​12-28-19  Softening Ideas of Self

Loving presence doesn’t ask why
I’m going on retreat, leaving family behind
Why I didn’t bake cookies on Christmas with my sweet-toothed daughter 
Why it’s tempting to sleep in for a 6am sit when the season encourages hibernation 

Loving presence doesn’t award certificates to a maternal safe harbor holding her daughters emotional waves 
To a physician’s compassionate heart making space for each patient’s story
To a writer and yogi trying to wake up from dreams of identity and safe passage

Loving presence becomes the heater when a yogi can’t sleep in her dorm room
Puts a hand on a quivering belly and heart 
Finds sacred in the mundane, the profane 
Sensing the potential in a winter’s branch
​Without needing to see the bud
​
​

12-29-19  Never Enough

winter trees, clawing fingers
grasping for spring 
for something they don’t have
this moment is never enough
​
​

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12-30-19  Enough

winter trees, bare fingers
not needing spring 
to remind them
​this moment is enough
​

12-31-19  The Indriya River

The river knows it is destined for the ocean. It does not resist meanderings away from the suspected path, energetically flowing in the direction it was meant to flow. It is aware of each stone it caresses, each leaf, each fish, each root it touches moment by moment. The river does not wish it were further upstream or downstream, honoring exactly where it is at any given point in time, surrendering to an ever changing scene.

​The river knows it is destined for the ocean. When it forgets, may it remember again, and again, and again. 
​

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​1-1-20  Ode to Wool Blankets

You’re scratchy. You keep slipping off
the bed in the middle of the night,
leaving a hole for cold air to 
wake me up before it’s time.
Do you understand why I don’t like you,
why I long  for the down comforter 
my husband insisted I bring here
knowing how cold and grouchy 
I get with poor quality sleep?

Maybe it’s not your fault.
Maybe it’s the way I’m relating to you,
insisting you transform into something you’re not.
What would happen if I trusted you to keep me warm,
​gently pulled you back over this body when you’ve slipped off
rather than yanking you into submission?
What if I accepted you here and now
without rewinding or fast forwarding (in time)
to a high and lofty bed at home,
knowing this can’t last forever?

What if these words could form a soft quilt,
the five faculties stitched into the fabric
of a metta-loving heart?
Wool blankets, may you not be so irritable
as I wrap myself in your embrace.

​

A new year...trying a different way to make the bed.

​

The next morning...it worked!!!
​

1-2-20 

sitting on top 
of a stone sculpture 
i am not afraid to fall
knowing how to rebuild
the structure of samadhi
​when needed
​

1-3-20  Listening

Sit as if you are supported by 
an invisible chair made just for you,
it’s contours molding to your body 
better than any lover can.
Breathe into the areas of discomfort,
massaging them with gentle patience.
How is a masseuse on some tropical  
beach supposed to know your body?
The terror, the longing, the hope 
that one day no part will remain uncharted, 
that all the cobwebs will glisten with tears
in the light of loving awareness,
that a heart can radiate
Brahmavihara blessings
above, below, around and everywhere,
inviting integration.
One body. One breath. One home.
​
​

1/5/20  Coming Home

devoting my life to the teachings 
i am not afraid of what lies ahead 
dying again and again and again
​resting in the arms of truth 

​

I’m scared, terrified of these feelings falling like autumn leaves at random beyond my control – littering conversations, disturbing sleep, ruining peaceful meditations. They remind me of a season fourteen years ago when a beautiful baby girl was born, when a mother went underground to follow the roots of her family tree.

So much doubt. So many judgements. What’s wrong with you, Kaveri. Why can’t you get your shit together? Are we really back here after thirteen years of practice? Haven’t we progressed, even a little?

Perimenopause. Unpredictable periods. Emotional storms. Is the external weather trying to taunt me, or mirror my internal state with compassion and wisdom? I’m different now. Not better. Not worse. Just different.

The autumn leaves are not dirty or unwelcome. Yes, they are dying. They aren’t the same as shiny spring leaves green with new life, abundant with chlorophyllic possibility. Still, they are wise messengers decomposing into earth to fertilize the underground roots of this family tree.

When I pushed forward, I was whirled about. When I stayed in place, I sank. And so I crossed over the flood without pushing forward, without staying in place. (SN 1.1 Ogha-tarana Sutta: Crossing over the Flood)

Fourteen years ago when I pushed forward, I was whirled about. When I tried to cross the flood of emotions without acknowledgment, the resistance reinforced their presence. Please listen to us. Stop pushing forward, pushing us away. We want you to know something.

When I stayed in place, I sank, believing the emotions without understanding the need beneath them. I blamed others for their insensitivity and misunderstanding. I judged myself for being one depressed and anxious mess.

And so I cross through the flood by bowing to the emotions, listening to the sensations in my body and kind whispers in my ear. Thank you for listening with honesty, compassion, patience, and trust, for recognizing the creative growth potential in us, for honoring the season’s rhythm of change.

And so I cross through the flood without staying in place, understanding the need for embodied loving presence and connection to myself for wise and loving connection with others.

Come, come, whoever you are. Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving. It doesn't matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair. come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times. Come, yet again, come , come. (Rumi)

I have broken my vows a thousand times. I have judged and harmed in ways that seem unforgivable. As a wanderer, worshiper, and lover of leaving this moment because the past still haunts me and the future is unpredictable, it doesn’t matter.

This heart-mind is no longer a caravan of despair. I will come, even if I have broken my vows a thousand times. Perimenopause is not punishment for the past or the promise of a perilous future. It’s a chance in this very moment to begin again.
​
Come, yet again, come, come.

​​Woke up with a pounding headache
Stayed up late last night
Come sit on the zafu
With everything as it is
Thoughts chasing the future
Replaying the past
It’s always better somewhere else
Or is it
Belly tensing against today
What do I need to do
What will the weather be like
Should have stayed asleep
For a better meditation
Waking up later
To practice again
It’s ok sweetheart
Welcome home
Just as you are
Finding the breath as ally
Soothing the body
Gathering swirling thoughts
Collecting them as mementos
For the heart to hold
Getting quiet
Sitting like a mountain
Unmoved by the weather outside
Breathing in oxygen
Breathing out carbon dioxide
Symbiosis with trees
Appreciation
Breathing in his suffering
Breathing out compassion
Breathing in her struggles
Breathing out support
Breathing in their confusion
Breathing out understanding
Breathing in the joy
Of this practice
Breathing out the wish
May others experience this too

Expectations. Many of us have them. They aren’t bad or wrong. And, like weeds disguised as flowers, they can proliferate in the mind with false promises of beauty and permanence.

Have you ever wanted someone, yourself, or a situation to be different, directing the show and dumbfounded when life plays out a script you haven’t written? Are you tired of trying to control each scene like I am? Do the actors listen? Are the props and artwork of each backdrop good enough? Are they even real?

If you resonate with any the above inquires, please know you are not alone. I’d like to share some ways I’ve been practicing with expectations to cultivate contentment.

1. Acknowledge, name the expectation. Once known, it can lose it's automatic pilot power over you.
2. Breathe with what is happening internally, bow to it as a divine messenger of wisdom not yet recognized. When there is internal space, other possibilities can be seen/heard/felt.
3. Get curious about the need beneath the expectation. Do you really want safety, connection, love, acceptance, peace? Ask the question gently; the answer will not come before it's ripe and ready.
4. Deepen the attention with compassion- an ally, word, image or phrase that feels comforting. (For some, humor, gratitude, etc. may be more accessible than compassion to deepen attention.)

This process is not cognitive gymnastics. You don’t get an Olympic gold medal for overthinking. If you find the mind or body are contracted, try softer, not harder. Let go of words, the need to know, getting it right. Let go of the practice itself. 

It’s common for fear and doubt to arise. If you let go, what’s left? Do you lose others? Do you lose yourself? When you are fully inhabiting this moment as best as you possibly can, there is nothing left but space for seeds of love (or whatever wholesome word fits here for you) to grow, for silence to give birth to the answers you seek.

This process is also not linear. Though I’ve chosen ABCD as acronyms for ease of remembrance, A doesn’t necessarily lead to B, C, and D.

It’s helpful to think of this as a template, a skeleton. How you fill in the missing parts and embody them is up to you. What feels true in your experience? What feels like home?

May this post inspire a contentment far beyond the false facade of happiness advertised in comparing mind, on Facebook, and many other modes of media.

May we find peace and let go, knowing we will forget, trust, and confidently find peace again.​

​stitched into the fabric of life
some of us towards the center
while others are at the periphery
does placement even matter

intricate patterns woven
from colorful threads
with large swaths of
dull gray in between
​
i am cold without this quilt
without all beings
believing they belong
regardless of perception
 
Stitched into the fabric of life, I believe I am at the center when a lecture, talk, or class goes well. When I’m healthy and can breathe, talk, sing for long periods of time. When I can do all the poses in yoga class. When my hair is newly cut and colored. When I’m dressed a certain way. When I have the perfect answer for patients and friends struggling. When my daughter is open to affection and animated in conversation. When my partner understands and applauds my spiritual practice and professional life. When I feel closely connected to Mummy and less irritated. When I write a meaningful poem and blog post. And so much more.

Anything short of this is failure, unpleasant, unacceptable, a problem that triggers banishment from the center to the periphery. Does placement even matter?

Sometimes I see myself in intricate patterns woven from colorful threads. Sometimes I’m surrounded by large swaths of dull gray, an island far away from any vibrancy. Comparing mind also stiches others into fixed positions on this quilt.

As hard as these last few weeks have felt with unwelcome physical symptoms, fear of permanence is worse. A self who will not channel talks with any compassionate healing or creativity. A self who will not survive and enjoy a women’s retreat on the ecstasy of sound and silence.  A self who will not sing and sound a certain way again. A self who will not enjoy and embody yoga. I feel a gentle warmth blanketing body and breath with mettā (lovingkindness), karuṇā (compassion), khanti (patience), paññā (wisdom), and saddhā (faith).

i am cold without this quilt, without all beings believing they belong regardless of perception.