Dancer in the Dark

I've been meaning to write about this for the past 5 day. But the words don't seem to come me so easily. Then again, that is the problem with language and words. They constrict what you say. Instead of expressing what you mean and what you feel, words have this way of keeping things in little boxes; they keep some things in, and the rest out.Because of language, I can express myself, but because of language, I have no way of expressing something I experienced or something I feel. Not to its fullest extent.

This weekend, Epsylon, Sean, Milo, and myself headed down to Eugene for Remembrance. This rave was set up with two very important intentions. The first was to remember our loved ones who passed away: to celebrate them, to remember the great memories we shared. The second was to raise money to give to the family of a man who died in August on his way home from a rave that we were at.

He had taken some substance that evening in August, danced all night, stayed up all night, and in the morning, on his drive back home, he drove off the mountain. He was exhausted. He didn't stop to rest. He didn't wait and sleep for a few hours before deciding to drive home. I feel horrible for him. Nothing means rushing off like that. Nothing is worth the risk.

So Remembrance, held in his honor. It was an amazing event, with the purist of intentions, with the most wonderful people. It was transformetive for so many on so many different levels. But it is not my place to tell their stories, so I will tell my own. . .

---

I was knighted with the lovely task of driving us down there in the evening. I was also self appointed to find some vegan eateries for dinner and breakfast. My two biggest concerns: not falling asleep on that two hour stretch of straight highway, and good food in a foreign place.

The ride was amazing, as opposed to downing the "energy drinks" that I thought I would have to, I was engaged in wonderful conversation by three amazing souls. The topics ranged from electroclash to transcendental experiences to politics. When we arrived in Eugene, I safely docked out party at The Pizza Research Institute, where we all gulped down the best vegan pizza we've ever had. Conversation dropped off at this point as we each fell into the blissful eating state, but the connection still remained the same. Over the course of two hours, a wonderful little community was made. The first time I really have felt this at any electronic event I've been to.

At the party itself, my fatigue started to show itself and I Epsylon and I passed out before his set. Luckily one of our party members came to wake us up in the nick of time. We got the equipment, more water, and set up began. Before Epsylon was done setting up, I place my Durga statue in front of him, took my mala and went to the corner to meditate and chant my mantra till I was at ease.

His set started off with a chant that both quieted the room and centered everyone's intention and attention. It was a short 20 second chant that seemed to go on for an hour. During it my mantra was repeated louder and louder internally as I pranamed to everyone in the crowd, sent off my blessings to each one, and begged for my guru's blessing and love.

And with a boom, his set began. It was a live set, meaning he was mixing in live, contorting sound with his Virus C
live, and playing the piano intuitively along. It was the first set in which he played all of his music. Immediately with that first bar, I felt a rush of emotion that I have only experienced a few other times. This rush was a swelling of unconditional love, joy, omnipresence, groking, and presence. That is the simplest way to describe it.

I felt like I had tapped into the universal source. I was overwhelmed. I thought I was going to explode, fall down crying hysterically, kiss everyone, and leave my body all at once. I've experienced this before, but it always leaves me breathless each time.

I began to dance. Something I've never done when anyone has been around. Raves for over 10 years, and this was the first one that I danced at. I danced as I was filled with emotion. I danced as the music swelled. I danced as the energy of the crowd flowed around me. I danced until I couldn't dance anymore. I wasn't concerned with other people. I was connected with my body, the music, the energy, the being. I was connected.

Other things happened too. I blessed a dog that was unfortunate enough to be brought to such a place. I stopped dancing for her and sent as much love as I could to her. I disagree with them coming to indoor events. Their poor ears. And they must be startled by everyone dancing so erratically. At least with outdoor events, they can run around and chase little critters. I think the dog picked up on me. Immediately, she went from being scared to being calm. On her second time around the floor, this time unleashed, immediately, she came up to me, sat next to me, and allowed me to pet her and give her more love.

A bit after that, I looked over and saw a lovely sitting by the wall in meditation. I don't know why, but immediately I stopped dancing for him too. I walked over, sat down, and began my practice of Hong-Sau, a meditation technique taught by Yoganandagi. There is no explanation for why. I just acted. Today I found out that it was needed and it was felt. I am happy about that. I had no intention other to send him and the crowd love, and I am glad that he received it.

I think I needed it too. After the meditation, I felt more centered, more full of love, but less like I was going to explode. This time, it was washing over me, but not violently like before. I now understand the lyrics, "I am the bubble, lord, I am the sea."

The experience was amazing. I felt connected. To everyone and everything. I felt compassion and unconditional love for everyone. I felt like I was even more deeply connected to my partner and those around me. I felt like I contributed to something wonderful. It was ecstatic. It was paradise. It is not even close to what full samadhi would feel like.

Some Sartre

From The Philosophy of Jean-Paul Sartre

"And I myself - soft, weak, obscene, digesting, juggling with dismal thoughts - I, too, was superfluous. Fortunately, I didn't feel it, rather it was a matter of understanding it; but I was uncomfortable because I was afraid of feeling it (even now I'm afraid - afraid that it might catch me behind my head and lift me up like a wave from the depths). I dreamed vaguely of killing myself to wipe out at least one of these superfluous existences. But even my death would have been superfluous. Superfluous, my corpse, my blood on these stones, between these plants, at the bottom of this smiling garden. And the gnawed flesh would have been superfluous in the earth which would receive my bones, at least, cleaned, peeled, as clean as teeth, it would have been superfluous: I was superfluous for eternity." p61-62

"This moment was extraordinary. I was there, motionless, paralyzed, plunged in a horrible ecstasy. But at the heart of this ecstasy, something new had just appeared, I understood the Nausea, I possessed it." p.64

Now, it might just be me, but it seems that the majority of this book is describing psychedelic experiences. Could it be that my philosophical hero, the one I look up to, was a psychonaut at heart? Is this why so many of his ideas align with mine? I wonder what Ken Wilbur would say on the subject. I wonder what he has said on the subject.

So Tired

I had several dreams about eating last night, and I think I kept swallowing my tongue. I kept waking up as soon as I swallowed something in my dream, gagging and coughing.

Obviously, I lack any of that chemical that your body produces when you sleep that is supposed to render you paralyzed.

And Slowly She Dies

I can feel my creativity lessening and lessening. I can feel it waning, tapering off. Too soon. I am starting to vie for my 18 year old self. The self who was reckless, a heart breaker, numb, beautiful, fierce, and could send syllables shooting off her tongue quicker with more fluidity than Old Faithful herself.

I wonder if it's this convenient heterosexual lifestyle, if it's this comfortable housing situation. I play wife, he plays husband. I cook and clean, get mad when he messes up. He rubs my feet, tells me it will be okay, and sometimes treats me with surprises.

I can feel this monster inside of me screaming to get out. Images and remembrances reinforce this impatient demon.

Will tonight be the night? Will I wreck it all for nothing?

Llorando

Llorando
de cara a la pared
se apaga la ciudad

Llorando
Y no hay màs
muero quizas
Adonde estàs?

Soñando
sin respirar
te quiero amar
te quiero amar

Rezando
Santa Maria
Santa Maria
Santa Maria

Sweat

Two nights ago, we enjoyed pad thai outside on the patio in the 95˚ at 9pm weather. A bit later, we laid down to go to sleep. Brennan kept the door from our room to the back yard open, along with the window. I didn't want to, I thought it would get too cold.

In the middle of the night, I woke up with a sore throat, damn it, I knew it would be too cold. I closed the door and the window, he got fussy. I woke up around 7am, with a killer sore throat. So tea and soup it was for breakfast, though it was already reaching 80˚ around 8am.

At 11, we went to go sign the paperwork on our new apartment, him not feeling so hot as well, we decided to take the bus instead of walking. We got there, signed the papers, I handed over my first check ever for rent+deposit. I was feeling sicker and sicker by the moment. We walked to the Trader Joes, picked up OJ, Emergen-C, avocados, mango, and some other treats for sick sick Dom.

All day yesterday, my body was in excruciating pain. I couldn't swallow with out cringing violently, I cried each time I woke up from the throbbing pain in my legs/lower back, and I slept in increments of 4 hours.

Last night, I woke up, several times, dripping in sweat. You could imagine that I had just jumped out of the pool there was so much water on me. Our poor bed sheets. They need to be washed, again, after only one day.

This morning when I woke up at 5, the pain in my lower body was pretty much gone, and I didn't feel as dizzy/sick as I did yesterday. But the sore throat persists. So much, that last night at 11 or so, I gave up on talking, and wrote notes to Brennan instead.

In the middle of the night, I randomly woke up with the thought "tonsillitis". And of course, this morning, the first thing I do is look up symptoms of tonsillitis. I am convinced I've got it. I just have to look in the mirror and check to see if little pus pockets have formed on my tonsils yet.

eeeep!

Strawberry Mango Crisp

Fruit Mixture:
4 cups quartered strawberries
2 cups mango, diced
4 tbsp. sugar
4 tbsp. flour

Topping:
1 cup flour
1/2 cup rolled oats
1 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup (1 stick) margarine


Preheat the oven to 400˚ F.
Mix the ingredients for the fruit mixture together in a large bowl. Spread evenly into a 2-quart casserole dish. Set aside. Mix the dry ingredients or the topping together in a medium bowl. Cut in the margarine until the mixture resembles small peas. Spread the topping evenly over the fruit mixture. Bake for 35 to 45 minutes, until bubbly. Server warm with nondairy "ice cream".

He made a mixture of lentils, beans, and curry for dinner. Served it on a fresh white bowl, he walked away with it into the other room.

"What am I going to eat?" she called after him.

"I don't know."

Meal Ideas

[ B R E A K F A S T ]
tofu scramble and soy sausage · vegan pancakes · soy yogurt · fruit smoothie · bagel or toast with peanut butter and jelly · oatmeal or other hot cereal · cereal or granola with soy, rice, or nut milk

[ L U N C H ]
bean burrito · grain or soy burger · vegetarian hot dog · vegetarian lunchmeat sandwich · baked tempeh or tofu sandwich · tofu tempeh, or seitan stir-fry · tofu lasagna · pasta and tomato sauce · lentil soup

[ D I N N E R ]
falafel wrap with lemon tahini dressing · cajun-style beans and rice · vegetarian chili with mixed green salad · bbq tofu with corn on the cob · vegetable shish kabobs

Tofu Scrambler

1 package of firm tofu, mashed
1 packet of tofu scrambler seasoning
olive oil to wet
salt to season

Mix ingredients in a large mixing bowl. Fry mixture in a large iron skillet till browned. Server alone, with salad, with bread, or fried tomatoes.

"It's pretty much ready," she calls to him in the living room, after teasing him for 15 minutes about how good her lunch was going to be.

She moves from the skillet to the sink. Early start on washing up to make things easier later. The flame is still medium-low, the scramble keeps cooking.

He comes in an sits at the table. A minute passes. She still washes and scrubs at the prep dishes and his breakfast dishes. The scrambler still is burning. She looks over at her shoulder at him. He returns the gaze.

"Were you expecting me to serve you?"

He pops up. "No. I was just sitting."

He clamors his way through the dishes to find suitable one. He selects one sitting underneath six others. He pulls it out and closes the cabinet. He pours himself enough food to feed her for two days. He selects a fork in the deepest part of the drawer, searching through all the silver and wood and plastics. All the spoons and chopsticks, knives and forks. She wonders if they too, remain as still as possible hoping he'd think they were asleep.

When he is done groping his fingers in dark places in search of that one item he wants, he kisses her briskly on the cheek and begins to leave the room. Just before he exits, he looks back and says, "You know, I always serve you when I make meals."

When you always make meals. The only meal you've made in the past month has been the one last night that I asked you to make. And even then, when I asked for friend linguini, you gave it to me boiled. Plain.

She wonders what he thinks.

Fly Away

The humming bird flitters everywhere saying hello and visiting everyone without pause. She flies, shines her bright iridescent chest, never for a pause. Not once do we see her rest. No, she cannot rest. We will not let her. We must see the bright reds and greens flip about. W must bathe in her happy hum. We must be amused by her midair dance. She will hypnotize us, and dazzle and amaze. She will be beautiful, always on display.

It is for our amusement she will never rest. It is for our amusement she will never be safe.

Take a Walk in These Shoes

I don't know why I get so anxious about job interviews. I know I don't say anything stupid, but it is hard to go in when I know that I am being judged and I am being put on the spot. Thank god I have a mother who frequently puts me on the spot. I wouldn't know how I would act otherwise. I don't say stupid things but I often walk away feeling dumb or like I said the wrong thing. Oh Well.

Yesterday I had a preliminary interview with Wells Fargo on the phone. Today, I got a call back. I am too nervous to return the call. I don't know why I am so afraid.

Today, I interviewed at Ismelda's Shoes. I know I said the right things. It is a good opportunity. I can work 30+ hours weekly, can qualify for health care, 401K, paid vacation, raises, etc. I will need to buy fancy fashionable clothes though. And I won't find out till the end of next week.

It went well. I told them that I enjoyed meeting people, that I enjoyed helping people, and that I like being knowledgeable about products, etc. I also let her know that I was planning on continuing school in the Spring.

What a nice job it would be.

Brennan went for an interview today, at Spun DJ Academy and he got the job. I am glad for him. He will be paid based on the enrollment in classes time the hours he teaches. It will be good.

Things are coming together.
I just need to get my job now.

LAX to PDX in 34 Hours

May 31, 2006
5:30am - wake up first time
6:30am - wake up second time and get out of bed.
7:00am - pack 3 large boxes, 1 camping backpack, 1 timbuk2 bag, and a bicycle in my mom's itty bitty mercedes.
7:55am - gas up the car and smoothie up our bellies
9:15am - arrive at Union Station
9:23am - unpack all my bags, put them on a cart, check in, Brennan runs upstairs to check my bike
10:00am - get on the Starlight Express to Portland, OR.

June 1, 2006
10:00pm - arrive in Portland, OR

I will have been on this train for over 34 hours. We have eaten 3 meals in the dining car, I have had one meal in the snack car, we have spent hours watching the ocean from the viewing lounge, and hours sleeping in our seats. I have been by the ocean, through farm lands, across the mountains, and under tunnels, upstairs, downstairs, and in a bajillion seats.

I started my life with Brennan yesterday. We spoke for hours of it, about marriage, eloping, living together, our lives, and all those wonderful things. Eloping? No. But it was agreed that we might as well be doing it. Perhaps my mother wouldn't be too happy to hear such news. But it is starting and I am excited.

He said it felt like a dream. I can't agree, but it doesn't seem real either. Not surreal, but perhaps it hasn't hit me yet.

Pimpest of the Little Kids

I am helping my mother move. One of my tasks is to go through all the banker boxes of files, secret papers, and classified reports. I have to repack everything into new banker boxes and seal them.

I have come across a group of papers, stories, and art work that I made when I was between 3-7. All I have to say is that I am the pimpest.

My treasure includes the realization that I invented Harry Potter after I came across a story I wrote where Harry battled the big one eyed monster and killed it. I also came across my first encounters with the typewriter. I found 30-some sheets of paper that I had written one or two lines. The best one:

I am a thege it is encredabol.

There is also "I see my trkees"

That is just awesome. I invented Harry Potter (just like uggs and miniskirts in Boston), and I was a thug and had tricks. Proof of how hardcore I was a little. I'll cut a bitch.

Oh to be home again.

Oh the stress, the drama, the love, the crying. Oh, to be home again.
Oh, to know that I am leaving soon. Oh, to know how much my mother
disapproves.

I have been here for less than 24 hours, and already, the emotions
have been running all over the place.

I am helping my mother move. I am packing boxes, putting books on
Amazon.com. I am going through my things, throwing them out, and
repacking boxes. I am paring down my clothing, and throwing out even
more material goods. It is funny. You start out with so little, and
over the years, they add up and turn into more and more. Things you
don't even use. Things you can't remember where you got. Things that
have great memories, smells, pictures, ideas. You hold on to them.
Perhaps you'll need them one day. Perhaps you'll remember what
happened. Perhaps they'll be good again. Over time they pile up and
become these overwhelming towers of emotions and good times.

So the first time throwing things away is overwhelming. We go
through, and it's so hard to let things go. But you do it. You pry
the objects of love from your fingers and your heart, you can hear
the dry crackle of old glue as you pull it away. You take them, in
boxes and bags, either to charity, to the corner, or the dumpster
depending on the condition. You let them go, hopefully sold for petty
cash, to a charity for someone more poor and a handy tax write off,
to the curb for a magical fairy of the early morning to take away.

And then, it has fallen down to half the size it was before. You
continue on with your life, and two days later, you've forgotten
about everything you've thrown out.

I wonder if I will keep trimming down till I have nothing left, or if
it will all soon be replaced.

Happily Ever After

This is Epyslon's name for it.
Happily Ever After.

Happily Ever After
he gets to live with the woman of his dreams,
he gets to wake up to sparkles and kisses and tickles down his back,
he gets to cuddle all night long,
he gets to engage in philosophical talks all night long,
he gets to have meditations and yoga every morning,
he gets to have team baths,
he gets to make dinners for two,
he gets to clean,
he gets love.

4.5 hours to my ride to the airport.
7 hours to my flight
15.5 hours to LAX
12 days to Happily Ever After.

Gentle and Irritated

I know that these are two things I need to work on. My lack of gentleness and how easily irritated I can become.

I am not gentle. I do not know how to coddle or coo over someone when they are having a hard time. I do not know how to not be blunt, forward, and aggressive in my actions and the way that I think. I am a strong hitter, I don't take pity, and I am not easy. I tend to be aggressive, and while I don't mean to step on people's boundaries, I know that I do it.

I become easily agitated. Not when things are directed at me, but when people do things that I think are stupid, emotionally, illogical, or idiotic. I can't stand people who don't think. They annoy and irritate me. Now, I know this isn't about me, and I know that it is not worth getting worked up about. But I still do.

So these are the two things I need to work on right now. I have decided to stop being irritable, and I have decided to be more gentle. We will see how this goes.

Satyasamadhi

This is what I do for fun.
Granted, this video was taken in November 05, when I was far less experienced, and terribly frightened of the flames. Oh, my flow has gotten so much better ever since.

Fire Spinner

I started spinning poi almost a year ago: July 2005, on the roof top of Freeman. I taught myself the basics, and then some more. I was adamant about it. I love the flow of it: two vectors traveling through space that never were allowed to collide or change their path abruptly. It was easy for me. It was thinking about how blades move through water. If these two objects were spinning the ocean, how could they go? How could they not go? Now take them out of water, and apply the same physics to air. After all, air isn't space, it is billions of particles floating around, just like in water, simply not as compact. It was brilliant.

It was taking my element, water, and applying my knowledge of it to air.

And I was happy with the socks, and with the poi with tails. Honestly. They are beautiful, with these bright pinks swirling all around me. Nothing could make me happier.

And then, after a while, I met some other spinners who had pushed me into fire. No. They didn't push me, but they made it look so lovely and perfect that I had to try it. And I was terrified of it. Terrified. It was so dangerous, and everyone was watching me. My biggest problem was people watching me. They watched me with the socks, and it was an issue. They watched me doing anything, and it was an issue. I was not ready to be seen, I was not ready to be the center of attention. Attention, I love. Yes. Not when I have to perform though.

I don't know where this fear came from. I have my theories. Partly because my mom forced me to do recitals with instruments when I was a little, and partly because of my issues of standing out and becoming a burden. After all, if you stand out, it is easier for people to poke and figure out what is wrong with you and abandon you than if you stand in perfectly. Or perhaps it was the pressure to be perfect at everything, and really I am not. Who knows.

For that past year, I've been dealing with this anxiety and people watching me. I've been dealing with performing. I've been dealing with this idea of flow and the poi being an appendage of me. And last weekend, it all came down to the Latina Cultural Show, and you know what? It was horrible. I did fine, and that was good. But I couldn't breathe, I was shaking, I thought I would pass out from how dizzy I was. I walked off the stage, and fell down in a heap and cried my little eyes out from the anxiety.

And then last night came. I went to a burn at Brandeis, and people watched me spin. A lot of people watched me spin, a lot of times. And not once was I disconnected. Not once did I hit myself. Not once did I tense up and freak out. Not once was I thinking about the people watching me. It was glorious. I finally hit that spot, that flow, that feeling of just me, and the warmth, and the fire.

Amazing, I hadn't picked up the poi since January, I picked it up again two weeks ago, and suddenly, it more natural than anything I've ever done before. Ahhhh, it feels good.

Speaking of Slavery

What do you do, when you find out that somewhere in your family, they were slave owners, or that someone your deeply connected to, their family were slave owners?

I guess I'm asking this from a more spiritual stance than an ethnically mixed stance.

How do you deal knowing that you are the direct descendant of slave owners?
How do you deal knowing that your best friend or significant other is the direct descendant?

Now, I'm not saying that you or they are bad people. But does that change the way you view your or their families? By families I mean great-grandparents or great-great-grandparents.

Is there some type of karma or energy that gets passed down?

Now, I suppose it is arguable that we all come from lines of violence. If not, how could we be alive? But slavery, in the US is something that was going on not too long ago. To me that feels very fresh in our history even though I didn't experience, nor did my mother.

I don't know. I know it is a touchy subject. I suppose it's just something that I thought about today and am interested in exploring and understanding.

Aztec Poi Fusian

So, I have had a problem with performing, and I have avoided it at all costs over the past few years. It makes me wheezy to think about, and for some reason, I disconnect from my body and freak out.

On Saturday night, I put myself to the test and did something that I hadn't done since 8th grade. I got up in front of everyone, and performed in the Latina Cultural Show at Wellesley College. Now, when I say everyone, I mean a full auditorium of a few hundred people. How many people? More than there were seats. There were people sitting on the floor in the front, up and down the aisles, and standing in the doorways.

My fingers shook, my breath was fast, I was hyperventilating; I thought I was going to pass out. The 3 minutes seemed to take ages. I thought I would die.

People screamed when we came out. I heard my name being said said. They screamed throughout the performance. They screamed at the end.

I slowly walked off stage, convinced I was going to keel over.
I burst out crying. From the adrenaline. From the anxiety. From the emotion. From all of it.

I am never performing again.
Ever.

Moving

I have come to my decision. I am withdrawing from Wellesley, moving to Portland with Epsilon, and pursuing a life in Web Design, Yoga, DJing, Love and Happiness.

Hooray.

It is so exciting. More to come.

Support Oh Rama

THURSDAY - Dinner with Linnea and Eleanor: beer, bread, cheese, avocado, arugula, tomato, artichoke, zip cars, debaucherous stories, and funny phone calls. Drive to the airport to pick up my mom, and drive back to School.

FRIDAY - Breakfast (grapefruit + tater tots), Art History (fell asleep), Java Programming (midterm #2), lunch, psychiatrist appointment (tried to convince me for antidepressants), CPK for dinner (fettucini + chocolate souffle), shopping till my arms fell off, returned to School, decided against psyforia, and slept.

TODAY - Wake up late, brunch (grapefruit + waffle), mom tells me I'm too skinny and she can see my ribs and it doesn't look right, Wild West on TV, library for homework.


My mother has come out to visit me for this weekend. Partly because she misses me, and partly because I cried too much a couple weeks ago. I love her, and it is so nice to be around her. I notice that when Brennan comes and stays in my room for a week straight, it's not a big deal to me. I can handle it, his energy is calming for me, and we fill space nicely together. When I am in my room with my mom however, I feel cramped, and like I need to run away. I am on edge, a little anxious. But it as been good to visit with her. She is lovely, and I am sad we only have two days left. Such a short trip. It is good though. I will be home in a month.

A Little Rumi for You and I

THE SILK WORM

I stood before a silk worm one day.
And that night my heart said to me,

"I can do things like that, I can spin skies,
I can be woven into love that can bring warmth to people;
I can be soft against a crying face,
I can be wings that lift, and I can travel on my thousand feet
throughout the eart,
my sacks filled
with the
sacred."

And I replied to my heart,

"Dear, can you really do all those things?"

And it just nodded "Yes'
in silence.

So we began and will never
cease.

Prayer Lists.

I haven't meditated in a while. Brennan told me last night that I need to, as it will help me with my sadness. He is right. But rolling over and going to sleep was so much easier.

I think I will try and do this more. At first it is always hard. But then it becomes easier and easier.
5 minutes. Every night. My new goal.

I think I will also come up with a prayer list, to put out a good energy and vibration for those who need love and healing.
So, if there is someone you want/think would benefit from it, please, let me know.

Spring Break 2006

Less than 4 days till Epsilon arrives
3 days and 8 hours till Epsilon arrives.
That's 80 hours.
Or 4800 minutes.
Or 288000 seconds.

Okay, that might be obsessing a little, but I am so excited to see my honey, especially have doing so much work on our relationship in the past month.

We have done a lot to make our bond a lot stronger, and to work on and better ourselves. Our relationship is so fulfilling because we never allow the other to be lazy, or to stop growing. It is a must, a requirement for us to be with each other, and the lovely thing about it is that there is infinite room for growth. The nice thing is that we both have strengths in different areas. He is stronger in his emotional growth, and I in my practical growth. Spiritually, we are on par, so we are able to explore things together. And we are able to support each other when the other is growing in a field that we are already strong in.

Mmmmm. . . how nice and loving.

My Roots

The question of the month posed by my mother has been "When did I start to raise a hippie child?", "How did you become a hippie?" or something along those lines to infer that she hadn't actually raised me this way, and it's a bizarre thing that I am the way I am.

At first, I told her it was that hippie church she raised me in. Now, I don't really think it's hippie, but come on, SRF isn't exactly the normative here in the US. Eastern philosophies such a dharma, karma, samadhi, omnipresence, etc, aren't exactly the normal ways to viewing things.

And then I told her that it was New Roads. 6-12 grade, pure hippie-ness. From classes in middle school on the beach, to yoga as a P.E. requirement, to Mysteries, Connections (if you know what these two things are, you a hippie too. Don't lie), to smoking the peace pipe with a shaman in the sweat lodge my senior year, it was not a normal conservative school.

And I even pressed her, saying that because she raised me Vegan, because I'm biracial, because of my bizarre childhood, I've had to deal with being different, and I have learned to accept others for their differences, regardless of beliefs, and that in doing so, it has reaffirmed to me that I should be accepted regardless of my beliefs.

But now, now it has all come together. The sole cause of my hippie-ness is none other than my favorite childhood friend: David the Gnome.



I mean, a doctor gnome who uses acupuncture, smokes from a hookah, is against pollution, and grows a long crazy beard? Of course. It all makes sense. My hippie-ness has been in the works since I was 4.

Good job Nickelodeon. You win. Now go put all of them on DVD so that I can buy them and be nostalgic in my bed with my glow worm, lite brite, and my Charlie Brown movies too.

The Whole Spectrum

+ Brennan spoke to his mother, and now I know for sure that she actually likes me. This greatly puts my mind at ease when thinking about going to Taos, our families, and our future.
+ I spoke with my mom about things that are going on for me, and she was able to listen.
+ I woke up this morning and I heard birds outside my window.
+ It is getting warmer.
+ Tomorrow I start therapy.
+ I have conquered the interlibrary loan system, and my book on yoga is here, waiting for me to pick it up
+ I got sweet love notes written in Hindi.
+ Brennan comes out in two weeks.
+ Brennan is threatening to put Reason on my computer and have me start making music.
+ I'm going to dread my hair during spring break.


. I have two midterms this week.
. I have my radio show this week.
. I am hungry, but yoga starts in an hour or so.
. I have a job for this weekend, but at least that is $200.


- I have to catch up on missed work.
- This stupid paper is still killing me.
- I am still having a hard time focusing on things.

Questions with No Answers

Throughout my entire life I have found that I seem to have this awesome capability of questioning everyone and everything. It is how I first learned. I wasn't told "No". My mother made it distinctly clear that "No" was never a sufficient answer. Never because "she said so". There was always some wonderful logical explanation for everything and even when it was too complex for my little mind to grasp, it was always, "You won't understand this one, but trust me, it makes sense because . . . ." Those were the answers I could accept. The ones with Logical quick responses, the ones that were too complex for me, but I was asked to trust, or the ones where the other person said, "You know, I really don't know, but I imagine there must be a good explanation, so let's figure it out."

So then enters my education. In recent conversation, I learned that when my mom went to parent teacher meetings, she was told that I was rowdy in class and disrespectful. Was I? No. It's really that teachers don't like being probed for logical questions by 3rd graders. No, in high school, some of them weren't fans of being questioned by 17 year olds. It's not my fault they didn't know the answers to what they were teaching.

My best teachers have always been the ones who acknowledge that they don't know everything. In fact, that they knew very little of anything that had to do with anything in the world. What they did know, they wanted to teach, and what they didn't, they were eager to learn. These were the teachers that had my respect. They allowed room for far more than themselves. I was able to choose them as my teachers, rather, they were given to me, but I was able to choose to learn and respect and and invest my energy into them.

But then comes the idea of my guru. He was given to me, at a young age, and I have always questioned everything he has said, and yet, there was always an honest logical answer. Well, as logical as spirituality can go, since it is based on assumptions I suppose you could argue. But he is dead, and while I cannot question him, I can question his writings and his teachings. They all support one another and there is no inconsistency that I can put my finger on. Dualities yes, but dualities are not inconsistencies. It is indeed possible to live in two different times and spaces at once. I know this, it is a daily event.

If I can't ask him questions myself, how can I know for a fact that he is my guru? I didn't choose him. I value his teachings, but they don't seem like enough for me. I feel like I am drinking and drinking and still so thirsty for more, for deeper answers, for a greater knowing and understanding. I want my own guru who I feel connected with and who I yearn to be around all the time, but I can't feel that way about a dead teacher who I have never met.

Of course, he is not the knowledge and I already know him, as I know myself. But still. I admire him, love his stories, his teachings, and his philosophies, but they don't quite leave me satiated enough. I think soon, I will have to take a journey to find my true guru.

But who knows, perhaps they are sitting right next to me.

I Hope God Thinks Like That

I Hope God Thinks Like That
by Rabia


There is a dog I sometimes take for a walk
and turn loose in a
field,

when I can't give her that freedom
I feel in debt.

I hope God thinks like that and

is keeping track of all
the bliss He
owes
me.

New Leaf

In recent thought, I've decided to turn over a new leaf. Though, it happened in January, around New Years, I wouldn't call it a New Year's Resolution. That is something one does at the turn of the year as a promise to give something up or try a new habit. While I think it's good that people try and change for the better, I don't believe in waiting till a holiday or certain day to better yourself. It is the same idea with parties and holidays or special occasions. Just because it is a certain day out of the year doesn't mean that it is the perfect opportunity to get wasted or participate in destructive behavior. I think that making excuses is a habit of the lazy. Just because it is a certain date, doesn't mean it's time to become unruly and stop working. Vacations are nice, but out of reward, not because of laziness.

But it was around that time when I had a month off of school, and I realized that I hadn't been taking proper care of myself here at Wellesley. I had been studying and growing intellectually, but I was ignoring the physical side of me, the emotional, and the spiritual. I realized that I was in a lot of pain both because I felt like I wasn't getting enough love an affection from those around me, and from myself. I realized that in coming back, I needed t take extra care of myself.

So I have been, I've gone out and gotten affection from those around me, gotten little ego boosts here and there, haven't been gorging myself, and laughing more. I have also started doing yoga more regularly than I have in the past couple of years.

My first introduction to it was when I was 12, and we did it for P.E. at my middle school. I loved it. That and the Karate that we did. Next, in high school I did it here and there both in school, and for stretching for the Crew Team I was on. I stopped when I first went to Wellesley, and became depressed. One summer, after leaving Wellesley, I had the fortune of making friends with someone who was training to get her certification to teach it, and she would teach us so that she could get practice. I came home and did it on and off by myself. And now, back at Wellesley, I am taking a class twice a week, and doing it twice a week on my own.

So yoga is one of the first things that I am doing to better myself. It is helping me to center myself, quiet my mind, and practice breathing. The stretches are amazing, I feel so good to be sore all over; I cannot wait to see where this takes me.