It was back to work this past week!  On Monday, Karen Hogan, one of Seattle’s best massage therapists (in addition to Julie Bacon, MaryAnn Kuchera, Jessie Jo Egersett, Hanna Thompson and Misty Esqueda), contacted me and said she had a last minute opening for that very evening at 7 pm.  7 pm on Mondays is the magical hour.  That’s when I finish teaching five Monday classes.  It is the end of a long day and reaching heaven is a matter of going upstairs to Karen’s massage table.  When I teach, I put my whole body and soul into the classes.  Many might think that teaching yoga is a kind of vocation that keeps stress at bay.  And, yes, it is a beautiful vocation that allows me to embody a healthy holistic lifestyle.  However, teaching yoga is wear and tear on my body and, as with all work,  can be energy depleting.  I have to be attentive to getting plenty of sleep, eating nutritionally rich foods, getting a proper amount of down time, and getting regular massages. I quickly snatched up Karen’s availability for a massage.

You can  imagine how relaxed I was as I left her studio that evening.  It wasn’t until I got home that I realized my circuni were missing!  Circuni are traditional gold circular earrings that used to be worn by all Sicilian women.  My circuni were given to me by my maternal grandmother, Nonna Antonia Licata, also known as Mamma N’to.

Circuni

I remembered taking off the circuni and placing them next to my clothing before the massage with Karen.  They must have fallen to the floor as I got dressed after my massage.  Once I realized they were missing, I told Karen and she went back to look for them.  She later emailed me saying she searched and only found ONE of my gold earrings.  I was really upset by this news.  Rick immediately grabbed a flashlight and we drove over to the studio and looked around.  One of Rick’s nicknames is Dolphin Boy because he is a fish when it comes to water, but it could very well be Eagle Eye.  He is very good at finding things.  My hopes were raised.  The studio itself was locked, but we looked on the grass and retraced my footsteps to the car, thinking that perhaps the earring got hooked onto my clothing and fell while I was walking.

No luck.  I reported back to Karen and asked her to look again in the morning. It had to be somewhere.  Tear the room apart! My earring had to be there!

I tried not to panic, not to be sad.

I thought that, worse case scenario, I would make a ring out of the one earring, the way Aunt Lily does when she loses a valuable earring and is left with one unmatched pair.

Or, I could have the missing one made when I go to Sicily again.

Yogis are supposed to be unattached.  I fail miserably at this.  I am pathetic.  The fact is,  I love my circuni. How would I proceed with the second half of my life without them?  Even thinking about his brings tears to my eyes.

I found myself haunted by a 40 year old memory.  It was Easter 1972.  I was 10 years old and my family went to Sicily and I met my Nonna for the first time ever.  My beautiful teenage sisters were the talk of the village.  I was a gawky little girl.  While my sisters went out with our teenage cousins , I had to hang around my parents, Nonna, and the stream of visitors coming by to say hello to gli Americani. On the second day of our visit, Nonna stared hard at me.  She told my parents, “Ma, nun e peccato ca sta carusa ‘un avi gricchini?  Nun e buonu.  Ca, nun si usa cosi.  Li carusi fimini si fanno li gricchini quannu si nascanu.  Dumani ci yamu.” (“But what’s this? It’s wrong (sinful) that this child doesn’t wear earrings!  It’s not right.  It’s not our custom. Little girls must have their ears pierced right after they are born.  Tomorrow, we’ll take care of this!”)

My parents didn’t know how to respond.  You never disagree with an elder.  My mom just set her mouth tight and studied the floor.  My dad looked very concerned.  He bravely argued with Mamma N’to.  “Ma, see, in America, parents wait until their girls are in their teens. Then, if the girls want their ears pierced, the parents take them in to have it done.  We would like to follow that custom.”

“No! Dumani ci yamo!  Gia fatto e!”  (No! We’ll go tomorrow. Consider it done!”) Here is how my Aunt Tanina described her mother, my Nonna Licata: “La mamma nosha ficiva lu papa, e lu papa, ficiva la mamma!”  (“Our mother played the role of father, and our father was our mother.”)  In other words, my grandmother ruled the roost.

The next morning, Nonna wrapped herself up in her long black shawl, and led my dad and me to the village jewelers.  There I was shown a number of circuni.   The jeweler treated each pair as  crown jewels.  He unwrapped and, later, re-wrapped each pair with delicate hands.  Nonna told me to choose a pair.  They seemed so big for my little-girl ears, but I was secretly thrilled because the idea of owning gold earrings was so grown up!  My dad was clearly upset by all of this.  He stood by, a silent sentinel.

I chose a pair with stars made of white gold.  Nonna liked my choice and said, “Mi, chissi buo?” (“My, are these the ones you want?”) She then looked at me quite seriously and said, “Sti stiddri ti portanu la buona fortuna! Pi sempri!”  “These stars will bring you good luck!  Forever!”  I was a very impressionable child and pretty excited at Nonna’s words. I looked over at my dad.  The color was drained from his face.   I wanted to know why he was so upset, but I intuitively knew it was best not to ask.

Nonna then led us down some cobblestone streets and very narrow alleys.  I held daddy’s hand. I wanted to comfort him and reassure him that everything was ok!  I kept catching his eye and to show him I was happy.  That only seemed to add to his angst.  It seemed we walked forever, twists and turns, a secret route that led us to the medieval center of Grotte.  We passed women sitting on caned chairs placed outside their doors, embroidering, darning, or knitting, and keeping a watchful eye on their children, who were playing on the streets.  We passed deeply sun-browned thin men wearing taschi (a Sicilian beret), leading their donkeys and mules to the fields.  Everyone greeted Nonna reverentially, “Sara sa vita, Sant’Anto.”  (May God protect you, Saint Antonia.)  She was a saint in their eyes, having given birth to 10 children who lived to adulthood, having been the village midwife, and one of the few people with the courage to consari li morti, which is to say, to give the final washing ritual  for the dead, and to dress them up in their Sunday’s finest clothing, before setting them on their bed (and sometimes, long long ago, according to my mother, on the dining room table) for viewing and paying last respects, and for the 24 hour home vigil proceeding death.

Finally, Nonna stopped in front of a long sweep of stairs. Single file, we went up the narrow steps leading to a door.  A woman even older than my Nonna came to the door, and led us to a dark interior.   This woman, Nonna explained, would pierce my ears.  According to Nonna, she was the best of the best of ear piercers.  Daddy’s hand had gone limp.   The old woman grabbed my ear lobes and discussed my ears with Nonna.  I wish I could remember what she was saying, but all I could focus on was the horror of what I saw:  the old woman’s eyes were covered with a bluish white film. She was blind. Nonna explained that the best piercings were done by blind women.   Like Nonna, the old woman was covered in a black shawl.   At one point, it slipped off her head and I could see her long white hair, which, like Nonna’s, had been braided and pulled back to a tightly coiled bun.  Her fingers were cold and she kept kneading my ear lobes, applying more and more pressure.  She started chanting a prayer, using words that I could not make out.  Was it ancient Sicilian, Arabic, Greek, or Phoenician?   One thing was certain.  There was no escape. I would emerge from this dark hovel with pierced ears.

The old woman took out a needle from a sewing kit and set it to a flame.  My dad started crying and my grandmother cruelly said to him something to the effect that it was ridiculous to have him standing there crying when his little girl was being so brave!  She reminded him that if he and my mother had been wiser, this would have been done when I was an infant and the whole ordeal would have been dealt with long ago! She basically shamed him for being the feeling, sensitive, loving person my dad was!  At that moment, I hated her for being so mean-hearted towards my loving daddy. I looked at him and said, “Daddy, I’ll be ok!”  This made him shake with sobs.  I promised myself I would not cry, no matter what.  I would be strong.  The  blind woman didn’t ice my ears or use alcohol to disinfect.  She pulled over a chair and had me kneel before her.  She locked me in place with her bony thighs.  I could smell her old lady smell and her breath.  I made myself stare at her white eyes as she crudely poked through my ear lobe with her blackened needle. First the needle went through and then the big fat circuni had to be threaded through the fresh piercing.  I held daddy’s hand the whole time.  I did not cry.  He cried for me.

When the whole nasty business was done, Nonna paid the old woman and off we went.  My ears were HOT.  My whole head was on fire.  My nose kept dripping.   Nonna was the only one grinning.  Now she eagerly called out to all the people sitting alongside the narrow alley ways, bragging, “Chissa e ma niputa, l’Americana.  Ora ora si fici li gricchini!”  (“This is my American granddaughter.  She just got her ears pierced!”)  And these strangers were then compelled to come over to congratulate me, by grabbing my face with their big rough bread-kneading hands, smooshing and covering my freshly pierced, HOT ears, to kiss me on both cheeks.  This action was repeated by many strangers again and again and again, until I thought I would surely faint.

This was my Sicilian rite of passage.  The ordeal made me count as a real little girl in my Nonna’s eyes.

On Wednesday, Karen slipped into my yoga class as I was teaching and handed me my circuni.  Both of them!  She had found the missing earring.  I could have covered her face and ears with my hands, pulled her roughly to me, and kissed her on both cheeks.  That’s how happy I was!

Circuni

I hope my fellow Seattleites were able to go out for a walk and enjoy the snow, too!

Old Man Bear braved the snow for a full minute!

Berries and Snow

Rick standing in the middle of the road.

Neighbor's snow covered motorcycle

Nonviolence means avoiding not only external physical violence but also internal violence of spirit. You not only refuse to shoot a man, but you refuse to hate him.

- Martin Luther King, Jr. -

I find myself drawn to people of amazing courage.  I read about them, I study them, I am in complete awe of them.  Great sources of inspiration include moving true-life stories portraying the courageous work of a single person’s actions in books like Tracy Kidder’s “Mountains beyond Mountains”, the story of Dr. Paul Farmer’s work, and “Three Cups of Tea”,  written by and about the work of Greg Mortenson.  Then there those who make history, such as Mother Theresa, Gandhi, and Martin Luther King, people whose work changed the world in an altruistic, life elevating way.

It all starts with a vision of a better world, of righting a wrong, making a difference, believing it is  possible for one single individual to be an integral part of transformation. It starts with the belief that one’s  actions can have a huge effect. It takes such great courage to take such action.  It means rolling up your sleeves and getting down to the business of doing.  Once the action is taken, a powerful voice, a progressive movement, and a deep rooted change comes alive.  MLK’s life work affirms the idea of The Power Of One to inspire The Many.

From up high on the mountain top, the vision is clear.  You can see beyond the limits of what I call the “stifled little mind”, the part of the mind that excels at limiting us, of not allowing us to have a dream.  Even if one envisions a greater world, the “stifled little mind” doesn’t allow one to have courage and belief that one single person can make a huge difference in the world. The view from the mountain top gives a vision, but the problem is that at some point, you come down from the mountain top.  And once we descend, we are quick to lose the view we had from the top.  We have to learn to keep the perspective in mind, and learn to live with it from moment to moment.  So few people rise to such elevations of perspective.

How unbelievable that, IN MY LIFETIME, the prophet of our age, Dr. Martin Luther King, shared his powerful vision to free our nation from the deepest evil:  hatred!

Let’s honor Dr.King’s memory by choosing to live his dream of equality, brotherhood, love, and understanding. Let’s give younger generations the gift of his promised land:  peace, love, freedom, and opportunity for ALL.

Here is a YouTube video that was set to the music of U2, “In the Name of Love”.  I still get chills every time I hear Martin Luther King’s speech, “I Have a Dream”.  How I wish I could have physically been there to hear Dr. King’s speech at the Lincoln Memorial (but, you know, I was just a kid!).

Yes, we must all do our part to keep the dream alive!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YYrsgQNAfvU

The evening arrived! He left in a rush, all excited to finally be going to one of the meetings!  Less than an hour later, he came home.

“Wrong night,” he explained to my quizzical expression at seeing him home so soon.  He went all the way to the Mercer Island meeting point, only to find no one there!  “It’s next Thursday.”

“But you can’t go next Thursday!  We have plans to go to Kelley and Jack’s for dinner!  We told Don and Simone we’d pick them up and carpool together.”

“Well, I am committed to attending the Haiku Northwest Society meeting and that’s what I’m doing!”

“But, you’re committed to the evening at Kelley and Jack’s! We made this plan a while ago!”

“I’M GOING TO THE HAIKU NORTHWEST SOCIETY MEETING NEXT WEEK!  I’M NOT MISSING IT AGAIN!”

So, that’s what happened.  On Thursday, I went to Kelley and Jack’s for a fabulous dinner evening, along with Don and Simone, and had a fantastic time.  I met Terri and enjoyed her company and conversation immensely.  And Rick went to the Haiku Northwest Society and had a great time meeting other Haiku writers!

Rick sends out a beautiful collection of his Haiku to friends every first of the year.  Here are some of his Haiku which were not sent out in this current New Year’s Greeting.  Enjoy!

ancient bickering
of crows—both clans flying off
triumphantly

flicks her pert white tail
then trots just out of reach
of her horned suitor

guarding the women
peeing off the trail—he’s ambushed
by mosquitoes

harvest moon—
came home with chanterelles
to bowl of squash soup

impatient birds—
complaining to the sky
to let there be light

late summer’s bliss—
my wife and a hummingbird
taking turns singing

no fools the robins—
built their nest right under
the crows’ noses

slipping off a log
bumps and splashes his way down
head under water

out on the deck—
his head turns with the cat’s
at spring’s first frog-croak

hovering dragonfly—
carefully studying
the sleeping cat

the wren’s brave new world—
a stump stuck in the river
collecting debris

too bad! too bad! croaks
the toad to the empty-handed
mushroom picker

took to playing violin
to the stone where he spread
his mother’s ashes

two ducks winging
out of mist back into mist—
which way’s spring?

walking forward
or backward on the beach
the photo doesn’t show

what pleasure he takes
in the pleasure the bee takes
in the rosemary

what strange neighbors
you spiders in your mazes make
strung between cedars

Later on Tuesday evening, Rick and I went to our first session of a class we are taking together called Buddhism and Psychoanalysis.  We will meet every other Tuesday until April 17th from 7:30 to 9 pm.  Already, I love the class!  I am taking the class with dynamic, insightful, and deep thinking people (including our friends Kay and Butch!!).  Rick, Butch, and I are the only ones in the class who are not psychotherapists.  It doesn’t really matter because all of us, therapists and non therapists alike, are exploring and learning “how to see more deeply”.   We are led by our teacher, Dr. Mel Knight.  He is a warm, wise, heartfelt, soulful, and lovely human being and I know I am going to learn so much from this class!  I am very excited about it.

Following is our class description:

“The wounds in our heart become the object of our meditation.”—Thich Nhat Hanh

You are invited to join a new group forming to explore basic Buddhist concepts and their application in daily life.  Because we are therapists, these beliefs will be discussed within the context of our clinical work.  This is not a study group, rather a beginner’s inquiry into how as therapists we may benefit from “seeing more deeply.”

The text for the class is “No Death, No Fear,” by Thich Nhat Hanh.  All members of the group will read the book in its entirety before we begin.  Then we will explore it more fully chapter by chapter.  Each time we meet, the following basic precepts will have our attention:

·         Time
·         Presence
·         Suffering
·         Attachment
·         Impermanence
·         Mindfulness
·         Awakening
·         Self Deception

Thich Nhat Hanh’s book, “No Death, No Fear” is a book about the Buddhist approach to understanding death and loss and LIFE.  Through Hanh’s book, we see death and loss as a part of a bigger process. Mel asked us what we hope to get out of this class. When I read the book, I kept thinking about how I think along the lines of a Buddhist, though I do not call myself a Buddhist. Hanh is able to put into words the concepts I have no words for and the ideas I feel so strongly in my bones.  Intangibly tangible ideas!  So I told Mel that my goal is to find language to express “Life and Death” wisdom and philosophy.  He seemed to know exactly what I was talking about.

Here are some ideas that were discussed and that were swirling in my head as I left class:

I thought about the Buddhist idea of being able to absorb the pain and the idea of being able to sit with myself and with others, and to be fully present.

There is only NOW.

This class is about what it is to be fully HUMAN.  And in order to be fully human, we have to understand what it is to love.  Mel reminded us, there are 3 types of LOVE: Philos (brotherly love as in “Philadelphia”, city of Brotherly Love, a love based on a friendship between two people), Eros (“erotic love”  based on strong feelings toward another)  Eros usually occurs in the first stages of a “romantic” relationship.  Lastly there is Agape, which is above Philos and Eros.  It is a kind of unconditional love, like the love a mother has for her child.  Or it is the love we show our parents, taking care of them and helping them in their old age. The highest type of agape love is not human at all, but divine, as described by God’s unconditional love for us in the Christian teachings.  These concepts are cultural, because, apparently, there are over 30 words for love in the Indian culture!

To be a great therapist, doctor, or teacher (these vocations represent those present in the class)- or for that matter, a great mother or father or spiritual leader- you have to be fully human.  I think this is what the class is going to be all about.  We will be exploring pathways to becoming fully human.  We will explore how to be fully present with oneself and with another, how to feel and absorb your own pain or another person’s pain and continue to be the “glass part of the lit lantern that fully absorbs the heat of the flame, but does not combust or melt.”  In life, if we can be the “glass part of the lit lantern”, then we can survive and emerge a more solid person. We emerge stronger and more full of life and love from one intense experience.

I just read the above to Rick and he has a lot to say about the class, too!  He says it all starts with not having fear about death because we are never born and we never die. Only when we have no fear can we  be fully present.  According to Rick, the class was about us taking turns to express where we are coming from professionally and spiritually, and an opportunity to express what we hope to get our of the class.
Ahhhh, finally some photos from last Tuesday’s crisp vibrant walk along the waterfront in downtown Seattle, taken before class:

So cool! A Boeing Aircraft awaiting its wings!

Only in Seattle? A train transports a brand new uncompleted, un-winged, Boeing airplane. Heading to Boeing Field?

The Sound (taken from Myrtle Edwards Park Trail) and Whipped Cream Skies

OK, so I got one more view of the body of a Boeing airplane moving along the railroad tracks towards Boeing Field!

Branches and Sky

Ghostly Mt. Rainier and Winter Sky

View of the Sound through wrought iron art work in the Victor Steinbrueck Park. (Seattle waterfront)

not going, not coming

rooted, deep and still

not reaching out, not reaching in

just resting at the center

a single jewel, the flawless crystal drop

in the blaze of its brilliance

the way beyond

After I read this, I looked over at my retired cat and I realized he has perfected the “not coming, not going”  piece quite well.  Here is a photo of him that I just took.  He is so hard to photograph because he is mostly black.  If you can make out the photo below, you’ll see he is curled up in a ball, deeply relaxed. You’ll also see a glint of green in a barely opened eye in the first photo:

In this second photo, Mr. Not-Coming-Not-Going has been slightly disturbed by the camera and his eye is open but, not for long.  After I took the photo, he went right back into D.Z.M.  (Deep Zen Meditation).

So today is a kind of rest day for me.  Going from doing very little for two weeks in Mexico  to teaching intensively all week long made for a very tired throat. I started getting laryngitis and have been sipping hot lemon tea with honey and basically resting my throat by not talking!  It’s super hard to teach with laryngitis (not to mention om-ing), so I hope my throat won’t get any worse.

It’s been a good day to read my magazines and the two books I am currently reading, Geraldine Brooks’ March and Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin.  Both of the novels mentioned take place during the same time period of the Civil War.  Both novels are great reads.

As far as magazines go, I have subscriptions to or regularly read the following:

• Yoga International  I have been a subscriber to this magazine for about 18 years!  I am never disappointed by the content in this magazine!   It is published by the Himalayan Institute which was founded by Swami Rama of India.  I will never forget when my friend’s father, Balvir Saini, took Rick and me to see Swami Rama’s Cancer Hospital and Research Center in Jolly Grant, India near Rishikesh.   Swami Rama had passed away four years before our visit to tour the facility and to have lunch with one of the oncology surgeons (Mr. Saini’s nephew, Sunil Saini).  However, four years later, you could still feel Swami Rama’s vibrancy!  His work is as alive as ever.  You can see this in his dream hospital, where treatment is available to anyone-even those who cannot afford to pay, and in the Yoga International magazine.  I am in awe of Swami Rama’s legacy.
• Yoga Journal  It seems there are more ads than articles in this magazine.  To be fair, Yoga International has its fair share of ads, but they are tasteful and thoughtfully chosen. For example, Yoga International does not include the naked “Toe Sox” girl ads  as Yoga Journal does). Yoga Journal seems to enjoy displaying a plethora of very thin young Caucasian women who do not represent the true image of who does yoga and who yoga is for (i.e.,  men and women alike, all ages, all races, all body types!).  However, this is the number one most widely read yoga publication in the world, so I subscribe to it.   For the most part, the articles are good. Recently there was an article called “Is Yoga a Religion?”  I found it sad that the question even has to be addressed or, worse yet, that there are folks who wildly advocate that yoga is indeed a religion.  According to my teacher, Vikashananda, from the Bihar School of Yoga, “Yoga is a science,  a discipline, a practice, and a tool to enhance one’s life.”  This  is certainly what I believe. Yoga cannot conflict with anyone’s religion because it is not religious!  It is a physical practice for some and a spiritual practice for others like myself, and appropriate for believers of all faiths and non-believers alike.
• The Economist  The Economist brings the world to me.  I listen to NPR, sometimes log on to NYT on line, and if I had more time, I would have the NYT delivered to my home and would read it voraciously, but at this time in my life, that’s not happening.  Therefore, the Economist is perfect for me.
• Utne Reader  I used to subscribe to this and have always loved it!  Time for me to re-subscribe.  This magazine is a breath of fresh air and I love the points of view presented.  Utne Reader introduced me to other great magazines such as The Sun, Mother Jones, Shambala Sun, and The Atlantic to name a few.
• SkyNews My newest love: a Canadian-based magazine devoted to Astronomy and Stargazing!  When I got the latest January/February issue, my heart beat actually quickened as I read the cover title: 12 Best Celestial Sights in 2012!!  The magazine has made stargazers out of Rick and me.  We can sit in our hot tub late into the night, looking up at the stars and planets.  On a clear night at the coast, which is quite common here in the winter months, the sky is an uncharted map.  We are so lucky to have NO light pollution out here.  It is not unusual to see shooting stars in January and February.  The associate publisher, Colleen Moloney, is my friend and fellow yogini.  She lives in Toronto. If you are interested in this magazine, call this toll-free number to subscribe using you credit card: 1-866-759-0005.

January 1, 2012

It's nippy out here. (48 degrees..but NOT raining)

View of the Olympics in the distance.

Tradition has it that on New Year’s Day we play Pinochle. And since I only play this card game about once a year, every year Rick has to patiently remind me of the point system, the rules and regulations, and the precise meaning of the various “table talk” allowed.

Aces around? Double Pinochle?

Barbara, Denise, and Rick. Check out Rick! Those are carefully guarded cards in his hands!

Little (Old) Man Bear. As soon as we got back to Seattle on Sunday night, he got into another wicked cat fight with the neighborhood bully cat and came home wounded! But we have to come clean: our old guy STARTS the fights. No more letting him out in Seattle. Mr. Bear is now officially retired and an indoor cat (while in Seattle)!

Hearty and Healthy Kale! It grows year round in my garden (until a freeze comes along which has not happened yet)! Say YES to Kale! I just got a Christmas card with a seal on it that read: EAT KALE (Thank you, Amanda, for that profound command.)

Hard to make it out, but I planted about 50 tulip bulbs on New Year's Day! Luckily, the ground is not yet frozen.

St. Francis will be looking at tulips next spring!

Happy New Year 2012!