Returning of the Light

Christmas, the winter holiday I've celebrated all my life, conjures up rich memories -- the swirl of snow flakes in a Christmas tree lot; cold toes, flush faces and the mist of warm breathe; unpacking hand-made tree ornaments and disentangling knotted lights; the tantalizing aroma of baking turkey and pumpkin pie; colored lights dancing off silver ice cycles and the tingling anticipation of unexpected gifts. As I have grown older, moved away from family and shifted my spiritual beliefs, I have, at times, found it difficult to live up to the Christmas of my youth. Unable to recreate all its elements, I have inevitably fallen short in recapturing its childhood wonderment and joy.

I remember the first Christmas I spent with my in-laws. As my own parents had recently died, I decided not to make the trip across the country to join my orphan siblings in what I assumed would be a diminished affair. And some of us were still reeling from the quarrels that come with significant loss. This new, ready-made family gathering was anticipated with pleasure and relief.

Alas, nothing seemed quite right. There was no Christmas caroling around my sister's piano on Christmas eve; no ritual opening and careful placing of family heirlooms on the holiday tree. Presents were handed out almost all at once, rather than in that time-stretching rhythm of one-at-a-time. I felt home-sick, confused and sad. This was not MY Christmas and my parents were dead. I called my sister later that day trying to extract long-distance the Christmas in my mind, but it was not to be found.

This experience taught me that rather than try to reproduce the elements of Christmas past, i.e. fixate on its outer form, I do better to focus on the meaning within -- the returning of the light, of grace, of hope, and new possibilities. Mindful of this more spiritual approach, I offer four holiday wishes: celebrate, rest, reflect and give. It is my guide for a gracious season.

Celebrate: Latin, celebratus -- to observe with respect, festivity or rejoicing. My new attitude toward Christmas has greatly freed me up regarding celebration. It's ok to try new things because that is part of the message. I like to get together with friends and create new rituals based on the old, full of life and wonder --- like seeing the Christmas light display in Alameda or decorating the ficus. My creativity and inventiveness are inspired.

One year, a friend came over with those old fashion Christmas cookie forms. We spent all day artfully decorating our white sugar goodies with colored frosting. Birds, santas, reindeer, suns and moon. They were so enchanting they were difficult to eat, but gradually they disappeared, one slightly less beautiful cookie at a time.

Making and sending Christmas cards is an old family tradition, although it morphed over time into the Christmas letter. It was a chatty affair full of family achievement. I still have most of them -- a record of my family's life. With the ascendance of the computer, I receive fewer and fewer holiday cards. Everything is digital. So now the old becomes novel. Truth be told, I like making Christmas cards. It gives me pleasure. And that is another important element of celebration -- doing what you enjoy, what makes you happy.

The envelopes for my cards are too small for my printer, so they must be hand-addressed. It's time consuming, but I don't really mind. Celebration is not about efficiency and speed. It's about immersion. When I stay present and don't rush, I can momentarily enjoy the relationship recalled by every names. Can they feel my thoughts from afar? I imagine what delight they have when they receive a real card with a personal message amid the postal junk. How old fashion! How quaint! How utterly refreshing!

I miss the caroling. The YouTube video of people breaking out in Christmas songs at a shopping mall made me cry. I don't sing enough. Singing is good for the heart and soul. Just watch the birds. My mother loved to sing and Christmas gave her free license. Racing down Route 1 on last minute holiday errands, she'd suddenly break out in song, just like on the video. "Oh Come All Ye Faithful . . ." We of course joined in, fillings our lungs with air and are hearts with Christmas spirit. On Christmas eve, we gathered together, my oldest sister Kip playing the piano, my father on guitar and sang our favorites carols. None of us were all that good. We seemed to be competing for who could sing the loudest. Then magically we would blend together in unexpected harmony.

Relax: French, relaxare -- to loosen, open. What a good idea for the returning of the light -- to be open and receptive, to embrace the new. My all time favorite relaxation is a hot tub and a good novel. Simultaneous entertainment and sensual pleasure. Unfortunately our new house has only a shower, so I have had to find other ways to relax -- like taking turns reading the Arabian Nights aloud with my husband at bedtime or taking an evening walk.

Relaxing, I have learned, can really be practiced all the time. But it does take practice. In heavy traffic on the highway, or waiting in a long line, or when you discover your plane has been cancelled and the next available flight is 6 hours away -- perfect opportunities to slow down and notice the world. Surrender to the moment. Ahhhhh --- like magic, time expands.  I meet new people, enjoy the moment and become cognizant of the surprises of life.

Reflect: Latin, reflexionem -- to bend back. With the coming of the light, not to mention the 26,000 year Maya Calendar world shift, now is a good time to bend our minds back to see from where we've come and to make plan for what comes next. I've taken on a lot of new things this year -- a new business as a grief coach, a monthly teleconference series, a new website to be launched any day, an awesome training program, and many new and wonderful friends. These accomplishments fill me with joy and gratitude. It is not so much WHAT I've done that's great, but HOW I see it. For some strange reason, I feel extremely hopeful and positive. Possibly its the effect of this millennial world shift or the influence of my new friends. I truly believe that everything will work out in the end, and as the Indian guy said in The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel: "if it's not working out yet, it's not the end."

Give: Old English, giefan -- bestow, allot, grant, devote. Neuropsychologist, Rick Hanson, tells us that we are wired to give. The primate part of our brain, the cortex, focuses on creating attachments.  Possibly this has something to do with the length of time it takes for a primate baby to become self supporting. Primates not wired for years of selfless baby care quickly die out. A study at the University of British Columbia confirms that giving to others makes us happy --- actually more happy than giving to ourselves.

Giving creates relationship. It binds us together. When we are bonded with others we live longer and stay more healthy. Ten years ago, I invited my dance group buddies to my wedding. They bought the carrot wedding cake, a delicious confection, and shared my celebration. This transformed the quality of our connection. We became closer. They were no longer associates, we were friends. I am noticing the same kind of things happening with the two new friends we discovered this year. We have progressed from restaurant dates and movies to trading dinner invitations -- the giving of personally made food. Our attachment is growing like a small vine, like a love affair. And love is the essence of light.

Giving to charities and spiritual groups has a different quality, an energetic binding to an idea or vision. We are not friends, yet we are still connected. We direct our energy together and in so doing create a more powerful force that can transform the world. I think of this every time I send a check or sign an on-line petition.

Writing this blog is another form of giving. I am hoping I give something of value -- a unique way of looking at things and a bit of myself. When you respond, send me an email or post a comment, you give back to me. You fill me with a joy I can't describe. I feel connected.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Rejoice. The light is here!

Dazzled by Aging

At home in Indiana

Back when I was in graduate school in Indiana, I traveled to Cleveland to attend a weekend Gestalt Therapy group as part of my dissertation research. What I remember most about that event was feeling awed by a young woman who spoke of ten years of experience -- of what I can't recall. At the time I was barely 24 and ten years was nearly half my life. I was dazzled by the idea of accumulating that much life experience and wondered what it would be like when I too could look back that far.

Fifteen years or so later, I found myself at a bar in New York with colleagues from the documentary production company where I was working at the time. In the course of our conversation I described a range of experiences I had had in my still rather short life: teaching college in Minnesota, running a group home in Las Vegas, working on the Navajo Reservation in Ft. Defiance, AZ and studying with a Sufi master in New Mexico. The young man to whom I was speaking was astounded by all my adventures and asked how I had accumulated so many. I smiled knowingly and told him I was older than I appeared. That was probably one of the last times I felt so thrilled by the fruits of aging.

In my forties, I began to get glimpses of what was really in store. My 20-20 vision began to slip away. First I ignored this. Than I resisted. I even tried one of those eye exercise charts, but the squinting was giving me line. For a while I kept three of four readers planted throughout the house because I kept misplacing them every time I took them off. Finally, I got tricked into seeing an optometrist. I thought I was going to an eye doctor-- a precautionary move in response to a friend's unexpected diagnosis of a detached retina. At the end of my examination I had a prescription for corrective lenses. Five hundred dollars later, I was wearing progressives without rims. The optician assured me that Baby boomers love these because they were almost invisible. Not really. I still don’t recognize myself in the mirror when they are on, which is most of the time. I can, however, see.
 

Diane and Me on hike in Manzanos Mts.

The next physical change I noticed was in body resiliency. It was on a hike with a group of people from Sufi camp in Torreon, New Mexico. We were climbing one of the easier peaks in the Manzano Mountains, more of a saddle between the real peaks. About a half-hour after reaching the summit, one of our number decided he needed to get back to camp for a phone call. I offered to go with him. We skipped, jumped and raced most of the way down. It was exhilarating in the moment, but when I got to the trail head my knee was hurting. It was the same knee I had trouble with in a marathon five or six years before, but at the time had chalked up to running on pavement after training on dirt. This new manifestation of sore knee startled me. It was in that moment that I realized my body had changed. I was no longer young. A few months later, I went on a hike from Mill Valley to Stinson Beach with a much younger woman. The round trip was about 16 miles up and down mountain trails. I felt vindicated when I left her in the dust on our return. And she was no couch potato either.

Was this reaction to the first signs of aging, ego or intelligence? I try not to judge too much, although I smile at myself in retrospect. Shortly after my fiftieth birthday I road my bicycle all the way up the Arlington, a long steep road in the hills of Berkeley. Prior to that day, I would pack my bike in my car and parked most of the way down the hill before taking a ride. Following this break-through bike ride, I went backpacking in the Three Sisters Mountains in Oregon and then in the Wallowas.

I think it is good to continue to test our limits. Muscles respond to effort and stay serviceable much longer if we work them. At the same time, awareness is in order. We might not want to push ourselves too far lest we seriously damage our bodies and put ourselves out of commission. Or maybe we do, because that is the only way we can know for sure where the limits are. And, well, being out of commission has its own life lessons.

This Western culture of ours is not very helpful regarding the way we should handle aging. We are pressured to keep youthful and healthy for as long as we can. Elders are not revered. They are ignored, hidden in gated communities or exported to Florida. Rather than equate advanced age with experience and wisdom, we see it as a loss of capacity, utility and market value. So we resist the signs of aging with creams, supplements, surgery and exercise. Then we cheer when the 80 year old lady dances up a storm with a younger man on a Youtube. “Yes, honey, you go for it!” The result is, we live longer and stay more fit and active. And because of economic downturn, many of us take on second careers. So perhaps this approach to aging is not all bad.

In the end, however, fighting aging is a losing proposition. Human bodies are programmed to deteriorate. It is the natural cycle of things. Yes, there are scientists who promise that the elixir of lasting life is on the horizon -- some ingenious pill whose composition they are still working on that will turn off the aging mechanism in our cells or at the very least, retard it's progress. But is that even desirable?

Aging helps us die. "Can't walk, can't see, can't hear, lost my taste, hurt like hell, life sucks. . . I'm out of here!"  Death is good. It gives intensity to our lives, like a time clock at a chess match. Death clears the old and makes room for the new so we don't overpopulate earth. And death provides us with a whole new adventure or, at the very least, one of the biggest mysteries of life.

Given that aging is inevitable and unstoppable, and let's assume for the moment it is, what other ways might we handle it besides fear, denial, exercise and resistance?

  

Mom and Dad

My mother provided me with a hint. In her youth she was a stunningly attractive woman. Birthing six children did not do much to diminish her beauty possibly because she spent a good deal of time cultivating it with eye pencil and lip-liner. However, in her fifties she developed a brain tumor. Although a benign one, it left her deaf in one ear, blind in one eye, and a lopsided face. How does one cope with the loss of beauty, especially a beauty so consciously maintained? "Well," she said, "you don't look in the mirror any more." But her real strategy was to let the inner beauty shine. When the light is bright enough, people tend to overlook your physical flaws. She was generous, affirming, enthusiastic and kind. No grocery store cashier, pharmacy clerk, or nurse's aid was too lowly to escape her notice and regard. She learned their names and followed their life stories. Also, instead of hiding herself and her facial deformity, instead of giving up on life and becoming a recluse, she wore a black patch over her blind eye, dressed in red, white and blue and used a red striped broom handle as a cane. Her brilliant wonkiness caught people's eyes and her attention, their hearts.

A friend of mine, a wise elder, gave me another tip on aging. Treat every change as a new adventure. She told me that she had recently been having difficulty with her teeth and been forced to eat her meals pulverized to the texture of baby food. Instead of bemoaning her loss of the joys of chewing, she opened her mind to this new challenge -- how to obtain a gourmet experience from food the consistency of gruel. Perhaps she will write a cookbook. It could be a hit in a few more years.

The most important lesson in both these examples is how you spin the story. Change happens. Are you defeated by the change or is there something new to discover?

"Don't grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form." -- Rumi

Last year, I regularly visited an elderly man with a serious heart condition. He had a pacemaker and often struggled with heart failure. He was a sweet man with a social calendar more full than my own. He did not believe in life after death and so he was making the most of his remaining time. On one visit, not the last, but close to the end, he had so little energy that it took him nearly ten minutes to open the front door. We sat in his living room and talked about what was happening in his life. He spoke slowly and there were many pauses. Someone was coming over that night to fix him dinner -- ever the social butterfly! As the sun faded into that magic light of dusk, he suddenly stopped talking and just looked past me. I started to wonder if he was all right. Then he said, "The interesting thing about slowing down like this is that you see things you never noticed before. Like that robe on the end of the couch and the vase of flowers." The barest of tears sparkled his eyes. I turned to see the turquoise silk robe thrown over the end of the oatmeal couch and the rich red roses in the cloisonné vase on the table beside it. They formed the elements of a still-life, painted in the golden light. "Yes," I said, "You got it. Whatever happens, there's always something new to discover." I am told that in his final days as he lay dying, a friend asked what he wanted and he smiled an elfin grin and said, "More adventures!"

Me and Jay with peanut

Time Warp

Hobji Watches Time Fly

I can’t believe it’s almost Thanksgiving! The impending holiday has me thinking about the way we experience time -- speeding up sometimes, slowing down at other times. For example, it drag when I am standing on line for a movie, especially when it’s cold, but it flies by when I’m stuck in traffic and trying to get to an important meeting. Remember when we were children how time passed during summer vacation? At first those long free months seems to stretch on forever. Then, sometime around early August, the date for our return to school came at us like a runaway locomotive.

This time warp seems to be the rule with vacations -- slow at the beginning and fast at the end. I suspect this is partly due to the fact that our minds return to work before our bodies do. Two days before the end of vacation and I’m already thinking about my “to do” list and what’s waiting for my return. I wonder if this rehearsal actually helps with my transition or just robs me of the last few precious moments of time off. When I actually do get home, I immediately start to unpack my suitcase, sort the mail, listen to phone messages and check the plants. What is this rushing about? It’s almost as if I’m trying to erase any evidence of having been away. Is this vacation guilt?

I recall one occasion when I actually managed to stop this speed-up effect at the end of a trip. I had been visiting a friend in Barcelona for about a week. On our last day together, we visited to an old Spanish village, the type with red roofs tiles, white stucco walls, and laundry blowing in the breeze. It was as though we had stepped back in time. Next we headed out to the shore for a skinny dip in the Mediterranean Ocean. It was a Navajo turquoise blue and warm like bath water. This was followed by a light picnic lunch, on the beach, of apples and salad. Finally, we took a leisurely drive on a tree-canopied back road, past old farmhouses to a remote train station in the middle of nowhere. Everything was novel, the sights, the sounds, the smells, the quality of the light. I held on to each precious moment resisting my mind's impulse to get on that train before it arrived. Even on the platform, I took time to taste the sea air and feel the afternoon wind on my cheeks. I had no camera. I had accidentally broken mine in Paris and I had to return the one I had been borrowing from my friend. So I photographed the images in my mind. When the train arrived, I said good-bye and went through the door. No tears, no regrets, no thoughts of what lay ahead, or what was left behind, just wide open.

I wish I could be like that more often. Usually, when I take my morning walks through the Hillside cemetery; I am listening to coaching tapes on my iPod. I think it’s an excellent use of time. I’m multitasking! But because of this, I often miss the beauty of the morning light as it catches the edges of the tombstones and washes across the grass. I might fail to notice the brave bouquets of flowers resting on the graves or the tiny veteran flags proudly flapping in the breeze. I am plugged in and tuned out. My workday has begun and it's not even 8.

Consciousness is a way to slow time down. By attending to all the lovely details of our experience -- the smells, the flavors, the colors, and the sounds -- we can open the moment and expand the time. This is what meditation is really about. Meditation is not just sitting in one place and emptying our minds. It is what we do when we are fully conscious of our selves and our surroundings. It’s “mindful meditation.”

At the beginning of a vacation, things are new. We navigating new places and pay attention lest we lose our way. So the time goes by more slowly. It is a little like watching the frames on a strip of movie film. If you attend to each and every frame the movie runs by slowly, but if you skip frames, if you blink, the pace speeds up. Routine is the enemy of our attention. When we are used to things, we stop seeing them, we blink, our eyes glaze, and we live more in our thoughts then in the physical world. The present disappears and time speeds past.

There are several strategies we can use to tame the rush of time. We can, for example, TAKE MORE VACATIONS!! Even though we may be buried under an avalanche of work when we return, time off is still beneficial. It allows us to be in the present and experience the world around us. We gain a larger perspective. That is, if we don’t run our vacations like we do everyday life – so jam-packed with events that we don’t have time to think. A good rule of thumb for a relaxing vacation is one day of doing nothing for every day of sightseeing. If it’s a stay-cation, you can have the same time-slowing results if you do new or unexpected things every other day and break your routine. Don’t forget to included "do nothing" days.

Slowing down your pace will also help slow time. And it has extra benefits -- like you might eat less food at Thanksgiving dinner! You might, for example, take only one plate of food and slow the pace of your eating so it last the whole meal. If you eat with consciousness, savoring every bite you are more likely to notice when you are full and less likely to eat too much.
This kind of food focus, however, is not so easily done when engaged in conversation, which is often the case at Thanksgiving dinner. What would it be like to stop eating while your talking and completely focus on the person who is speaking? Really be present. Or conversely, what would it be like to stop talking while you are eating? Completely attend to the food. You might suggest that everyone at the table observe at least ten minutes of silence to enjoy the food. Listen to the sounds and try not to laugh.

Here are a few more strategies for slowing down time:

Fasting – Strange how that comes to my mind on the heels of writing about Thanksgiving dinner! At a Sufi retreat in New Mexico, we were often encouraged to fast at least part of the day. I discovered that when you don't eat you open up big swaths of time for doing other things, because you are not spending time preparing and eating food. More time, slower time. And when you are hunger, time really slows down!

A number of times, I fasted for two or three days consuming nothing but a bowl of broth or cup of watered-down apple juice. Oh my, what flavors I would experience! I could almost feel the biochemical reactions in my body as I swallowed this small amount of nourishment. I also noticed that the “eaters,” those not fasting, seemed to move faster, talk faster and almost live in a parallel universe. I didn’t hang out with them. I stayed with other fasters or went to my tent. Faster? Hah. We should really be called a “slower”, doing a “slow” or “slowing” because fasting certainly slows you down.

Unfortunately, when I finally broke the fast, my body cells went into panic mode from what they thought was starvation. Experts on fasting advise that you take as many days to break a fast as the number of days you are on the fast. Impossible! My cells implored me to eat everything in sight! Once started, I had no idea of stopping until my belly literally began to hurt. Breaking a fast is one of those times when I realize that I am not in charge. “Biological imperative” takes on a visceral meaning. Note: you do not get this food panic attack after a single day of fasting. Well, you might, but it is more psychological than physical.

Walking/hiking -- without the iPod. Another strategy is to take a walk or hike -- a good thing to do after Thanksgiving dinner. By choosing a new location, you have to pay attention so you don't get lost. Presto! You are in the moment. However, the constant looking at maps and checking road signs can distract from the sensory delight of the walk. So you might want to go with someone who knows the way. Or you could allow yourself to get lost and put yourself into a whole new adventure. But this may have the reverse effect of speeding up time while you frantically search for home as the sun plunges towards the horizon. It is well known that the sun moves more rapidly when you are lost. Once the sun is down, however, time slows again and it will take about a decade for morning to come. The last couple of hours before dawn, when it's the coldest, time will almost stop.
If you decide to walk in a familiar place, notice all the things you like best or imagine you are a space alien taking this walk for the first time. See with baby eyes.

Visit a Museum -- Two hours in a museum can feel like a week. There is so much stimulation in such a short time. And it's all so new. Take the time to read the descriptions next to each exhibit. Really see what you are looking at. Then take a walk in a park afterward to let your mind digest. You will feel like you have done a lot and it will only be 2 pm in the afternoon.

Meditate -- This is something we can do everyday. It trains the mind to stay in the present and to control the monkey mind that likes to jump all over the place. This discipline will serve you when you are trying to write a blog and the monkey mind wants to check your email.

Stand on one foot. I’m not kidding. Try this for thirty seconds. It does some sort of positive rewiring in the brain and definitely improves your balance. Try doing it with your eyes closed. Now notice how slowly time passes. Do you remember in the Beatles' movie, The Yellow Submarine, the part where they show just how long 60 second is by having a new animation for each second? It’s slow like that.

Instead of a food fast, take a fast from multitasking -- We do so many things at once that are minds are scattered every which way. We lose track of what we are doing and often don't accomplish much because we lose our concentration and have to refocus each time we return to a task. For me this means not checking my email every few minutes. Close down the email program and finish each task (like writing this blog) before checking email. That goes for answering phone calls too. I don't get that many calls, so when the phone rings, I just grab it. More times than not, it's a call for money or political action. Skip it!

Hang out with friends without any agenda. Shoot the breeze! Catch up on news. This activity takes me back to my college days of hanging out in the student center drinking coffee and exchanging ideas. It is one of my favorite pastimes. Time does slip away but you feel very refreshed. Caution: make sure you choose friends who know how to share the talk time. Long-winded talkers can slow down time, but they do not necessarily leave you feeling refreshed

Read an engaging book for an afternoon. This is a lovely way to take a trip without moving a muscle. Use discernment when choosing your book. The idea is to feel refreshed and re-energized, not depressed or sad. I suggest light reading with good writing, some character development and a happy ending. But that's just my preference.

Dance.  We have a lovely dance event in Berkeley called Barefoot Boogie that happens once a week on Sunday evenings. For $8 or $10 bucks you can dance all night without shoes, smoke, drink or food. Two hours is a long time when all you are doing is dancing. It’s fun, good exercise and you feel great afterwards.

Tale a Hot tub.  This can be at a commercial bathhouse or in your own bathtub. Hang out for an hour with relaxing music or that engaging book. You're muscles will relax and so will your brain. One hour will feel like ages and you will feel like a new person.

Sit Vigil with the Dying. People do die during the winter holidays. Death goes with the season. And it is not unusual for the dying to set milestones like making it to a granddaughter’s wedding, or one more family holiday. Thanksgiving and Christmas are favorites. It’s amazing how well they do at keeping these appointments.

Sitting vigil with the dying will not only slow down time, it will also teach you a thing or two about life and death, or at least get you thinking about them. Read Sacred Dying, by Megory Anderson for ideas on how to make the dying space feel sacred. If you stay present and aware, time will move like molasses in January. Sometimes it can get a little boring so you could try reading out loud, singing, playing music, holding the dying person’s hand and matching your breath rhythms. See if you can hear the other person’s thoughts in your mind. See if you can send calming thoughts back. Have a mental conversation. Send lots of love. Magic can happen.

These are my favorite strategies for slowing down time, what are your? Try a few over the Thanksgiving holiday and give us a report.

Have a relaxing, replenishing vacation and don't forget to "breathe" especially when you return to work at the end. On the last day see if you can make time slow down.

The Spirit of Stuff

I have never been all that keen about material stuff. I love clear white walls, oriental rugs on wood floors and a few throw pillows. Space to quiet the mind or do a headstand. I dislike clothes shopping and go into overwhelm at garage sales, flea markets and large box stores. My thoughts are, “Oh my god, where would I put it?” as my eyes glaze over.

Parents with illustrated wall.

I suspect that my aversion to stuff can be traced to my childhood home. Stuff crowded every room and adorned every wall. When you arrived at the front door you were well advised to leave your bag, coat and umbrella in the front hall or risk their disappearance in the cacophony of things inhabiting the rooms within. It’s not that my mother was a hoarder. There were no piles of newspapers or old coffee cans. My mother was an artist and the stuff that filled her space comprised her "bone pile," the material and inspirations she used to create her art. Paper, pens, paint, brushes, magazine clippings, photographs, cameras, photo albums, and shelf upon shelf of toys and dolls filled nearly every room. She was a photographer and a toy designer and these were the materials of her life.

George's Rolodex

As the humor of the cosmos would have it, I am wed to an artist who shares my mother’s enthusiasm for stuff. A woodworker and sculptor, George has a bone pile that matches if not surpasses my mother’s. I do appreciate the magic he can perform with his stuff --the intricate designs and unique combinations that yield one-of-a-kind mirrors, lamps, desk, rolodexes, toys and clocks. He almost always has whatever is needed for a current project. What is most impressive to me is his ability to find it. Unfortunately his stuff has a way of migrating into any unoccupied space in the house and this has occasionally been a source of tension between us.

I suppose I have always felt a bit superior in my attitude regarding stuff—as though my detachment and disdain were somehow more spiritual. So it was no surprise when we recently got into a bit of a row over the inadvertent breaking of a foley mill – one of those old-time kitchen contraptions for removing seeds and skin from tomatoes or berries. I didn’t really break it. I merely lost a tiny part essential to its function. Well, I was happy to order another foley mill! Oh Nooooo! This was a special foley mill! It belonged to his mother, maybe even her mother. He had searched high and low for days to find the precise copper tube that would form the spacer bushing between handle and spring so that the mill would work smoothly. I had ruined it! I would have to fix it. No other foley mill would do! Geeez!

George Carving Wood

The next morning George explained to me his feeling about stuff. He loves the materials of his trade -- the texture, the feel, and the smell of wood or stone or paper. He can speak at length on the superior qualities of a particular piece of lumber, pointing out the closeness of its grain, the lack of knots and the hardness or clarity of its surface. Most of his own tools are either made or refined by his hand. He is a stickler for quality and craftsmanship. Everything he owns has a personal history. And when he acquires the tools or materials of someone else, he learns the stories that come with them so that he might recall them with each use.

I got it! The foley mill was not just a tool to separate tomato pulp from its skin (with a part that falls out when you wash it!) It is the gift he asked his mother to give him this year on his birthday. It is also the days he spent finding the right part to fix it. And it embodies a piece of his childhood—the blackberry jams, tomato pastes, and raspberry preserves warmly made in his family’s kitchen. He described for me his vision of future years of using it, savoring his memories each time he brought it out. Maybe he would even show it to my niece and share its story as he demonstrated its simple efficiency.

Since our morning’s discussion, I have begun to see the material world in a different way, as made up of objects with spirit. Each contains a multitude of spirits: the spirit of its composition such as the tree that gave its wood or the ground that yielded its metal; and the spirit of it maker—whether it was made in love by a craftsman or under duress by a factory worker. Then there’s the history of its existence—who has used it, when, for what, how long—and all the tales that accompany its life.

I am reminded of my 1985 Honda Civic, a good little car. I discovered her name, "Angelina," shortly after I bought her, when she helped me avoid an accident. I heard her warning in my head. My guardian angel! There were subsequent close-saves in the fourteen years I drove her. She was a reliable beast, as those old Hondas tended to be. She never left me stranded. And she came with a mechanic who knew her history. I cried when I had to leave her at the auto dismantler this past spring after expressing my love and gratitude for all her years of service.

Retrofit Library Catalog

This spiritual appreciation of stuff is so contrary to our frantic-paced world of throwaway objects and electronics that are already antiquated before you get them out of the box. I know my husband is out of place in this world with his appreciation for craft and quality. It is what I love about him and what I learn from him. People come to him to fix their most precious furniture because they know he will love it back to wholeness, often making it stronger and more beautiful in the process.

We have all heard the warnings that we are so inundated with stuff that we are destroying our planet under the weight of our discards. Perhaps a more appreciative relationship with our possessions might begin to change this. I have noticed the glimmerings of intense attachment among i-Phone owners. Might this object-love be extended to other items? What objects do you cherish?


If you want to see more of George's stuff check out: www.huttonio.com

How's Your Life?

Doing a life review is one of the items on the list of actions for dying well. It seems reasonable that you would want to take stock of things as the end nears.  Create a personal "life report card." How did I do over all? What makes me proud? What did I learn? Do I have any regrets? Unfinished business? Goals not achieved? A life review is a way of wrapping things up into one complete and, hopefully, compelling story.

My mother did not do a life review, at least not with me during my very last visit. I did manage to extract a brief description of her most favorite memory, but that is all. Perhaps, she felt no need to reminisce because she kept such an amazing photo record of her family. She created a whole library of photographic books, one for each year and one for each family member. She was, however, the principle photographer and often there was no one photographing the photographer.  I wish there had been more. Which is the other side of a life review, the story it provides for those left behind.

My mother died in the midst of her life. Maybe that is true for all of us. She had cancer and knew her time was running out, so she focused on finishing up projects. This was the help she asked of me when I came to see her that very last time. I remember sitting in her studio going through a pile of photocopies for one of her toy concepts. (She was toy designer, when not raising six children.) There were many versions of the same set of images. Some larger, some smaller, some with different subsets, none of them quite the same. I was trying to create some order out of the chaos and I asked if she needed a particular set of drawings. Trash basket was at my knee. "Oh," she said, her voice plaintive and low, "I guess I'll never get to that." Her words pierced me to the core. In that instant I got the sorrow of her dying. There wasn't going to be enough time.

Is there ever enough time? Probably not. But we forget about this truth and go on with our lives as though we live forever. Until that fateful day when we discover that the sands have drained from the hourglass and what we have is what we've got.

Since we never know when that hour will chime, it makes good sense to take stock of our lives along the way. This way we can course-correct in mid-flight and possibly end up with the life we really wanted. New Year's Day and major birthdays provide ideal opportunities for such self-reflection. But there are also opportunities that arises spontaneously. The other day (two months ago actually) my husband and I watched the film, Across the Universe, a musical that used Beatles songs to tell a story of the 60's. Both of us, familiar with these years,  found the songs and visuals stimulating of our own memories. In the night, the music filled out dreams and in the morning, a Saturday, we hung in bed sharing stories of our pasts. My husband spoke of the summer he spent at Bread and Puppet Theater. I spoke of Sufi camp and traveling with my teacher, Adnan Sarhan. It was a valuable exercise. We got to know each others' histories a little deeper, and to have a glimpse of who we are in the continuum of our lives. It added meaning and direction to the road ahead.

One of the main messages in the film was to go after the things you love. To live fully and passionately. "All You Need is Love. . ." Among the list of 5 top regrets of the dying are: 1) Not living life true to oneself and 2) Not having the courage to express feelings.
My mother must have known this to be true because she was an awesome role model for following one's heart.

How's your life?

Shallow Thinking or Multidimensional?

About four years ago, I had the humbling experience of forgetting a dinner/concert engagement with a friend. I knew it was coming up, but for some reason thought it the following week. I had always been pretty good at remembering things, so I was quite shocked when my friend called around 6 pm to ask where I was. What a rush! I made the concert, but the dinner was lost. As a consequence of this lapse in memory, I began using my computer calendar with its pop-up reminders to keep track of my schedule. As long as I put the date and time in correctly it works like a charm. I chalked up my faulty memory to the effects of aging and moved on. This week, however, I just finished reading a book that suggests there might be another reason for my forgetfulness -- the internet.

The Shallows: what the internet is doing to our brains by Nicholas Carr, claims that our technology is transforming our brains and maybe not in ways that we would wish. Apparently the multitasking, quick click and surf of the internet is rewiring our brain cells to absorb many things at once but on a very shallow level. We read small snippets of text, listen to short sound bites and never getting into the real meat of things. As a result we are losing our capacity to explore subjects in depth and learn complex ideas. (Opps … I haven't lost you have I?) Research studies reveal that when people read material in an internet format of multiple links and sidebars (like you find on an iPad or Kindle), they actually absorb less information than someone reading the same material without these distractions. The same is true of completing mental tasks. Those who rely on user friendly computer help, learn a task slower then people who just follow directions. And worse, they forget it sooner. According to Carr, we are losing our capacity to focus. And our children, with their early introduction to computers, probably never learned to focus in the first place. I always thought ADD was the result of poor nutrition, but it may in fact have more to do with computer games.

The book got me thinking about my own experience. I often go to my computer with a plan to do a particular task only to realize two hours later that I completely forgot about it. I have note cards on my desk reminding me of what I need to accomplish, but the allure of the email takes me off in a million other directions. Because of my years of working in an office where my assignments were communicated by email, I am conditioned to check my email frequently. It is a habit that often breaks my concentration and causes me to lose my train of thought.

Recently I signed up for a entrepreneurial coaching program and was quickly inundated with emails from the Facebook postings of other students. They were responding to one of my own posts, so my evening quickly evaporated in a stream of clicking and commenting. My head was aching when I finally slipped into bed several hours later. Next morning, when I awoke with my brain still hurting, I was ready to jettison it all: computer, internet, coaching -- the works, and reclaim that serene life of taking walks and thinking thoughts, before the dawn of the computer age. After my usual morning yoga which alleviated some of my gloom and doom, I sat down for meditation. To my astonishment I found I was able to meditate with much greater focus than ever before. My left brain, it seems, had gone offline.

In Leonard Shlain's book The Alphabet Versus the Goddess, it is hypothesized that deep reading stimulates and develops the left side of the brain, while multitasking, scanning the environment, making quick decisions on what to notice, also known as intuition, are the realm of the right brain. The rule of the left brain has been going on for centuries and, according to Shlain, resulted in a world of violence, self-interest and domination of women. He suggests that with the advent of radio, television and the computer and their non-linear, right brained platforms for distributing information, we are gradually  balancing the two sides of the brain. You have to read his book or watch his video to catch all the nuances.

Current history seems to bare Shlain's thesis out. The last century has indeed shown a gradual empowerment of women as well as a growing interest in right brain areas such as spirituality, personal-growth, and communal consciousness. Even the rational world of science has been dipping into this, seemly more right-brained, realm with its quantum physics and the work of people like David Bohm who declared that reality consists of an "implicate order" where every relatively independent element contains within it the sum of all elements (each part reflecting the whole).

With the arrival of 2012 and our environmental and financial crises, the timing for such a mind-shift couldn't be better. One theory of nature is its tendency to homeostasis, toward balance. When things get out of whack, there is a corrective mechanism for returning to a natural harmony. Perhaps the internet is part of the plan, to get us thinking in more holistic, interdependent ways. We could use a little more compassion and interconnection with our fellow human beings and fellow creatures, and a lot less selfishness and violence. Ultimately, it is a question of whether humanity will get it together before it destroys itself. Species can go extinct. Nature will survive.

Whether the internet is friend or foe, I would advise that we all practice a bit of caution and some heightened consciousness when using our technological marvels. They will impact our brains and may well determine our survival.

What Comes Next?

I can't recall a time in my life when I did not believe in some kind of afterlife. Certainly my visualization of what that life after death might entail has changed over the years, but the certainty of my continuation has never wavered.

Although raised a Catholic with all its flowery imagery of heaven, I had a questioning mind, the result of growing up with a non-believing father and somewhat heretical mother. I outgrew this early religious training when I hit puberty, the age so many of us decide to leave the fold. This abandonment of Catholic dogma, however, did not strip me of a spiritual compass.

It was my mother who first introduced me to the IChing, the Tarot and a more esoteric view of existence. Each New Year's eve, she would pull out her dog-eared copy of the Wilhelm/Baynes book of changes and invite us to cast ancient chinese coins (purchased in Chinatown) to glimpse a picture of the coming year. Part of this yearly ritual was to review the previous year's predictions and analyze its accuracy. Little did I know at the time that I was being trained in a form of channeling, in tapping into that ethereal essence that guides all who choose to listen.

In my twenties she gave me my first Tarot deck, the Visconti-Saforza deck, the earliest surviving tarot deck. She told me that it was best to receive your deck as a gift. It certainly cost less. But possibly in the gifting she was also passing on some of her Picean energy. To this day, I rely on both the Tarot and the IChing for guidance when I am confused or uncertain.

My early esoteric training was amplified in the 70's by an exploration of mind-altering plants and the books of Carlos Castaneda. Psychotropics have a way of putting you in touch with the tenuousness of everyday reality. Castenada's descriptions of alternate worlds ignited the imagination and complimented my first-hand experience. I still recall a most vivid impression of dissolving into vibration. I was vibration and so was everything else. It took considerable mental effort to remanifest on the physical plain.

At this same time, I was also in active pursuit of a Ph.D. in sociology. It was through this study that I was exposed to the underside of the scientific method and the mathematical tools that prop it up. I discovered how results might be manipulated by the way questions are asked, the numbers shared, and the interpretations made. To be sure, sociology is one of the softest of sciences and particularly susceptible to manipulation. But once you know how the numbers work and what they mean, you can find flaws in even the hardest of sciences. At the same time, sociology revealed to me the very underpinnings of society and the way knowledge works. Knowledge is socially managed and as much a product of publicity as scientific tests. One need only look at the current "debate" over global warming to see the truthfulness of this.

As I matured, plant-induced states of mind were replaced with spiritual ones. At a Sufi camp in New Mexico, I discovered the mind expanding possibilities of slow movement, dancing, singing, drumming, whirling and chanting. Essential to the success of these practices was a clean body devoid of cigarettes, caffeine, alcohol, psychedelics, chocolate and even food. Yes, fasting was part of the regime and it certainly enhanced the spiritual states. It does make one wonder how much of this mysticism is chemical and therefore reducible to scientific facts. But what do these facts really mean? That certain stimulants excite left brain functioning? That in order to tap into other realms we need to quiet the left brain chatter? That the right brain is the doorway into exalted states and is easily overruled by its left brain brother? You bring the science, I'll bring the interpretation.

In spite of its flaws and susceptibility to manipulation, I do not dismiss science or the scientific method. I am just more careful about its claims. Like a recent one about a study that shows organic foods have no more nutritional value than the conventionally grown. It all depends on how you define "nutrition" doesn't it? The scientific method is just one way of looking at the world. It can be very reliable when applied with rigor and uninfluenced by monetary interests and preferred outcomes.

It was not until I was facing the death of my father that I directly addressed the question of the afterlife. While preparing my talk for his memorial, my partner gave me a taped recording of a talk by Kubler-Ross. I knew only that she was a medical doctor who pioneered death studies. Her tape talked about various aspects of death, but what I recall are two stories that I found utterly convincing about the existence of an afterlife.

One involved a woman in a car accident somewhere in Europe. I imagine the Alps, on some winding two lane road through the mountains. As a result of her accident the woman left her body and traveled up the long line of stopped traffic listening in on the conversations of people delayed by her accident. They were, as you would expect, complaining about the delay. The farther she traveled the more disgusted she became with life and the people in it. She was just about ready to surrender to her death when she heard the voice of one woman saying to her companion that there must have been a terrible accident and she hoped the people involved were all right. These words touched the heart of the disembodied woman. She made a note of the license plate and returned to her body. Much later, when she recovered, she researched the license plate of the car and discovered the name and address of the compassionate woman. She wrote to that woman and thanked her for saving her life and her faith in humanity.

The second one involved another car accident, this time in Arizona. A good Samaritan witnessed the accident and went over to the wreck to see if there was anything he could do. The young woman, a Navajo, asked the man to please take a message to her mother on the reservation. She told him the name and said, "Tell her I am alright and that Tommy is here with me." The woman did not survive her injuries. The man, compelled by this death bed request, traveled to the reservation and tracked down this Navajo woman. Not an easy task, I assure you having lived there myself. When he found the mother he delivered her daughter's message. The woman was at once both sad and elated. It turns out that Tommy, a cousin, had recently died himself, on the very same day the young woman had been killed in the accident. The only way she could have know about Billy is if she actually saw him on the other side.

These stories were my first encounter with near death experience (NDE). There are other, much more convincing NDE stories, ones that have external and unbiased corroboration like the story of the sneaker on the ledge. So I have become even more comfortable with my belief in a continued existence after death. What I have been less clear about is how this afterlife would manifest. Having tasted the exalted states of divine unity, I am not so attached to this individual ego -- a force that can cause so much damage to my equanimity. I am open to the idea of death being a dissolution of my spirit into a vast sea of intelligence where I am but a single droplet joined with many. What I find more difficult to accept is the notion of communities of disembodied spirits living in homes and hanging out with each other as is described in The Destiny of Souls by Dr. Michael Newton. I suppose I hoped for something more rarefied and less mundane. I am heartened by the suggestion that this may be only one level of existence after death and that there may be many other levels.

Even as I am attracted to the esoteric, I am also cautious. I do not like to be duped any more than the next person. So I am proceeding with a curious but critical mind into this next phase of my mystical journey -- a series of a free teleconference calls: The Mystery and Magic of Life and Death. There will be many opportunities to explore this very questions of what comes next.

Reality Shift

In her book, Worldshift Happens!, Carolyn North makes an argument for a shift in our dominant worldview from a predominantly objective, reductive, narrow-focused, scientific perspective to a broader, more inclusive, all parts are interrelated and holistic one. These two world views seem very much to be the difference between left brain and right brain function. The left side, the seat of language, is more logical, analytic and objective. The right side is more visual and processes experience intuitively, holistically, and randomly.

Carolyn does not propose the abandonment of the one worldview for the other but rather a better balance of both worldviews. We certainly do not want to jettison science and subject ourselves to the capricious beliefs of who ever happens to be in power or be defrauded by every snake-oil salesman that comes into town due to a lack of reliable procedure for evaluating their worth (hmmm, I think we have that now.) At the same time, the current crisis of our planet: global warming, ocean pollution, deforestation, corral reef collapse and species extinction call for an approach that is broader, more holistic and respectful of our planetary inter-dependencies.

While the development of faster computers has made it possible for scientist to create complex models and predict the consequences of many of these inter-dependencies, the orientation is still separate and at a distance. Science tries to leave us out of the picture. Or, perhaps more accurately, removes that which is being studied from the picture. However, we are all connected and all responsible. What we are doing collectively as a civilization is not just affecting those frogs over there, poor things, it’s affecting all of us. Will we figure this out before we collectively do ourselves in?

The shift Carolyn requests is much greater then the addition of a few more variables in an equation, it is an adjustment in brain focus. More right brain use! And that shift just might send us down that slippery slope into the arena of the mystical, mysterious, awesome, divine. It is the very arena that the narrow focused, linear ordered left brain invariably discounts or dismisses.

There may be a gender issue here as well. According to Leonard Shlain in The Alphabet Versus the Goddess, the bifurcation of the human brain into asymmetrical right and left brain functioning was an evolutionary response to the needs of primitive humanity. It’s a complicated theory worth investigating. Basically, early woman relied more on the right brain to gather food and rear big-brained, dependent children, while men used the left side of the brain to be more successful at hunting — and to provide meat for their periodically iron-deficient women. I told you it was complicated.

Researchers have discovered that women have between 10% to 33% more neuronal fibers in the part of the brain that connects the two sides. Woman are better at integrating the two. Being able to shutout feelings and focus on a single task, he postulates, was beneficial for men engaging in the dangerous activity of hunting.

What Shlain doesn’t explain is the antipathy left-brainers have for right-brainers. This is illustrated in the story Carolyn relates about a physicist friend, who, upon receiving a seemly magical healing from Carolyn for a bad headache, said he would rather have the headache than have rethink his whole way of knowing.

Perhaps it is simply a matter understanding, of not being able to comprehend the other perspective because the brain-connection is lacking. Actually I believe it is a matter of upbringing. So does Carolyn, who in the last third of her book envisions a society with a better balance of the two. Upbringing is at its crux.

Personally, I love the mysterious and the unexplainable (unless it’s about where I left my glasses). I love that pharmaceutical companies go into remote areas of the world to learn the healing secrets of indigenous tribes rather than discover them in their own laboratories. I am thrilled to know that the “placebo” effect, i.e. people’s belief in the efficacy a cure, frequently accounts for more healing than the drug that is being tested. Synchronistic occurrences, like a friend calling when I’ve been thinking of her, make me smile. YESSSS!

What I like even better, however, is when the unexplainable or mysterious is confirmed by rigorous proof  — like the sighting of the sneaker on a hospital ledge. According to the story, a woman took an out-of-body trip to a hospital ledge three floors about the operating room where she was undergoing a life-saving operation. During this trip, she saw a sneaker on this ledge which, it turns out, was unobservable from any other vantage point. The sighting was verified by a social worker shortly after the woman revived and shared her story.

Unfortunately the very characteristic that thrill me about the unexplainable also make them highly susceptible to deception and fraud. So I welcome scientific rigor even as I deplore its narrow-minded methodology.

What I want from our scientists, the shift I am hoping for, is a little more awe and a little less arrogance. Before dismantling a system in order to discover the mechanism of its functioning, might there be a moment to revel in the miracle of its wholeness and appreciate that this whole may indeed be greater than the sum of its parts. Also, to recognize that those aspect of a phenomenon that defy observation and measurement are not irrelevant, but simply part of the mystery we have yet to decipher. Possibly in taking that moment, the scientists may allow some of their right brain to kick in and have an intuition or illumination that yields an unexpected break-through.

I celebrate the rigor of scientific study and applaud its application in those esoteric regions such as meditation, esp, channeling,  NDE , etc. At the same time, I acknowledge the wisdom and knowing that comes from personal experiences such as spiritual insight and vision that make up the core of our personal belief and in the end are less shakable than any scientific proof. We really need both sides of our brain for optimum functioning, now more than ever.

What is your right brain telling you? When is the last time you hung out together? Isn’t it time for a play date?

Communications from the "Other Side"

The first time I heard about communications from the dead was shortly after my mother had died in 1998. I was very unsettled by her loss and talking to everyone about death. A friend of mine told me the  story about her own mother's death.

Liz (not her real name) and her sister Kate (pseudonym) were caring for their dying mother for about a week. It had been decided to let nature take its course and not to use any extraordinary measures to keep her alive. However, shortly before her death, their mother panicked and demanded an ambulance. Although they tried to dissuade her, she was not to be denied. The paramedics quickly arrived, administered CPR and transported the mother's deceased body to the hospital where it was confirmed that she was indeed dead.  The daughters, unable to ride in the ambulance or to follow, waited in the mother's apartment for news of her death. That night, strange electronic disturbances began to occur. The lights and the radio would come on and off intermittently and of their own accord. The telephone rang, but no one was on the other line. This went on all night. The next morning, bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived, Liz announced to her sister that they should visit their mother in the morgue, that perhaps she was not at peace given the chaotic circumstances of her departure. So they visited their mom's body and spoke to her. They told her that she was dead now and that it was ok and they would be fine. The electronic disturbances in the apartment never recurred.

A few months later, I interviewed several people on my San Francisco TV show, On the Edge, regarding their experiences with death. One of the women in the group shared the following story:
On the day of her father's death he asked for help to take a shower, shave and dress. When all of this was all accomplished to his satisfaction, he peacefully died. As the family gathered to mourn his passing, the radio came on of its own volition playing the father's  favorite song. Soon after, a bouquet of flowers was delivered to his wife made up of her favorite flowers. There was no card and no one at the flower shop seemed able to identify who had placed the order. Furthermore, there had not yet been any formal announcement of his passing.

Over the years of facilitating grief support groups, I have heard a number of examples  of what appear to be communications from the other side. Vivid dreams, radio disturbances and recently the voice of a deceased wife speaking to her husband on his cell phone the day after she passed, asking how he was doing. Such events, whether real or random, have a comforting effect on the grieving recipients. They feel both loved and reassured that all is well with the one who has died.
While I have always believed in the validity of this sort of communication with the dead, mostly because of the wide variety of people who reported it, I was quite unprepared for the level of information revealed in the full-length documentary, Calling Earth.  Produced by a filmmaker friend of mine, Daniel Drasin, this film on Instrumental Transcommunication (ITC) interviews an amazing number of people who have attempted to scientifically studied and verify the use of electronic devices to communicate with spirits and ghosts. See wikipedia for a nice summary of ITC history. For organizations dedicated to promoting awareness about ITC and the procedures for doing it yourself see Transcommunication.org; World ITC; and Angels Ghosts .

It's a little spooky and just a little over the top, especially the audio recordings of voices from the other side. Some of its is intelligible, some quite clear, none sound human. Is this real, fantasy or fraud. Well, you get a chance to judge for yourself. Daniel is sharing his documentary with the Berkeley community next Tuesday, July 24th, 7:30 pm at the Berkeley Fellowship, at Cedar and Bonita. See SF Gate for more information.

What do I believe? I believe the world is a more mysterious place than we ever imagined. I also believe that this sort of phenomenon is ripe for exploitation and abuse. Use your discernment and turn on your wacko-meter. You don't have to accept it all to believe in an afterlife or communications from the other side. While you're at it, check out this blog post about a very talented psychic medium, Denise Lescano and an impressive communication from the other side

Conversations on Death and the End Game

Recently, my in-laws came to visit. Both parents are in their mid-eighties. My mother-in-law has just been diagnosed with breast cancer. It has been on my mind for a while now to get them to discuss their end-of-life plans. This latest news made it seem all the more imperative.

AARP Magazine just had a story about a family whose elderly mother had an unexpected fall and broke her pelvis thus ending years of independent living. It was a sobering story of the trials of finding a placement that would not crush her spirit. Neither my husband nor my sisters-in-law have a clear idea about what their folks want regarding this issue. I thought I might be able to get the ball rolling. Death and caring for the dying are, after all, the subjects of my film series, Secrets of Life and Death and numerous workshops, classes and trainings I have given around them.  The family visit offered an ideal opportunity to finally bring up the subject. Both parents, one sister and  brother all in the same place. What could be more perfect? Except, it never happened!

I discovered that it a lot harder to "start the conversation" with my own family then with perfect strangers. There's an emotional component that figures in. My mother-in-law was already showing discomfort with my initial query about her cancer treatment. Her short worded answers and insistence that she doesn't think about it because, "What can you do?" indicated to me that she was struggling to keep herself together. I certainly didn't want to distress her further. Years of socialization around avoiding unpleasant subjects and not hurting feelings stepped in. Asking her to think about being so sick she could no longer care for herself was not something I relished bringing up. Not when she was already having to think about having cancer. And weren't we having such a nice visit? Well, I just couldn't do it. But really, the truth is, the conversation needs to happen. So this morning I mailed her the AARP article on caring for parents and a note suggesting we have a discussion. Shortly after, I was told about her latest doctor visit and the likelihood of cancer in her kidney as well as her breast. Bad timing or good? We will see.

After the deaths of my own parents in 1998, I launched into making a film on facing death. I found very few people willing to discuss the subject while my parents were dying, so I made it my quest to help people lose their fears about dying by providing them with an opportunity to talk about their concerns and share their stories. Things are always less scary when you stop resisting them. The film I began in 1998 blossomed into the three-part series, Secrets of Life and Death. My film making efforts predate Bill Moyer's series, On Our Own Terms, by two years, although he finished his way before I did. Recently, I discovered, that someone else had also beat me to the punch. A very amazing woman named Ganga Stone wrote a book called,  Start the Conversation, which shares the courageous steps she took to help people, many of them with  HIV, face and embrace death fearlessly.

"Listen," she says in the first pages of her book, "Death is a transition. We all survive. Of this I am absolutely sure."

"Wow!" I thought, "she believes what I believe about surviving death, only she's not afraid to say it."

Well, actually I had been sharing similar ideas during many of my community film screening/workshops. People who come to my workshops tended to self-select. Until, that is, I began doing workshops for cancer patients. They come for different reasons. They come because death has left it's calling card. During one of these workshops, a young woman announced. "I have inoperable cancer , I don't believe in an afterlife and I am mad as hell. . ."  It was almost as though she was challenging me to tell her something different. I deflected by asking others in the workshop to share their thoughts. What could I say? I'd be mad as hell too if I thought everything stopped the moment I died. But I could not hope to convince her otherwise in the short time of our workshop. And who was I to even try? Instead, I acknowledged her right to be angry and kept my thoughts on the matter of an afterlife to myself. I spoke, instead, of the elasticity of time and the possibility of living a full life in whatever time remained. I told her that none of us really know when we will die, even her. Any of us could get hit by a bus on our way home, tonight. No offense to the San Francisco transportation authority intended. I did not bring up the subject of life after death. Was my choice correct -- not to challenge her beliefs? Ganga's book had me rethinking my response. Was I helping her with my silence?" Was this person looking to me for something more? Is that why she came to my workshop?

Ganga's book is fresh and sassy and tells the truth with no apologies or equivocations.

Body Lease: one body, brand new, for temporary use only, may lose functionality over time.
Terms: expires at any time anywhere, at manufacturer's discretion, with or without warning.

That's the contract we're born with. But we all think the contract says "Body will function optimally throughout term of lease and expire during sleep at the ripe old age of 99." And don't we feel a little cheated when things work out differently, as though we were sold a defective car and nobody is honoring the warrantee!

After shocking us out of our delusion about a long happy life, Ganga goes on to reassure us that unlike the body, the spirit, the being we really are, does not cease at death. Read her book and you might change the way you feel about dying. That's her promise. Since I already agree with her, I can not confirm this for the non-believers out there. It certainly provides some interesting proof.
As evidence, she points to the experiences of over eight million near-death survivors, from all walks of life, religion, race, social and educational level. Not only are there stunning similarities in all their stories, but more importantly everyone of them now lives without fear of death. The smoking gun, however, the incontrovertible proof that we are not our bodies is the the story of the sneaker on the ledge. Briefly, it's the story of a woman, who, during a temporary departure from her body while clinically dead, sees a sneaker on a ledge three stories above the operating room where doctors struggle to restart her heart. The existence of the sneaker is confirmed by an impartial witness shortly after she returns to life. There is no way she could have seen that sneaker from outside the hospital, from above or below. No way to know it was there, unless, she really did separate from her body. Interestingly, I had the story personally verified by a friend who interviewed the witness in the tale -- the nurse, who confirmed the existence of the sneaker on the ledge.

There is much more to Ganga's book then near death experience stories, compelling as they are. It is a whole program for changing the way you think, the way western medicine and the scientific community encourage you to think, about life and death. She is vehement in her crusade to change us. Our annihilation theory of death causes too much suffering, too much fear and grief to let it stand unchallenged, she insists. Time for change. And with the publishing of this book she takes her work to another level.

You might have noticed there is more than one conversation here. There is that ever so engaging discussion about whether we continue to exist after we die, complete with divine light and cosmic consciousness. Then there's the nitty gritty of getting there -- the medical treatments, the indignities of institutional living, the awful food and long hours of incapacity.  It was this second conversation that I found difficulty starting. But don't kid yourself, the other one lurks just below the surface. With the latest news about my mother-in-law's kidneys, we were all wondering whether this is, in fact, the end game.

After some reflection I decided I did the right thing with the woman at my workshop.  I am not Ganga. I have my own more modest vision when it come to starting the conversation. It is enough for me to provide the space for people to discuss their beliefs, fears and experiences around death. It's good for each of us to come to our own conclusions.

Getting Back to Zero

Sometimes life can feel like such a challenge. Trying to make enough money in a high inflation/high unemployment economy, keeping up with all the things you have to get done, navigating partner issues, aging parents concerns, or being broadsided by a new disturbing health issue. And if, for the moment, you have all these areas under control, there's always global warming, war in Afghanistan, corporate control of the government and a banking system that's run off with everyone's retirement funds. Add to this those nagging existential questions like: Am I making the best of my life? Am I achieving my life's purpose? Have I made a difference? It's a recipe for despair.

What to do? Escape into a movie, a Jane Austin novel, a computer game? Unfortunately, such refuge is short lived. Once the book is shut or credits roll the demons of worry are back at their post.

A friend of mine who had been away on spiritual retreat for two weeks, complained that his blissful equanimity wore off in a matter of days. How can we get back to that delicious peacefulness? How can it be sustained over time? How can we be more like those spiritual masters we read about in books -- accepting of whatever comes along? How do we get back to ZERO? Nothingness. Empty. The void. Spiritual bliss. The fool in the tarot deck blithely walking off the cliff confident in the protection of the universe.

It can feel like two separate realities vying for our attention: the reality of everyday concerns as described above, and the reality of the spirit. The reality of the spirit, open-heart, aware, compassionate, content. The spirit tells us that all is as it should be. Whatever happens it will be alright. Trust yourself, trust life. but watch out for the ego. It is the ego or rather the negative self, nafs -- as my Sufi teacher calls it, that puts a negative mental twist on all our physical experience and creates the suffering and fear. It's a matter of where you put your mind, how you interpret things.

Ok, when I am in my higher self, when I'm just back from three weeks at Sufi camp, that all makes sense.  But what about now? This moment?

Ahh! NOW. Eckhart Tolle would tells us that "NOW" is the answer. Enter the now, the present moment and suffering ceases. No past or future to concern us, only the delicious tranquility and detachment of moment to moment. In the moment, I am fed, warm, comfortable, the sun is shining, the fragrance of lemon blossoms wafts on the breeze. I am writing with ease.

Alright, this moment works, but have you ever tried to get into the moment, to meditate, to shift your mind in the midst of a mental tirade? It is amazing how violent and tenacious emotions can be. I have fought with my mind, tried to stop its awful thought loops hoping to shift into the NOW. Trying and fighting are, I assure you, not the answer. They only make the demons, the nafs, bigger.

Through much trial and error, I have found a few tools that can help me out of this situation. First, it is important to remember that spirituality is a process not a state. Like an airplane heading for it's destination, we are always making adjustments to get back on course. So don't waste any time beating yourself up for not being in the NOW, now.

Second, spiritual beings though we may be, we inhabit physical bodies which have their own needs, programing, energy fields and chemistry. Bliss is a whole lot easier when you are feeding your body good food. It is no accident that at my Sufi summer camp we eat very plain, simple foods -- lots of rice and vegetable and very little at that. Not eating, i.e. fasting, can really bliss you out, if you can get past the first days of hunger. There is lot of debates out there about the list of "good foods." Certainly don't believe the advertising hype of packaged food giants. Michael Pollan's book, In Defense of Food, as an excellent place to get some perspective on the food issue.

I actually eat a very wholesome diet -- all organic, no red meat, a lot of fruit and vegetable, super blue green algae smoothies. However, I also indulge in treats and that is my downfall. Chocolate is particularly dangerous for me as are most refined sugars. They both make me more emotional, more prone to impatience, frustration and meltdowns. Astrologically, I'm already wired with a short fuse, i.e. Scorpio rising. Sugar and chocolate are like playing with matches. I've been off chocolate lately and it helps. Sugar is another story, hence the need for the rest of these strategies.

While you're working on your diet, no easy assignment if you have been programed like most of us to go for the worst foods when under stress, you could try out some other body-directed strategies. I find talking a nice walk in nature very helpful to the stressed mind. A forest trail with minimal traffic sounds works best. Beaches with their sound cancelling surf are also excellent. But when I only have a short window of time, a park or neighborhood with lovely gardens will do. Cemeteries are also amazingly serene.

When you don't have much time, which for most of us is a chronic issue, deep, conscious breathing can bring quick results. Focus on the breath going through all the various organs or chakras of your body. Feel the sensation of the breath in you lungs. Imagine it coming in through your head and flowing out through your feet. If your mind wanders, try holding your breath for several counts between inhales and exhales. Lack of oxygen really focuses the mind.

If I am dealing with a particularly persistent mental loop or my emotions are all over the map, I find that stimulating the middle of my forehead just above the brow can work wonders. Perhaps this works because it is just in front of the cerebrum, the part of the brain that handles thought and action. By stimulating this area, I imagine that I am pulling my attention away from the brain stem, the place that is activated by survival and fear. Look at my blog, Happiness in the Brain for a brief description of the three brain areas and how they involve different aspects of our life.

The following techniques are all excellent for shifting a negative mind loop. They are not just about stimulating the forehead, but it's there:

    1.    Pranayama, specifically Nadi Sodhana: A yoga breath practice of alternate nostril breathing. Essentially, you hold both sides of your nose with the thumb and ring finger to alternate breathing through one nostril and then the other. The pointer finger and middle finger are curled into your palm with knuckles press into brow and lower forehead. The sensation of these two finger touching at the spot of the third eye, together with the periodic lack of breath from the alternate breathing help to stop thoughts and bringing attention into the moment.

    2.    TAT: is an energy therapy. Here the thumb and ring finger are placed at the inner corners of the eyes and the pointer finger touches the middle of the forehead. At the same time the other hand is holding the back of the head right at the brain stem. Perhaps it is transferring the energy of the higher mind to the lower. This technique includes some very useful thought repetitions, in addition to the physical stimulation, that are very effective in transforming negative thoughts.

    3.    The Healing Code Book technique. I must confess, I never read the book. A friend who did read the book shared the hand sequences with me. They blew my mind. Literally. Instant empty. A flash trip to Sufi camp. I have added my own positive mental reprogramming with each gesture. You can try them out or get the book for the original instructions. Here's my version:

• Cup both your hands so all the fingers are together and pointing forward.

1. Point both of your cupped hands at the middle of your forehead about 1-2 inches away.  Feel the energy coming off your fingers. Feel it in your head. Transform any negative thoughts into positive ones, e.g. I don't know how I can keep living like this. Into "Each day I have the strength I need  and each day that strength grows stronger.
2. Hold your hands over your heart with fingers just touching your sternal notch (throat). Feel the warmth of your hands on your chest. Imagine all the love in the universe, all the love you have ever received from parents, friends and lovers, all the love of your ancestors from deep into the past coming into your heart.
3. Point your cupped hands on either side of your jaw about 2-3 inches away and a little behind the hinge of your jaw. Feel the energy coming from you hands into your jaw. Imagine all the negative thoughts and judgments being sucked out of your mouth by you hands. Allow your jaw to relax. Imagine all thoughts melting in your mouth until there are no more thoughts.
4.  Point your cupped hands on either side of you temples, just 1 inch behind. Feel the energy coming into your head from your finger tips. Imagine that your fingers are filling your head with soft, gentle, expansive bliss. And this bliss crowds out all thoughts, all concerns, all sadness. There is only this soft, comfy blanket of bliss.

• Do the whole sequence three times if possible. Stay as long as you need in each phase of the cycle.

Feeling any better?


Additional strategies for getting to Zero: listening to soothing music, meditating, chanting, reading spiritual books, and writing blogs about spiritual matters. Ahhhhh.

A Waking Dream

VGA Dragon Bares Its Teeth

Two weeks ago I had what can best be described as a waking dream. A nightmare actually. The sort of a dream where you are trying to get somewhere really quickly only instead you inch along in slow motion and everything goes wrong. That was me trying to get to a screening presentation I was doing at, surprise, surprise -- The Dream Institute.

Traffic that evening was from my worst memories of the East coast. Waiting through multiple red light at each intersection. Cars lined up fifteen deep at stop signs. Time flying, my car crawling. I kept on telling myself it would be alright, I had enough time. I was in my husband's white van -- a big automatic that moves slowly. You can't rush it. You have to surrender to its own polar bear calm.

Arriving at the Dream Institute, I see to my dismay that there is no parking. (Notice the tense change, we have now entered dreamtime) I have two large speakers to tote inside, so I drive around the block. My calm is disintegrating and panic creeping in as I wait through another forever red light. With a "fuck the world" attitude, I pull my van in front of a driveway.

Low and behold, I recognize the person in the car parked in front of me. In MY PARKING SPACE! I think uncharitably. Then I see that he is with a friend in a wheelchair. They appear to be sharing some of my nightmare. They have come early to get set up, but the director has shooed them out. The woman in the wheelchair is indignant at the rude treatment she received and they are about to leave. I put on a welcoming smile and reassure them, with less equanimity than I feel, not to worry, the director will soon be gone and it will only be me. It will be good. We enter the building together. I start to calm. I'm here.

Inside is pandemonium. People rushing around leaving from a meeting poorly timed to end just as I arrive. The director is, indeed, not very welcoming. She reminds me that she knows nothing about the technology and that I am on my own. I have talked to Richard earlier in the week, who is familiar with the equipment. I'm ready. The wiring to the speakers is a bit of a challenge, not long enough, few outlets, but my friends are helping and we are moving efficiently. Opps, too far from the screen, move everything closer, shift all the wires. It's ok, we're almost there. I pop the DVD into the computer and … and … nothing. No signal. We push buttons, reboot the computer. Still nothing. Maybe the projector doesn't like the Mac.

It is close to starting time. My hands are sweating and my voice is getting strained. We swap my Mac for the Institute's PC. Still no go. We read the directions again. We push buttons. We reboot. Nothing! People are gathering outside. The panic is creeping in again. The director suggests getting one of the guys at Radio Shack next door to help. We are still fussing when he arrives. Oh I see your problem, the cord to the projector was in the output rather than the input. I curse under my breath. Of course, the one thing the Dream Institute was responsible for! I should have come by earlier in the week and tested this stuff. We see the computer screen and cheer. The man leave.

Wait! Oh no! We've been deceived! Just the laptop screen, no icons, no program access! The sand is flowing swiftly to the bottom of the hour-glass. People are being let in. Lot's of people. Crowding the room. Making it very hot. The Radio Shack person is sent for. He returns, does some magic and the DVD pops on to the screen. The film is going. We begin, 30 minutes late, no introduction, no prolog. Just jump on the moving train and go.

I am just starting to relax a little when someone starts banging at the front door which is now blocked by people in the audience. I go to let her in the back door. Why is she so late? In the meantime, the computer goes dead. I want to get hysterical but I can't. I have to be professional. Oh, the cord has been pulled. I reattach the plug, reboot the computer and restart the DVD. No sound. Ah, speaker wire came out. Reattach the speaker. I fuss with the start point and we are off again. I sit on the floor next to the equipment guarding the wires, barely breathing, trying to hold it all together by sheer force of will.

The movie is beautiful, transcendent, instructive. Appointment with the Wise Old Dog -- about a man, David Blum, with amazing dreams that provide him with guidance and reassurance while he is dying of cancer. He has made color drawing of his dreams, vivid, child-like, archetypal. They hang around his bedroom, looking over him, giving comfort. The vision they reveal of life and afterlife are profound and thought-provoking. My panic subsides as I slip into the dreamworld of this lovely movie.

The film ends. I get up and, in a voice more together than I feel, I ask the viewers to consider the meaning the movie has for them, how it relates to their own dreams in times of crises and to discuss it with the person next to them. The room fills with enthusiastic chatter as I gather myself together and put away the techno demons. I breathe deep and slow, trying to regain my presence.

Even though the technological issues are over, my waking dream is not. When I call the group together, no one wants to talk. It is like pulling teeth. A stand-up comic's nightmare. No one laughs, no one gives an inch. A few kind souls share their stories and I am pathetically grateful. How can that be? This is such interesting stuff. I can't hold the space, I can't bring them together. I answer questions and do a lot of talking. The evening grinds to an end.

The next morning, I get it. At first, of course, I am devastated. What a bomb! I really blew, etc. The usual negative-self litany. Then it dawns on me, this was a DREAM, a waking dream. Just like I had talked about in the group the night before. I had told the people that if they treated events in their life like dreams they might discover some interesting messages. Somehow I failed to notice at the time that I was in my own waking dream.

When the unconscious wants to get your attention it sends you a nightmare, several if you refuse to pay attention. This was my nightmare.

Ok, so what was the message?

LIFE IS A DREAM!  Row row row your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream! 

Meaning? Treat life as a dream. Don't take it so personally. Don't get too caught up. Wake up to the unreality, the lunacy, the humor, the absurdity. And don't forget to pay attention.

If only I had understood that at the presentation. If only I had said, "We are in this nightmare together. We can go on like this, struggling, pushing, resisting, or we can become lucid (the term used when you realize you are dreaming) and say, Ahhh. We can make of this moment, this dream what we want."  I think this group might have been receptive to the idea. In fact, I think this approach is applicable with any group, at any presentation. Invite everyone to be involved, to take responsibility for the outcome. This is your dream too.  Let's build it together.

Now take that idea to the bigger world -- to global crisis, the 99% and the next election. Sweet dreaming!