tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90750457798506816912023-11-16T06:48:53.721-05:00Nanda MamaNanda is the sanskrit word for joy.Nanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.comBlogger113125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-39909313716338503492023-09-10T14:24:00.001-05:002023-09-10T15:36:34.053-05:00Liturgy is My Jam!I became a Religious Studies/Theatre major in college because of one reason: I love to create sacred space. I studied religion because I wanted to understand how people made sense of their world. What were their guideposts/guiding lights? And I have always loved theatre because it felt like everything was theatre (here would be the perfect spot for a Shakespeare quote - not gonna do it - you know what it is!) The magic was when you put the two together.</p>
<p> In another post I will go through the four pieces of theatre that I have had some involvment with and why they are liturgies. But now I want to talk about liturgy and how I create it.</p>
<p>I was a very religious child. I went to Catholic School. I was raised in the Baptist Church where I chose to "give myself to Christ" at seven years old and almost on a cloud walked to the front of the church when the "doors were open to join the church." I was baptized with a full immersion at seven. I floated through every nature religion looking for a way to be in tune with G*d's creations. I was in a coven. I received the first level toward full priesthood in Lukumi, my elekes. And ultimately I converted to Judaism which is where my heart had been ever since I was a young girl reading and watching the Hasidim walk to shul on Saturday mornings while I sat in the window seat in my Grandmother's Brooklyn brownstone.</p>
<p>I searched for Hashem through so many different avenues because I had not found a home for my Judaism. At the age of forty-one I walked into a shul on the Upper West Side of New York City with other members of my Interfaith/Interspiritual Seminary. It had everything. The singing and movement of my Baptist upbringing. The set liturgy of Catholicism, the recognition of the Mother of life, in the form of Shekinah and a beautiful and purposeful message from the Rabbi with the Torah, jokes and pop culture references that were right within my age of understanding. I got the jokes! It would be another five years before I became a member of this shul and then another three years before I converteted. I had to be sure!</p>
<p>I loved studying, I had wanted to be Yentl since I saw the movie.It took me so long to convert because I never thought I knew enough. School had finite endings. You graduate and then you move on. But this was different. I could study and study and study before I set a date for my trip to the mikveh for my conversion. I only decided to schedule my conversion when my teaching Rabbi said: "There will always be more to learn. Growing in Judaism doesn't stop after the mikveh". That made sense to me. I continued to study and create ritual long after graduate schools, so why would Judaism be different.</p>
<P>While at the University of Iowa I studied Directing for the Stage. Every show was a chance to create sacred space. We had a set, lighting, costumes, actors. As a Director I got to decide how everything looked, sounded and who said the words. It was creating worship in a different way every time. I worked with living playwrights who were in the room during rehearsals changing their words based on the choices we all made. A collaboration to make art? Yes. An opportunity to create liminality? Definitely.</p>
<p>Liminality is an anthropological concept of transformaton. Arthur Van Gennep observed and named it as stages in rites of passage ceremonies but the credit for this word is given to Victor Turner. There are three stages: there is the pre-liminality stage, the liminal stage and the post liminal stage. Pre-liminality is when you are going through your every day just living your life. The liminal stage is the juicy part - you are transported to a sacred space outside of time. If you are fortunate enough to do this in community it is outrageously real. A time of illumination, otherwordliness and pure clarity. You see everything about life and why you are here, all at once. And when the activity that captured your imagination ends of something shifts you come back to your every day lfe. You feel as though something transformative has happened to you but you can't quite put it into words. I wanted to create that space. To take the audience to another place. To literally see their G*d. It's a powerful gifts and in the wrong hands and with a little charisma it creates cult leaders and cults which usually end in destruction.</p>
<p>You cannot maintain that liminal space for ever. As a human being - you would go insane. It's what addicts call "Chasing the Dragon". You will never have that experience again. Nothing will live up to it mostly because you've forgotten about the details mainly because it defies language and is all feeling and how does one talk about the sensations of their body except through metaphor and simile? That's not the thing rather the thing's cousin.I remember when I realized that I could not live in ecstasy (maybe if I went to Tibet and sat on a mountain but even then it was not promised). We can just be grateful for the experience and muscle memory those glorious moments.</p>
<p>What was I talking about? Yes, liturgy and sacred space. When I decided to attend Union Theological Seminary it was for totally utilitarian reason: I wanted to be a chaplain and needed a Masters of Divinity (M.Div) to do that work. Had I been more clear in my thinking I would have crossed the street and gone to Jewish Theological Seminary. But you make choices and you live with them and then make more choices. Union was familiar and I only needed on thing from them so why not? But while I was there I experienced so much more. I could create liminal spaces there, too. All of my prior education was leading to those moments of making church.</p>
<p>Once again I got to pick the words, the set, the lighting, the music and the players and I even had a stage manager in the form of chapel ministers whose entire job was to help bring the liturgical experience to life. There was only one drawback - if you created the liturgy you had to preach the sermon. I became a director because I did not want to be an actor (and because I did not like people telling me what to do!) Acting terrified me but at least in theatre you get to be someone else so that lessened the shock. In Liturgy - it was all you giving that sermon. But you did get to choose the words so you had the opportunity to craft what you wanted to say even if you weren't sure how to say it. And I could craft words.</p> <p>But something interesting happened the first time I gave a sermon - I had a liminal moment. I was preaching about shame and victim-survivors of Domestic Violence/Intimate Partner Violence which had been my work for about two years at that point. I knew the stats and the stories. And at some point in that sermon I stopped looking at my notes and looked at the congregation. They were hearing my words and it was affecting them. My mind and body came together and promised itself that it would not miss this moment. This opportunity to have people hear the truth about the best friends: shame and violence. And the only way I know what I said is because there was a recording of it. But even then when I watched the recording I focused on the things my mind could understand: my cadence, when I was reading, how bored someone in the third row looked.I could not access the moment anymore. And this truth depressed me until I could let it go and come back to the knowing that there would be another moment and another if I stayed connected to, well, all of it.</p> <p>And I began seeking out opportunities to preach. And I got better at it. My theology: the meaning behind the piece of scripture I would preach about was always sound. I was a great researcher and interpreter. It was the execution that needed help. But getting better at the delivery of my sermons was not what made Liturgy my jam. It was all the things around the sermon that prepared you for it. The way you entered the space what your senses are taking in, the music, set pieces, lights and then the praying and preaching were the liminal moments and then we were done. And so I preached and preached always about things that kept me up at night and interpretations that most people would never touch. I became fearless which made me good. And my willingness to fly without a net gave others the opportunity to also ditch their net.
So, yes, that's why liturgy is my jam. I am good at it but more importantly I love doing it - not just for me but so that community is created - if only for ten minutes. A lot can happen in ten minutes. And it usually does. Tread gently upon the earth with your eyes open and when something shifts, if even just a little bit, go there, see what "there" has in store for you and when you are ready come back.
Nanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-56874327340974386802018-05-08T11:55:00.000-05:002018-05-08T11:55:14.223-05:00Insurance and Other CrapI haven't written a post in over five years. I started this blog to help integrate all the things I was feeling after going through cancer. Now that I am going through it again I need help integrating all the feelings while going through cancer. All the things I thought I knew but I obviously did not or I wouldn't be in this particular place in my life right now. And there is no sense in going back and blaming myself for not taking better care of myself or for not hearing every word every doctor said to me for the last ten years. That accomplishes nothing. It only serves to make me feel bad and I cannot afford self-pity right now (or ever really.) I told my best friend, last night, that I didn't think I could write any longer because I had spent the last several years in seminary and it had trained my brain to write with words that the majority of people have never heard before. It makes me one of the gatekeepers of knowledge. Keeping people out by speaking in a foreign language. And that saddened me deeply. I did not want to write long winding sentences replete with commas and semi colons - ten lines long. I wanted to write short, pithy sentences that accurately relayed what I felt even if it had to use curse words to do it. So I decided to return to the blog and see what would come out.
Today I am receiving chemotherapy. A three to four hour treatment. I am bored having forgotten my headphones at home and unable to play a movie or watch another repeat episode of The Blacklist. I am coughing like I have smoked a pack a day for ten years and ricola and warm tea with honey are not helping rather I think it is ultimately making it worse. I am waiting for them to put in the Benadryl so hopefully the phlegm and mucus will dry up and I will be able to get a good sleep. I feel at the mercy of people doing things to me rather than me doing them for myself. The only thing I can do myself is to write and to put my heart pillow, which has a little pocket in the back of it for my black tourmaline crystal, next to me. That's all I've got right now, and it's enough - for right now.
Doctors don't like to give you a prognosis because what if they are wrong? And all Drs. really want to do it save your life, especially surgeons. And if I was a fully cognizant idealist right now I would want them to do it for purely altruistic reasons. But because I am so very sick at this moment (not in terms of symptoms - I feel fine) but in terms of the actual diagnosis, I don't care whether they have an altruistic bone in their body. I just want them to fix this. And I can be proactive, by eating well and getting enough sleep and doing my yoga for cancer yoga and meditations that I have on Gaiam.com. But all of that doesn't change one fundamental fact: I have cancer and I will have to rely on the generosity of others and quite frankly the sheer selfishness of my surgeon's not wanting to fail. I want to be in a boat being steered by a very strong and sure navigator who has traversed these waters before.
Presently I am not with that courageous sea-farer.I an with oar-person has relegated me to. And present fact is really the point of this post. Insurance in this country sucks. Because I have two part-time jobs as opposed to one full time job I had to search for and pay for my own health insurance. And I researched. One thing I am really good at! And came up with a good insurance who participated with all my doctors and had great prescription drug coverage and no co-pays. It was heaven, for one year and then 45 was elected and everyone lost their shit and started raising prices and cutting benefits. I was almost priced out of my wonderful health insurance. Then I got sick and realized that all the money I was putting into that insurance for the last few days did not afford me the best healthcare when I needed it most. My poor primary care physician (PCP) called and faxed and texted this insurance company but still an immovable wall. I called and faxed and texted and was told that the highest person I could speak to was the supervisor on the customer service floor. Really? No one who made and decisions? Not one?
Why am I telling you all of this information about my sickness and my insurance woes? Because that is the best way I can, right now, shed light on this hellish healthcare system that we have. And yes, there are far more important thing happening in the world right now, not the least of these being the "First Lady's" bullshit: "Be Best," campaign which is so broad it is toothless. There are #MeToo campaigns and Russian inquiries and a man in the White House who is perhaps the world's greatest john/sex trafficker. I get it. And today my problem is with the healthcare system that is not interested in curing anything as much as throwing drugs at it at an exorbitantly high price. I thought I knew better. I thought I was doing all the right things but my due diligence was not diligent enough. So, please be grateful for your health if you have it (if you don't I am praying for you) and for your healthcare, if it works and other little thing that brings you joy today. Feel joy! Today I have joy because none of the people I am sharing the infusion suite with are throwing things at me for coughing every 30 seconds. It's the little crap.Nanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-69365550355917193852013-10-22T14:05:00.003-05:002013-10-22T14:05:58.251-05:00Thoughts become things or in this case peopleToday, on my way home from school, I stopped at Trader Joe's to pick up some items for dinner and meals tomorrow. I was standing by the chicken waiting for the lovely stock person to see if there were any chicken thighs in the back. The kids wanted curry chicken for dinner. Needless to say, there weren't. But while I was standing there I looked over by the escalator and saw these two women smelling something. I looked up and the sign said: "Cinnamon Broom: $3.99." Suddenly all I could smell was cinnamon. Surely, the smell was there before I noticed it but now it was in my nostrils singing a little diddy: "Buy me. Take me home." I went over to smell it and it was heaven. It was fall. I could actually see the leaves falling. Pulled back from my daydream by the very real fact that I needed to shop, get home, make dinner, pick up the kids and then finish some school reading, made me put down the broom and walk away. It was too awkward to carry with my hand cart anyway.
Well, that smell followed me. All over the store. When I got back upstairs there was no one on line. NO. ONE. For anybody who shops at the UWS (that's Upper West Side, for the uninitiated) TJ's knows that when there is no line you jump on it because if you turn your back the line will be out the door. So, I jump in line but I am still smelling the cinnamon. I make a decision: when I get to the cashier, I will ask if someone can go and grab me one. They are helpful like that. So, there I am standing in line with my hand basket (what the hay are those things called anyway? - Oh, and "what the hay," is a shout-out to my Writing Teacher, Amy - I think she is from the Midwest!), when I realize that I am next. Yay me! So I quickly scan the cashiers to see who is almost done and where I might be going. That's when it happened. I saw sour-puss guy at cashier 29. Now, I may just be extra sensitive but this guy upsets me. He does his job with the appropriate amount of professionalism, but he always acts as though he is doing you a favor by ringing up your stuff and taking your money. You always get the cursory: "How are you?" (I think it's in their work contract!)But that's it. The guy is irritable. And it takes the bloom off the rose of my shopping experience whenever I get him. Well, he is standing there admiring his cuticles (no, seriously), so I think "Oh, he is going to be vain a few more seconds and then I will get the perky girl at register 16. That's closer to the cinnamon broom anyway!" So, I stand there thinking "Please not him. Please not him..." when it happens. The flag at register 29 waves. The happy woman directing cart traffic turns to me and says: "#29." I almost screamed out: "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" But there I was off to #29. Irritable guy. Now I am irritated and I do not want to ask him anything about getting my cinnamon broom. Just ring up my stuff and get me out of here. There I was face to face with my shopping nemesis - and all I could think was "why him, why him!" I left the store without my cinnamon broom.
Once outside where the smell of cinnamon was a distant memory I mentally started berating myself. "Thoughts become things, Keisha!" While you were standing there wasting your energy on it not being him - it ended up being him. Just another little trick from the Universe. Trick or wake up call? It was such a slight thing - getting the cashier I didn't want but it reminded me that I have power. My thoughts have power. I learned this all at the knee of my amazing Dean from One Spirit, Franne and her equally fantastic husband Bob. They teach a class called "Infinite Possibilities," based on the work of <a href="http://www.tut.com/">Mike Dooley</a>. Lesson #1 - Thoughts become things.
When I stopped mentally abusing myself for focusing on the cashier and how I could have either ignored him (probably wouldn't have worked the way I think it would), or how I could have sent him love and light (that wasn't going to happen), I was about a half block away from the store. And I stopped. Got comfortable in my body for a second and re-assessed the situation, because I was not taking this drama the next block and a half with me. Bing! My bags were perfectly balanced. I had a really heavy hand basket (that's what it's called!)and it was obvious that I was walking somewhere - everyone in NYC is walking somewhere. So without asking me, he had gotten the sturdy paper bags and began to pack my items. Okay, that last sentence was a bit negative. Rewind. My bags were perfectly balanced. He made it so I could carry them - one in each hand - and not be pulled down by one side. That is a skill. That is thoughtfulness. That is him doing his job. So what if he doesn't smile. He doesn't feel like it. Doesn't harm me one bit. My bags were perfectly balanced.
That's how I work to be most days. Balanced (I dropped the perfectly right after having my first kid!). And remembering that "Thoughts become things" is a good way to work toward balance. I am creating my reality. Every. Moment. Don't take my word for it read <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Infinite-Possibilities-Living-Your-Dreams/dp/1582702322/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1382468187&sr=8-1&keywords=infinite+possibilities">"Infinite Possibilities"</a> and if you are in the NYC area, <a href="http://demetrician.com/">take a class with Franne and Bob</a> (or see them next month at the conference in Boston where they will be doing a presentation on their work!. And maybe the next time something is going awry you will realize that your bags are perfectly balanced. And now I will pick up the boys and my cinnamon broom on the way home. Nanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-8547124172033529302012-11-08T12:25:00.000-05:002012-11-08T12:25:06.518-05:0028 Day Ashtanga/Running Challenge - The actual pointSo, yesterday we had a "snow" storm here. Basically it was really heavy wet snow - snow-cone-snow, if you will. I stayed home from ashtanga and planned to practice here. Unfortunately the only place I could find to practice where there weren't other people was down in the basement. And once there I found that ceiling was so low that I could not reach my hands over my head! Ha Ha. We have lived in this apartment for the better part of three years and I never noticed that before.
Tonight is more of the same. Max is home sick, again, and I cannot leave him alone in the apartment so I will not be going to class again today. Life gets in the way of our best laid plans. So I will practice at home tonight. Upstairs with my ashtanga dvd - going as far as I have in class. Then tomorrow when Max is back in school I will start this challenge all over again! I promised myself 6 days in a row for 28 days. And since I have not done that I have to start at the beginning. It may take me months to get to 28 consecutive days (not including Saturdays when there is no mysore class - or moon days - the new and full moons - when the studio is closed).
A lot of this challenge is about getting used to going to yoga six times per week. But more than that it is about keeping my word to myself. I so often let myself get behind and to put myself last. I make promises to myself that I do not keep because somehow something else gets in the way. Most of that truth is evident in things like Max getting sick and bad weather. But it is still a point that I want to stay with - no matter what else is going on - to treat myself well and to put myself first. My kids are older and can, in a lot of ways, fend for themselves. When I am well-rested and I have eaten well and exercised I am a better, happier person. I feel it and the kids notice it. And it is not too late in life to find this path. And to really practice self-care.
So, I will continue to strive for 6 days in a row. I will begin training for the 5K. And I will be posting more about how this challenge is shaping me and changing me. That, afterall, is the point of it.
Be well,
Keisha Nanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-17027864665744149522012-11-07T08:18:00.000-05:002012-11-07T08:18:06.728-05:00The Ashtanga/Run Challenge Day TwoOkay, I am techinically writing this on day 3. I really did not want to go to yoga yesterday. I am not very strong, yet, so I was not looking forward to a few positions which really hurt my arms. Upper ward facing dog into Downward dog is horrible for me. And thinking about that position brought fear into my heart. But I made a commitment to myself to go through this challenge and so I went. And that transition was a lot easier. Was I still filled with pain and dread when it was time to push my hips back into downward dog - yes I was. But for a few moments I could actually feel how it is a restorative pose.
Now for confession time - I did not start to run yesterday. I was too cold. So I decided to start my running program on Saturday. It is the one day when I do not have yoga and it seems like a good day to start.
As I go through this journey I will be posting more information about ashtanga (there is so much there for me to learn - and it dovetails nicely with the Hinduism homework I had for the month of October.).
That is all for today, ummm, yesterday!
Be well,
KeishaNanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-55738965644573243462012-11-05T09:50:00.005-05:002012-11-05T09:50:38.564-05:00The Ashtanga/Run Challenge - Day OneTechnically, as Vivian is fond of saying, my first day of ashtanga was this past Friday night. But I only decided to stick with the 6 days a week ashtanga challenge this past weekend. So here we are. I am pledging to go to Yoga class 6 days a week for the rest of the month for 28 days, because it takes 28 days to change a habit. I can not go on Saturdays as that is a led class. And since I am new to ashtanga and don't know all the poses it would not be useful to go on Saturday.
So let me explain for those of you not familiar with ashtanga - it means 8 limbs and the third limb is asana or a physical practice. There are a series of postures that you learn one at a time from your teacher. The practice is called Mysore after the home of the main guru of ashtanga - Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, also known as Guruji.
I was first introduced to ashtanga 8 years ago. I loved the workout ashtanga gave you and I liked the one on one time you received from your teacher. After doing research and reading and watching movies (I highly recommend Ashtanga NY), I found an ashtanga studio here on the Upper West Side where I live. Literally two blocks away from my home. And what's more they have a Mysore schedule that fits with my life schedule and a student discount on the monthly cost. Perfect. I am a big fan of my teacher, Zoe, and so far I am maintaining my discipline of getting up and going but it has only been two days after all! And I am sure that if I keep to it it will become a regular part of my day.
Now about the running. I registered for my first 5K with the hopes of expanding my running program over the next year. Where it will take me, I am not sure yet, but I am pledging to run 3xs per week using the Couch to 5K program.
So this is the first day of Ashtanga and the first day of running begins tomorrow. Check in if you want to track my progress! And please feel free to post comments or to offer support or advice! I would love to hear from you.
Here are some useful links about ashtanga and running.
<b>Ashtanga</b>
<a href="http://kpjayi.org/">Guruji</a>,
<a href="http://www.ashtangayogaupperwestside.com/index.html">Upper West Side Ashtanga</a>,
Ashtanga NY (available for stream on Netflix)
Running Progam
<a href="http://www.c25k.com/">Couch to 5K</a>,
<a href="http://www.active.com/5k-race/new-york-ny/cupids-chase-5k-run---manhattan-at-10am-2013">Cupid Run</a>
See you all soon!Nanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-1286849704457233512012-08-15T11:42:00.002-05:002012-08-15T11:42:45.153-05:00In the beginning was the Word....When I first started this blog I made a point of writing fairly often. As time went on my posts were more sporadic because I felt I needed to be "deep" and "inspiring" every time I sat down to write. As I have grown as a human and as a writer I realize that there is no need to put off writing until I am in the grasp of some huge idea. Every small idea opens doors and windows.
I was also guilty of creating separate blogs to address different areas of my life: one for food, one for camp Mommy, and one for "deep thoughts," a la Jack Handy, just not as funny. Completely unnecessary. Everything I do, eat, wear and think are part of me. There is no need to separate all of it out into neat little categories. I can't do that in my brain, so what makes me think I can do it on paper - well, virtual paper at least.
On Facebook I have started posting my gratitude journal. I usually do it for 30 days but this time I decided to do it for 35. From the first day I began posting my gratitudes until September 16th - Rosh Hashanah - the Jewish New Year. I began remembering why I love the fall so much. New school year means new beginnings, fresh paper and pens and pencils. Books yet to be explored. Thoughts yet to be written. What comes with the fall is the Autumnal Equinox and the Jewish New Year and Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur). I love these holidays and indeed these traditions because they follow a lunar calendar. A lunar cycle is how my body naturally works. It is my life circadian rhythm, if you will. Since I am a traveler actively working to make sense of my earthly experience, I have studied many different traditions looking for a home. None of them fit me fully, but I am able to take bits and pieces from different traditions, belief systems and even religions, to make my own spiritual ontology.
Recently, I listened to an interview of Krista Tippett interviewing Kate Baestrup, the author of "Here If You Need Me." Here is the synopsis of the book, because it does a much better job of expressing the truth of the book than I can:
<i>"Ten years ago, Kate Braestrup and her husband Drew were enjoying the life they shared together. They had four young children, and Drew, a Maine state trooper, would soon begin training to become a minister as well. Then early one morning Drew left for work and everything changed. On the very roads that he protected every day, an oncoming driver lost control, and Kate lost her husband.
Stunned and grieving, Kate decided to continue her husband's dream and became a minister herself. And in that capacity she found a most unusual mission: serving as the minister on search and rescue missions in the Maine woods, giving comfort to people whose loved ones are missing, and to the wardens who sometimes have to deal with awful outcomes. Whether she is with the parents of a 6-year-old girl who had wandered into the woods, with wardens as they search for a snowmobile rider trapped under the ice, or assisting a man whose sister left an infant seat and a suicide note in her car by the side of the road, Braestrup provides solace, understanding, and spiritual guidance when it's needed most.
HERE IF YOU NEED ME is the story of Kate Braestrup's remarkable journey from grief to faith to happiness. It is dramatic, funny, deeply moving, and simply unforgettable, an uplifting account about finding God through helping others, and the tale of the small miracles that occur every day when life and love are restored."
</i>
This book changed my entire perception of my "calling," (Thank you <a href="http://www.doulamomma.com/www.doulamomma.com/Welcome_%26_Contact.html">Kim Collins</a><a href="http://"></a> for hipping me to this book.)
What do I mean by "calling?" When I was ready to apply for college I had a decision to make, and it was one I didn't share with other people. I was deciding between going to college or going to seminary. I felt very sure that my work on earth was to minister to people and help them soothe their souls. There was just one problem with this idea -I wasn't sure, any longer, if I could embrace any one religion. This is where Kate's book comes it. She writes that she is religious but not spiritual, giving the common phrase: I am not religious, I am spiritual, a quick turn on its head. I disagreed. I am spiritual and I am a pracitioner of many religions and none at all. So this is what made the decision to go to seminary, at the age of 19, very difficult for me. I still held onto the idea of a personal G-d but not a personal religion. So I had to walk that path and find out what I could, in fact, do to minister to people's souls. I became a Religious Studies major. I sang. I entered theatre and practiced creating sacred space. I studied Judaism and loved the prescribed behavior of the Orthodox. I entered Witchcraft and found solace in making my own reality and magic(k) through writing and casting my own spells, in taking control of my happiness and my "luck." I walked a short path into Ifa, the tradition of Yorubaland where I have been repeatedly told, when I was in a consultation with an Ifa priest, that my destiny was to be initiated into the religion (seriously I have been told this three times) and that choice still scares me because it would require that I settle in one place on one tradition.
But during all of this my desire to minister never left me. I knew my job: to make people's lives filled with love and serenity. And to fulfill the prophecy of my loving astrologer: "To teach people the meaning of life," yea, I would have to figure out what that was first.
And what does all of this have to do with words, new beginnings, Kate Baestrup, death and a spritual calling? Let me tell you: I recenty made the decision to attend seminary to become an interfaith minister and to receive ordination. I also made the decision to work as either a hospice or hospital chaplain. My desire to have people experience love and serenity in their life is as strong as my calling to help them achieve love and serenity in their active dying. I have never been afraid of death or the dead - and this was long before I had cancer. I have always found death strangely calming because it was the only thing I knew for sure.
So these thoughts and my desire to live a holistic and not a fragemented life, led me to place everything about me into one blog and this is it. Three days ago I started a gratitude journal and I will share that here. I am in the middle of a rigorous job search and I will post that here. I am still working to live the healthiest life I can and I will post that here. I working at placing love and trust at the forefront of my daily practice, and I will post that here. And I am about to embark on a wonderful, joy-filled part of my life as a seminary student and I will most definitely post that here.
So, walk with me. Find you own inspiration, love and serenity and let's have a conversation. There is so much to share in this life - in my life - and I want to know what is going on in your life. I want to hear your heartbeat. So bring <i>your</i> life, loves, triumphs and even your disappointments here or keep them to yourself if you wish just allow yourself to live every moment fully. That is my wish for all of you. To be in love with yourself and with your life. It is going to be quite a trip.
In peace,
KeishaNanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-80337402989207675932012-05-15T11:35:00.000-05:002012-05-15T11:35:10.406-05:00Time threw a prayer to meI wanted to write about my last post. Most people might assume that once you achieve clarity and can surrender that you have done all of your work. You will live out the rest of your days in Buddha-like bliss. Not true - as a matter of fact as far away from the truth as humanly (and other worldly) possible. Once you get clarity and can see how the various webs of your life are interweaved then you can begin to address whatever the common denominator might be. But like a marriage you have to work at it - all the time. And I will use myself as an example, simply because there is no one else available. I learned something invaluable about myself lately. That despite my opening myself to intimacy I still had a rather pervasive habit. I loved people not readily available to me. They were either physically far away or emotionally distant. And I did this for a few reasons but the most pervasive one was that I was reliving my relationship with my father. He was neither emotionally nor physically available to me. And I didn't pick people who were like my father, I became my father. I was emotionally and physically unavailable to others. A great shield for my very tender heart. Picking people to love who would inevitably take up unncessary real estate in my world. And none of it was their fault. They didn't ask for me to have grandiose ideas about their presence. They didn't expect me to grow to know them only to say to myself - see they are not available to me. Or perhaps they wanted too much from me and rather than take the risk to love I hit the bricks. Now, this is a very convenient way to live but you cannot sustain this for your entire life. You will live a very long, sad and tiring life. Surrender takes work. You have to renew your dedication and relationship with it on a daily basis. Today, I choose to open my heart. Today, I choose to be reasonable about my expectations. Today, I promise not to project my feelings of loss and isolation onto another person. Today....
I wanted to be honest with you and to let you know that surrender is not a one time deal. Neither is enlightenment of any kind, otherwise the Buddha would have stopped meditating that very day under the bodhi tree. But he continued until his earthly death. Then there was nothing left for him to do or fix. So, yes, surrender can be eye-opening and freeing but it must be lovingly attended to each and every day. Your vigilance will never end. Make peace with that and know that it will keep you free and full of possibility.Nanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-37699607111659596542012-03-29T07:55:00.006-05:002012-03-29T11:00:00.033-05:00Intimacy Part III - The Final ChapterOprah and I broke up about ten years ago. And like all my breakups (with the exception of Ilya) once it is over you are dead to me. But I have been spending a lot of time on Twitter lately, trying to convince myself that due to the character limit it is less of a time suck than Facebook! Denial. And Monday night something happened on Twitter. My feed was blowing up about Oprah's Lifeclass. She had Iyanla Vanzant on. I love Iyanla Vanzant having followed her work since the mid-nineties: seeing her speak live at every possible opportunity and finally meeting her in 2007. She was, to me, a conduit to Grace, probably the way Catholics feel about their priests and Jews feel about their rabbis. She taught me so many life lessons. So, per my twitter feed, I found OWN (Oprah's network) among the myriad of channels and set my DVR to record the second showing of Iyanla and Oprah.<br /><br />Iyanla said a lot of things, most of which I could say with her after watching her two seasons on Oprah, her short-lived television talk show, and reading her work. Words of wisdom like: "When you see crazy coming,cross the street!" and my favorite:<br />"Tell the truth and shame the devil." Most of all she always told people she loved them and genuinely meant it. And she referred to people as "Beloved. "My name means <br />"Beloved,"in Swahili. She then <strong><em>said</em></strong> something revolutionary (at least in my head). She said that we need to stop telling our "Story." The story of our lives. What happened to us. How we have been wronged. Who did what, when. And I realized - had an epiphany: (I will not call it an a-ha moment as Oprah and I are still on the outs!)I constantly tell my story.<br /><br />My story is made of so many components and moving parts. Things that I keep talking about over and over. Thinking that re-hashing them will bring me closure. That's from years of therapy. But those things usually don't heal. They keep me stuck in my story. I get it: when you are told to surerender! We constantly make excuses about how difficult it is to surrender. It's because we don't want to let go of our story. Who would we be without our pain and our past? Well, we might be free people. In that moment I surrendered. All the guilt and the pain and the illness and the wrong I had done and that had been done to me. I decided to tell a different story. One that has me experiencing love and success and freedom - in this very moment.<br /><br />It also <strong><em>did</em></strong> something revolutionary: it opened me to the possibility of intimacy. Intimacy is redefined for me. It is releasing your guard to invite people in. It is also the courage to let things go. I have been doing a great deal of excising people from my life lately. People can be thieves of my goodness, my compassion, my joy. All because I allow them to stay, afraid of hurting their feelings. But it hurts my feelings and it hurts me to be around people who "peck at you till there is nothing left of you," (Maya Angelou). And it also remindes me of another brilliant thing that Maya Angelou said, which is, "when people show you who they are, believe them." I can only change myself. Intimacy becomes something I do for myself. I learn to know and care for myself and then I can see the light in others. And more importantly I can open myself to others, without fear. What is the worse thing that can happen? They don't want to be around me. Fair enough, time saved.<br /><br />After many years I finally get the message on how to be closer to other people. It is simply to trust myself and my love of self that makes intimacy possible. Hearing another's heartbeat. Some hearts will beat in time with yours and others will not. And either way it is okay. Accepting it without judgement is the answer. Intimacy is not being able to share the deepest moments of your life with someone else. I have friends with whom I share and have shared the deepest parts of me, and our relationships are anything but intimate. And there are people I have just met with whom I connect and whose heartbeat is in time with my own.<br /><br />I get it now. And it is so much better than before. And so much more fulfilling.Nanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-20783028001780683032012-01-09T13:00:00.003-05:002012-01-09T13:23:49.868-05:00It's Not Always About MeHave you had the experience where someone you know or care about is going through a crisis of some sort and it reminds you of a similar crisis of your own? It brings up past hurts and challenges. And you don't want to put your situation on the other person, but you need to deal with all the crap that is coming up your drainpipe.<br />That is why I am so glad I have a blog today. I have crap galore coming out of my drainpipe. <br /><br />A friend is battling cancer. My immediate reaction is to give advice and to help with their process of getting through this horror. Mostly the way no one did for me. But I am realizing that much like being pregnant and having had the baby - no one can tell you what the other side of the bath of fire will be like. You have to walk the path yourself to get to the other side. I know this and I am doing my best to keep my freakin' mouth shut. It's hard. So much stuff has come up in me regarding my own battle with cancer. So much I never talked about. So much I ignored because I needed to get on with life. And so much I felt was old hat now that it has been almost four years since the surgery.<br /><br />But I don't feel whole yet. I have daily, constant reminders of all that cancer took from me. And, don't get me wrong I am glad it didn't kill me (most days) but when I remember who I was before cancer there are some things I liked about myself that I will never have again and with which I am having a hard time being okay. <br /><br />1. The first are my scars. I wore them as battle scars for years, to show what I had been through and how I had triumphed over that evil tumor that no chemotherapy could abate. I had looked death in the eye and it blinked first. But now I look at my scars as a story that I have to explain over and over again should I ever wear anything that isn't a turtleneck. <br /><br />2. My voice. Someone said to me the other day - "Wow, Keisha you always have a cold." Well, no I don't always have a cold. My voice cannot get above a whisper by the end of the day. When on the playground I cannot call my children because they can't hear me. And G-d forbid they were in any danger, I would have to grab the nearest adult to yell at them and get them out of the way. My voice gives out from time to time. And I think about getting back in front of a class and teaching again and I am overcome with tears. My voice was one of the best things about me. Gone.<br /><br />3. My epiglottis, I still have to take my time drinking or eating lest any of it end up in my lungs - which is really freaking painful!<br /><br />4. The missing lung is doing its own thing and as I exercise more, she is getting stronger and stronger. And for this I am completely grateful.<br /><br />5. Anemia. A new edition to the list of side effects. I am cold all the time no matter what I am wearing. All I want to do all day is sleep because I am so exhausted even after a good night's - or at least long night's sleep. And there is not much they can do about it because the medicines cause more trouble than they are worth.<br /><br />Now that I have enumerated all the things that I hate about being post-cancer. I don't know how to be a good friend to someone going through it in real time. I can say things are going to get better. But they might not. Fight the good fight, when they are exhausted and just want all of this to be over. It will get better, but what if it doesnt? And do I really believe that? Sometimes just being alive after enduring cancer is not enough. Okay, greedy me, but it's not enough. And walking around saying I am just glad to be alive is a bunch of Pollyanna bullshit. I want my life back. I want my family together. I don't want to be getting a divorce (but I don't want to stay together either). I want my house back with the energy to finally fix it up. I want my kids to still be able to walk down the street to school and for my Zachary to have spent another year at Playhouse. I want, I want, I want. But I don't get to have. And I have to accept that. Accept the life that I have right now in this moment. When I don't really want to. I am sick of all that cancer took from me. And not grateful for anything she left behind. But sometimes its not always about me.Nanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-53254456140037451042011-11-09T17:26:00.005-05:002011-11-09T17:38:39.228-05:00My body in rebellionMy body hates me. Which is a weird statement to make because what am I outside of my body. Well, I guess that part that recognizes that my body hates me. She doesn't like anything I feed her - the junk and the good. She doesn't like to sleep straight through the night. She can never be seated for longer than 3-5 minute stretches. She feels like worms or ants are marching beneath her skin. She is constantly hot and then cold and then hot again. And she cries at the drop of an emotionally well-placed hurt animal or emaciated child. She is in a word - completely irrational. And in another word - perimenopausal. That's right, folks. I am going through the pre-menopause stages. I am 40. Technically I should not be experiencing this for another ten years. And if we are working purely off my family history for another 5-8. My OB/GYN thinks I am going through all of this slightly early because of the chemotherapy and radiation I went through with the cancer. And because the type of couture cancer I had was hormone based. Ah. I am not one who laments what a thing is called when I in fact have that thing. I am more the type who gets happy that whatever it is that is happening with me has a name. If you can name it you can research it and you can deal with it. Or so I tell myself.<br /><br />Presently there is not much I can do other than get educated on what is happening with my body. Pay attention to the signs my body is giving off and read as much as I possibly can so I am informed and can make healthy choices. I am not interested in hormone replacement especially since such treatments leave me vulnerable to a secondary cancer. But besides that I don't particularly want to take synthetic things to deal with an organic ocurrence. Just happy, at this point, to know that I am not getting crazier than I already was, that there is something real going on. The hot flashes are NOT a figment of my imagination.<br /><br />And so here it is folks, the next evolution. So hang out here and at keisha-eats if you want to see how I handle this next part of my constantly changing existence. Food will definitely be my medicine now. I am having some interesting responses because I am also diagnosed with anemia based primarily on my recent diet choices. So it will be time to warm up the raw foods so I stay warm and to boost the iron (not in the form of supplements those give me constipation!). <br /><br />I know there are those of you out there going through this same thing. Don't stand in the shadows. Don't hide the truth. Come on out with me and exclaim loudly, I am over 40 and my body is feeling it!!!Nanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-39515758987848065512011-10-12T10:03:00.003-05:002011-10-12T10:45:41.874-05:00English, yea I can write it.I was a good writer. Yesterday. Today I suck. And using "Yesterday" is a sentence fragment. Did you know that? Even if it completely communicates my thoughts, it is not allowed in scholarly writing. Shit. Oops. Of course you know that it is a sentence fragment. The rules I have been using for writing (or not using) were by choice. I thought I knew the rules so then I would know how to break them. But it I don't and the way I write is not good enough for scholarly writing.
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<br />I had this vision of revolutionizing the world of scholarly writing. I was going to write the way I spoke. Present complex ideas and theories in an uncomplicated language of the people. The proletariat. But that is not the case with scholarly writing. You will be laughed at by your peers and you will not be taken seriously in well-read circles. Your writing will not be appropriately obtuse (ding ding SAT word!). And who in their right mind from the non-academic community would want to read a paper comparing and contrasting Elizabeth Alexander's poem <em>Absence</em> to August Wilson's play <em>Gem of the Ocean</em>? You would need to be familiar with the poem and the play to get the paper. So, I am finally starting to get why academic, nay, scholarly work is written in such complicated language because non-academic people are not going to read it!
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<br />I had a great professor in high school (I refer to her as "Professor" because she had a PhD in Medieval literature from Princeton. She deserved that title even though I called her K.P., in class!), she taught Dante's <em>Divine Comedy</em></em, Chaucers's <em>Handmaids Tale</em> and <em>The Bible</em>. All in one semester. She made me love Dante. Her incredibly descriptive accounts of what happened in hell made it accesible to all of us with only a sophomore high school English under our belts; even those of us who had attended rigorous elementary and middle schools.(now that was a bad sentence!). I wanted to write the way she spoke. To inspire people to read the <em>Divine Comedy</em>. To be taken in by the stories of lying, sexual misconduct and patricide as well as killing any neighbors who came by your house! Wow! That book would be a best seller. And then I read her book on <em>The <em>Divine Comedy</em> and I fell asleep while reading it. It was her dissertation from Princeton. Dry. I wanted to throw pitchers of water on it. Or better yet just put it in the tub and let water consume it.
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<br />How could it be that this vibrant and amazing teacher could write something so boring? It didn't make sense to me. Not until years later when I had to write my college thesis. One member of my committee had also been my English Professor. She taught Dante, Chaucer and Shakespeare. I loved the way she taught and as a matter of fact she got her PhD from Princeton the same year K.P. did. They were friends. And my college professor was so incredibly vibrant in class. She described Chaucer with such passion that you wanted to perfect middle English! Then I made a huge mistake. I read <em>her</em> dissertation. Again, nod'sville. How was this possible?! She made me want to run away with Virgil! And to adore Dante. To this day <em>The Divine Comedy </em>is one of my favorite collections of books and <em>The Inferno</em> in the top three of my favorite books. However, this professor who had encouraged me to write the way I spoke told me that I missed <em>summa cum laude </em>on my thesis because I had "dropped the ball" on the use of language. It wasn't scholarly enough. The entire faculty was not going to stand up and then genuflect when I walked in at graduation (which is what they did with <em>summa cum laude graduates</em>. Okay not the genuflect part). And I wasn't going to get a nifty medal. Damn, Damn Damn! How did I know there was a difference in how I spoke and how I wrote?
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<br />Then I got it. There is a huge difference between scholarly writing, how one teaches, and how one writes for non-academic audiences. Scholarly writers don't really give a damn if the proletariat can understand their writing. It wasn't written for them. It was written for the academic community. And they expect, nay, demand that the writing be as complicated as possible so it shows how learned you are. I get it. And I also get that that last part wasn't fair to academics.
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<br />And now I have to learn how to write like an academic if I want my work to be taken seriously in certain circles. Ahh, am I up to learning those rules now, at my age. Well, it seems I have no choice if I am to be a scholar. There is a silver lining, however, learning to write academically does not mean I cannot also write for the masses. I can do both. Learning the rules of scholarly writing means I can break them in my blogs and other commercial venues. I can use it in my speech when I teach (oh, rhymn that is a no no!). And I can make things vibrant and inspiring for my students. Don't worry I will not bore you with my scholarly writings here. I will save that for another audience.
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<br />Be well,
<br />KNanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-3113489787975736442011-10-04T07:23:00.006-05:002011-10-04T08:01:45.990-05:00What did you say?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGXOCUAk-KuNDxYZJc-cNj-uMpCiXpSWyIRVJA_efvCm259A_9vWZHiEP3SF3ksOdXvPLyOcfH3SfpBDhtS1eOslHajDhHfXHKKze1sPjgkj78ApQOblVd9aIZiWw9RtABvRZD10gM7JFk/s1600/onchildren.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGXOCUAk-KuNDxYZJc-cNj-uMpCiXpSWyIRVJA_efvCm259A_9vWZHiEP3SF3ksOdXvPLyOcfH3SfpBDhtS1eOslHajDhHfXHKKze1sPjgkj78ApQOblVd9aIZiWw9RtABvRZD10gM7JFk/s400/onchildren.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659617934938538706" /></a><br />This post is primarily for those of you who have children. And those of you who do not, go ahead and post a response if you have any thoughts. RANT WARNING! So those of you not in the mood for that kind of thing can just skip this post. I am sure I will be back soon with something else!<br /><br />Girls. What is it about being a mother and raising a girl that is so difficult? The boys are challenging, yes they are. But they are challenging in a different way. They want to kill each other most days and work that out through jumping on each other and chasing each other around the house wielding toys as potential weapons! This I can handle. This I know how to deal with. But girls.<br /><br />I have to be honest, I am not the best of mothers when it comes to dealing with my daughter. There is something about the mother/daughter relationship that is different, easy to figure out on the surface but once you dig deeper, so hard to manage and to contain your frustration. I remember having the same beef with my mother. She just didn't understand. She wasn't listening to me. She is mean and quite frankly not in touch with what I am going through. Yea, I was one of those girls. And so I try to remember what my frustrations were as a daughter and use that to interact with my daughter, and you know what: It's not working!<br /><br />Some of this is probably because this type of interaction is being interpreted by someone young, emotional and confused. We all were. And part of it is that I see in her every little thing that annoys me about myself. A mirror of my shortcomings. And that is an uncomfortable place to be. It hits every nerve in my body and I see myself outside myself acting like a crazy person. Unable to get a hold of my emotions. But the thing that drives me the most crazy is the mouth.<br /><br />Talking back, mumbling under your breath, telling me - outloud - that I am mean and the ever popular: "Just forget it!" Well I can't just forget it. I was just slandered. I was just told that I didn't say something when I KNOW I did. I was being called a liar. And oh, my potentially calm mother instincts turn into a crazy, screaming banshee. Yes, I do scream. I try not to but it's almost as if I am outside of my body looking down at this out of control person and I am yelling at HER to stop screaming but she is screaming so loudly she can't hear me. It is that disconcerting and upsetting to me.<br /><br />And I can hear all of you now, "It's not about you, Keisha!" And I know this. I know this. And I cannot get a grip sometimes. Believe me I am better than I used to be. I am better than the post I wrote a year or so ago. But I am not better enough. I have done the deep breathing and the time out for myself. I have counted as high as 100 to regain my composure. And when I am tired and frustrated, I cannot manage to go that place of serenity. To my "Woooo Saaaa" place. <br /><br />There is no need to placate me or tell me that it is part of being a mother because I get all that. And I really want to do some kind of socialogical study on why it is that mothers and daughters are like this. I mean really understand it. It feels like something we can overcome, that we can break the cycle. Much like when your ancestors were alcoholics and so you decide to not drink. There is an emotional and physical response that maybe we can analyze and end, right? Oh please tell me that there is. And some women have perfectly healthy relationships with their mothers. I have a much better one with my mom now than I ever did and part of that was having my own children and learning how difficult it is to raise little people. <br /><br />And I love my daughter. I adore her and think she is the coolest kid ever. I think she is talented beyond measure, creative, her own person and compassionate. And I don't like her very much. And when the two of us are in the same room for too long it turns into a battle. Like this morning when I told her she could not wear leggings with a ton of holes in them to school. You would think I was Joan Crawford in "Mommy Dearest!" The crying and the wailing. The talking back - which is really what set me off. So that my constant phrase with her is: "What did you say?"<br /><br />There is a perceived sense of defiance on her part, a disrespect and an echo of me at 10, 11, 12. It's got to be in the DNA and its got to be rooted out. So, this is my dilemna this morning. And sitting down and writing this post has helped me calm down and think of all of this differently. And in the moment that clarity is so hard to find. And this is the nature of raising girls, some say. But I would like to defy nature.<br /><br />My latest mantra - On Children ~ Kahlil Gibran<br />(<a href="http://youtu.be/HCVvoL_F5gA">performed by Sweet Honey in the Rock</a>)<br />Your children<br />Are not your children<br />They are the sons and the daughters of life's longing for itself<br />They come through you but they are not from you<br />And though they are with you they belong, not to you.<br /><br />You can give them your love but not your thoughts<br />They have their own thoughts<br />You can house their bodies but not their souls<br />For their souls dwell in a place of tomorrow, which you cannot visit<br />Not even in your dreams<br />You can strive to be like them but you cannot make them just like you...<br /><br />Be well.Nanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-61763479985303879022011-09-14T08:09:00.002-05:002011-09-14T08:14:22.594-05:00Wanting MemoriesHow can you miss something you never had? I think it's very easy to mourn both that which you have lost and that which you wish you had to lose.<br /><br /><a href="http://youtu.be/vW2TpW4gCt8"><em>Wanting Memories</em></a><br /><br />I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me<br />To see the beauty in the world<br />Through my own eyes<br />I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me<br />To see the beauty in the world<br />Through my own eyes<br /><br />You used to rock me in the cradle of your arms<br />You said you'd hold me til the pains of life were gone<br />You said you'd comfort me in times like these<br />and now I need you<br />Now I need you<br />And you are gone<br /><br />I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me<br />To see the beauty in the world<br />Through my own eyes<br />Since you've gone and left me<br />There's been so little beauty<br />But I know I saw it clearly through your eyes<br /><br />Now the world outside is such a cold and bitter place<br />Here inside I have few things that will console<br />And when I try to hear your voice above the storms of life<br />Then I remember<br />all the things that I was told<br /><br />I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me<br />To see the beauty in the world<br />Through my own eyes<br />I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me<br />To see the beauty in the world<br />Through my own eyes<br /><br />I think on the things that made me feel so wonderful when I was young<br />I think on the things that made me laugh<br />made me dance<br />made me sing<br />I think on the things that made me grow into a being full of pride<br />I think on these things<br />For they are true<br /><br />I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me<br />To see the beauty in the world<br />Through my own eyes<br />I thought that you were gone<br />But now I know you're with me<br />You are the voice that whispers all I need to hear<br /><br />I know a please, a thank you, and a smile will take me far<br />I know that I am you and you are me and we are one<br />I know that who I am is numbered in each grain of sand<br />I know that I've been blessed<br />Again<br />and over again<br /><br />I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me<br />To see the beauty in the world<br />Through my own eyes<br />I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me<br />To see the beauty in the world<br />Through my own eyesNanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-6126019282639206902011-09-07T08:59:00.003-05:002011-09-07T09:02:22.732-05:00Violence of Articulation - Living in FearOne of my favorite directors is Anne Bogart, even though I have never seen anything she has directed. I did, however; have the incredible joy of spending time with her in graduate school and even being blessed enough to cook for her. She ranks up there with Sweet Honey in the Rock in terms of awe and Anna Deavere Smith in terms of my girl-crushes.<br />My first year of graduate school she came to do a workshop with the playwrights and the directors were lucky enough to get a couple of hours of her time, which is due completely to my friend Wonder woman! I sat there with her on my right and she asked why we were here and what we wanted to do with our work once we left. But before that she gave me one of the best life lessons I have ever had: "Pay attention." So simple. So fucking hard. That is what I took from that time with her. Pay attention, which makes so much sense given especially that her background is in Buddhism, mostly Zen. Another lesson in mindfulness. For years I applied that directive just to directing but of course began to see that it was a wider command than just my artistic life.<br />Wonder Woman took another phrase from our time with Anne: "the violence of articulation." Kali herself. To create you must destroy. To speak is to put energy forth into the universe, be careful what you place out there. That phrase has lately become my touchstone, probably because I get the "pay attention" one even if I don't always follow it. But the last few weeks since the riots in England have caused me to re-think how powerful my words can be.<br />A really good friend suffered a horrible loss and I, in turn, suffered along with him. His good friend lost both of his children to mob violence. The son was dragged from a car and beaten within an inch of his life. He was put on life support which proved to be the only thing keeping him alive and so they turned it off. He was 16. His sister survived the attach but had been brutally beaten, raped and left for dead. She killed herself the day after her brother's funeral. Parents buried both of their children.<br />Before I knew the depth of this story I had taken the academic, well-read position. And I had also taken the position of someone caught up in the America myopia. Because I see everything that involves riots through a racial prism that is the same monocle I was looking at the riots in England with. I had seen a few liberal posts on CNN blaming the austerity laws and saying that this was bound to happen given the oppression of the poor people in the affected neighborhoods. And I saw the U.S. and racial profiling and Reginald Denney, and Larry Bird, and that bitch of a sales associate who followed me around the upsale clothing store, and the women who asked me how long I had been taking care of these kids and how much do I charge. Everything through the lens of racism. So after sending my friend, who is not American or British, a link from a public advocate in England saying how he could completely understand what happened and that the government should understand too, my friend and I got into a heated series of exchanges. HEATED.<br />I was academically dissecting this situation, it's the nature of oppression. Breaking down the language being used by US media - not taking into account that the UK was using completely different language. When my friend wrote back to me with the account of his friend's losses. He ended the paragraph with - "it seems as though you care more about how language is used to describe the situation than you do about the people involved in the situation." Yea, I deserved that. And I immediately began to research this event from every news outlet that was not American or created for Americans. Wow, guess what I saw? People were described by their behavior not by their racial make up. The pictures connected with the riots contained both black, white, Asian and Indian people. They photos were not skewed to make it seems like only one race of people were responsible. The issue was class not race. Back at Lawrence in 1994, Tim Troy repeatedly said that future mass violence would be socio-economic and not race based. It is unfortunate that socio-economics and race are so inexplicably intertwined.<br />I write this with lack of clarity and with caution as I know that at least 1/2 of the people who read this blog are from academic backgrounds! And I am trying to work out some of the kinks in my logic before I write this for Nanda Mama. But what I really want to say is that I am embarrassed. Embarrassed by my lack of vision. By my completely inaccurate and biased statements. Disgusted that these events took place. Overwhelmed by knowing the details and feeling the pain of someone affected. Despondent about the future of humans. While I continually work at having more love for myself I have noticed a shrinking of my heart in relation to other people. I cannot forgive them their trespasses. And I fight to maintain my internal humanity toward "those people," and I feel as though I am losing the fight most days. I have become more and more conservative as I age. I have become less accepting and more of - just get up off your ass and fix it your life. Wait, isn't that what I have been saying to myself forever?!<br />The other night in the midst of a panic attack I put on Pema Chodron and right where my ipod picked it up was Pema discussing anxiety. Saying that her teacher Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche had taught on fear and facing it and leaping into it. How he took things that were painful and seemed useless to us and turned them into positive teaching tools. Things like fear and boredom. That when we are afraid or feel the loss of solid ground we scramble to create ground. And in our process we may lash out or blame or become angry with others. And I had been doing a bit of that lately. So, it helps me to see that what I say or write has consequences. That if I am to really do the work of opening up myself and my heart then I cannot afford to close myself off to the basic humanness of everyone - but that does not mean forgiving every misdeed. Nor does it mean ignoring when someone has clearly lost their sense of humanness. Beating a 16 year old to death and then raping his sister - not a forgivable act. Not a human act. Not even the act of the beast. This is something darker and far deeper. And I will not accept, tolerate or forgive. Because the act was not done directly to me but close enough that I cannot ignore it. And it reminds me that in every time someone is hurt, abused or injured it is an affront to my humanness. One death is a tragedy, several a statistic? Time to wrap my head around the statistics.Nanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-47304399671235336732011-07-04T08:51:00.005-05:002011-07-04T20:15:59.650-05:00Happy Birthday To Me - And a Challenge to You!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHZ9rCqdnbQbd3zfJGk-ro8ojM-9KKWJ3maw31lNZ9XhApq5CQNeUuvrhpFuaxiaO44IhtxY4t7fzl1yXGUpD0WMUJu3tQCZQ661Hjp-Ghr6HbW0wXzIwtLD-bjcKzu_Ur8ImYhMX945Ue/s1600/birthday.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 201px; height: 251px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHZ9rCqdnbQbd3zfJGk-ro8ojM-9KKWJ3maw31lNZ9XhApq5CQNeUuvrhpFuaxiaO44IhtxY4t7fzl1yXGUpD0WMUJu3tQCZQ661Hjp-Ghr6HbW0wXzIwtLD-bjcKzu_Ur8ImYhMX945Ue/s400/birthday.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625498608899046434" /></a><br /><br />I will be 40 this month and I am so excited!!! I've been talking about it forever. I feel like I have lived half my life already but I feel a shift happening. It is happening in the earth right beneath my feet. It's happening in my mind taking me to places and showing me things that I didn't know existed. And it's happening in my heart allowing me to love people and things I never thought possible. But mostly allowing me to forgive moments and events that I have held on to for far too long. And the most important part is that it has allowed me to forgive myself - or at least get on the road to forgiving myself. All the times when I felt I wasn't enough. All of the times I didn't show up for myself. All of the times I didn't live up to my "potential." What a horrible word "potential" it should be banned from the English language. We are not potential. Every moment of our lives we make decisions, we love, we live - and if we stopped thinking of ourselves as beings in search or on the march for our potential then we would be happy right where we are. We have nothing to get, nothing to reach for. We are perfect right here. I have tried to reach my potential ever since some misguided high school teacher wrote in a college recommendation that I had lots of it. Well, whatever he thought was my potential and what I thought was my potential were probably not the same polar opposites actually. And I probably exceeded his expectations but fell desperately short of my own. So I am taking that word out of my vocabulary and definitely not using it with my own kids. It sets up impossible goals even if you are only slightly damaged, meaning you have just a tiny bit of work to do on yourself. But when you feel you are riddled with holes that need to be filled - potential can become your arch-nemesis.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Potential</span> is defined as: : <span style="font-weight:bold;">existing in possibility : capable of development into actuality <potential benefits> </span>. Capable of development into actuality? Then what the hell are you right now? See where I am going with this? We are capable of becoming something. We are already bright, beautiful, full right here. Exist in this moment not in one that hasn't arrived yet. Just like my daughter always says - tomorrow never comes. It's the same way with potential.<br /><br />But this is not what I wanted this post to be about. I want it to be about celebrating this month with me. And helping move forward through the next 40 years. So I am asking for a HUGE present from each of you. It is a challenge that may very well take you all month to complete but I am hoping that you will do it.<br />This is what I wrote as a Facebook status but it wouldn't post -- too long! I have been known to be verbose!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Today is the first of July! On the last day of this month I will be 40 years old! So I feel allowed to ask a favor of those who will do it. Send me 40 pieces of knowledge. They can be lessons you learned the hard way, or the easy way or the love way. They can be funny things you think I should know or how to heal a broken heart or make perfect scrambled eggs! What do you know? Share it with me. Each of you give me 40 gifts whether you know me well or not. At the end of the month I am going to publish it into a little book to keep with me and help get me through the next 40 years! Write me at facebook, here or @ keishakogan@gmail.com! You have all month, and I will remind you!<br /></span><br /><br />I am going to do the same thing. Write 40 pieces of knowledge. 40 things I "know for sure," to quote the guru Oprah (do you realize she is a guru - crazy!). Please do it - it's not just a gift to me but hopefully a gift to you as well! And if you know someone who knows me who doesn't read this blog or isn't on FB - send this to them. I want a HUGE book actually by the end of the month - truth be told.<br /><br />I love each of you fiercely!<br /><br />KeishaNanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-78715981643526339722011-06-27T16:24:00.007-05:002011-06-27T17:34:07.014-05:00Eat, Pray, Love and Navel GazingOkay, I am a bit behind. I just saw the movie after reading the book months after it came out. I could have skipped the Italy part of the movie but was completely in love with the India - pray section. Partly because a secret desire of mine is to go to India, study with a guru and be silent and serene for weeks. But serenity begins within. So, I really don't have to go anywhere for that. What the movie did do for me, that the book didn't as much, was bring to clarity Elizabeth Gilbert's excessive navel-gazing and privilege. A successful career, money in the bank, no children and now no husband. She had no attachment to anything that walked on this earth so she could go and "find" herself. Which has always been the job of priviledged, mostly white, people. But then I had a thought: I come from some of the strongest stock of people in the history of this universe, anyway. Black people could have gone the way of the dinosaur, but we didn't. We adapted and survived and each generation works to improve upon the wonder of those who came before, well at least some of us do, and those of us who can work like hell to help those who can't yet. So I don't need to go anywhere to find myself. I am right here. <br /><br />So, I will feed myself in my own kitchen. Pray on my own floor. And find love in my bathroom mirror. Let's start with the eating part. And I know some of you are sick to death of the myriad of blogs I have. Impossible to keep up with all the stuff going on in my life. I know. Better living through chemistry helps. And I tend to lock onto an idea and then see another bright and shiny thing and lock on to that. No longer. I have my kids this summer because we cannot afford to send them to camp in this expensive city, so I have picked up the <a href="http://recessioncamp.blogspot.com/">recession camp blog.</a> This blog, <span style="font-weight:bold;">Nanda Mama</span> will always be home base for me to come back and reflect and hopefully start a dialogue on some of the things that make me go --- hmmmm. But yes I am adding another blog to the list and it is entitled quite simply - Keisha-Eats. For years I have dabbled in healthy eating even before I went to IIN - Institute for Integrative Nutrition. Finding my health, healing my gut, soothing my soul, has been an eternal struggle. So I made the decision to give myself a couple of gifts this year. Nothing strenuous. Nothing outrageous and barely possible. And nothing expensive. I am going raw vegan, as best I can, for the summer. Cancer kicked my ass - no sense in lying about that. And even though I ended treatment three years ago this coming July, I am just now dealing with the fallout, the emotions, and the anger of having had to go through that particular life lesson. And the fog is finally starting to lift. I am a life learner. And also someone who feels that she has quite a few books in her to write. But still trying to figure out what it is I want to write about. What do I want to say? So many things. There are so many things I am interested in that I am hoping this time - this year - I am giving myself to center and come home to myself will clarify some things. So stick here if you want to hear my daily, weekly, monthly musings on life and whatever other piece of lint I pick out of my navel. Come to recession camp if you want to see how I get all four of us through the summer with nothing more than a metrocard. Or come on over to my newest venture Keisha-Eats, which will make it's premiere soon. Loving you all fiercely!<br /><br />Be wellNanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-82119508206036486562011-06-23T15:11:00.002-05:002011-06-23T15:35:30.466-05:00Ask and you shall receive....not always<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHAgKeo1kzi7zkZQznJZeqBxniu6y2RLUEZbLBUhrdXzZLJeqICSpa9Sxurah7VICFaMZvfIGrqtgtuxD20T0uNGicOZAyEg9S5fw_lk-gpxcN0j7p4_3qZiR4vFc7t4iLmNRS4hoz3Afl/s1600/isCAIZ54Q0.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 128px; height: 102px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHAgKeo1kzi7zkZQznJZeqBxniu6y2RLUEZbLBUhrdXzZLJeqICSpa9Sxurah7VICFaMZvfIGrqtgtuxD20T0uNGicOZAyEg9S5fw_lk-gpxcN0j7p4_3qZiR4vFc7t4iLmNRS4hoz3Afl/s400/isCAIZ54Q0.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621516420916988066" /></a><br /><br /><br />This post is specifically for Gen X-ers. If you were born before or after this moniker's designation keep it moving. Remember women when we were coming of age we were instructed to speak up - to ask for what we needed and wanted? That wasn't a complete statement. What should have come after that was "and be prepared for the person to give it or not." I think I missed that part of the conversation. So for the longest time I thought that when I asked someone for something because I had spoken up and used my voice that they were going to give it to me. But it is much more complicated than that. And today I had one of those moments when a lesson is not just an epiphany but it has become part of your personal ontology - it has been ingrained into your belief system.<br /><br />I have every right to ask others for what I need and what I want. And they also have every right to say they cannot or worse yet, will not give it. But then there is a third part to this conversation - I then have the choice of accepting their answer and them as someone I want to keep in my life or let go of. HA!!! That lesson took years for me to get. <br /><br />Each person is unique and has their own issues and we get to decide if we love them enough to put up with those issues. Love them, not like them or think they're cool, but love them enough. I have a male friend who is not the person I go to when I am in emotional crisis. He is horrible at being supportive and making me feel better. But in one specific instance I needed his support and I asked him to meet me as best he could. He couldn't do it. Big choice to make for me. After I assessed why I needed them to be there for me in a way they never had before, I decided that yes, I can keep them in my life because I love all the other ways they show up for me. And I knew - going in that he wasn't going to be able to fully show up for me - but he was the only person I could ask at that moment. And secretly I wanted to see if he could bend, even just a little. He can't. I tested him and now I know for sure. And he is still on the island.<br /><br />There have been people that I have used this test with as a way to get rid of them. I ask them for something I need, they can't give it and they get voted off. It sounds harsh and cruel but it really is an important test for me. It allows me to see if I am keeping people around who feed and nourish me or if I am keeping them just because they have been there so long and they are comfortable. If I want comfort I'll buy uggs. If I want support I will keep friends who can give it. You know how the clutter gurus always say only keep things in your house that you absolutely love and give the other stuff away to someone else who could love it? That is what I am doing with the people in my life. Only keeping the ones I truly love - their light and dark sides. Their shadows and their brilliance. And I am urging you to do the same. Are their relationships that no longer serve you? Do you absolutely love them? Then let them go. And bless them and leave them to find someone who can truly appreciate their particular beauty. <br /><br />I am so glad that this lesson no longer comes in snippets of light but that it is firmly a part of my world now. No need to be mean, just release. I thank Grace for this latest piece of wisdom. <br /><br />Amen.<br /><br />May cool winds fan your skirts<br />Keisha Nanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-21377495463862918172011-05-02T11:03:00.002-05:002011-05-02T11:26:58.700-05:00Hotel CaliforniaThat song scares the crap out of me. Which is one of the reasons I have it on my playlist but with the prophet singing it. When I was little I would hide whenever I heard it. I felt as though demons were coming out of the song and coming to get me. As I got older I figured out that the song was about drug addiction. It made perfect sense then. My father was an addict as were ALL his friends, which is not unusual. I remember watching them all go in and out of recovery. And when most of them came out for good they had AIDS, thanks 80's. From 1985-1991, I was to attend more funerals than probably I would attend in my entire left. Friends just kept leaving. But there wasn't the same kind of love and recognition for these friends outside of their little family. The most sympathy went to hemophiliacs or those unfortunate to get tainted blood during a blood transfusion. The next were gay people or women who caught it from a gay man on the down low. Honestly gay men did not get a lot of support outside their community either. But if felt like the bottom of the barrel were those who had drug addictions. These people were just deviants. And they somehow deserved to suffer and to die.<br />I remember working as a candy striper at Mount Vernon hospital during the 80's. I worked on the oncology and geriatrics floor. And I remember one patient clearly who was on the geriatric floor. He had all kinds of health signage on his door. Where a face mask, wear latex gloves, wear full frontal paper gear, wear feet protectors. This was obviously before the hazmat suit because I am sure I would be decked out in that too, just to bring this man his lunch! Turns out he was a Catholic priest all of 40 years old. On the geriatric floor because he had AIDS. Didn't ask him how he got it - which was usually the first question when you told someone, or most likely it was found out, that you had AIDS. I didn't care. I wanted to know if anyone came to see him. No one. His parishonors were told that he had been transferred. The other priests didn't come to visit him or to pray for him. I visited him every day I worked there. And I would read to him (funnily enough not from the Bible). He would ask me about school and my family and what I did for fun. And I would ask him why he chose to be a priest. And why no one came to visit him. And then one day I came to see him carrying a copy of Plato's Republic, because I felt he should have to sit through it too since I was reading it for the third time at this point. And he was gone. The bed had been stripped. All the warning labels had been removed and the room smelled like that disgusting hospital sanitizer and bleach. I knew where he was. So, I asked the head nurse on the floor when his funeral was and she said she didn't know if he was having one. I checked the paper for his obituary - nothing. I went down to the morgue and asked what mortuary he had been sent to. And they told me he would be not be embalmed because few funeral directors would agree to do that. And they didn't know where he was buried he was picked up by the county. No mass. No last rights. No respect. I had a hard time with G-d after that but an even harder time with His emissaries. How could a person's life be given so little value? Back to Hotel California.<br />That song continues to haunt me because I think of addiction and how prevalent it is - and how easy it would be for me to become one - after all I have strong genes in that area. And to never escape. To constantly be at the mercy of a part of your brain that needs and you can only overcome the need through will. And I think about that last line - "You can check out any time you want but you can never leave." This idea of addiction is part of my previous post about mental illness. There is a certain cruelty to being trapped by your mind or your chemical make-up or your genetic make-up. And yea, I know you can overcome just about anything, but somethings feel like an uphill battle, a true war. Doesn't mean we don't do it - everyday. But like the priest buried alone with no mourners - it feels unfair. It is unfair. And it is also life.Nanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-67062301981194922362011-04-14T15:20:00.004-05:002011-04-14T15:38:53.319-05:00When you want to do the right thing<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR_q304DY1CzW9gR2XmgiTg00Krb1Rjv9-1AFb-Sq8MLiiBL2xsU9i9wRFnIxYwIswL0uordaQFPzjW5JQ7mtan_DPABkvw85SEF5ks1t0TuKLwjZezSWqvYd3juZtOvixSEfM3sHen3ek/s1600/heart.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR_q304DY1CzW9gR2XmgiTg00Krb1Rjv9-1AFb-Sq8MLiiBL2xsU9i9wRFnIxYwIswL0uordaQFPzjW5JQ7mtan_DPABkvw85SEF5ks1t0TuKLwjZezSWqvYd3juZtOvixSEfM3sHen3ek/s400/heart.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595539861573697730" /></a><br /><br />Have you ever - and be honest here - done something that you really want to do even though it might not be the best thing for you? When you aren't thinking with your head - as a matter of fact all reason has gone out the window and your heart is answering all your phone calls;and responding to your emails and sending your text messages. And you keep trying to get your rational mind back in charge of things. You will it to take control but it doesn't happen. You sit and meditate and make pros and cons lists and your heart keeps winning. Is it okay then to walk that road?<br /><br />I think sometimes it is right to walk the road your heart has laid out for you. Because you can rationallize anything. Really you can. And when you think about what it is you want and where it is you want to be - life can be be fun and exciting and different all at the same time. But there is something about being a "grown up." And when you are trying to be a grown up you have to think about what is best for you. What gives you the best outlook and the best results and makes you look the most responsible. But maybe that is not where you are supposed to be. I believe that G-d kissed the place I am in my life right now. I believe that. But I often feel as though I am fighting with what G-d might actually want for me. Thinking that I know better and that I am rational in this moment, when what the moment really calls for is my for my heart to be open, that I am going to get the best result. Not true, no way no how.<br />I have a choice to make. And it is a choice I have been avoiding for quite sometime feeling that once I made the first choice there was no going back. There was no place to rest and no place to hide. I made that choice and I cannot, under any circumstances, change my mind. But that is not true. By virtue of my femaleness, to be base, and by my humanness to be broad, I can always change my mind. Always. And right now I am at the point when I want to flip a coin and let it decide for me. And then see if I keep doing best of out of three or best out of five if I don't get the answer I want. Ha ha. That will tell me the truth.<br />But for the time being I am going to wait until Mercury is out of retrograde and then make my decision. Make my decision based on where my heart and my head stands. I am sure I can get them to compromise with each other. We shall see....Nanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-33053861417964507012011-04-06T15:34:00.002-05:002011-04-06T15:51:34.333-05:00Where you are right now<span style="font-style:italic;">The place where you are right now<br />God circled on a map for you<br />wherever your eyes and arms and heart can move<br />Against the earth and the sky,<br />the beloved has bowed there-<br />...<br />The beloved has bowed there knowing<br />You were coming…<br /><br />~Hafiz</span><br /><br />March is Ovah! I am so happy. Mercury is in retrograde and for some reason it is not causing me as much agita as it has in the past. Probably because I was ready for it. But this March has been better than any in a long time. It is usually my most depressed month where I reflect on my life, my losses, and lament the fact that its time for my yearly ct scan. Even though I am quite convinced that cancer is never coming back, that appointment still causes fear because - what if? This year I decided to live without the what if. I decided to honor the words of Hafiz (and some have attributed it to Rumi)to bow in the place that Grace has chosen for me. What I love about this particular translation of Hafiz is when it says "The beloved has bowed there knowing you were coming..." My name is Keisha and there have been many interpretations of what it means and where it comes from. It's Arabic, it's Hebrew, it's African - but they cannot locate one particular part of Africa. But the meanings are often very close meaning favorite or my personal choice - beloved. <br /><br />I think about that section of the poem how the Beloved bowed where I am. I bowed where I am and chose this path. Everything I have done in my life prior to this breath was my choice. And Grace kissed my journey every step of the way. I can then take full ownership over my life. The wonderful and the challenging. I have often heard people say that they would not change a thing in their life because it would alter the place where they stand right now. I completely agree. While some parts of my life have been hard and painful I would not change them. And moreover, I made a choice to live it. I bowed and kissed every step of this path. <br /><br />There are two folk stories that I love. One is an Islamic on and the other Jewish.<br />I cannot account for the truth of either of these stories just that they were each told to me by a Muslim and a Jewish person, respectfully. The Islamic story is that in the womb the baby is shown their entire life. The ups and downs the triumphs and pitfalls and they are asked if they chose their life. If they do they come forward into light and if they do not - their life ends with their no. There is a similar story in Judaism where there are a finite number of Jewish souls and before they are released from Heaven to come and be born of a woman they are shown their entire life. They are not given the choice to live or not. And right before their spirit falls to take its place in their mother's womb an angel of the Lord places his finger over the spirit's top lip and says "shhh, don't tell what you know." That accounts for the indentation in all of our upper lips. A reminder that we came from greatness and we choose to be here. But moreoever that we know perfection exists and our life is a journey to remember those two or three great images in whose presence our hearts first opened - Camus. Perhaps they were the images of an angel, or of our 10th birthday, or of our death. Who knows. But our being here is no accident. Either we chose or the Beloved chose for us, either way it is now up to us to make it the best ride ever. Every day. Even when it's hard.<br />March is over. Let the Spring begin.Nanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-75494712559955649432011-02-26T12:07:00.001-05:002011-02-26T12:50:13.473-05:00And You Shall Be Love<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcr2hyWt9F03sWjOMSNXCnc6CNjGBWDcLV7K_YeX9OmUbKvO0DQV1GblWPZpn6IEPRFer6XmYB76VNdw4ViF58Z_izsLK5_XLM8cbfsHjOqcsNqJS3Z5oxGg5cQyDM-Op6f_pawFc6ztxB/s1600/images3.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 275px; height: 183px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcr2hyWt9F03sWjOMSNXCnc6CNjGBWDcLV7K_YeX9OmUbKvO0DQV1GblWPZpn6IEPRFer6XmYB76VNdw4ViF58Z_izsLK5_XLM8cbfsHjOqcsNqJS3Z5oxGg5cQyDM-Op6f_pawFc6ztxB/s400/images3.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578053676133677426" /></a><br /><br />I have to come back to the previous post and work out some of my faulty logic. But before I do that, I have been thinking a lot about love. Such a beautiful thing - word, right? We all want it and we seek it and we acquire it and we lose it and some keep it. Valentine's Day, wedding anniversaries, babies being born, marriages. All of these events signify the love relationship. This year I got a lot of "Happy Valentine's Day" messages. I wasn't quite sure what to do with all of them. What does that mean that you want me to have a happy Monday? Or you want me to eat some chocolate? Or you want me to feel loved today? I particularly like the last one. So, yes I will feel loved today. Mind if I keep it for the coming days as well? <br /><br />March is three days away. March 3rd will be the 20th anniversary of my father's death. And I never forget that day. I never forget where I was when I found out and how it sort of rolled over my and spilled down my back like the first moments in the shower or under a waterfall, should you be so lucky to stand beneath a waterfall! Now at the 20 year anniversary it is particularly difficult to see the day approach. Time should heal all wounds and make things easier to bare. But for me it just gets harder. Because I tend to think of all that was missed in the 20 years. Having my father walk me down the aisle (or through the hotel room to the terrace) on my wedding day. Being present when my children were born. Teaching my boys about football and baseball and telling them jokes and holding them on his knee and giving them pats, because: "Pats are very important." And I try not to live in regret or missed opportunity, especially with things I could not/can not prevent like death. But March is the month that I allow myself to wallow and to "harrow my own personal hell." It makes Aprils' showers a welcome baptism. Just like Jesus!<br /><br />A few months ago I was diagnosed with ADHD. Now I know for a lot of people that is not a "real" thing. And as I went through school and succeeded in various ways I realized that not being able to concentrate, or prioritize or complete a simple task, was a character flaw. It could not possibly be something amiss with my brains firings. And it became a thing that caused me so much shame. I did not feel smart. So I must not be smart. And despite having a rather extreme form of ADHD I did manage to have some successes in school, partly because I had to develop my verbal and social skills to combat my inability to parse mental activities. The one place I did well was in theatre, as a director. I had stage managers, designers and assistants to help me with the details of a project so all I had to do was deal with the forest, leaving them the trees. And I loved my designers and stage managers who could pull what I couldn't say out of my quagmire of a brain. And yet, Grace would appear, often just long enough to give me a glimpse of how to fix something making the work okay. But my early work often lacked resolution or clarity at the end. And the end is the hardest part of creating a strong piece of theatre. So even there I was receiving the same critique over and over again - your piece has no ending Keisha. What do you want the audience to leave with? I couldn't make it to that point. And I didn't know how to fix it. I didn't know how to fix me. I also don't end relationships very well. I get tired of the tedium of dotting i's and crossing t's. And I just let things go and end however they will. Often not being able to do the rigorous work of making love last and of ending it with good feelings intact. So I stand eternally grateful to those who have loved me enough to stick around even when it was quite obvious that I had gone off the deep end a few times! And yes, I can laugh about it now!<br /><br />Can I blame ADHD for this. Well, in a way and then again not at all. But what I can say is that I am angry. Angry at the amount of time it took this diagnosis to come to the fore. Angry at each and every teacher who didn't try to help me get through this challenge but rather wrote me off as not being that smart. And pissed as all hell at my parents for not expecting better from me after a time. And for settling on where I had gotten to and not on where they truly knew I should be. I never settled in a place. I always have berated myself for not doing better and not being more. I felt it in me - that I had never achieved and surpassed my potential. And I am made at myself for that. And now that I know that indeed there is something amiss with my brain firings, and that it can be helped, I want to jump ahead and start achieving all the things I have always wanted. But I am stuck in regret. Stuck in it deep. And I am pissed off. Wow, I am probably the angriest I have ever been in my life. <br /><br />And I am discovering that anger is a useful emotion if it pushes us to work through it and get to a better place. And so this coming month of March when I am usually all sad for all the things I have lost I am instead going to focus on all that I have missed. All the ways I wanted my life to be but it wasn't. All of the moments I wanted to have but I didn't. And all of the things I wanted to accomplished by haven't. I am giving this month to myself as a gift. Time to work through my anger and my hate and my out and out fear. <br /><br />So what do I regret? Missing the time with my father. Missing being able to truly engage in my studies. Missing being the academic scholar and world-shaker I always felt called to be. Missing living a BIG LIFE, instead of the smaller one I resigned myself to. Missing giving my children the home and the life and the love they so deserve. Missing the organization and the rigeur that would give me a sense of accomplishment. Missing my Tony, Emmy, Grammy, and Academy Awards. Being as completely unreasonable about how my life may have actually been. And then on March 31st, I will say good-bye to all my regrets in some kind of ceremony. And on April 1st I will await the rain to wash the remnants of my past of self- hate and recriminations good-bye. <br /><br />I started this post talking about love and my father. And I end it thinking again about love and my father. My father lived his short life with many many regrets. And I know it was because he was trapped in the circumstances of his birth and the limitations of his mind and I feel that pain right now. My father was 44 when he died. I will be 40 this summer. And I refuse to enter that decade with the same recriminations my father died with. This is an opportunity to get off that particular wheel of life. To end the negative karma. So that my love and gratitude and completion is the gift I give future generations - it is my good karma passed on to my children and their children and....<br /><br />Kahlil Ghibran wrote this:<br /> <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"> * When love beckons to you, follow him,<br /> Though his ways are hard and steep.<br /> And when his wings enfold you yield to him,<br /> Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.<br /> And when he speaks to you believe in him,<br /> Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden. <br /><br /> For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.<br /> Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.<br /> p. 11<br />All these things shall love do unto you<br /> that you may know the secrets of your heart,<br /> and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.<br /> But if in your fear you would seek only<br /> love's peace and love's pleasure,<br /> Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing floor,<br /> Into the seasonless world where you<br /> shall laugh, but not all of your laughter,<br /> and weep, but not all of your tears...For love is sufficient unto love.<br /> And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course. Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.<br /> But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:<br /> To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.<br /> To know the pain of too much tenderness.<br /> To be wounded by your own understanding of love;<br /> And to bleed willingly and joyfully.<br /> To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;<br /> To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy; to return home at eventide with gratitude;<br /> And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.</span><br /><br />And I shall be love<br /><br /><br />in peace,<br />keisha<br /> <br />Photo Credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/groups/empyreanlandcityscapes/discuss/72157616968522334/">Flickr best pictures of 2010</a>Nanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-85709520334737682972011-02-14T13:40:00.002-05:002011-02-14T13:53:15.659-05:00All You Need Is Love?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie9Lz_Qd6xjUKdqFjoujjsXYGG4QBJiRe99mojUb_ubClrMOUYn9zCIc85rTjGRpFQz3jSTnEfA9wY3tutRKVy90a6u0Rb6OsSZy4Yj1DhMJ-3D7AgA26oHU_hSot9H1fmXFQsowuJAeNJ/s1600/images2.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 225px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie9Lz_Qd6xjUKdqFjoujjsXYGG4QBJiRe99mojUb_ubClrMOUYn9zCIc85rTjGRpFQz3jSTnEfA9wY3tutRKVy90a6u0Rb6OsSZy4Yj1DhMJ-3D7AgA26oHU_hSot9H1fmXFQsowuJAeNJ/s400/images2.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573620222696747938" /></a><br /><br />Nice sentiment Beatles (and why am I quoting the Beatles so much? I think it's from living around the corner from John Lennon's apartment building!) <br />Today is Valentine's Day. I am not bitter at all - for the first time in probably my entire life! I have always tended to pick low maintenance partners so these holidays would come around, anniversaries would peak their heads and birthdays would come and go and I would be on the shallow end of the gift receiving pool. When I was younger I would often go out of my way to make Valentine's Day a big event. But no longer.<br />My friend Sherri had a great status update the other day that basically she was happy that Valentine's Day was coming. She, like so many of us, is in love with love. Can't argue with that!<br /><br />There was a time when I would see all the facebook status updates dripping with love-laced honey and be angry and bitter. But today when I logged on I saw happy couples who have been together for years, and happy couples who had just gotten together ready to spend the rest of their lives that way. And I saw love of self and love of child and love of parents. Beautiful stuff. Because being bitter at another's happiness says nothing about them but rather volumes about you! And I am no longer bitter about my status in the world of love. I am rather happy with the fact that I have so much of it and in so many different ways!<br /><br />One of the best things I ever did was pick Ilya as a father for the kids! He helped them make the best Valentine's this past weekend. Simple, yet, creative! They came home on Saturday so excited to share the fruits of their labor with me. And I even got a couple of Valentines myself from them. My favorite, not to pick favorites, was the one from Buddha. It was a heart that his sister had obviously cut out for him (it was symmetric) but the message written on it was purely his own - dictated to his sister's elegant hand. It said: "Happy Valentine's Day Mommy. You are beautiful!" I could hear exactly how he must have said it to his sister. Zachary's slight speech impediment makes "beautiful" sound like "bootiful." I heard it in my head and smiled as I read the folded heart. <br /><br />I get grouchy sometimes and frustrated with all that is in my world. But I took that heart and put it in my wallet - which is usually always with me. So, if I need to be reminded of the love of today, I can take it out and see it up close. Yes, Valentine's Day is a contrived holiday created by the card, flower, and chocolate industries. We all know that. But it can be more than that. It can be an opportunity to remark not just on the amount of love you receive but on the quality of the love you receive. And to cherish that and hold it tight. <br /><br />Happy Valentine's Day tribe!<br /><br />in peace,<br />KeishaNanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-33724068817324319092011-01-29T17:18:00.004-05:002011-01-29T17:58:29.777-05:00Can I Get a Window Seat?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBjp6yGTADIFZwad0URvd7qrhW60xF2_Z4KesZ4DBPmx1DcqtCHkv2rXCHeX8ER4YogtkfD-rVe0byURC2IedXmfX_1lbIgtSB09tfeewQlD2CK9cCFeeIMz5-DlsqYrSPcYwV6albbKLW/s1600/images.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 290px; height: 174px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBjp6yGTADIFZwad0URvd7qrhW60xF2_Z4KesZ4DBPmx1DcqtCHkv2rXCHeX8ER4YogtkfD-rVe0byURC2IedXmfX_1lbIgtSB09tfeewQlD2CK9cCFeeIMz5-DlsqYrSPcYwV6albbKLW/s400/images.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567744920325510402" /></a><br /><br />In the midst of all the controversy about Erykah Badu's video for the <span style="font-weight:bold;">Window Seat</span>, from her last album (that's right I said album!), the lyrics of this song got completely lost. This song is my freaking anthem. <br /><br />When Ilya and I first split I called a friend to tell her about the pain I was feeling and her immediate response was to berate me for needing "attention." And to basically, without the benefit of knowing me or my marriage that well, tell me that the break was my fault. Because I wanted too much attention. Oh yes. In the middle of my tears, I stopped and really listened to what was being said and I apologized. WTF? I apologized to this person taking me in the weakest moment of my life and knocking my down. <br /><br />That moment came back to me recently when I was responding to a friend on Facebook. She asked her friends to write how they met her. I borrowed the same status a few days later. But I wrote to her: "I met you during Freshman Orientation at Lawrence when you asked for a standing ovation!" We had the usual orientation company come in to do icebreakers and team building activities. But the hallmark of this particular group was having people ask for "standing ovations" at any point in the sessions that they felt they needed one and we would all stand up and give them a standing ovation. My friend Summer did the same thing at our IIN graduation - go Summer!<br /><br />And I realized something. This friend was asking me to get small in my pain. To not own that I was hurt and that I needed attention and it was fine to ask for it. I, by virtue of my place on the planet, deserve it. As women, we cannot ask each other to get small. Never. If anything we need to hold each other up and ask us to grow and get bigger and stronger. And we should aid each other in that growth. And if you can't do that then for G-d's sake be quiet!<br /><br />The last two weeks I have been sick. It was a real physical illness that caused weakness, vomiting and all over body aches, caused by my mind presenting its pain somatically. I am good for that. I have been known to lose my voice, literally, when I am not expressing the things in my heart that must be said. So the complete collapse of me this past week was really linked to an incredible mental tiredness. My mind trying to keep all the balls up in the air and make it look effortless. I did what I thought I was supposed to. I got small and didn't ask for my standing ovation. After all I must have brought all this pain on myself through poor life choices. And I, for some reason, put on Erykah. I had been listening to <span style="font-style:italic;">Bag Lady<span style="font-weight:bold;"></span></span> and thinking about all the bags I was carrying around with me and my intense desire to drop those suckers off at the nearest goodwill. Perhaps someone else could use my self-doubt, anger, frustration, fear and loathing. Something sent me to New Amerykah Part II and Window Seat. And these lyrics hit me so truthfully -<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">So, presently i’m standing<br />Here right now<br />You’re so demanding<br />Tell me what u want from me<br />Concluding<br />Concentrating on my music , lover , and my babies<br />Makes me wanna ask the lady for a ticket outta town…<br />So can I get a window seat<br />Don’t want nobody next to me<br />I just want a ticket outta town<br />A look around<br />And a safe touch down</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">If anybody speak to Scotty <br />tell him beam me up!</span><br /><br />Yes, I need that window seat. But she went on to say this:<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">But I need u to want me<br />Need you to miss me<br />I need your attention<br />I need you next me<br />I need someone to clap for me<br />I need your direction<br /><br />But I need you to miss me<br />Need somebody come get me<br />Need your attention<br />Need your energy yes I do<br />Need someone to clap for me<br />Need your affection<br />Somebody say come back<br />Come back baby come back<br />I want u to need me<br /><br />But can I get a window seat<br />Don’t want nobody next to me<br />I just want a ticket outta town<br />A look around<br />And a safe touch down…<br />I just need a chance to fly<br />A chance to cry<br />And a long<br />Bye bye..</span><br /><br />Those needs are very real. And wanting that and searching for it - nothing wrong with it. Understanding, of course, that ultimately all of that love has to come from self. And sometimes, much like your kids, you just want someone to hold you and tell you it's gonna be okay. You know it probably won't fix anything but it will make you feel better in that moment when your heart is breaking. And you may be able to get up and keep it moving a little longer. That is the work of those who are in love with you - and remember for me that means anyone you are in a love relationship with. And we mothers, need that same love, since we give it all day long. And I can take care of my babies and my life and my work and still want/need that love and support. It does not make me weak or self-interested. It makes me a strong woman who asks for that which she cannot provide for herself. We don't have to be strong every second of every day. Sometimes we need a safe, soft place to fall. <br /><br />So, I am going to get that window seat and go for my safe touchdown but I will be back asking for my standing ovation. <br /><br />in peace tribe<br />keishaNanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9075045779850681691.post-44056985020930074662011-01-11T19:02:00.006-05:002011-01-11T19:39:13.435-05:00Cherish, the moment<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLi33O7kFYSbNJPXAQTT_E8f9Rk4yViyW8yIqwWaiWBYnZ52rn89Py-wdBYQv3N_9HBwxqz4k5N5UdEKQOfKvmkyi7qTXMRgnWxOe1KBvGlFTpBF0WJBBJVwmw5xxDti6uoccG9TZAVqkC/s1600/letmedowneasy5.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 228px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLi33O7kFYSbNJPXAQTT_E8f9Rk4yViyW8yIqwWaiWBYnZ52rn89Py-wdBYQv3N_9HBwxqz4k5N5UdEKQOfKvmkyi7qTXMRgnWxOe1KBvGlFTpBF0WJBBJVwmw5xxDti6uoccG9TZAVqkC/s400/letmedowneasy5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561089047566964194" /></a><br /><br />Some of you know my almost obsessive love of all things Anna Deavere Smith. Last year her new play, "Let Me Down Easy" about the health care system and the power and resilience of the body, had it's longest run in NYC. I saw it three times. It is now at Arena Stage in D.C. and I am waffling about taking the Acela down there to see it again. Anna, like I know her, right, takes the words of people she interviews and re-creates them word for word onstage. Check her out <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQ33dh082Rs">here</a> and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DERoiMwIYJ8">here</a> if you are not familiar, but you're my friend, so how could you NOT be familiar, right?!<br /><br />Toward the end of the play "Let Me Down Easy" Anna portrays Rev. Peter Gomes, American preacher and Professor at Harvard's Divinity school. He speaks about being present in the moment when someone dies. And he advises us, his listeners, to "Cherish, the moment." I've heard Anna remark on this comment on Bill Moyers, that cherishing the moment may be a rather difficult thing for us to do in the moment of grief. We are not able to step outside ourselves and see this person's passing to another realm, or simply into eternal unconsciousness, as something we can cherish. Webster defines cherish as:<br />a : to hold dear : feel or show affection for<br />b : to keep or cultivate with care and affection : nurture <br />: to entertain or harbor in the mind deeply and resolutely <still cherishes that memory>.<br /><br />I love the progression of time in this definition. We first hold the moment dear, we show and feel affection for it. Over time we keep it and cultivate it with care and affection until it is harbored deeply and resolutely in our mind. It is a part of us. The seamless tapestry that makes us who we are.<br /><br /><br />My life is a series of cherished moments. That is how I define myself and that is how I will remember myself at the moment of my passing. Moments. Snippets of film from the story of the life of Keisha. The ones that show up are the ones that I have held onto for my entire life. The moments I cherish. So when I stand in this moment and look back over my life, why is it that there are less than wonderful moments that show up? Do I cherish those too? Do I cherish loss and disease and death? Do I cherish betrayal and cruelty and violence? Do I cherish hatred and pain? I must because I have held them close to me and have harbored them deeply and resolutely in my mind. I have fed them a steady diet of attention so that they stay buried in there with the wonder. And I will not deny that those moments of despair have also molded me into the woman I am today. Either by getting through them and triumphing or reminding me that I still have work to do. But I no longer feel the need to "cherish" these moments, rather examine them.<br /><br />Wouldn't it be lovely if we could click on bad memories and bad feelings and drag them into the trash? Yes, Steve Jobs get on that! And I am trying to make peace with those feelings. To sit with them and "feel the feelings." To stay in the uncomfortable. And you know what? It actually works. For years, I have made fun of psycho-babble. And I cannot speak for other directives, but this one, sitting with the bad, works. I had a moment that I was holding onto tightly. Because letting it go would mean letting the person go. And I wasn't ready to do that. So, no matter how painful the memories, I held on tightly, like my life depended on it. And it did, because it kept me in a state of anger and frustration. I cherished that moment. And it became more than I could hold onto. So, I sat. I let whatever feelings I had about it come and go. I cried and hit things. But I kept sitting. This took quite some time. In between I cooked, slept, took care of the kids, did laundry. But always made sure to come back and sit with this moment. And to not runaway from the feelings that came up or the way it made me feel in that moment. And I sat and sat and sat. And then the other day I no longer needed to sit. I thought of the moment and I was calm. It was just another moment in my personal history and definitely not one I would be seeing at the moment of my death.<br /><br />Completely incredulous that this worked! And seeing the results has turned me into some kind of crazy-door-knocking-prosleytizer for sitting with the bad. And the moment no longer holds anger and frustration for me. I can see it as something that helped me grow and fight harder for my life. <br /><br />I can still see and hear Anna in my head saying this line. I wish I could give you an audio version, right now but check out the Bill Moyers interview I linked above and you will see what I mean. The emphasis is on <span style="font-style:italic;">Cherish</span>. To hold it dear, to nurture it and then harbor it deep within you. And even the painful moments can be turned into something useful, for why would we remember them if they weren't? Some things we remember and others slip away as if they never happened. I tend to think that if it stays with me, with all that is in my head, then it has some significance and I cannot just pretend it doesn't exist. It stayed to teach me some lesson. <br /><br />Our lives are a series of moments. Some good, some bad, some - no emotional attachment whatsoever. But if it lives with you then cherish each and every one of them.<br /><br />in peace tribe and may you be well<br />keisha<br /><br />Photo Credit:<a href="http://thefastertimes.com/newyorktheater/2009/11/08/let-me-down-easy/">The Faster Times.com</a><br />Anna Deavere Smith as the Rev. Peter Gomes in "Let Me Down Easy."Nanda Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880371285355541360noreply@blogger.com3