3/20, 6:36 = Spring Snow

Spring is struggling to snap upon us, because Winter isn't ready to let go. My eyes are tired. Red from trees trying to flower, squinting from white snow and watching a weeks worth of students performing Hamlet and Julius Caesar while I check lines and stage directions.

So tonight's entry is going to be short.

Watched Top Five tonight and loved it.
Reading All the Light We Cannot See, and loving it.

Eyes drooping, dry, itchy and rimmed with the work of the day.
Nature bending under frozen water of all forms collecting for months.

Good Night, Snowy Springy serenade, G'night.

Well, it's almost spring!

I spend my days helping students to expand their vocabularies, express thoughts in written and spoken words, and different approaches to thinking about life and themselves. I've become a instant writing prompt generator, assistant problem-solver, and intuitive suggester of ideas. What I realize now, is that I've always been those things and focused on addressing the success of others over the creative success of myself. Now it's time to use my strengths for my own goals.

Especially in the intuitive arena. Being a teacher, you have to tune in to your students. Being an agent one must tune in to your writers; and by extension society. An agent is a professional gambler who is betting on knowing the tastes, trends and tenor of a culture 1-5 years from the time they take on an author.  Being a mother, you must tune and return in to your children from conception to infinity.

As a child I had a gift. Not as a writing prodigy, no. Nor a well honed, hours of practice and diligence  craft. I came to writing late, as my parents, in one of the last acts of their marriage, started an alternative school. It didn't include teaching the youngest, as most were teenagers, how to read and write. I begged to go to public school, they finally relented, and I learned late how to do both.

No, my gift was rather an unsettling talent for knowing things in advance of them actually happening. Primarily things came to me in dreams ,while I was asleep, and could happen as soon as the next day, or as far off as six months to a year later.

When I was very young they could also happen in real time. It scared my parents and other adults. Knowing who was calling on the phone, that my father was bringing me a surprise gift, what it was, and using the word for it that I could barely pronounce, yet some how knew. I could mimic voices very well, too. Another form of connectivity, I guess.

Once I learned to write, I'd write down the dreams in my journal. Sometimes I didn't if they were unpleasant or scary; someone getting injured or people fighting or dramatic appearances from unknown sources. Occasionally they'd wake me up in the middle of the night. I knew that whatever I'd just witnessed was inevitable, sometimes with names or images I'd never seen before, but knew I would.

In High School I started to turn off the waking dream side of things, as it became too much. I saw one of my best friends become injured in a skiing accident with her boyfriend. I begged them not to go away on their ski trip, but they ignored my foolish premonitions. Later that week, Carolyn would call me, shaken. She had, at the last minute, not taken the final run of the day, but Paul did. Paul had to be lifted off the mountain and was in surgery for his leg.

I told whatever gate was open to that source of information to close, as it took too big a toll on me physically and emotionally. It did during my waking hours,  except when those closest to me where/are going through seismic shifts or places I know intimately. Then the gate always opens. The last time it opened, I saw my sisters appendix cancer and didn't know what it was; orange, gelatinous and throughout the cavity of her torso. Cold sweats and scary phone calls followed.

Creativity is another source of connectivity that I've always been able to access, however not always been confident to share. Music, art, dance and design have always intrigued me and been natural languages to me. Writing has been a passion. These creative languages help me to connect to my students, children and people with whom I don't share a spoken language.

Which leads me to another odd set of talents. I can go to a foreign country, not speak the language or ever have been to the city/town/village before and get along. I'll understand people and find my way.
Not like an idiot savant, mind you, but like a respectful, observant and compassionate human. It's an odd gift, but I treasure it. I believe I've been to 28 +- countries and always felt at home...

Odd, I know. Yet, not, too. It's who I am. It sounds like swagger or bravado, but it's not. I embrace new experiences, maybe because I've had to from a young age? It's served me well. Maybe because experiences I haven't lived, but know will happen, come to me since as long as I can remember words and images? It's prepared me for imagining my life as a series of vignettes or a tryptic that needs to be framed now that I'm turning my odd gift on myself?

With it being a few hours away from a new spring, for some a new year (Iran, last week or this week?), I find that I'm diving fearlessly into my own wellspring of creativity. One that I've been told for most of my life is unusual.  Yet it is the only life I know, which makes it seem organic, natural and obvious to me. My own kids and students say they want to read stories of my life . What remains are still two unanswered questions; from when to when and what question does it need to answer to be of use?

This summer I've committed to diving deep into myself, and preparing pieces to workshop. This spring I'm still cleaning out the cobwebs of my mind and airing out the chasms of my life so far.

Good Night, to creative wellsprings and Spring itself, G'night!

Namaste...

Aham Prema is a Mantra that translates to I am love.  Yesterdays centering thought; I am here to bring love into the world. Aham Prema sustained me for 20 minutes and made my eyes sink so deeply into my head, that I had a hard time opening them after my meditation.

My lids were heavy, as if I'd swum for an hour in salt water, followed by a lengthy massage and a nap in a hammock. Every muscle in my body was relaxed and heat came out of the palms of my hands. I could hear my the pulse of my blood flowing in my ears. The soles of my feet felt the energy coming up through the floor. Love and infinity are one with the energy that forms our existence....down to the cellular level.

I truly believe that if we learned how to harness the true potential of the energy that resides within our minds, hearts and souls of all the organisms on the planet, we'd all would benefit by it. I know, I'm a dreamer, but I believe our planet is riper than ever in history to acknowledge a successful bridging between the sciences and the spiritual.

By spiritual, I mean the most self aware, intuitive, open and interconnected beings who have mastered peace and love in their daily lives.  Buddhist monks,  artists of all types, medicine men/women, teachers, adventurers, philosophers, and other people who can channel their energy successfully to others and also manage their energies within themselves successful.

If we all led our relationships, careers, experiments and travels from a place of compassion and had the power to change as we continually move forward, what a wonderful world it would be. Science can now measure how human energy flows or retreats from the body depending on our spiritual state. To ignore that basic fact is harmful to our advancement as humans and to the task of being custodians of the natural world. It is only logical that other beings made of energy and spirits share that fate. So shouldn't we all practice the spreading of love into the world?

Love and spirit, as you know from my earlier blogs are two things that I've wrestled with most of my life. I've always been deeply spiritual, not in any religious sense, but rather a human-animal connectedness sense. I feel most at home with humans and nature. I enjoy cities, but they are overstimulating without the parity I receive from the ocean, mountains, lakes or woods. They are top heavy with human energy and invention, without the balance of other life forms and evolutionary intrigues. I know cities have histories, characters and such, but it's all human based. Natures sprawl has fewer impediments to being in touch with the human core of our existence and energy, at least for me.

Love has alluded me. I'm at a tipping point in that department. Family and friends; I have and love. Romantic love is the elusive beast. Basically I feel that as I start to channel the energy and intuition that for so long I've squelched or stifled, I'll create the pathways to a lasting love. I can see glimpses of myself toiling alone on a piece of writing that will bring about the birth of a new way of looking at myself, and in so doing, a new way of people seeing me.

Basically, I am love, I am full of love, and I will bring some of that love out into the world. I believe when that has happened, I'll be successful in a meaningful way and perhaps then, a love will present itself to me. Namaste!


Good Night, Beings of love & energy, G'night!

Stormy stories....

It was a dark and stormy night,
And the wind was blowing a gale
and the Captain said to Antonio,
"Antonio tell me a tale."
Thus the tale began...

It was a dark and stormy night,
And the wind was blowing a gale
and the Captain said to Antonio,
"Antonio tell me a tale."

These were the words that would drive my parents nuts, when 5 or 6 of us kids would chant it in the back of the station wagon on a 3-5 hour car trip, depending on the traffic or destination. It became one of the many anthems of my youth.

Tonight I have my siblings voices floating and murmuring through my mind as the wind rushes through the trees and the windows of my house shift with the force of it. The word games and songs we sang and, some we made up, as kids circle in my rested mind, often.

The gusts of howling wind remind me of the rigging of various boats, at various marinas of my life, clanking the halyards left too slack by careless boat owners or by being loosened by abandoned weeks of wind.  Imagine a parking lot full of flag poles being slapped by untended lines and you'll get an idea of the irregular rhythm it makes.

Winds and lines. When you live on a boat the wind shifting will start a new set of lines slapping, creaking, twisting and pulling. Your mind will know, automatically, which sounds are okay and which sounds should alert you to wake up, Right NOW!

Growing up in houses with a revolving door of siblings, friends, extended family and frequent visitors, there were other kinds of winds and storms. As a kid, you'd learn to listen for how many bottles had been emptied, how late the music was still playing loudly, when the voices downstairs pierced the pillow covering your ears as you tried to sleep or the quiet adult conversations that leaked up and over the balconies into the wall-less bedrooms and an infected our minds with stories we weren't supposed to be hearing.

It was a dark and stormy night,
And the wind was blowing a gale
and the Captain said to Antonio,
"Antonio tell me a tale."

We became doctors, nurses, teachers, actors, musicians, and most of all storytellers. When we were still young, we were attracted to drama, adventure and riding out storms; some of our own making and others hazards of the living on the edge. Those were familiar narratives and therefore comfortable. As most, but not all, of us slowly and as late as possible, had children of our own, we turned away from drama and towards new realities. The change away from the familiar can be a storm in itself, only more of a tropical brief shower than a relentless and bitter winter.

My youngest sibling will turn 50 this coming winter. My baby brother: 50. Who'd a thunk it?!
He is in LA  and a sister in the Aleutian Islands, are the ones who have stayed the farthest away, the ones who moved out West and will never move back East. Visits in the summer, yes,  but no more than that.

Being one of 14 kids has it's benefits; the endless references of inherited and transposed knowledge, the shared history and the stages of development along the way. Only two of the 8 original sets of parents have died, and for that we are all thankful. We've evolved within our life times, contributed to each others stories and weathered many storms.

So when the wind howls, I think about how the weather on the West Coast will become our weather here in a few days. I'm wondering what events are happening in LA and Alaska that may be transported in the wind to us on the East Coast.......but I know one thing, it will go something like this:

It was a dark and stormy night,
And the wind was blowing a gale
and the Captain said to Antonio,
"Antonio tell me a tale."
Thus the tale began......

Good night, Sailors/Stormriders/Storytellers, G'night!

Om is where the heart is...

I've worn a silver Om ring for 20 months now. I wear it as a commitment to myself to meditate at least 10 minutes a day. Some days I make it as long as an hour, however most days it comes in at around 20. Today I started a 21 Day guided meditation endeavor, delivered via the internet from Deepak Chopra. He's the one that got me hooked on this daily habit in July of 2013, when I spent a weekend attending Chopra's 3-day Seminar on his book entitled "Super Brain". Lousy title, great book and weekend. That weekend I took a journal full of notes as I sat 12 feet away from Chopra as he guided us through his book, various philosophies, spiritual exercises and much more. I've carried what I learned that weekend with me ever since.

So when I received an email to take part in this 21-day event, I thought it the perfect time for a Spring tune-up and deepening of commitment to my daily practice. Today's Centering Thought was I create my success from within. Now that takes a lot of ownership on one hand and just letting yourself be on the other hand. The Sanskrit Mantra of the day was Sheevo Hum, which loosely translates to I am infinity. Now this may sound grandiose to the uninitiated, but it is really rather humbling. It mirrors a sentiment expressed in sculpture that was prominent on the quad of my High School, WE ARE, or the sort of like the opening lines to the Beatle's song "I Am the Walrus":I
I am he as you are he as you are me And we are all together. 

Once you accept that you are simply here, breath for breath, and a part of all things past, present and future, then it really gets down to how to be of use, at least for me. Deepak says it's about "service" for him. For others it's compassion, loving, teaching and so on. Contributing to easing the ride of this journey we call life. Not just our own journey, with all it's potholes, set backs and curious turns of fate, but those whom we touch, encounter, seek out and hold dear. 

During my 25 minutes of meditation today, I realized that I'm fairly lucky with the path I've put myself on. I teach, which often gives me the satisfaction of feeling of use. I'm a mother, and in that capacity, again, I get to teach, serve, love and be mindful. I'm not perfect, I'm human, and there are days when my spirit or energies are low, which makes it hard to produce or be present. But I find, if I take a deep breath, in most moments, and let it go slowly, I can become one with the moment and task at hand. 

Now the path I'm trying to continue is one I've wanted to walk on since I was a girl. That of being a traveller and a writer with something to share. I find that in my capacity of teacher and mother, that I've found ways to do both (travel and write). But I can feel that the next goal is larger and may have longer lasting, or infinite, possibilities. To truly create my life in words and, perhaps later, to create fictional lives in words, is how I've imagined my connection to infinity to be. In order to be successful at that, in whatever form it takes or morphs into down the road, is another daily practice,  future goal setting and commitment to self that I need to do.

Obtaining a deeper level of not caring what others think, while learning to artfully show how I  have felt the world to be, imagine that it is  and what it could be, is a grand goal. But shouldn't our goals be large, as large as live itself, as large as all the permutations that nature has to offer, as large as infinity? I don't want to be clever, and create some new art form, but rather delve deeply into my primal past and find the form to successful release an authentic creation that connects to others on a universal level.  
 I am he as you are he as you are me And we are all together.

Om is a universal mantra. Namaste is the universal greeting of acknowledging the divine in all you meet and in giving of your self to others. Sheevo Hum may be my mantra for a while, to allow me to open gates I've feared to show the world, but now realize I must in order to be one with it. 

Good Night, One & All, G'night!

Ides of March

I had a premonition that the storms of winter and the chill of the gray days were not behind us.
This weekend, the second half of my gutter fell off my roof.
Today, on the 15th of March, my dog caught a rabbit, ate half of it and brought me the tail end.
Tonight it snowed us into the history books and my furnace chose to have a piece of it go kaput!

But, tomorrow.....Oh Tomorrow; my students begin there performances and turn in their promptbooks! Calpurnia will be ignored, Portia will swallow coals, Ophelia will be misunderstood, and Gertrude will find out too much, too late!

Julius Caesar Act III-V and Hamlet Act III-V! I prime the pump with giving the students reading/grammar/vocab questions, history, and language for the first two acts. After their feet are wet and then defenses down, I make them own the last three (own: learn their scenes and teach them though performance to the others, who will take notes and ask  them questions).

Can't wait to see them in their costumes, with props, projected scenery, video clips of the play-within-the-play in Hamlet,  on the horses of the two triumvirates in a Roman civil war and Ophelia singing...

Tomorrow the Erik will come and fix my furnace with the part he has in his van, while I sit at my desk, rubrics in hand and enjoy seeing the Ides of March played out during three different periods!

Good night, Soothsayers and Gentle Women, G'night!

Pi = I/S (Infinite Stories)

Today was a historic day in regards to the number Pi, a day that only comes once every hundred years! So everyone has been honoring the mathematical equations that use the irrational number to explain various philosophies and theories. Which, of course, also coincided with it being Albert Einstein's 136th Birthday and he developed quite a few famous theories, too! Tonight Frank and I watched The Theory of Everything with Eddie Redmayne in his Oscar winning performance playing Stephen Hawking. We both thoroughly enjoyed it....

Yet my favorite piece of Pi to consume and discuss (and I don't mean Pie for that would take me to Moody's Dinner in Maine or Duarte's Tavern in California), is that of The Life of Pi! When I first read Yann Martel's book, I finished it and instantly had to read it again. That is the one and only time I've done that and I've read thousands of books. You see there was an elegant method to his madness that I  didn't get, nor was any reader supposed to get, until the end.

You see the novel, as it's written, actually contains two stories. Although for 90% of the book, you are believing that you are reading only one story. It is not until the end, when the protagonist's, Pi's, story sounds too fantastic, as explained to the two investigators, that we hear another version of the story; same sequence, different characters, narrative, choices, conflicts and resolution. Masterful piece of math in the form of prose.

Basically Yann Martel took  Pi=c/d and turned it into a story:

 On one side of the diameter line is one story with the animals and Pi, and on the opposite side is the  of the humans and Pi. There is one story, the circle, and to find Pi, you must divide the circumference (c) the whole story, by the diameter (d) or the narrative. When I teach Life of Pi to my students, I emphasize that the two halves look like two boats  ~ life boats!

Now the elegant nature of this narrative is that it can become an infinite series depending narrative....it is limited only to the rational mind, in other words the imagination is infinite as long as we can follow the narrative and the irrational nature of it.

Most people when finishing reading The Life of Pi do the just that. They choose to believe the irrational over the rational. The novel's premise is that it will "make you believe in God" once you've heard/read Pi's story. Stephen Hawking's first wife believed in God. His first history of Time gave credence to a Grand Creator. It took him proving his first theory wrong, with highly irrational leaps of narrative, backed up by elegantly written formula's to prove the theory of Time, with a before and after or a beginning and end and no Grand Creator. Einstein, too, with his Theory of Relativity, and often quoted about his theories on religion and God (google them).

Now I'm not going to go the next steps with Singularity and String Theory, and I know I've skipped over the power of Fractals  (although this is a favorite as it elegantly measures nature, coastlines, buildings in a really cool way), but I am going to say that I do think we are our choices and the stories we tell. Sometimes we're rational, sometimes we're irrational and often we're somewhere in-between.

As I stated at the start, today is also Albert Einstein's birthday. He had made a statement that isn't as often repeated as has views on God and Music. It has to do with facts and theories:

I think that is why storytelling is so appealing and why we have a new genre called Creative Nonfiction, under which Memoir now belongs and perhaps String Theory, too! We are creatures who re-member our lives and whose memories are faulty and yet we are determined to reason out why we are here and account for our time.


I'll sign off tonight with a letter from President Obama to Mr. Martel, which Obama wrote after finishing reading The Life of Pi:

Good Night, Storytellers and Scientists, G'night!