left the military.

I drifted then for a while, west and south, heading for the Mexican border. Drinking a good deal and not caring about much. I wanted to forget the past and I knew, instinctively, that if I crossed the border into Mexico I wasn't coming back. I found myself in Tucson and in a bar one night this woman picked me up and took me home. I was too drunk and ended up passing out on her couch. The next morning she cooked me breakfast and we spent the day talking. She had a spare bedroom and I moved in, instead of lovers we became friends.

Bear with me now, this is where the story begins. She had recently joined a judo club, a dojo, to get in shape and she invited me to attend one night. We went to a small concrete building with no windows in an industrial park on the edge of the desert. I'd never done martial arts before but wasn't too worried. I was very well trained by the military in hand to hand combat, in great shape, and knew I could probably handle anybody in there. Such is the cockiness of youth. Well I entered and there was this class being taught by an old man, I say old, thinking he looked ancient, the difference between twenty-something and sixty-something being far greater then than it seems now, now that I'm on the far side. He welcomed me, got me dressed in a Gi which is the formal attire of one who practices Judo and took me out to the middle of the mats. Then he said, let's spar, you try and throw me.

I was thinking, oh no, I'm going to hurt this guy and everybody's going to be upset with me. So I went in easy, a quick grab and push. The next thing I knew I'm on my back and he's bending over me smiling, asking if I'm ok. I was, a little surprised, the ego a little bruised, but I got back up and went at him again with more intensity and vigor. Again he threw me, and again, and again. That night he threw me many, many times until I was exhausted. He never broke a sweat and I never once seriously got him off balance.

I found out later that he was one of the first westerners ever taught the art of Judo, one of the first to open a place of practice in the United States. That he was a gold medalist in the Pan American games in his youth, five times in a row. This was the preeminent competition in the world of Judo in this hemisphere before it was accepted into the Olympics. That he was a renowned Judoka, meaning one who practices Judo and follows it precepts, and people would come from around the globe to study with him, at this little concrete hut in the middle of the desert. He held advanced degrees in Judo, Karate and Kendo, a master in each field.

So I went back and started to learn. He wouldn't teach me any throws for the first months. He insisted before I threw I had to learn how to fall. So I spent my initial days there letting everybody in the dojo throw me and learning how take a fall. Everyone threw me - I was thrown by white belts, by women, by children. My task was to accept the throw and master the fall and then jump right back up and let them throw me again. At the end of some practices he would take me in the corner and he would throw me, hard, fast with no mercy, just a little smile on his face as he waited for me to get up over and over. I think he expected me to leave after the first few weeks and I almost did, several times, but I stayed and eventually learned how to throw and fight in the judo style. I stayed for many years and he and his wife, also a black belt in Judo, helped me grow towards who I am today.

I became a good fighter and quickly got my brown belt. Eventually I decided it was time for me to attain a black belt and I told my Sensei this. Sensei is the Japanese term for teacher, literally meaning "one who is born ahead". This was how everyone addressed him, even his wife, as Sensei. He laughed and said no, I wasn't ready. I knew Judo, knew the moves and the terminology as well as any black belt but a black belt is a teacher and I was still a fighter.

I fell in love with Judo, mastering it, and over the years the relationship between Sensei and I grew but I always remained a brown belt even as those who started after me garnered their black belt. I was so full of ego back then, so full of myself. Sensei, bless him, didn't give up on me. He was determined to teach me what I really needed to learn. I was still wild, just in my twenties. I had gotten a job and was going to college, doing quite well but I had a streak in me of pure selfishness and I wasn't above hurting people to get what I wanted.

One day he came up to me and said, I'd like you to come work with me, help me in my garden. This was something I didn't want to do. I had a full time job, carried 18 credits at the university, and practiced judo or danced whenever I could and generally slept only a couple of hours a night. Giving up what little free time I had to help him out on weekends was not high on the list of things I had planned. Still, I felt I owed him a great deal for what he had taught me over the years and I began to show up Saturday mornings to help him tend his cactus garden.

Now he had this fantastic garden that was laid out in the Japanese style of zen formation with exotic cacti and small gravel gently raked in various patterns. People would bring him cacti as gifts from terrain around the world and he would place them in his backyard just right. It looked wondrous but taking care of it was a nightmare. I would spend four to five hours there, weeding, trimming, raking and leave bleeding, my skin punctured in multiple places, cursing under my breath, swearing that I'm never coming back. But I always did.

He never said much to me, a sentence or two pointing out what needed to be done. I had thought that I was going to be introduced to some great secrets here, he had studied with Masters and was a Master himself. Yet there were no profound lessons, no deep philosophical treatises on the meaning of life or the inner way of Bushido. We didn't really have conversations, we just worked side by side in silence most of the time.

He was a simple man and he reveled in the non complex ways of life. He said as few words as necessary to convey a point and then he left me alone to figure things out. He could see how frustrated I got sometimes, working in temperatures over 100 degrees, how angry I became when I studied the welts on my arm from brushing against some poisonous plant. He knew that I hated coming to his garden and toiling in the hot sun. But he requested that I return each week and because he was my Sensei, I complied.

This went on for several years until I graduated from the university and felt, for the first time in a long while, home calling to me. I'm a New Englander by nature and this is always where I will feel most comfortable. Before I left we talked about my journey with him and reflected on our time together. It hit me at some point as we reminisced that I had changed drastically. It had never occurred to me to compare myself to who I was when I first arrived in Tucson but he pointed out poignantly what he had seen as I had grown.

His observations cut me like a scalpel, not in a bad way but deep and clean, exposing truths about myself that I had not admitted. I left Tucson a man, having arrived a boy. I could now smile at adversity rather than running from it. I was someone who could face uncomfortable, demanding situations and prevail with calmness and equanimity. A ship built for sailing cross deep waters, far from shore.

He had given me a profound gift and enlightened me to the first lesson of being a great teacher. I learned that in actuality, it is the student who teaches themselves. A teacher can really only guide and support. Honest mentoring provides a point of stability not a dominance of will. The gifted teacher will give their charges room to discover and blossom on their own yet not be afraid to demand growth when necessary. This is a fine balance that many who claim to teach cannot comprehend.

A true teacher is only a guidepost and not the goal. A true teacher recognizes the traps that the ego can fall into. Many would come to our dojo just to honor Sensei because of his fame, practice at his feet so to speak. He would humor them and then send them away after a time. Whenever I fell into this silly kind of thinking he would point to the nastiest corner of the garden and say - go in there and clean things up. My adulation would quickly dissipate, this was his intent. A true teacher understands the difference between respect and servility and moves promptly to prevent the latter.

In the end, in the last days as I was leaving I thought about taking the test to acquire a black belt, then I realized, no, it was only a color. I had all I needed.