Sometimes we need a reminder of the beauty that is always present in and around us. Today is one of those days. In the aftermath of another horrific event involving children and a gun, I look to extract the light from the darkness. Here is what I find around me:
The OM symbol on my wall
The OM carving on my wall leading up to my healing space looks like the causal realm is kissing the awakening realm.
Yesterday, scrolling through photos of tragedy on FB, I discovered Morgan Freeman is transforming his property into a sanctuary for bees.
Two beautiful dogs rescued from an unknown fate fill my home with joy and laughter in a constant reminder of gratitude and love.
The morning sun spotlights nature’s beauty and I need only look through the window to see it.
With each breath, I can bring that same light deep into my body to charge my cells.
When I go outside, I feel the quicking pulse of spring, which promises renewal.
The gentle pour of water sings a lullaby.
Warm oatmeal smells like sweet earth.
A blueberry wears the imprint of a flower.
When my mind searches for beauty, it opens to the wonder that is Life.
Please, if you feel moved to do so, include something beautiful that you have discovered in your life in a comment. May this day and all your days be graced with beauty.
This is a post I have been wanting to write for quite some time, but have put off because it can be such a controversial topic. I don’t wish to offend or demean anyone, and I think this is why I also feel so compelled to write this. There are such strong opinions on this topic that it often spurs a “holier than thou mentality” for some and a defensive response in others.
I do not believe, morally speaking, one is better than the other. Some of the wisest and most reverent individuals I know are omnivores. I don’t believe they are better than anyone else, and they don’t either. They share a belief in the Native cultures on Earth, which is one that I share as well: That all life is sacred. The consciousness of Life moves through each of us, just as it moves through the animal kingdom, as well as the plant kingdom, and the mineral kingdom. It moves through water and fire. When you live in reverence for all Life, you realize all life becomes an eventual sacrifice to continue the existence of Life itself, yet the essence of all Life never dies.
“When you eat, do you give thanks to the life you are consuming,” were the words spoken to a group of us over a meal. They came from a shaman who had been chosen and trained not for monetary reward, but because he was destined to share ancient, sacred teachings. He is not a vegan, nor is he a vegetarian, but each time he places nutrients in his mouth he gives thanks to the sacrifice, whether it be the water he drinks or the body of the plant or animal life that has been sacrificed so his life can be continued.
When Native Americans, for example, take the life of a deer, they connect with the spirit of the animal by looking in its eyes and offering a prayer of gratitude. No part of the body of the deer is waste but repurposed with reverence for the life that has been sacrificed.
I have found, through my own journey in life, that I cannot place a hierarchy on the value of one life over another. I feel the energy of a tree as acutely as I do a dog. I have discovered that an apple tree shares different wisdom than a hemlock, just as a tiger does versus an ant. When I place my hands on rocks, I am often graced with the wisdom they hold. In fact, the most profound and humbling experiences I have felt have been through this very act. Water, which is recycled over and over again as the life-giving force in each of us, is also, to me, sacred. I have learned more through my conversations with water than I have through most people I have met. Therefore, who am I to place a value on one consciousness over another?
As I learn and continue my journey of Life, I have had to face the sacrifice that is Life, over and over again. There is guilt, along with reverence. When I feel the life force leave a tree, it can bring me to a state of intense sorrow, even though I realize that the essence of that Lifeforce still lives on. When I first learned Reiki, I instinctively hit a mosquito, then Reikied its body back to health. It’s not an easy lesson to learn: That all life is ultimately a sacrifice to Life. That we are born into life and death and exist through many deaths.
It is my belief that all life is sacred, and when we strive to honor it as such, we realize how connected we are to everything. That the consciousness that flows through you flows through a beetle, a cat, a daisy, a rock, a tree and the water that is recycled through the body of Earth and in you. Living in gratitude and awe of Life is something I try to practice with each breath, as even the air we breathe carries Life. Without it, I would not exist in this body.
Today I have the pleasure of being a guest writer for Esther Newton’s wonderful blog. Please check it out. The post is taken from a healing book I am currently working on. Also, Esther’s blog is worth pursuing in and of itself. Thank you, Esther!
This week, I’d like to welcome Alethea Kehas, with a strong piece of writing, as my Guest Writer.
Exploring the Body’s Memories: An Exercise in Constriction
By Alethea Kehas
When we begin to let go of the grasp of our past, we begin to heal and move more fully into the present. Yet, it’s often easier said than done. The body and mind like to hold onto what we have experienced. There is a comfortable routine that develops. An experience is lived and stored in our cellular memory, as though with the intention that one day we may wish to retrieve it. Sometimes this is useful. For example, the body and mind’s memory of how to ride a bike, or drive a car. The ability of the body and mind to distinguish healthy foods and how to consume them. The list goes on. What happens, though, when…
I have started working with the mantra Aham Prema, which, translated into English means “I am Divine Love.” 54 repetitions with the mala beads brings my voice outside of myself to a state beyond insecurity. My body becomes a vibration of energy amplified by the back of my throat. Constriction releases as I settle into the frequency of the ancient notes of Sanskrit.
“I am Divine Love.” Aham Prema.
Quite some time ago, I was sitting inside a pub with a friend of mine. We were talking about yoga, and she was telling me how it brings her to a state of discomfort. “It’s like welcoming the divine into your body,” she stated. I thought that was beautifully perfect.
Aham Prema. “I am Divine Love.”
Is this not what we all seek? Yoga, and all that it encompasses, is not merely a series of poses, it asks us to let the divine into our bodies. This energy of unconditional love. As we open ourselves up to the practice, we cannot help but let this energy in, and at the same time, the divine in us becomes ignited.
What if, though, we are not used to unconditional love? To being loved by ourselves in this state, as well as by others?
Dissolving the barriers of conditioning is not an easy process. We must become naked to our true selves. Is there a more vulnerable act?
Aham Prema. “I am Divine Love.” Say it out loud. Where do you feel it? Where does this mantra take you?
I am brought to the throat, the place where the history of constriction of my truth is held. The power of my own voice, I notice with the first repetition of this sound feels uncomfortable. There is the impulse to cringe at what my brain wants to perceive as disharmony. The false voice of the critic creeps in to take its accustomed place of silencing. Yet, I continue on. I move the beads through my right hand, holding place with my left. I feel my voice grow in strength.
Aham Prema.
By bead 10, I discover my voice has taken on a life of its own. It fills me with its resonance. I no longer care if it sounds pretty because I am already drawn into its raw power.
About a week ago I decided that November topped the list of least beautiful months, at least here in New England. What a foolish thought, I realized later. In that moment I must have been wrapped in my own bitterness, bemoaning the cold air and a landscape stripped of color. I had not thought about the beauty of things laid bare. Nature unadorned shows the strength of the core. Here, in November, we are given the gift of endurance and the beauty of the self that cannot be hidden.
A November tree
I am remembering my dreams during this month. The wild, naked woman running free, yet still grasping the garment that refuses to hide unadorned beauty. A red room filled with ancient wonders pushing up from the roots. The face of a wolf projected in the clouds and the unseen urgings of bear and bobcat drawing the dreamer into the inner cave of the soul.
November’s Fruit
The fruits that still cling to bushes in November are most often red. Brilliant red. The color of blood. Of the water of life. The root of being. The berries remind us that life endures, waiting to be reborn in the spring. That beneath the surface, the roots are continually nourished, quietly stabilizing and preparing for the inevitable new growth that will occur after the winter months have passed.
The Gentle Green of the Sage Plant Endures Amid the Fallen Leaves
November marks the passage from the fruitful abundance of early fall, into the stark landscape of winter. The outer growth turns inward. November begins the season when the soul seeks to be seen in its naked truth. It is not always an easy time, but it is a necessary turn in the wheel of life.
Some people might call me a “New Ager,” others might assume I’m into the occult and therefore play in dark arts. Neither of which are my truth. I am, simply a seeker of the greater Truth that join us all. Is this not, ultimately, the path we each walk? Yet how many of us choose to label in an effort to divide, instead of unify?
I was just on Instagram, scrolling through posts and had to stop at one and write this blog. I was tempted to comment, but I didn’t want to fire up a debate. The post was religious in nature, from a young woman who had turned to the teachings of the Bible, which had saved her from the “New Age” movement she had been pulled into.
Does there have to be a “right” path and a “wrong” path? Is this not the ultimate goal we are all trying to overcome? To embrace a journey, in whatever way it opens for us individually, which leads to the truth of our being? Is there a need to label it, and call another path wrong, because it is not the one we chose? When all paths of Truth lead to the Light, why must we divide them?
I’ll admit, this deeply troubles me. Those who claim to be holier than another because of their belief troubles me. I think about what divides instead of unites and how wars are made of this stuff, whether between two people, or entire nations.
Therefore should we not beware a path that seeks to divide instead of unite?
I have a confession to make: I don’t really care for Halloween. I don’t dress up for the occasion if I can avoid doing so, even though I admire and appreciate a well-crafted ruse. I avoid Halloween gatherings like the plague unless they are Samhain in nature. This morning I got to thinking about why. Where the more modern-day celebration feels false and empty to me, the more ancient ceremonies and rituals from which it sprung, strip away the pretense in honor of the soul. Their substance feels like truth.
This morning, after waking from a dream in which I was debating whether to buy a sweater that looked like one I already had, I was reminded of the garments we choose to cover ourselves with. I thought of the modern-day tendency to amass large quantities of clothing and shoes in an effort to make ourselves stand out from the crowd, when in fact what we are actually doing is donning a false garment to cover up the true self. A self, that in its essence, is the same as the others around it. Halloween, I realized, in its modern-day materialist form, feels like another example of covering. Of hiding in the masquerade of pretending we are something we are not.
The true light of the moon becomes more revealed
I know this makes me sound like a real party-pooper, and in the interest of full-disclosure, I do try to make the best of the occasion. I buy gobs of candy to hand out to treaters, and do my best not to cringe at the massive sugar consumption this contributes to. I decorate the yard and enjoy my children’s delight in the holiday. Yet, I’m finding I need to come to terms with why it feels like a rather empty holiday for me, despite all the sweets we fill it with (symbolic, I believe, of a deeper craving we may be trying to cover up).
Perhaps it is this craving that is really what bothers me the most. The filling of the belly with something that tastes good to the tongue, but is not good for the “body” of the soul, is akin to the starvation of the true self. A denial of this essence that is always searching for the stripping away of the false garments with which we cover it.
On the eve of Halloween, I had a client who came to me for a healing. During our session together, I kept receiving what felt to me like glimpses of her past lives. This is not uncommon during energy healings, but one of the lives I saw, I hesitated to share with her. After the session, while we were chatting about what came up, I finally told her what I had seen. “Oh,” she laughed, “Yes, I know I was a witch in a past life.” Like it was no big deal. Of course, I realized, it shouldn’t be. I’m pretty certain I was a “witch” too in a past life, along with a number of other lives where I lived closely in-tune with the hidden realms that were once not so hidden.
The full light of the moon reveals itself through the shadows of the self.
Why do we hide the true self in fear of persecution? Why do we choose to look at another as an “other,” in the belief that “you are not like me?” Are we afraid of being naked? Of the realization that underneath all these garments we choose to wear on the outside, and all these cravings we use to fill the inside of our bodies, that we will discover there is nothing special about ourselves? I’d like to think that one day, perhaps in the not so distant future, we will embrace the idea that instead of striving for the specialness of separation, we might embrace the fullness of union. That underneath the false garments, what we wear is Love, and really, can there be anything greater?
I think the secret to life is presence. Yesterday, while zipping into town to grab some food, I found myself listening to a passionate lawyer on NPR talking about the opioid crisis that is afflicting the United States. Just now, I was pulled into presence by my fire alarm, which decided to go off for the second time today. There is no fire, aside from the light that burns within. The alarm, a mere reminder to stop and be present with it.
The Light Without is also Within
I call it stepping into the heart-space. All it takes is a breath. All it requires is the intention. The focus of the mind returns to the center and the light within that is recognized as a wavelength connecting all.
The Tranquility of the Still Mind
As I sat in presence, feeling the energy course through my being, my mind compared it to a drug. Mind you, in the interest of full disclosure, I have never tried an illegal substance in this lifetime. I haven’t even smoked a cigarette unless you count second-hand smoking, but I have this stubborn belief that the drive to get high from a drug would disappear if we all learned presence. With one conscious breath, we are there. No pill. No injection. Just breath and intention. You don’t need to be a guru. You don’t need to hire one. You simply need to surrender and trust. To let go the restraint of the mind. The secret, you see, is already within you.
My lower back gave out on Monday morning, after a weekend of yoga teacher training. Ironically, we covered the root chakra during one of the classes. Tragically, the night before my back gave out, more than fifty people were shot in Las Vegas in a horrific act of gun violence.
Our 1st chakra, the Muldahara, is also called our Root Chakra. It is associated with the color red, the color of blood. It is our support system, and our tribal chakra. The root chakra connects us to each other. When there is instability, or disease, in an individual, the wellbeing and health of all of us are compromised.
All week I’ve been thinking about the stability of the base and what it means to the individual and the whole. We may think that we are birthed into individuality, but if we hold on too tightly to this belief, we become estranged from all that binds us together.
Surrounding my house there are trees, and each day I walk in the town’s forests with my two dogs and walk amid more trees. There is perhaps no better analogy than a tree to describe the interdependence of life. Science has shown that beneath the ground, where the eye does not often travel, there is a complex network of communication that is shared among tress through their systems of roots. Nutrients and water are exchanged, and warning signals are released when pests and fire are near.
Life does not thrive in isolation. Nor does it thrive when fear, anger, greed and arrogance try to separate out the individual from the group. When a tree divides itself to form multiple trunks, their is an increased risk of collapse. Without a strong base of support, an individual trunk will often break off into decay.
Without strong roots the crown cannot grow toward the light.
What is true for the tree, is also true for us. How can we collectively evolve and thrive, if we keep striving for separation in favor of unity? In the aftermath of tragedy, individuals often come together in a collective empathy. After months have passed, though, a status quo of individuality often returns.
When my back gave out, I experienced the discomfort of having to rely upon others for support. The ego mind wanted to hold onto its illusion of individual strength, yet when I surrendered to the slow-time that came with acceptance, gratitude took its place. It became almost silly in my mind to think I might have wanted, or preferred, to stand alone. To support myself when there exists a network of support in the form of my tribal unity, or family, around me.
The air I breathe mingles with the air you breathe. Each inhale collects the breath of all life and brings it, for a moment, into the body before it is exhaled to rejoin the whole. The heart cannot beat without the shared breath of life. So why to we try to breathe alone?
This morning, while taking a much needed detox bath, I found myself watching the bubbles at my feet crack into air like cells releasing fear. How this brought my mind to Keats, I cannot honestly tell you, but that is where it decided to go. My daughter tells me she gets her greatest ideas while she showers and bathes. I tell her that’s because water is the keeper of memories and opens our awareness to what is stored inside.
Perhaps this is why the water surrounding my body opened my mind to Keats and his poem, “Ode on Grecian Urn.” I still have my copy from college, penciled with my notes. For a while, as I bathed, I thought about my obsession with the romantic poet, and how I had written my honor’s thesis about his love letters to Fanny Brawne. A few days ago I came across the thesis while going through old things.
My honor’s thesis on John Keats
While I soaked in the tub, feeling the tension held inside my muscles give way to the warm water, my mind explored the young poet’s deeper search for love and truth. I thought about how many of Keats’ poems play with ideas greater than the death of the body he knew would lead to his early demise. The last lines of his famous poem, and the words he held within quotes, “‘Beauty is truth, truth is beauty,’ — that is all/ Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know” played out of the cells of my memory.
My annotated copy of “Ode On A Grecian Urn” by John Keats from his Selected Poems, Gramercy Books, New York
My college hand wrote the words, “truths are individual & not set & unchanging. What is beautiful to an individual is truth for that individual.” Considered to be one one of the most quoted lines of poetry, there is also much debate over what Keats meant by this statement about beauty and truth. My own interpretation, written many years ago, addresses the subjective nature of beauty and truth, but fails to delve into the deeper Truth of what the dying poet seemed to be striving for. Whether he knew this or not is also probably up for debate.
Yet there are clues in his earlier lines implying he must have. Keats begins his famous poem with, “Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness,” then follows it with, “Thou foster-child of silence and slow time.” The poet appears to be yearning for a state that goes beyond the mortal mind. A state of eternal truth that can be reached through “silence” and “slow time,” (or no-time). While Keats may have been referring to the immortality of death, he might also have been searching for it through life.
Is this not the truth he speaks of in the last lines? A greater truth that surpasses the subjective and goes straight to the inherent beauty of Life, which I have capitalized because it extends beyond the death of the body? A state of knowing and awareness that can be reached when the chattering of the mind releases to stillness and the silent melody of the universe is heard in the soul? “Heard melodies are sweet,” Keats writes, “but those unheard/ Are sweeter.” “Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone,” he urges before he begins to lament the impermanence of life in all its earthly forms.
An urn filled with life. Image source: Pixabay
Is an urn not also a chalice of life, as well as a container of death? The very shape speaks of the womb. I’d like to think this is what Keats was trying to show us through his ode. That beneath the impermanence and subjectivity of truth and beauty, there always exists a greater, unchangeable Truth, which is inherently beautiful. I believe he, like many do, glimpsed it on the eve of his death. Yet, we need not be on the brink of death to reach this state, we need only to free the bound mind and listen to the Truth of the “unheard melodies” that sing through the heart. Then, perhaps, the impermanence of life will be easier for us to accept, as well as the subjective nature of truth.
The Light Behind the Story 