This is a verbal garbage dump without
a forethought of what will harm the heart-
speeches, judgements all aimed at
protecting one’s own view while
the unreal other is suffering, too.
 
This could be a love letter, a truce
one brave act of forgiveness,
the walls of division crumbling
because one side is tired of living
inside a limited potential for peace.
 
Shedding tears of individual and collective harm this morning in meditation. So mentally and physically tired by this country’s political climate. Reflecting on dependent origination, karma, and not-self, I realize how important my spoken and written words are.  Do I want to contribute to what this is, or what this could be?

I couldn’t love her the way she needed to be loved. I couldn’t support the last three months of her life as the cancer was slowly invading her digestive tract, pancreas, and lungs the way a bad nightmare does, except she never got to wake up.

I was too busy being angry and hurt over sibling dynamics, feeling invisible, outfitting her with a traditional standard I had come to despise. It was easy to conveniently forget her safe escort on three different buses we needed to take to and from the orthodontics office, the way she would tear her old Indian saris and sew them into long skirts because she knew I loved them, the house filled with the scent of masala 24/7 so we would never starve while growing up.

Why was I still hungry?

*****

We honored the 5-year anniversary of her death through puja. I was drawn to the diya like a moth to a flame, singing with a fervency during the arti that felt misplaced. Who was this 45-year-old woman child hearing her mother singing, seeing her soul, her name in the sacred fire?
​
Who was the sister blaming her brother for distance and insensitivity, blaming herself for deficiency and vulnerability?

*****

A few days later in yoga practice, I felt intuitively called to listen to one of my favorite bhajans. A torrential downpour of emotion flooded the mat. I was grieving all the things I expected of Mummy, all the blocks to loving her just as she was. There was no dam to hold anything back, nothing between me and this moment.

Forgiveness was palpable both ways.

*****

She’s lacing up her black Converse, noticing a brown mark on one side of a shoe. She stands to retrieve a wet washcloth to wipe the shoes she is so proud of.

I comment on the mark. Maybe it’s a scuff from my sandal the other day as we were walking to the library. She glares at me with that entitled teenage look, punishing with silence and a hug withheld before biking off to school.

“I let you go with love”, I call out cheerfully.  “You know where to find me!”

*****

We think we have forever with loved ones, a lifetime to heal a suffocating heart that can barely breathe.

Can we compassionately bow to each thought, feeling and sensation sculpted from the cycle of dependent origination into a solid self? Can we be patient with practice, trust wise teachers, good friends, and tenderness to slowly crack the plaster open?

Opening to vulnerability is not natural. It takes so much courage and support. I carry these verbal snapshots of unconditional love like passages from the holy books, knowing things will change.

The plaster will harden with conditional love and soften with practice again.

Note: 

puja: a prayer ritual performed by Hindus of devotional worship to one or more deities, or to host and honor a guest, or one to spiritually celebrate an event

diya: an oil lamp used in the Indian subcontinent, notably India and Nepal, usually made from clay, with a cotton wick dipped in ghee or vegetable oils

arti: a Hindu religious ritual of worship, a part of puja, in which light from wicks soaked in ghee (purified butter) or camphor is offered to one or more deities

bhajan: any song with religious theme or spiritual ideas, in a regional South Asian language

Cycle of Dependent Origination: A chain of causes which result in rebirth and dukkha (suffering). By breaking the chain, liberation from suffering can be attained.

Where is the place
where I stop blaming you for
what you said or didn't say,
where I cease from judging myself
for what I did or didn't do,
where labels are washed away
like words from a newspaper,
yesterday's headlines no longer
the truth of who we are?
 
Come meet me where the heart is ripe 
with the remembrance of metta,
where we are no longer 
arguing about forbidden fruit
and what led to The Fall.
Our amnesia for the sacred will 
keep fueling old stories
till we breathe into vulnerability,
and it begins to feel like home.
 
After some challenging experiences this month and a conversation with my mentor, I realize that it's hard to wake up in the relative realm when past hurt and future expectations pull me away from this moment. In the absolute realm, I catch glimpses of the no fault zone, and how peaceful it is here. When I'm tired of blaming others or judging myself, the Universe asks me to sit still and get quiet. Breathing into the vulnerability, I know it's the only peaceful way to make this body, this life, feel like home. From this place, there is the possibility of doing small great things.

If the poem resonates, great. If not, it's not a problem. May each sit, each word spoken or written, each insight you experience be for the benefit of all beings everywhere without exception.

“If I cannot do great things, I can do small things in a great way.”
― Martin Luther King Jr.

​It’s our first full day in Paris. I’m feeling joy after viewing Monet’s Le Bassin Aux Nymphéas at Musee d'Orsay​, marveling at how water lilies must have inspired him the way they inspire me. I’m also feeling gratitude after lighting a candle, chanting metta for all beings everywhere, and appreciating the diverse currency inside a glass box at Notre-Dame.

It’s not until we are walking to our hotel room, bellies content with Häagen-Dazs, that my husband stops abruptly.

“Hey, do you know what this charge is on our credit card?”

I open my purse and quickly realize my wallet is missing. Flower! (My substitution for the F word.) I must have left it at the Orsay gift shop after buying some post cards.

We rush to our hotel room and start to call the credit card companies. While my husband and daughter comment on the unfortunate turn of events, I’m doing my best not to add extra arrows of self-judgment.

“Breathe, Kaveri. Breathe. Let your compassionate breath flow, Sweetheart. You know how to do this.”

I check the information desk at the entrance inside Notre-Dame. The lady behind the counter shows me three black wallets, none of which are mine. I also revisit the donation box. Still, no black wallet. Feeling tired and defeated, I rejoin my family to figure out dinner plans. We decide to try a falafel place my cousin suggested. It’s about a twenty-minute walk from here.

Once we sit down with our falafel wraps, I feel like there is still something missing. I practiced self-compassion and forgiveness for the one who found the wallet. What about the others who lost their wallets? The woman at Notre-Dame showed me three other black wallets. I’m not alone. Others experienced this, too. I take the opportunity to widen the circle of compassion.

May other travelers who lose something major feel safe.
May they find solace and support.
May compassion be an antidote to self-judgment.
May they know peace.
​
I take my first bite into crispy falafel balls dressed in tangy tahini sauce, cabbage, cucumber, and eggplant tucked inside a pita bread. Yum! Dear Universe, thank you for the blessing of these experiences. I lost my driver’s license and major credit cards. I lost an identity, worldly wealth, and gained the currency of compassion.

I thought we would be friends forever. I thought we could overcome any obstacle of hurt. Maybe I was wrong.

A dear friend and I recently exchanged words that left us both feeling angry, stunned, and upset. I tried to bridge the gap of misunderstanding with acknowledgment of my contribution to the confusion. I also tried to respect her perspective without compromising my own. It was my idea of a peace offering. For her, it was a bomb that had sadly backfired. I was dangerous, and she didn’t want the enemy anywhere near her.

My thoughts would not stop trying to console me. They ranged from extremes of self-righteous positions blaming my friend, and inferior positions blaming myself for my heartlessness. Judging us both was painful, so painful, that I longed to think my way out if this tangle. What Buddhist practice could help me unravel this confusion? Was it the three characteristics of existence, the Four Noble Truths, the Eightfold Path, understanding of the Middle Way, or something else?

The harder I tried to understand, the tenser I got. During a weary morning sit, a voice reminded me to let go, surrender, and relax the resistance. That is the moment I began to heal with an embodied presence as opposed to a spiritual bypass. Over the next few days, I reached out to Sangha to help me process what happened. The above Buddhist concepts were no longer mental gymnastics that weakened understanding, but strengthened it through R.A.I.N.

I know in my heart that seeds of understanding are being watered, nurtured, and sprouting in silence. I don’t know what will happen to the friendship. Emotions of anger, fear, and sadness still rise like tidal waves threatening to drown and submerge my clarity in cold darkness. But I will no longer say no to them. I’ve been here before – past lives, previous relationships, praying for freedom. The heart must be irritated to form pearls of wisdom.
 
Reconciliation Prayer

I’m tired of trying to change you,
rattling the bars around this heart prison
expecting you to have the key.
Where’s the sunlight, connection, and joy in that?
What if i am an open door allowing
you to come and go as you please,
not trying to cage you with small thoughts,
but spacious awareness that sees everything?
What if i get to know you, understand you?
Would i choose to stay?
Dear Universe, help us find each other,
eyes meeting in peaceful resolve
till the first words spoken are kind.
 
May I be patient with this process of learning. May I be kind and gentle with myself, not taking these exchanges so personally. May I remember my sincere wish to wake up and attract relationships of wise, mutual understanding.

May the Universe support your need to be heard and understood. May you be happy, well, safe, peaceful, and at ease. May our eyes meet in peaceful resolve till the first words spoken are kind.

May all relationships (family, friendships, acquaintances, strangers, perceived enemies, animals, plants) be held in  wise reflection, wise exchange, wise effort, till the first words spoken are kind.

When I got married almost nineteen years ago in July, I still had some romantic fairytale pixie dust mixed with classic chick flick movie moments clouding my vision.  My Braveheart husband would take care of everything.  This notion, coupled with my Tenderheart optimism, would conquer any insurmountable problem.  Was I naïve!

Marriage is not a Mary Poppins musical.  It takes work, patience, clarity, curiosity, forgiveness.  Not just love (unless your definition of love is expanding to include more virtues:).  The following reflections are by no means a perfect prescription for marital bliss.  They are pearls I’ve picked up from personal experience, needing a good polish every time I forget.

Are you still holding on to the good ol’ days when your partner was a perfect gentleman, lady, or person?  Have they suddenly turned into someone you barely recognize?  Ah, dear one.  I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but things change.  People change.  It doesn’t mean he/she/they stopped loving you.  Like you, they are a beautiful being growing in the direction of what nourishes them most.  The challenging part is that you both may be growing in different directions.

Once you can see this clearly, with curiosity and without judgment, it’s possible to make space for who you both are in this new chapter of your lives.  Certain life events (the birth of a child, the death of a parent or other loved one, major illness, career change, big geographic move, etc.) can blast any deep subconscious discontent out from the landmine of living.  Suddenly, you’re so tired of the struggle, and there’s no place left to hide.  Arms up and out in surrender, what can help you pick up the broken pieces, make a mosaic of healing out of suffering?

Begin by defining who you are, what matters most to you.  Engage with people and practices that support your growth.  But be careful!  Who you are isn’t better or worse than your partner.  He/she/they are growing, too.  Get curious about what feeds them.  Be patient with their response.  This doesn’t mean you become a doormat or a punching bag in the relationship.  It’s called a relationship for a reason, implying healthy connection, not disabling connection or hanging on by a thread.  You will find the balance between shouting vs. whispering to be heard, between taking the backseat or insisting on being the driver.

Make time for this new dance you are choreographing together.  It’s easy (and tempting) to fill the calendar with work, social engagements, the children’s activities, caring for aging parents, and time for self-care.  Sometimes you both will fall into bed after a long and tedious day with nighttime silence as a welcome reprieve.  Eyelids drooping, the lips can barely formulate a Good night honey or I love you.  Please don’t make yourselves the last priority!  You are the sun and moon of your family planet.  You will each take turns shining warmth on a joyous day or being that third eye in dark times to calm restless tides.

The poet Mark Nepo said, “To listen is to continually give up all expectation and to give our attention, completely and freshly, to what is before us, not really knowing what we will hear or what that will mean. In the practice of our days, to listen is to lean in, softly, with a willingness to be changed by what we hear.”

When I listen to my partner by leaning in softly with a willingness to be changed by what I hear, I am no longer the Wise or Gentle One.  He is no longer the Logical or Tough One.  We are simply one man, one woman, Braveheart and Tenderheart, trying our best to live in sync with Earth’s eternal heart.
​
Chances are we'll be the combination
Chances come and carry me
Chances are waiting to be taken, and I can see
 
Chances are the fascinations
Chances won't escape from me
Chances are only what we make them and all I need
 
Let’s take a chance.  You be you and I’ll be me.  Let’s listen to each other.  Let’s grow.  Let’s dance.  Let’s be the sun and moon for our family.  Thank you for taking a chance on me.
 
 

After the first Dedicated Practitioner’s retreat, I’m deeply humbled by my opinions, especially in the context of ethnic, economic, educational, sexually eclectic, gender, age-related, and able-bodied diversity.

I watched how comparing mind categorized my views as inferior, ignorant, in need of something more than what I had.  I felt like an outsider standing in a cold blizzard watching others through a window gathered around a warm fire in intimate conversation.  At other times, I labeled my views as superior, so sure of where I stood on solid ground.  I wanted to stay with people who promised comfort and connection through common perspectives based on shared experiences.

Post retreat, I realize how my experiences in small and large groups there echo my experiences in everyday life.  I tend to size where I stand compared with others.  Compassion naturally arises for this comparing mind because I know I am not alone.  Others experience this, too.

According to Shakil Choudhury, author of Deep Diversity, “We tend to tilt towards those most like ourselves and away from those we perceive to be different.  When we feel included, we tend to soar.  When excluded, we tend to underperform, second-guess ourselves, and in extreme cases, get sick.” (pg.25)

I remember when my mindful parenting and yoga mentor, Jackie Long was pregnant with her son.  Fumbling with my daughter’s care for the first few years of her life, I desperately wished I could push the rewind button for a second chance at parenting.  I yearned to embody Jackie’s maternal wellspring of wisdom and grounded loving presence.  Jackie’s words at that time were clear and kind.  “You admire me because you are looking in the mirror at yourself, a part you don’t recognize.”

Now, having a better understanding of Right View, I realize that no being is isolated in their magnificence or modesty.  We all carry the potential for each extreme.  Perhaps the Middle Path begins with awareness of our intentions and how they inform and inspire our actions.  I don’t need to emphasize expertise or deny knowledge/intuitive wisdom that can help heal myself and others.  When my ego is inflated, I can invite the person with a pin willing to pop me gently.  When I’m feeling stupid, I can remember my potential to learn.
 
We weave stories through one another,
dancing patterns of dread and delight.
No single colored strand is responsible
for holding the whole tapestry together.
Still, when one end of fabric frays
surrounding threads unite to stitch
the frazzled edges with kindness,
till each fiber is strengthened
by the eclectic, elegant design.
 
We weave stories of expertise and ignorance through one another.  Know single being knows it all or can possibly hold the whole tapestry together.  But when one person dominates or feels deficient, others surrounding him/her/them can unite to meet this being with kindness, curiosity, and peaceful engagement till all members of the group are strengthened by the eclectic, elegant design.

The tapestry is only as strong as each individual thread.  It is also quite fragile, blood-stained with ancestral stories, bright with the healing faith of our collective potential.  May we recognize the divinity inside one another.  May we honor the sacred within.

(Note: For questions to spark personal reflection regarding racial differences and enhance self-awareness, see Deep Diversity, pg. 44.)

​skyfire rising 
from cobalt waters
the day not yet defined
dancing into possibility 
 
My favorite time of day is sunrise when skyfire rises from cobalt waters, when the day is not yet defined.  Crossing Dumbarton Bridge some days to work, the chatterbox mind pauses for a few moments as the idea of 'I' melts into the majestic scene before me.

If I could, I would find some place to park, bust out a yoga mat for some sun salutations, and praise the sun for its warmth and light.  All ideas of mother, wife, daughter, sister, healer, poet, meditator, would burn in skyfire as a new Phoenix rises from the ashes of old selves.

****

​The following art piece was created from a dream I recently had about a whale.  The whale frequently breached, reminding me that even though I have so much subconscious anxiety, I am gently being guided by a mysterious, benevolent force in my conscious life.  I don't have to know the exact details of the future.  I can rest in the present moment.  

****

From the moment we wake up, most of us speed through our day with little time to pause.  What would it be like to shed all preconceived notions of who we are, to dance into the possibility of wonder, to believe that life gives us exactly what we need in each moment?

****

After a long day at work, I'm looking forward to dinner with my family at a favorite Mexican restaurant.  I'm not ready for the motorcyclist who ploughs into my rear end.  As I step out of the car, the guy is lying on the ground in a daze next to a heap of twisted metal.  My immediate reaction is not concern for his wellbeing, but a cold furry that chills me more than the evening temperature.

What the hell is wrong with you???  Can't you see I was clearly at a standstill in front of you?  I just got my car washed.  Now I'm going to have to deal with the headache of insurance reporting, repairs, etc.  I don't have time for this bullshit!!!

Ashamed of my internal reaction, I can't help my thoughts or the physical sensations of feeling stuck in a moment I can't escape.  The peaceful experiences of witnessing the sunrise and creating the glass art seem so far away. We eventually exchange information in the presence of a police officer and he apologizes for the accident.  All I can manage are a few insincere words.  “I hope you are ok.”

Am I gently being guided by a mysterious, benevolent force in my conscious life?  Don't I have to know the exact details of the future? Can I rest in the present moment?  Am I given exactly what I need in each moment?

​

****

Clarissa Pinkola Estes writes, “To display the lantern of soul in shadowy times like these - to be fierce and to show mercy toward others; both are acts of immense bravery and greatest necessity."

I pause and allow the thoughts manifested as anger, fear, and disappointment to run through me like wild stallions.  I forgive them, and ask what would be the exact opposite of scolding naughty children?  Placing a hand on my belly and heart, I picture the injured motorcyclist next to his nonfunctional bike and accept his sincere apology.  I send metta and thank him for the unexpected opportunity to practice mindfulness and compassion.  I even text him to see how he is doing and offer medical advice for his twisted ankle.

****
​
We don't know what each day will bring.  Some experiences will be pleasant while others are clearly unpleasant.  May we create space for them all, dancing into the possibility of love in all its forms, trusting that love always wins.
​

"harvest moon ducks" by joiseyshowaa