Adventures Off the Grid

It turns out that the high winds on Sunday were actually a level one hurricane - without the water. They certainly did a lot of damage to the area. We were very lucky. Several roof tiles went flying and we wound up with a lot of debris in our yard, but the major impact was the loss of electric from about 1:30 on Sunday afternoon until 8:30 this morning (Tuesday). I would like to be able to report that it was no problem for me to be without electric for a couple days - other than the loss of the food that went bad. The truth is though that it was the simple things that I missed. Being able to turn on the lights to read - or to simply find my way around the house - after the sun goes down. That was probably the biggest one. 

The first evening we sat at the dining room table, Patricia working on her 108 mala project and me trying to re-string my green adventurine malas. I think she got seven finished in the time it took me to thread my beads, reconnecting all the pieces into a single whole. Then we went to bed and read, Patricia with her little miner's lamp headband lamp and me with my book light, the cats quietly competing for the "best spot" on the bed.

Monday morning, I had to open Patricia's garage door manually, and it wouldn't close after that. I wasn't worried. We had left the garage doors open before with no trouble. We've come to trust and appreciate our neighbors, and it didn't feel like a risk. Tai Chi class was cancelled - no power at the yoga studio where I teach - so I got home early, around 5:30. I thought I would use up what I could of the food in the fridge and make a large dinner with enough to share with Patricia when she got home later. The pasta was just about done when I looked out the window and thought I was someone pushing a shopping cart into our garage. I checked the time - three minutes before I had to pull the macaroni out of the water - and headed out the back door. 

Standing in the middle of the garage floor was a Kroger's shopping cart, being loaded up by a fat, middle-aged, white male in shorts and a white t-shirt. I asked him what he thought he was doing in our garage and got no answer. I asked him for his ID and he claimed not to have any. When I asked where he lived, he claimed to live on down the street on Graselli. He said his name was Jim and his breath smelled like cheap alcohol. I asked if he had already made other trips with the cart and he said no. It hit me that I had pasta ready to pull off the stove so I told him to go home and I would be calling the cops. I just wanted him off our property. I headed back to the house, turning to watch him push his, now empty, cart on down the street. 

I had just finished putting dinner together when I noticed blue & white flashing lights out back and watched two police cars pull to the curb. I went out to see if I could report the fellow with the cart. When I got to the car, it turned out that they had been called by our neighbors in the apartment house across the street when they saw me confront the fellow in our garage. Then another one of the neighbors said he knew who the guy was and where he lived. He offered to show the officers and they left together. 

A little while later, I was sitting on the front porch, eating my half of the dinner I had made directly from the casserole dish while waiting for the cops to return. They came back with the guy in the back seat and asked me to identify him - which I did - and then showed me the weed trimmer and hedge trimmer in the trunk and asked if they were mine. I said they were and they asked if there was anything else missing. I had already told them that Patricia is the detail oriented one, but I went into the garage and looked around with a flashlight, before coming back just in time for Patty to drive up. Together we drove to the guy's apartment and collected a number of other items he had made off with, including an old TV that had been there when we bought the house and one of my grippo boxes full of old collectible (I hope) comic books. 

There were more details, but I think that's enough for now. It's good to have the lights back on. Good to be able to catch up on email - and blog entries. And it's good to know my neighbors keep an eye on things.

Becoming a Man of Power

I remember reading Carlos Castaneda's "Don Juan" books back in High School and being fascinated by the idea of a Man of Power. As I recall it now, this was a man who was constantly going beyond his limitations, feared by his enemies, with Death walking beside him. At the time, for a wounded teenager who had no idea where he belonged, this seemed like a good way to be. I wouldn't need anyone. I would be completely self-sufficient. I would be afraid of nothing and others would fear me. 

It wasn't until many years later, when I was studying more authentic versions of native Medicine ways that I discovered that the traditional view of the Man of Power is really quite different. To traditional native people, a Man of Power is someone who is living a good life, in balance with spirit, honoring his ancestors, caring for his descendants. Someone who others look to for advice or help when needed; trusted by his friends and family. A man of integrity, with a good home, a loving wife and healthy children. This is one who is blessed by the spirits, and that is a Man of Power. 

This is a very different vision than what I had read about back in High School, and it led me to consider some of the clear differences in our modern culture - relative to tradition ones - that lead us to believe that power is always something to use against others. 

It seems to me that our modern Western culture, especially here in the US, is more than a little bit like that wounded teenager I used to be. It seeks to overcompensate for its feelings of vulnerability by being so big and scary that no one will come near. It doesn't trust the good will of others, and is more motivated by its fear than by its real strength. Unfortunately, too many of us living here have become reflections of this cultural model. I know that I myself and still healing the wounds of that teenager, slowly realizing that I do belong after all and that there is room for me to explore the gifts that my ancestors granted me.

This is a message that is slow to come to people living here in this beautiful land. This is a place where money and possessions have been given great value, so that those without these things are considered powerless, helpless and pathetic. People here have forgotten that money is nothing more than a means of storing and directing energy. Perhaps it is because they have forgotten their connections to earth, ancestors and spirit that they have put so much onto money. But I can see what an empty goal it is, when that becomes an end in and of itself.

The only true power, in the traditional sense, comes from living a life in balance; honoring your ancestors; caring for those who you love; treating others as you would have them treat you. I have been walking this path for awhile now, setting aside the old wounds and taking up joy. In doing so, my life has changed completely. It has not been easy. The old wounds are hard to let go of. But the result is that I live a fulfilling life. I love my wife and look forward to having a family with her. My work is easy and rewarding, because it flows from within me. I am loved, respected and appreciated by those who are important to me. This is heaven. This is becoming a Man of Power. 

Sorting Babas

I had an experience today that points out just how easy it is to use the same words to mean different things. 

I had zoomed out of the house for a lunch appointment with my friend Rabbi Dave and had almost made it all the way across town to Baba India, one of my favorite restaurants, when I realized that I had zoomed out without my monk's bag (wallet, driver's license and other necessary items). So - I found a place to make a possibly legal U-turn and zoom back home. By now I was feeling a little like a mazda commercial gone wrong. 

My bag was right where I had left it and I snatched it up and ran back out the door, jumped in my car and sped off again. On my way, I realized that I was already late for our appointment so I juggled cell phone and palm pilot to find Dave's number and gave him a quick call to let him know that I was on the way. "No problem. I'm here. See you soon." So, I arrive at Baba India and walk in, scanning the packed tables for his familiar smiling face, and . . . nothing! Did he get bored and leave? Is he in the men's room? 

I step back outside and take a turn around the parking lot to see if his car is there. No familiar bumper stickers! I begin to panic - mildly. I get out my cell phone and call Dave again. 

"Hello?"

"I'm here. Where are you?"

"I'm in the back, where the couches are."

(Couches? What couches?) I walk back inside, still scanning. "I don't seeee you. Are you at Baba's?"

"Yes. The one in Clifton, right?" 

"No! The one in Clifton is AMBAR India. Baba's is owned by their cousins - or something."

"No - Baba Budan's. The coffee bar?"

"...oh. Wow. I haven't been there in a long time. Are they still around?"

SO you see how easy it is to take one name - Baba's - and have it mean two very different things. 

Fortunately the story ends well. We had a great lunch that started late but lasted until after 2:00. We discussed future projects and set up a time for our next lunch - location to be decided - before going our separate ways, full, satisfied and no longer quite as confused, at least about where Baba's is. Somethings are just in more than one place at a time. 

(And it gave me something to break the writer's block I've had on this blog, so all is well!!!)

Identity theft?

Something happened the other day that really got to me - and then, the very fact that it had rocked me so much, got to me more. What happened was that I got a bill for a magazine I had not ordered. When I called them to find out what was going on, they told me that I had "ordered it online." Since I knew that I had done no such thing, I asked them to give me the contact information. They had the right name, address and phone, but someone else's email address. I pointed this out to them and asked to be taken off their mailing list. After hanging up, I felt rotten - like I have been invaded somehow. This person had masqueraded as me and gotten away with it. How could that be? The part of me that thinks of itself as unique and special was feeling quite bruised. 

It took awhile for the edge to come off my irritation and for me to begin considering the event from a different perspective. What really happened? Probably someone got ahold of my contact information and used it to fill an online sales quota. That has nothing to do with me. They probably have no idea who "I" am, nor do they care. So why do I take this so personally? 

We hear about identity theft becoming more and more common, but what are we really talking about? Is my identity the sum of all the numbers that make up my address, car registration, birth date, etc? Do those figures in fact define me in any way? Somehow I doubt it. What they DO is locate me in space and time. They say "Kenn is the person who is right here and was born at this time in this place." They are labels of events in the time space continuum, "identifying" me by notations of when and where, but they are not definitions of who I am. 

This leads me to consider: If these are not my identity, what is? On a purely physical level, there are literally millions of tiny organisms that make up my body, and it is only the efficacy of their communal interface that allows me to breathe, eat and move - not to mention think and speak. This is a rather uncomfortable thing to really dwell on, but I cannot think of it as "me." 

On a more esoteric level, I have three souls: The soul of my physical presence that is tied to this world; the soul that will return to my ancestors; and, the soul that will come back for other lifetimes, as it has before. Is the co-mingling of these etheric elements the basis for my identity? 

By now my head is spinning. What is identity anyway? In mundane terms it does refer to those pieces of information that separate you from everyone else for the sake of legal purposes. My name, social security number, driver's license, address, phone number - all of these are saying in some way: "this is me - that is not me." So "I" am the one who makes this statement, yes? When I sit down to meditate, it is "me" who is taking a seat on the zafu; "me" who is seeking the inner Stillness; "me" who is observing the breath; "me" who. . . but wait! If I am the one observing, who is it that is observed? 

So here we are at the real problem: We don't really know who we are. This is perhaps because our "self" is more mystery than fact. But it is this discomfort of realizing that we truly do not know who this thing called "self" is that keeps us grasping at the straws of identity. There is no "self" in terms of numbers or concrete object. There is only a wavefront of consciousness, arising from the vast and incoherent community of organisms, souls, memories, connections, preferences and loyalties that masquerades - for a little while - as someone we call "ourself". 

Now - when I consider the copy of TV Guide I just threw out, I am somewhat more at peace. 

LumensGate Update - Emerging from the illusion: the ecstasy of Liberation!

Photo by Bonnie Jean Starr

This past Sunday was the first meeting of the new planning staff for LumensGate. On the one had, I was confident that it would go well. I've worked with Mar - the new staffer - for years in other positions and knew that she would be up to the job. On the other hand, the old crew had developed such a tremendous rapport over the many years we worked together, and I was slightly concerned that moving from a staff of four to one of three would be difficult in some unforeseen fashion. Thankfully, I was wrong. Everything went quite smoothly. 

We had an ambitious agenda, including the setting of a theme for next year. I was also wondering if we would be able to do this in a graceful manner. We generally have a bit longer to ruminate before we choose a theme, however it has become clear that we really need to get moving on it if we are going to make the positive changes and generate the kind of interest - and attendance (!!!) - we need for next year to be a success. It was almost strange the way that everything fell into place, each piece building on the ones before, until it became quite evident that the LumensGate gestalt - made up of all those who have gathered around the HeartFire over the past 18 years and are still connected to us in some inexplicably wonderful way - was speaking to us all very clearly. We all were having similar sensations and perceptions of where we need to go, and - with some verbal juggling - came up with the wording for the '09 theme: Emerging from the illusion: the ecstasy of liberation!

At first glance, that is a BIG theme. Okay - even at second and third glance, it's a big theme. But consider that the actual spiritual experience is very personal and immediate, and it is that experience that we are aiming to engender in our participants. So, no matter how big the theme may sound, it will eventually come down to the real experience of those who are gathered around the HeartFire next year at Hope Springs - turning those words into their/our shared reality. 

We spent a good bit of time going over the marketing suggestions made by Mar's daughter Sarah. Excellent suggestions, which we are trying to implement to the extent which we can. Some we've done before and then gotten lazy about, while some are simply beyond our means at this point. But there are quite a few that are very much what we need right now. So we jammed on that for awhile and were getting ready to break for lunch when we started looking at the idea of holding small events to get out information to prospective attendees. Sort of "meet and greets" for those interested in checking it out - AND a chance for those who are already "gators" to get together and enjoy the pleasure of each others company.

Photo by BJ Star

I was still thinking in terms of a "Brunch & Drum" - very old school, neopagan sort of get together - and Patricia came up with the great idea of a "Tea Tasting". She also suggested that we hold it at our offices instead of at home, so that it would be accessible to a wider group of people. All three of us started throwing ideas into the mix and there was a moment when they all gelled and I could feel the hair raise on the back of my next as we came up with the same idea at the same time and practically finished the sentence together. It wasn't the idea itself - which is that we hold the tea tasting at Essencha Tea House - but that we came together so powerfully, that provided the extra oomph. 

So, it seems that the new staff is more than up to the task and that things are off to a great start for next year's event already. It's exciting to know that the magick is continuing, even as Keter and Donna head off on their own new journeys. May it be a blessed year for us all. 

namaste

Practicing like your hair is on fire. . .

Patricia recently passed along a suggestion from one of her yoga teachers: "When you are sitting, practice like your hair's on fire." What a wonderful way to get across the essence of the necessary attitude for meditation! 

It is so easy to get pulled out of Stillness by the seductive activity of the thinking mind. I know that, for myself, there is almost a rhythmic quality to my sitting. The first bit it letting go of all the accumulated content since the last sit. Then comes the first brief layer of Stillness. This is usually short-lived, interrupted by thoughts of what I "need" to "do"- challenging me to combat my thinking mind. What I mean by that is that there is a tendency to try to repress the thoughts - which never works. All that does is get me more and more engaged. The trick it to simply allow the thoughts to float away. If I can keep from rising to that challenge, it usually subsides for awhile and I can often get some decent Stillness in. 

Then - often after ten to fifteen minutes of decent sitting - I will start getting waves of input from thinking mind about how I could use my immediate experience to teach this sitting to others. I assume this is just something that gets to to me because I teach. For others, the thinking mind probably comes up with equally engaging antics. The strategy seems to be to get me thinking of what good material this is, and then believe that I need to remember it when I come out of Stillness. Well - I'm not in Stillness anymore, am I? 

I've found that returning to the idea of "practicing as if my hair is on fire" really helps me to move through these layers of thinking/not thinking. It reminds me that the only thing that matters - right now - is my practice. Everything else can wait. 

namaste

Notes from the road. . .

Patricia and I have just returned from a road trip to visit my aunt Marie - the last surviving sibling of my father - in Madison, WI. We drove to Chicago on friday and spent the night with Cliff and Laura after a great dinner at the Chop House with Patricia's aunt Carol and uncle Tom. Tom has been the accountant for the Chop House - a popular Chicago steak house with nothing but meat on the menu - for over 20 years. He made reservations for us for 6:00 and it was only after we had shown up and were seated at the table that he leaned over to us and whispered, "So - do you eat meat?" We both decided to indulge, in honor of Tom and the rest of the family.

Saturday morning I dragged myself out of bed and went running with Cliff and Laura - Which somehow didn't keep me from gaining 5 pounds somewhere on the trip. It was nice to be clomping along the sidewalks of Chicago, chatting about Sheya and gang warfare - not necessarily related subjects. Then we got an early start and - despite some confusion about what time zone the gps was registering - made it to Madison by noon. Patricia suggested that we stop to pick up some flowers for my aunt - and perhaps some knitting needles for her. We did find a good florist right down the road from my aunt's apartment building and were able to put together a nice bouquet for her. (Patty found some knitting needles later and was able start her next project. She finished the pair of socks for my birthday on the way up from Chicago. Great socks!)

Shortly after we arrived, Patricia and I were sitting at a table drinking tea with Aunt Marie. She was regaling us with stories from her childhood in Kentucky. "This was about my grandmother - the only one I knew - my father's mother. She would take me on walks to collect herbs. She would say 'I smell pennyrile' and then we would find it and put it in the basket. One time she was going to take me walking and I couldn't find her. I went to the back of the house and there she was, leaning back against the house with her eyes closed. She wore dresses that came all the way down to the ground and so I couldn't see what she was doing. I grabbed her by the hand and she said 'don''t pull on me! Can't you see I'm pissing?' I went back into the kitchen and asked mom 'what's pissing?' She said 'where id you hear that?' I told her and she couldn't get too angry with me since it was my grandmother who I had heard it from. She just shook her head and said, 'the back of the house always smells so bad and now I know why.' It was years later that I figured out that it was pennyroyal that we were picking and making into tea."

It was good to hear some stories about my dad too. I found out that he had joined the army in WW II because he had Jewish friends and he felt he had to do something to help them. He had already been declared unfit for duty because of the finger that got cut off that he couldn't bend properly. They were afraid he wouldn't be able to shoot a rifle. In spite of that he qualified as a marksman. 

After a very large and wonderful breakfast at "Lazy Jane's" we went for a walk and I found some good antler tines to use in sweat lodge. You never know when and where something useful is going to show up. 

namaste