Tuesday, June 5, 2012
"You're Going the Wrong Way!" India Contemplation
"You're going the wrong way!"
inspired by India,the battle in the Bhagavad Gita, and the battle in my own mind...
I've heard that one before. Often times from the left half of my cerebrum that knows better than I do. "Hey Daisy! Don't let those deep brown eyes with a hint of naughty fool you, this is so NOT okay and the words, "honey, no one needs to know," are SO not appropriate or wise," or "eating a raw tomato in India is not the best idea you've had today dear Daisy. With love, your Cerebrum." I should have listened to that hefty thinking part of my brain on many occasions but really, where would listening have delivered me? To this place right here, right now? At this very moment, this looks like a pretty darn good place to be, issues, struggles, clouds, rain and all. Save Tibet. How can this happen here and now? Save Tibet.
"You're going the wrong way!"
So for a week we had been partially "Circumambulating" the Dalai Lama's Temple. Believe me folks, we knew how to walk clockwise, I swear! Counterclockwise was just the most efficient way for us to walk to the Men Tsee Khang Medical School for our daily studies, you see. Less rocks in the Chacos on that shortened route, less tread worn. One less blistered toe... but I know... I know the journey you have made. I hear you. I hear your cries, "Tibet, Tibet, save Tibet."
Circumambulation in the Himalaya nestled McLeod Ganj, the center of Tibetan Buddhists in exile, is a devotional practice performed by folks of all ages and physical ability. Tibetan Buddhists slowly navigate their way (correctly) clockwise around the temple of His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama. Reflecting, praying, recite mantra, paying homage, meditating, singing songs of compassion and wisdom, or a combination of all of these beautiful acts, with prayer beads in hand. Women in their colorful chupas, and men with wooden canes, nuns in their flowing robes, and monks with their freshly shorn heads, children, enlightened cows, Americans in orange Nike shoes going the wrong way, all on their journey towards what is meaningful, or necessary. Meaning-full. Om Mani Padme Hum... I hear your sweet verse.
The day we made our first circumambulation, a black cow with pokey little horns came strutting out of one of the smaller golden temples with what looked to be serenity written all over his holy cow face. That was a sight to see, and it made us giggle. He looked at peace, and I might say almost even enlightened. In my dreams, that holy steer lit a butter candle by rubbing his hoofed feet together, and made a wish or two about the contentment of all sentient beings. I snapped a picture of that dark brown eyed cow exiting the temple (with the look of naughty in those eyes). I have the proof on film and I know others in my posse do as well. But, just like everything that else that happened to us in India, you might not ever believe it. I am not quite sure I do either. It still seems like a incense clouded dream. Three weeks vanished in a blink of a hazy third eye. That cerebrum part of the brain that reasons might never let you, or I fully believe. India. Tibet. World, hold on! Holy cows. Naughty eyes. Past mistakes. Regrets. A dream. A nightmare. A map. A map leading to here. Here is a mighty good place. How I know you wish you were in your rightful place, had that place. A place that is yours. All that has been taken from you. I hear you. Save Tibet.
"You're going the wrong way!"
So there we were on that trail, going the wrong way, Erin and I. Our last and final (at least for that trip, I'll be back) hike down the 45 degree ankle-jeopardizing hill of bliss that I dearly miss, the rest of our posse a few hundred thousand small jagged rocks ahead (going the wrong way too, I suspect was noted by that British circumambulator patrol). I saw it in her eyes before her eyes were near enough for me to see (dark brown with a hint of naughty) and then she spoke in a accent much prettier than my own, "Excuse me girls, but I do have to tell you that YOU ARE GOING THE WRONG WAY, just as the others before you that I assume are in your group!” I half (left half brain) expected her to repeat and add, “You’re going the wrong way, you’re going to kill somebody,” and Steve Martin and John Candy pop into my cerebrum... funny. Watch those rocks! Watch your step. One foot in front of the other.
Tattered prayer flags of red, blue, green, yellow and white surround us. Some of these prayers are still unanswered, and this I know. Save Tibet. Why can't you see how tragic this is? Save Tibet. Wind, oh wind! Please carry these prayers into the ether where they are needed the most. Allow these prayers to be heard and extended into the universe to all willing to hear. Needing to hear. Do you hear? My prayers to erase the past are mere pebbles, please hear their cries. I have everything. I am where I need to be. Save Tibet.
"You're going the wrong way!"
Yes, we know dear woman with the British accent much prettier than our own, that we are in fact going the wrong way, but I have a really sick belly and this is the quickest route between point A and B. When you are in India and are not quite open to "putting it all out there for the cows and everyone to see," you want to get where you "need" to be fast (and hope you have toilet paper in your backpack to wipe away the problem)!
For the past week, the other devoted circumambulators hardly lifted a brow to our reversal of walk. We even received a plethera of tashi deleks, smiles, nods, bows, namastes, grins, and hellos. We may have sounded just a tad bit snarky with our hefty Minnesota voices when we replied, "Yes, ma'am, we know. We do this walk daily. We are just trying to get to our class down at the bottom of the hill. We know how to do it right. We know where we are going." We know how to do it right, right? Follow that cow! He knows the way to enlightenment. But, I say it again that I am where I need to be. What is right? Who is right? Save Tibet.
Even the cow knows the right way to go. Looking back, maybe I should have walked that extra twenty minutes or so, just to get it right. So often you see, I am going the wrong way. But, what is the "right" way. So once again, I look at where I have been, and then I look at where I am. The wrong way has led me to where I am, and that's a pretty good "where" to be. Even in the rainiest of rains, and the pouriest of pours, I feel that I am where I need to be. Oh Tibet! I can hear your prayers. From this rounded edge of Earth to yours, I hear you. I hear. Save Tibet.
"You're going the wrong way!"
But maybe that's okay. Maybe that wrong way is leading you where you need to be.
A well known Tibetan saint and poet Milarepa once stated, "My religion is to live and die without regret." I cannot know what that means, yet from this day forward. My regrets are many, and too many and too near between... but where I sit is a pretty good place to be. I hear you. I send out a prayer in the wind. I send out a wish for all sentient beings. I send out a prayer for Tibet. I send out a prayer to all those I have hurt from my "going the wrong way," and I can hope that maybe they too sit in a place that is a pretty good place to be, or at least better than most. I hope for all beings to be in a place they want to be. I hope for Tibet to be saved, healed, and whole. I hope for all to be healed and whole.
The wind whispers... Om Mani Padme Hum... save Tibet, save Tibet...
WE THE EXILE GUYS
"We walk alone
except that-
We've our inner souls
the scent of our bodies
the heartbeat that we hear
a faithful shadow
that accompanies us at the worst of times
and the sound of our footsteps.
However, in our hearts are:
a score of unwritten poems
a thousand unsung songs
a million unrealized dreams.
We walk alone,
except that-
we need a nation
that was once ours."
Yadongtsang T. Thinley
A Tibetan Refugee
Monday, April 30, 2012
Big Sale Here!
A weather downer for some perhaps, by the sound of chattering teeth, occasional gasps, and a few deep exhales with a visible vanishing cloud. Yet for me, and some very lucky early-to-arrive bargain shoppers, the sun shone brightly beyond those clouds of sky and breath. I felt warm radiant waves of love seeping its way through the ether, touching my heart, spirit and soul. I could feel the beams of that radiant light pulsating from the generous beings who donated, shopped, helped, or just stop by to say “Hello.” A new friend here, an old friend there! Family and neighbors everywhere! I was especially fond of a young-at-heart man that had a glorious sense of humor and heeded my son’s request to, “Come back real soon!” He did come back real soon, and I highly doubt that he “needed” that scissor/tool/thingamajig he threatened to cut Laurie’s tulips down with, but we were happy to see it go. It looked functional, but very dangerous. :)
A wood-baked just right pizza from Olive’s, a steamy cup of Bikery tea, and the yummiest of hot chocolates to warm chilled bones. Some of the best of Marine on the St. Croix within our perched view. One of the things missed, the beautiful chocolates from St. Croix Chocolate Co., darn it! A perfect grilled cheese for my son, cooked to order at the Brookside (‘super melty please!’). On Sunday a touching benefit with the sounds of local bands in the air, drifting up the hill to sing in our ears. Memories and reflections of a life cut too short. I, never knowing the man being honored, but thinking of him and those left to bare the pain of losing of him. Another opportunity to pause, take life in, and appreciate the moment and all I have been given. A community coming together to remember a loved one at one end of town, and a community coming together at the other end of town to help a community half a world away.
Your junk, his treasure. Your past, her future. Stories shared, memories recalled, moments of clarity, a tear here and there, gut-belly laughs, moments of fear when thinking of this far away adventure to India, just around the corner. A smile from a memory of that salamander swimsuit sold for 50 cents, the memory of that swimsuit worn a lifetime ago, yet so clear I can recall that very feeling of holding my baby boy in the cool waters of June. Those green salamander sprinkled water trunks seemed too big to hold him at the time, and now a heartfelt memory etched in my mind, a mind that cannot believe how fast time is passing. Seven months, turned to seven years in a blink. My son’s left foot would not fit into one leg of that amphibian-detailed swimsuit, and so it had to go.
Seeing the mementos being hauled away that carry so many memories within them, allows a short pause in honor of this very moment, the here and now. I will hug my son tight, his pinstriped button up shirt soft in my palms. I know that when that shirt is carried away from another garage sale on some far off date, or dropped off to the Goodwill garage in a cleansing of my own garage, it will hold within it a hug, a memory, a moment of pause, and understanding for how wonderful and fleeting this life truly is.
From the memories of mine and others’ that were left unsold, I tuck away a pile of GAP baby socks, a soft white onesie that bears no trace of baby-wear (a miracle!), a striped baby hat that warmed the noggin of my little newborn baby treasure, a burp cloth, a blanket, a collection of love in my suitcase headed for the East. What I cannot fit in my luggage, also loaded with medical supplies, I will drop off at the golden gates of the Goodwill garage. Your junk, her treasure. His past, her future. The need for help is all around, and I am honored to know such generous folks. Your wonderful gifts will travel not far from your back door, to the other side of the world where they will surely help to brighten the day of many.
You, my dear friends, teachers, students have brightened my day, my life, and I promise to take many pictures of smiling faces receiving your gifts!
Saturday, February 4, 2012
The Size of a Cow...Pre-India
I simply adore cows, and I'm not talking the "in patty-form with ketchup and a thinly sliced pickle on a bun" cow. I love cows in a field. A roly-poly full of space field. I have always had a fondness for those Bos Primigenius, and their ability to regurgitate partially digested food (talented). I am awed by the fact they can drink a bathtub full of water a day (health conscience). I envy the fact that they eat up to forty pounds of food a day, and in my opinion still maintain their cow-ish figures year after year (no image concerns what-so-ever there, folks!).
One of the reasons I wanted to purchase the quaint little dwelling we call home, was that I could sit on the lovely 1980's porcelain white loo and have prime cow viewing. Yes, a big "I am sorry" to the previous owners, but it was a long drive to the house showing, and when you gotta go, you gotta go! I hope the nearby cow smell covered any foul smell I may have left behind. For the loo, you see, overlooked the glorious still in existence (thank goodness for that) farmer's field. That prime VIP seating is not so cow-friendly anymore (although it is still substantial for doing our business), as the evergreens, oaks, and amber waves of grain have blocked the prime piece of real estate mostly from our view, but I welcome the greener, more lush oasis. It paints a new landscape out our 80's Anderson Windowed canvas.
A short hike up a quadriceps femoris strengthening hill though, and the utter beauty of the cows prevails (and their excrement that seems to blanket the side of the road. Oh India! I am already preparing for you!). They are happy and curious with their soft cow eyes that give me a giddy school-girl smile that still inspires me to shout out, "I hope that you are dairy!" even though I believe that even dairy cows have it rough. I know because I breastfed for many moons (didn't that one cow jump over the moon?). I cannot tell you the last time I had a glass of milk. I am still trying to sort through all of the often confusing research to determine if milk truly does "a body good," I am sorry dear farmer neighbor of mine, but talk to my friend Bonnie and you might get totally freaked out, too. Hey goats! Wanna make me some cheese? But I swear a few of those cows walk, even gallop right over to the fence when they see us coming. They know that I love them. They are happy, I see bliss in their eyes.
And so now it comes to this... I prepare for travels to the land where thirty percent of the world's cattle live. Holy cows! It seems that maybe just maybe, I will fit in in India as sweetly as a burger fits into a bun (a veggie burger, of course. With dairy-free vegan cheese, it melts AND stretches!). It seems that in India, I will have a view of cows from every loo, every beach, every street corner, every road. Cows! Cows everywhere! Here a cow, there a cow, everywhere a cow, cow! Cows! Cows! Cows! Sacred and worshiped cows!
In Hinduism you see, the Lord Krishna, a flute playing prankster, a divine hero, a Supreme Being, is often given credit as being the author of India's beloved story the "Bhagavad Gita." The Gita, which is often translated as "The Lord's Song," or "Song of God," is a seven hundred versed scripture that is a part of a bigger epic called the "Mahabharata." Krishna was a cowherd, who was simply adored by his hefty herd. Krishna would play his flute for all of the beings around him, and the cows would soak up the sweet sound and become almost entranced. It is quite fitting that an alternate name for Krishna is "Gobinda," which means "one who is good at finding cows," or "the protector of cows." Although Krishna could be quite naughty at times, he was very dedicated to those lucky cows and served them well.
A cow, or more specifically, a bull, "Nandi" is depicted as the vehicle of Shiva. Shiva! The big S! That "more than meets the eye" God Shiva who is another big time Hindu Deity-Yogi-Transformer- creator-preserver-destroyer-concealer-revealer... whoa! That is a big job that he seems to handle with effortless-effort. Not only does he possess a youthful glow, he also reigns over death, rebirth and immortality. What did I accomplish today? This blog about cows. I hear that there are as many Shiva statues around India as there are cows, but I cannot yet confirm this bit of information. I will get back to you on that one, and surely take lots of pictures of both. Shiva, cows, perhaps a cow standing on top a Shiva statue.
Throughout India there are also many temples that are dedicated solely to the bull Nandi, and he also guards many temples that are dedicated to the mighty Shiva. Nandi is often the color white, which is a symbol for justice and purity. Some Hindu woman worship Nandi, bringing to him sweet offerings of flowers, fruit, sweets or money. They believe that their prayers for fertility will be answered by touching the carved stone of his statue. I will be searching for the beloved Nandi on my travels, touch the stone, not for fertility reasons, but to give honor to all cows everywhere.
Perhaps you have seen a picture or statue of the mighty Shiva on his faithful bull, Nandi. Maybe you have seen dancing Shiva with his ethereal moves, and balancing within his being both creation and destruction involving the total cosmos. All that exists! My wonderful professor Dr. Miriam Cameron often refers to Shiva during our classes at the University of Minnesota. She asks us to be like Shiva, to embrace the "dance" of our lives with mindfulness and ease. To be "warriors" of our own thinking, and not to dwell on disappointment. She states, "Our true and pure soul does not have negativity, so we need to sweep it clear to find our bliss." That bliss can be revealed to us no matter what life has thrown our way. Whatever ickiness we may have stepped in on our journey. Basically, we should learn to turn our manure into nourishment (Grow from it!). I think the farmers already know that. I can smell that sweet scent of cow stuff from where I sit writing this blog.
Ahhhh... bliss!! Who doesn't hope for that? Laying in a field of golden wheat, or gazing on the beauty of all this Earth exudes (maybe from a loo). A cow in a meadow, a cow in the street. Bask in beauty of this dance of existence. Find your bliss. Step in the sh@# and learn something from it.
There was a commercial awhile back that made me a bit agitated, I have to admit. It stated that California cows were happier cows. On the screen were cows trudging through the deep cold snow. Wisconsin, perhaps? Maybe Calumet County where the bovines (cattle and calves) out-populate the people. Maybe they were in Minnesota on that friendly farmer neighbor's roly-poly field. They showed those Midwestern cows with a look of sadness in their chocolaty milk-brown eyes. Then, of course, they pictured the California cows in all of their sun-shiny glory. If I recall, they were even wearing sunglasses. I have seen those California cows and they did not look that happy. They looked as if they were searching for something. Bliss perhaps? Maybe some evergreens, oaks, and amber waves of grain. Maybe a little bit of variety in their weather. I think that they are currently on a self-started and organized cattle-drive headed this way. Turns out they DO prefer the Heartland and don't mind a wintery wonderland after all (and they probably do feel utterly ridiculous wearing sunglasses, I am sure of it!).
I cannot wait to inhale the sweet smells of India. I cannot wait to dance with whatever comes my way. I cannot wait to look on the cows of India knowing that they are well looked after, honored, and loved (by most). I will be sure to wear rubber boots.
Now for some really cutesie, or severely bad cow jokes, depending how you look at it, that will make a seven year old cringe (I know this for a fact), but did not make a future husband run away after a first date (whew!). And by the way, playing John Denver during our first car ride together did not have him running for the cow spotted hills, either. He also stick with me after myriad road trips through the wonderful, silo-sprinkled Wisconsin landscape, where I would shout out the car window an exuberant "Hello!" to those gentle cow giants. Approximately thirty seconds later I would exclaim, "I feel like grabbing a burger." True story. It makes me utterly joyous (sorry), that my sweet man still loves me after all of these bad jokes.
And know for some giggles...
Q: Where do the cows go on Saturday night?
A: To the MOOvies.
Q: Where do cows go when they get married?
A: On a honeyMOOn
Q: What do you call a cow that works for a gardener?
A: a lawn MOOer
Q: Why do cows wear bells?
A: Because their horns don't work.
Q: What do you get when you have a cow and a duck?
A: Milk and Quackers
*** Jokes compliments of : http://www.boyscouttrail.com/content/joke/joke-599.asp
But there was I time I would have swore I made them up! ***** :)
One of the reasons I wanted to purchase the quaint little dwelling we call home, was that I could sit on the lovely 1980's porcelain white loo and have prime cow viewing. Yes, a big "I am sorry" to the previous owners, but it was a long drive to the house showing, and when you gotta go, you gotta go! I hope the nearby cow smell covered any foul smell I may have left behind. For the loo, you see, overlooked the glorious still in existence (thank goodness for that) farmer's field. That prime VIP seating is not so cow-friendly anymore (although it is still substantial for doing our business), as the evergreens, oaks, and amber waves of grain have blocked the prime piece of real estate mostly from our view, but I welcome the greener, more lush oasis. It paints a new landscape out our 80's Anderson Windowed canvas.
A short hike up a quadriceps femoris strengthening hill though, and the utter beauty of the cows prevails (and their excrement that seems to blanket the side of the road. Oh India! I am already preparing for you!). They are happy and curious with their soft cow eyes that give me a giddy school-girl smile that still inspires me to shout out, "I hope that you are dairy!" even though I believe that even dairy cows have it rough. I know because I breastfed for many moons (didn't that one cow jump over the moon?). I cannot tell you the last time I had a glass of milk. I am still trying to sort through all of the often confusing research to determine if milk truly does "a body good," I am sorry dear farmer neighbor of mine, but talk to my friend Bonnie and you might get totally freaked out, too. Hey goats! Wanna make me some cheese? But I swear a few of those cows walk, even gallop right over to the fence when they see us coming. They know that I love them. They are happy, I see bliss in their eyes.
And so now it comes to this... I prepare for travels to the land where thirty percent of the world's cattle live. Holy cows! It seems that maybe just maybe, I will fit in in India as sweetly as a burger fits into a bun (a veggie burger, of course. With dairy-free vegan cheese, it melts AND stretches!). It seems that in India, I will have a view of cows from every loo, every beach, every street corner, every road. Cows! Cows everywhere! Here a cow, there a cow, everywhere a cow, cow! Cows! Cows! Cows! Sacred and worshiped cows!
In Hinduism you see, the Lord Krishna, a flute playing prankster, a divine hero, a Supreme Being, is often given credit as being the author of India's beloved story the "Bhagavad Gita." The Gita, which is often translated as "The Lord's Song," or "Song of God," is a seven hundred versed scripture that is a part of a bigger epic called the "Mahabharata." Krishna was a cowherd, who was simply adored by his hefty herd. Krishna would play his flute for all of the beings around him, and the cows would soak up the sweet sound and become almost entranced. It is quite fitting that an alternate name for Krishna is "Gobinda," which means "one who is good at finding cows," or "the protector of cows." Although Krishna could be quite naughty at times, he was very dedicated to those lucky cows and served them well.
A cow, or more specifically, a bull, "Nandi" is depicted as the vehicle of Shiva. Shiva! The big S! That "more than meets the eye" God Shiva who is another big time Hindu Deity-Yogi-Transformer- creator-preserver-destroyer-concealer-revealer... whoa! That is a big job that he seems to handle with effortless-effort. Not only does he possess a youthful glow, he also reigns over death, rebirth and immortality. What did I accomplish today? This blog about cows. I hear that there are as many Shiva statues around India as there are cows, but I cannot yet confirm this bit of information. I will get back to you on that one, and surely take lots of pictures of both. Shiva, cows, perhaps a cow standing on top a Shiva statue.
Throughout India there are also many temples that are dedicated solely to the bull Nandi, and he also guards many temples that are dedicated to the mighty Shiva. Nandi is often the color white, which is a symbol for justice and purity. Some Hindu woman worship Nandi, bringing to him sweet offerings of flowers, fruit, sweets or money. They believe that their prayers for fertility will be answered by touching the carved stone of his statue. I will be searching for the beloved Nandi on my travels, touch the stone, not for fertility reasons, but to give honor to all cows everywhere.
Perhaps you have seen a picture or statue of the mighty Shiva on his faithful bull, Nandi. Maybe you have seen dancing Shiva with his ethereal moves, and balancing within his being both creation and destruction involving the total cosmos. All that exists! My wonderful professor Dr. Miriam Cameron often refers to Shiva during our classes at the University of Minnesota. She asks us to be like Shiva, to embrace the "dance" of our lives with mindfulness and ease. To be "warriors" of our own thinking, and not to dwell on disappointment. She states, "Our true and pure soul does not have negativity, so we need to sweep it clear to find our bliss." That bliss can be revealed to us no matter what life has thrown our way. Whatever ickiness we may have stepped in on our journey. Basically, we should learn to turn our manure into nourishment (Grow from it!). I think the farmers already know that. I can smell that sweet scent of cow stuff from where I sit writing this blog.
Ahhhh... bliss!! Who doesn't hope for that? Laying in a field of golden wheat, or gazing on the beauty of all this Earth exudes (maybe from a loo). A cow in a meadow, a cow in the street. Bask in beauty of this dance of existence. Find your bliss. Step in the sh@# and learn something from it.
There was a commercial awhile back that made me a bit agitated, I have to admit. It stated that California cows were happier cows. On the screen were cows trudging through the deep cold snow. Wisconsin, perhaps? Maybe Calumet County where the bovines (cattle and calves) out-populate the people. Maybe they were in Minnesota on that friendly farmer neighbor's roly-poly field. They showed those Midwestern cows with a look of sadness in their chocolaty milk-brown eyes. Then, of course, they pictured the California cows in all of their sun-shiny glory. If I recall, they were even wearing sunglasses. I have seen those California cows and they did not look that happy. They looked as if they were searching for something. Bliss perhaps? Maybe some evergreens, oaks, and amber waves of grain. Maybe a little bit of variety in their weather. I think that they are currently on a self-started and organized cattle-drive headed this way. Turns out they DO prefer the Heartland and don't mind a wintery wonderland after all (and they probably do feel utterly ridiculous wearing sunglasses, I am sure of it!).
I cannot wait to inhale the sweet smells of India. I cannot wait to dance with whatever comes my way. I cannot wait to look on the cows of India knowing that they are well looked after, honored, and loved (by most). I will be sure to wear rubber boots.
Now for some really cutesie, or severely bad cow jokes, depending how you look at it, that will make a seven year old cringe (I know this for a fact), but did not make a future husband run away after a first date (whew!). And by the way, playing John Denver during our first car ride together did not have him running for the cow spotted hills, either. He also stick with me after myriad road trips through the wonderful, silo-sprinkled Wisconsin landscape, where I would shout out the car window an exuberant "Hello!" to those gentle cow giants. Approximately thirty seconds later I would exclaim, "I feel like grabbing a burger." True story. It makes me utterly joyous (sorry), that my sweet man still loves me after all of these bad jokes.
And know for some giggles...
Q: Where do the cows go on Saturday night?
A: To the MOOvies.
Q: Where do cows go when they get married?
A: On a honeyMOOn
Q: What do you call a cow that works for a gardener?
A: a lawn MOOer
Q: Why do cows wear bells?
A: Because their horns don't work.
Q: What do you get when you have a cow and a duck?
A: Milk and Quackers
*** Jokes compliments of : http://www.boyscouttrail.com/content/joke/joke-599.asp
But there was I time I would have swore I made them up! ***** :)
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