back home again

I'm home again in Oakland after a week in LA, the bulk of which I spent gloriously prone on the couch, under a blanket and reading a book. Fire crackling in the fireplace, cat sprawled on the carpet, parents napping and reading magazines. I feel mellowed, in the fullest sense of the word -- gentled, relaxed, unhurried. And I'm off to Harbin Hot Springs on Wednesday for a long weekend with the chosen family, cleansing and blessing the new year together. I feel renewed, restored and thankful.

On my first day in Los Angeles I was fortunate to spend the day with Deena Metzger and her community, for their monthly Dare', or community council. Deena is a life-long healer, spiritual teacher, author, activist, and elder. She is a true witch, and I am deeply moved by her fearless and continual turning towards the heartbreak of the world, medicine in hand. There is a whole volume to be written about this day, the peacemaking work of this community, the powerful and uncanny familiarity I felt with so many people in the gathering. The deep, low, rumbling profundity of what emerged from our day-long conversation, which closed with a sharing of our dreams and their relevance to the times in which we live.

What I will say now is that watching Deena apply her magical soul-salves and weave together the threads of community into an image of the possibility of wholeness, illuminated for me some understanding of my role, as well ~ the role of medicine-bringer, through my words and through the love I give. The story of our human folly is scrawled carelessly onto the delicate parchment of every living system, but instead of dissolving into despair I am beginning to understand -- when I look at my guides like Carolyn Raffensperger, Caroline Casey, and Deena Metzger, among others -- that what I can do is give my heart over, again and again, in service of that story's transmutation.

Something about the safety of being in the bosom of my family allowed me to fully feel the extent of the sadness that I have been feeling about the state of the world. Of course Copenhagen was a farcical sham; shouldn't we all have expected that, given what we know about politics? Nonetheless, it is true that I did walk around feeling stunned and light-headed after I heard about the non-agreement that wasn't reached about the future of our shared response to the climate crisis. The despair gnawed at my heart, and as I unclenched myself with my family, the cry rose up in my throat.

I spent some time, too, wondering if there is perhaps an amorphous and free-floating hopeless despair that I carry with me, that I pin on targets like the world and my body. I've gained ten pounds this fall, and as sad as that makes me, as burdened as I feel, as removed as I become from the dance of attraction, it is true this experience feels very, very familiar. And it's also true that for the past year I have been dancing on this edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting to become fat again because I don't yet know how to live into lightness and ease inside my own physical form.

I won't get into the gory psychological details of all that here, but suffice it to say, I have been inquiring into myself about it. And in the midst of an anguished, tearful moment, I asked myself, "What would my life be about if it was devoted and dedicated to whatever it is that makes my spirit absolutely light up and shine?" What IS that thing?

Immediately, the answer came: "To love. Love is the joy, love is the richness, love is the source of everything. Love is all there is. The heart’s expansive flowing freedom to be with, to connect, to share, to delight, to marvel, to light up with possibility. That is my gift, the gift of love."

Love is the true medicine. Love is the only medicine. It is not weight loss that allows me to feel free inside my body, it is self-acceptance. It is not the flipping of some omnipotent, cosmic switch that brings order to all the world that will allow me to feel happy and useful on this earth, it is my open heart and my intention to do my work with love, for love.

In remembering this, I suddenly understand exactly what to do and how to do it. There is no complicated formula to follow, no threshold of accomplishment to be reached, no signal that will arise from the dim chaos of the world that I am free to expand, unfold, relax after biding my time for so long in a posture of contraction. There is only love, now, to be offered and to be received. Bless the food I eat, bless the water that I bathe in, bless the day and night, bless the body. Bless the moment of communion, the redwood tree outside my window, the quiet afternoon. Bless the land and the women who give all of themselves in service of its sanctity. Bless all that is not yet healed, and draw meaning from it. Bless all that has been healed, and give thanks for the unceasing miracle of change. Bless the life that stirs in me at each moment, the force that animates all that we see and share. Bless the form, bless the journey, bless the spirit that abides within. From that place, and in due time: bless the sacred Other, and bless the future generations.

So, after all this, on the plane I realized what my New Year's resolutions are. They're very simple: (1) Practice unconditional love (including of self). (2) Feel all feelings. (3) Count all blessings.

Should be a beautiful year. :)

cracks in the armor

You know what's wonderful? As soon as you make even the slightest opening, the Universe comes pouring in to offer all manner of unfathomable, unconditional love and support.

That's what this week has been like. I'm finding a new gentleness with myself -- a moment here and a moment there of softness, of the heart's upwelling. Glimpses of the truth that all the ways I berate myself are just habits of mind. Choosing kindness, choosing to feel. It sounds so basic, but it's momentous. My whole life people have said to me, "You're too hard on yourself," and I've never really understood what they meant until now, as I am finding the capacity to step back and just witness my mind's ceaseless stream of judgments.

So, what happens when that starts to let up? Well, I can tell you: themes happen. On Monday, it was trust. A whole series of events unfolded, reminding me of the power and sweetness and necessity of trust. Later in the week, it was rest, and my deep desire and need for true rest.

The other big one this week? Choice. I have been weaving in and out of a sense of despair, lately, from the state of the world. It came to a head this week when I learned about the "Danish text," a draft climate agreement between the major power players at the Copenhagen climate conference. This leaked document represented the power players' attempt to circumvent the negotiations process and write an agreement that would protect all of their (our) interests, essentially leaving poor and less powerful nations to suffer the mounting burdens of climate change and poverty without recourse. The discovery of this document was an outrage, and the conference fell into disarray until somehow negotiations were able to resume.

Upon learning this news I felt an overwhelming sense of defeat. What part of "the global climate crisis affects all of us" do our leaders fail to understand? Looking around at the world and witnessing the living hell that so many people and creatures must endure, the living hell that we ourselves have created, I find myself in a depression. And I grieve, too, for simplicity -- I grieve for our disconnection from the earth, from our bodies, from each other. My disconnection. Can my work really make any difference at all, especially if I feel numb and alone while doing it?

Last night I attended the opening party for the new restaurant that my dear friends Eric and Ari just opened, called Gather. Every element of this restaurant reflects a rigorous commitment to sustainability -- from the bench seats made of recycled leather belts, to the art on the wall made from packing materials, to the local/ seasonal/ organic cuisine, Gather is a paean to possibility in business and in community.

I love these two men so much -- one of them is married to my best friend and colleague, and both of them are like my brothers. Last night, more than ever, I felt so moved to be a part of the same soul family as them. They spoke of the initial vision that sent them on this nine-year journey: the vision that Eric received, out in the desert, of a place where people would come together to share delicious food and connect with the earth. From there, their company Back to Earth catering and outdoor adventures emerged, always with the foundational dream of this restaurant. And now it's a reality.

They were both lit up, not only from the strength of this beautiful vision itself, but from the accumulated strength they have actually received from their years of continual, conscious re-alignment with the vision, despite whatever setbacks arose. Ari spoke directly to the notion of choice: he told a traditional tale, where a grandmother tells her grandchildren that there are two wolves locked in a mortal struggle inside of her and inside of everyone. One wolf represents fear, greed, anger, hatred, and negativity; the other represents love, kindness, sharing and positivity. Her grandchildren ask her, which wolf wins? And grandmother replies: the one you feed. I've heard Ari tell that story a number of times, but each time I am struck by the profundity of it. Here we are, on this mysterious planet living this mysterious life, seemingly barreling inexorably towards our self-generated doom -- so what can we do? Choose life, over and over and over again.

Ari concluded his talk with this quote, from the Lord of the Rings:

Sam: I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.

Frodo: What are we holding on to, Sam?

Sam: That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo... and it's worth fighting for.

And then we went and enjoyed a feast.

So that's what I'm left with. That Life is worth my life. More than anything, that every moment provides the opportunity for me to choose between giving up and continuing on. What would nature do? Well, just look outside your window and you'll see. Rain, then rainbows, then green life regenerating in the sun. Then rain again, on and on.

It's astounding, what arises when you start to be kind to yourself and let yourself feel your own life.

What's next, true love? ;)