Last night, after arriving back to Izzy’s place in Paris, I had a wonderful Skype conversation with a dear friend in California. At one point the topic turned to love, surrender, and letting go of the illusion of control. Reminded me of one of my favorite love poems, by Iranian Sufi poet Hafez.
The Sun Never Says
Even
After
All this time
The Sun never says to the Earth,
“You owe me.”
Look
What happens
With a love like that,
It lights the whole sky.
With metta and prayers for the people of Iran today.
The recent exchange with Oh Please, here on the Twitter thread, reminded me of a wonderful story that I’ve been wanting to share with y’all for a long time. Paraphrased from my meditation teacher, S. N. Goenka, who heard or read it somewhere else, it’s been the single most helpful lesson I’ve learned from him so far, when it comes to dealing with everyday situations. I hope you might find it useful, too!
Here goes.
At the time of the historical Buddha, Siddhartha Gotama, not far from his ashram there lived an old brahmin and his family.
Yo, isn’t it a fabulous feeling when one day you discover that a friend of yours has been…discovered? :D
Nyle Emerson and I met in the sweltering summer of 2006 while we were both volunteering for the Common Ground Collective in Post-Katrina New Orleans. There was an open mic night for the CG folks, and when Nyle got up to do his thing, he asked for a “beautiful, willing female from the audience,” or something like that, to come up and kind of adorn his performance. Ha! So when no one else volunteered, guess who stood up?
I’ll be updating regarding the blog posts, so people know what’s hap’nin here. I still have my reservations about the tool, mainly because I think it encourages extreme identification with thinking and doing at the expense of being and presence. The only way to tweet while being fully present would be to type something like, “I am typing the t key now the h key now the e key on my twitter.” And even that doesn’t cut it. You feel me? You can only really tweet about something you just did or something you’re going to do, both of which only exist in your mind (memory or projection), not in deeper reality. You can’t tweet about what you are doing right now. Impossible.
On the other hand, like TV, I think that if used wisely and cautiously, it can be helpful.
Bonjour, mes amis! Those of you in the U.S., hope y’all had yourselves a fun Independence Day.
So here I was this morning in Cap Ferret (which, I now realize, is a kind of French version of the way I imagine the Hamptons would be). I’m back up on the blog, organizing my photos and getting ready to publish today’s post. Then I noticed a new email in my inbox.
At first I almost deleted it. I didn’t recognize the sender’s name or the names of other recipients, and the text preview showed only French. Who would send me an email all in French? But instead of erasing it, I opened it. Still uncomprehending, I clicked the link. Where was all this leading?
Watch the video (English with French subtitles), and you’ll hear the story of Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor and her own “Independence Day.” From what tryant did she gain independence? Her own mind. Her “self.” Her ego. Thanks to a brain hemorrhage, the experience of which she describes in vivid and hilarious detail, this neuroscientist experienced what the Buddha called anatta — “no self.” For one day, in her words, she “found nirvana.”
I remember shelving Dr. Taylor’s memoir when I worked at Harvard Book Store. I never read it, though. Never even thumbed through it. Now I’m thankful to have had another chance to hear her story, which expresses, in essence, the aims of my own meditation practice, travels, blogging, and being. Thanks, Dr. Taylor. And to the French Email Angel, whoever you are, Merci Beaucoup. :)
May you enjoy this new right in as many healthy, consensual, loving, joyful, and creative ways as there are people in the country. ;) And may this outer, legal liberation encourage your inner, spiritual liberation — toward the peace and happiness of all beings.
love,
katie
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Update: My friend Ellora wrote a great note on Facebook pointing out the links between queer rights and anti-imperialism in this victory. I’m not sure if you have to be friends with her on Facebook in order to read it…but if not, definitely check it out!
(A)-number-one: Why so silent, friends?! I know y’all are there. I can smell ya. (And y’all smellin’ good! ;) ) No, but I can see the numbers on the stat counter, you know? There are many, many more of you than I would have anticipated. Great! I hope you’re enjoying the space and finding it useful.
But, folks.
Y’all are the lurkinging bunch of lurkers that ever lurked the earth!
Haha, really now — I know my parents are not the only ones reading this blog. ;) So let’s make it a conversation. I want to hear what you think. Responses, critiques, questions, reflections, celebrations, ruminations, stuff you’re working on that has a similar vibe. Let me know! Or just say hi. I do so love hearing from you here. (And thanks again to the people who’ve sent such beautiful emails.)
(B)-number-two: What do y’all think of the Friendly User Guide? Has it been helpful? What are your thoughts on how to engage with online spaces in the healthiest possible ways — physically, psychologically?
(C)-number-three: I’m considering starting a twitter account. To link to new posts on the blog when they go up. Good idea? Bad idea? Is anyone else weirded out that they ask for the password to your email account?
Bienvenue, folks. Especially folks from Facebook who came here hoping for nudie pictures on the beach! (My stat count shot up like three times the normal hits after I posted that picture of my bare back.) Hope you’re all doing well.
Just a coupl’a quick announcements. First, I’ve added a Friendly User Guide with a few tips on interacting with the site, so check that out and let me know what you think!
Also, for the next two weeks or so, starting tomorrow, I’ll be serving at another Vipassana Center (this one in France). Which means no internet for this little dhamma elf. However, thanks to the wonders of technology, I can set up posts to publish themselves automatically — so every other day there’ll be a new batch of photos or a snippet of email. (We’re almost all caught up, by the way!) So stop in while I’m gone, have a look around, and we’ll reconnect when the month changes over.
Ok, I think that’s it. Je suis très fatuigée après d’un voyage de 15 heures en bus de la nuit, de Barcelone á Paris. I am thinking of the African couple and the South Asian man who were taken off the bus by the police in the middle of the night, when we stopped for checks at the French border. I hope they are doing all right. The whole episode, difficult to watch under any circumstances, seemed especially surreal at 3 in the morning, after having being quasi-awakened by a grim-faced officer demanding my passport.
It’s a crazy world, friends. I’m grateful to be going to the meditation center, to keep learning how to handle the craziness, and to help others learn how to deal, too.
Beautiful blogger Katie left a comment recently, “be your own best gardener!” I love it. I’ve been holding it. Be my own best gardener…. and I’m trying. Sensing out what it is that would feed me, leave me feeling well cared for. What it is that my roots are asking for. And trying not to go into shock as I’m feeling a bit uprooted at the moment, raw. Best to start literal in this case. So I headed to the nursery with my box of plants in hand.
[. . .]
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Bethany’s post, with so many gorgeous green photos, just left me speechless. This is the most I can hope for from my blogging, or from commenting on other people’s blogs: to give someone the little nudge they needed to go seek deep joy. To nurture themselves.
Bethany, I can’t thank you enough. This was exactly the encouragement I needed, today. Quieting the little voice in my head that says: “What are you doing with your life? Why are you wasting all this time on the computer? Why don’t you do something useful; something practical; something that earns you a living; something that fights oppression; something that actually helps people?”
That voice has been ebbing and stilling lately, but the other day it swelled and got loud again. Thanks to you, though, I can smile and whisper back to it, with all my lovingness, “Shhh…it’s okay. I know. You’re afraid. But don’t worry. Just take it moment by moment, and together we’ll wind up fine.”
It’s been a real joy to continue writing cards and letters here in Spain. The whole process, start to finish: composing in my notebook; transcribing onto stationery; stamping the date and address; carrying the full, ripe envelopes to the post office.
Truly, if you want to fill yourself with love for an afternoon, my advice is to write a letter. To a parent, a grandparent, a lover, a friend going through a rough time, a friend you thought of the other day when you watered your plants or saw a beautiful skyline or when something made you laugh.
Occasionally, when the mood strikes, I make little sketches to accompany the words. This is one of the reasons I love writing on paper, as opposed to computers: anytime you feel like it, you can just bust out with a hand-drawn diagram of a fish riding a bicycle. I still smile to think about a sketch I drew to accompany a description of my refrigerator shelf: a standoff between the vegan and vegetarian factions. (Beets, carrots on the one side; eggs and a carton of yogurt on the other — or something like that.)
And this weekend, writing an 8-pager to a certain inspirational someone in Michigan, who should emerge to give their blessings but two of my favorite artists: India Arie and Stevie Wonder. Flanking my quotation of the lyrics to “Wonderful,” Arie’s exquisite song of gratitude to one of her musical heros.
Kloncke 
