Succinct

A good friend told me that other night that I need to shorten my blog posts; I think he's right.

While I figure out how to make a point with fewer words (you'd think this would be easy for a poet), I will offer this online version of Shel Silverstein's The Missing Piece and the Big O.

http://osorhan.com/bigo/index.php

As my friend who sent me this link said, "This says it all."

On the Other Side

In the workshop we offered on September 10, Embracing the Other,  I was explaining what I mean by "othering" - essentially, the tendency to see that which is outside yourself as absolutely distinctly different and separate from you.  This particular habit we have is completely understandable, and on its own is not a bad thing. It just is.

The problem is, I believe, this perspective on its own can lead to some serious violence. I'd be willing to bet this is at the core of all violence. If and in those moments when we are able to consider the other side of the truth that all (for real, ALL) those others out there are also extensions of ourself in different forms, then how could we harm them? Well, I guess the other side of that truth is, in the individual sense of self, we all in different ways harm ourselves.  Look at this great situation we've created for ourself. (I have been listening to Alan Watts, The Book, can you tell?)

So, I recently posted about how 9/11 actually had a lot to do with why I became a massage therapist. Beyond that, the memories of being in New York only months after this event with a bunch of massage and aromatherapists who were dispersing all they could from their hands and their hearts still strike me with their sacredness.  I don't think I realized it then, but we were warriors of the spirit. We were light bearers in the City that Never Sleeps darkest nightmare.  As a 17-year-old, this made a permanent impression on my spirit.  Not only have I pursued bodywork as a profession, but I am keenly aware of the relationship between trauma and our bodies and committed to helping others release and move forward.

I was flooded by memories of this experience after I watched a slideshow we made after our trips to NYC.  Check it out if you like:

UAEvideo

More PowerPoint presentations from sylla

I know I am not the only one who's life was permanently affected in a positive way from this event.  There are thousands of these stories.  This is the other side of the pain of the event. It is how the game works.

So, in the workshop, I was also explaining how othering occurs on both small and large scales. I believe 9/11 to be the impetus for the past 10 years of national othering. I also believe that by becoming more aware of our tendency to close ourselves to others is the first step towards healing the space between us.  It starts right here.

Embracing this Moment

This weekend we held the first offering of the workshop, Embracing the Other, which incorporated partner yoga and writing in the exploration of the boundaries of self and other. I can't speak for anyone's experience but my own, but it appeared that the workshop was a positive experience for the attendees. What I love about creating and presenting these workshops is that it tricks me into becoming more aware of my own othering, even if it becomes a bit uncomfortable. Fear of miscommunication, fear of fruitless efforts, fear of my own darkness emerge and I meet them, get to know their face and mannerisms and maybe even gain some insight as to why they are the way they are. 

I have started to see just a little bit more how even the grandest fears are a product of the one side-sided view of things as "this and that" (dualism).  Though distinction is natural and necessary...it's not the whole story.  

Perceiving the self in the other can be quite tricky, but not impossible. When we can embrace what's right in front of us, what's been placed in our bowl*, is when we invite for just one moment to let the lines dissolve.  

*I've been reading Sue Bender's Everyday Sacred.  Simple and Inspiring. 

Babies.

The past few months I have had some quite amazing lessons in birth, with the babies as my teachers. It hard to describe the preparation that goes into an event that by nature is completely out of everyone's control, including the woman whose body is going through the transformation.  The only way to learn to be helpful in the process is to be there a few times. So I am working on that. 

My first was Micah.  Though she was on the later side of 41 weeks, she came right on time, a few days after I experienced my first death.  She ended up being born just a few hours into Easter. She knew.  

I was actually thankful that she waited a few days after we found out my uncle had passed; I had just enough time to recuperate for the long and late Saturday.  Though the birth was planned to be at home, an ultrasound the day before indicated a dissolving placenta and staying at the hospital was necessary.  They tried a topical medication to start dilation of the cervix on Friday and continued with a manual, balloon type of method called a foley bulb in the afternoon on Saturday.  I had showed up Saturday morning, all ready for my first birth experience, and found this whole induction thing to be a very slow to start process, something I was happy about.  I figure it is better to let mom and baby ease into labor, rather than speed up the process.  But it was a lot of waiting.

There was the fear that once we were in the hospital, it wold turn into one of those experiences where a "cascade of interventions" creates a traumatic birth experience for mom and baby. But that's not what happened at all.  Once I got to the hospital I could see how comfortable the mom was.  She had a room overlooking the water (we were at TGH) and had already built rapport with her nurses; she was ready to move forward with the hospital experience.  

It was a tiring day of waiting.  I ended up leaving in the late afternoon for a little bit to rest up and see some family that had come into town to grieve our sudden loss of my uncle.  I remember holding my baby cousin Devin and getting a phone call from J, Micah's mom, saying, "If you could transport yourself here, that would be great!" They had just started her pitocin and the contractions got strong.  Not too long after she called to let me know she was getting the epidural and gave me the option to rest at home for a little while until she was closer.  

So I did. And just the time I was getting up to call her, she called me and said, "I'm 10 cm, they broke my water, want to be here when I have my baby?!" I got my things together and was out the door.  

I got in around 11:30pm.  She was laying on her left side, doing what they called "laboring down," allowing the contractions to move her baby farther down the birth canal. Only a dim light was on. Her mother was at her head, holding her hand and stroking her hair. I was behind her rubbing her back.  We were probably like this for an hour or so, just being with her while she experienced the contractions and her last bit of time in labor.  Around 12:30pm, the nurse came to tick her and said, "We can see the head."  That's when everyone came in. 

The setup seems like such a blur.  Several medical teams rushed in, NICU (neonatal intensive care unit) nurses set up the baby station, the mother's doctor as well as an assistant and supervisor, as well as several other nurses were in place in minutes. Stirupps pulled up. Lights positioned from the ceiling.  Suddenly mom was exposed and instructed on how to push during her next contraction. She was ready. 

It never occurred to me until I saw it happening that pushing is a process.  Even though I have heard about mom's who've "pushed for an hour" or any other length of time, I never really knew that meant that the baby's head could be both inside and outside of the mother's body for minutes or longer. 

I would hold onto her right leg while she pushed, then allow it to rest in the stirrup and tell her what a great job she was doing and that she was so close.  It took about ten pushes or so to get the head out completely. Each time it would emerge a little more, then retreat back in slightly once the contraction was over. With that final push of baby and fluid, Micah turned to her right as she came out and I saw her open her eyes for the first time. What a magical moment, making all the energy of being present and available infinitely worth it. 

A minute or two later we heard the sound of her little cry and mom just laid her head back and said, "Thank you."  That's all she was waiting for.  

I had been working for this mother for months, discussing all the possibilities of what we might do during labor, how it might go, etc. This was the perfect experience to show me that, it never goes like that, and yet, all the work we did together was necessary. 

I don't know anything else in life like this.  But then I also think, what happens when we approach each moment like this?  What happens when we joyfully do our work knowing we may have to change plans at any moment?  There is great wisdom in this approach.  Every moment is subject to change. Babies know how to live, indeed. 

Too Much

I've been having a struggle lately. Okay, well, it's the same struggle as always but it just seems a bit amplified right now.  The struggle is between doing what I know is best for my body, or doing what I desire. Exercise or keep sleeping?  Fruit or pancakes? Salad or cheeseburger? Vacation has produced in me the illusion that I can live my life choosing that which I desire at anytime. As I become aware of this illusion, I am reminded that there is a principle in the spiritual traditions I studied, which takes care of all this. Oh yeah. Discipline.

The first step in changing patterns is recognizing them. I got that one down. So the doing something about it is next. Last night as I fixed a decent meal for myself and began the motions to check out Netlix for what I could watch while I ate.  Even though the desire to tune out was there, I realized that I didn't have to disconnect.  I realized that I had a choice.  How liberating. I had gotten in the habit of watching things at night the past week or so and I felt it was time to really eat my food instead of let it accompany my vegging out.  Time to reintroduce mindful eating.  My local independent radio station, WMNF, was was airing a show focused on the Beatles. I realized I was really enjoying the music so I decided just to keep that going while I ate my dinner.  As soon as I made this decision, the song "It's All Too Much" came on.  As I wrote in a previous post, this song has already played a role in my connection to...ultimate reality. I was immediately thankful I let the radio keep playing.

While listening to this song, I started to think about how I felt that some divine force was communicating to me right then. I don't know how other people experience this but I am someone who pays attention to "signs." The song ends just as I turn into a parking spot, the radio or tv says a random word or phrase that I just said or thought, or as I pick up the phone the friend I was calling is calling me. I feel so affirmed when these things happen.  So when I heard "It's All Too Much" I felt like God or whatever was saying, "Hey, you are making good choices and I support you."

But I have also been watching documentaries about quantum physics lately.  And they make a lot of sense.  However, the concept of a personal god doesn't really hold up in this paradigm.  In quantum physics, or at least my limited version of it, we are all God.  We are all constantly choosing our realities, and I am starting to doubt that any separate entity exists. We are all in this together.

Then I realize something important.  When I think about these ideas my mind expands, sometimes to maximum capacity.  It is difficult to think that we are all designing the reality we share and there is not mass chaos or an omniscient god we all must answer to.  My belief is that we sometimes have to conceptualize a personal God to get around the mental gymnastics (to use a phrase I recently heard from Cole Bellamy).  It's all too much to think about.

My conclusion: It's okay.  I like the idea of a personal god, and it's a natural response to lofty ideas.  It works for me, but I can see that it's not the whole story.

I feel this is what George Harrison might have been getting at in his song. Here are the lyrics:

It's all too much, It's all too much 

When I look into your eyes, your love is there for me
And the more I go inside, the more there is to see 

It's all too much for me to take
The love that's shining all around you
Everywhere, it's what you make
For us to take, it's all too much 

Floating down the stream of time, of life to life with me
Makes no difference where you are or where you'd like to be 

It's all too much for me to take
The love that's shining all around here
All the world's a birthday cake,
So take a piece but not too much 

Set me on a silver sun, for I know that I'm free
Show me that I'm everywhere, and get me home for tea 

It's all to much for me to see
A love that's shining all around here
The more I am, the less I know
And what I do is all too much 

It's all too much for me to take
The love that's shining all around you
Everywhere, it's what you make
For us to take, it's all too much 

It's too much.....It's too much 

New River

This past week I have been gone to North Carolina to bring home my uncle D.  The weekend we spent at D's friend's home in the mountains was such an incredible healing experience that I want to share it. But I know no one else will know, really, how incredible it was, and thus, here is a continuous dilemma I have had for years. I wrote an undergraduate thesis about it. There I called it "Religious Experience" but that will get me on my semantics soapbox and I don't want to go there right now. 

Except to say this: To me, there was this palpable, unspoken, spiritual-ness to the weekend. There we were, in the mountains at this beautiful house that was tucked into the valley and surrounded by christmas trees. Just us, the wind, and the trees. The premise of this meeting was to send my Uncle D on his way down the New River. He passed back in March but we still had not fulfilled his request to be placed in running water. So I traveled with my mom and met with family and friends for a celebration. We shared songs and food, wisdom and wine, and all around had a good time.  Then on Saturday afternoon we caravanned down to New River with D's ashes.  There, again we all sat together and shared stories, writings, songs, memories. We opened with a reading of the Turtle Totem and closed out the sharing with this song about the New River by the son of my uncle's friend who graciously welcomed us into his home. 

The song was written over a year ago but it was so perfect. We then walked over to the river and got in it. The rocks were slippery but we all steadied each other and one-by-one we each let go of a handful into the water and said our goodbyes.  Even one of my uncle's friends, who needed to stand by the banks due to wearing prosthetics, was brought the bag by his wife.  At the end, my mom and Uncle D's daughter emptied the bag.  Just as we were done, 6 beautiful women in bikini's approached the bank. My uncle's friend started to tell them what we were doing and realized D must have set this up, because he would have loved it! 

Once we got back to the house there was a clear change in the energy. It was lighter. Everyone wasn't crying after someone would play a song. That closure that was necessary had occurred.  I heard someone say on the radio years ago that we forget that the funeral isn't for the dead, it's for the living.  I think it is true.  

It was so beautiful to see this celebration unfold because we didn't have any formal plans.  It just evolved as it needed to and when we look back we can see that it is just as D would have wanted it.  Friends and family reunited, hard workers relaxed, artists inspired.  Everyone healing. Not just from D's passing but from lots of things. It's kinda like once you open up the healing space, it all can emerge at once. 

Even myself.  A long and difficult phone conversation with my significant other that weekend turned into the perfect foundation for a wonderful getaway. Following the Memorial Mountain Weekend, we met up in Asheville and visited this place, Mountain Light Sanctuary for a night. A most amazing night. We spent the night next to the bubbling creek and got to listen to the music all the time. The property is right next to a hiking trail so we spent the afternoon exploring. He took my off the path to walk or crawl up the creek, finding the places where the water picks up splashing on rocks and moss.  I started to wonder where all this water comes from.  He told me that rivers are essentially all the rain that the higher elevation gets. It rolls down through tributaries and such until it comes together. 

So now I can see how this works as a metaphor for our beliefs of the unseen. We don't know what is true in terms of Ultimate Reality, but we all think we want to know. I will propose that when we can put down our own particulars, get in the flow of just being who we are, and be present for others, we can create a new river in which to float down together. How many times have I heard, "They all mean the same thing"? Why do we still struggle with this?

I decided to write my own poem about New River and for Uncle D. Here it is:

New River

I will wade in the New River

and let your ashes drift out my hand. 

This land knows you and you know me

and I am so glad to set you free. 

I will see you at the New River

the next time that the sun sets.

I know I need to know the dark of this town

if I want to see the sun again. 

So, follow me to New River, 

where the laughs out last the mourning, 

where the women and bees, the songs and the trees

sing to us all, Welcome Home. 

Into the Light

The past month has taught me nothing except, you never know what's going to happen.  My first birth experience was prefaced by my first close family death experience.   I decided to include here the narrative I shared at Uncle D's memorial last week. 

***

The last time I saw my uncle D was my cousin Mae’s baby shower. He rode with my mom and I over to Cocoa, the east coast of Florida, and we stayed there longer than we had planned because he was getting lots of attention from a friend of my cousin’s. I don’t think that he had been doted on my a woman in a some time and we didn’t want to interrupt the attention. It was good to see Uncle D being loved on, though he was loved deeply by many, he also kept to himself enough that these opportunities were not always present. When we were riding back to Tampa, I was sharing with my mom my plans to sometime soon get a larger bed. She remembered that the bed frame I currently have was made by D, originally for his bed. He had measured it out and had plans to create drawers underneath to maximize space in his loft bedroom. Years ago when I was desiring a bed frame for my futon and my mom asked D to help us make one. Instead, he disassembled and reassembled his bed frame at my house for me. Never made himself a new one. When we were talking on the way home from Cocoa, we asked D if he would like to have his bed frame back once I get a larger bed and planned to move it back to his house in the future. I still have it. 

My last interaction with D was in an email, about a month before he passed. I had closed a second location of my business and ended up with an extra 3-way lamp. I had thought of D and wondered if he might need it. The past couple of months I was trying to be in better contact with him. We lived fairly close to one another and occasionally I would bring by some food for him when we had too much, like when we made a bunch of lasagna and our freezer didn’t have enough room for it all. I have been blessed with a life of little struggle when it comes to having money for food and necessities, and I knew his life was a bit different. I have been so motivated to help others who are not as fortunate as me, but I have started to realize that I hadn’t always been this way towards my uncle.  For various reasons, there were some things in my way but I became ready to remove those walls and reach out. So I wrote uncle D an email with a picture of the lamp and asking him if he wanted or needed it. I consciously signed the email, “Love, Nyssa,” not knowing it would be the last time I told him I loved him.  He wrote back saying that he would take it and if he didn’t have a place for it he would find someone who did. He signed it, “Love, D.”  I realize now that this exchange showed the love that was always there, though may not have always been spoken.  I wanted to bring him light, and in some ways he ended up bringing it to me. 

The night that I found out about my uncle’s passing I was in a birthing class. I have recently taken on the process of becoming a doula, a childbirth labor companion. That Tuesday night I was with one of the mom’s I was working with and we had just done a fear release exercise.  I was actually on call for my first birth, but had silenced my phone while we did the exercise. When we got up, I got the news from my mom about finding her brother. Talk about biggest fears! I drove home in shock, having never experienced death so close. It was like an expected visit from a strange guest you have no choice to let in. I kept remembering a line from a poem by Greg Byrd, “The Unluckiest Squirrel in the World” that I used in a poem of my own in high school: “Death comes at us like squirrels, fathers, friends with shotguns and cocaine...” I knew now much more clearly of what this poet meant. 

When I arrived at my home that night, there was a small box on the porch. I had ordered postcards for my workshop coming up in June and though I knew what they looked like I was almost stunned to open the box and see this gorgeous scene of someone in the woods looking up a the light with the title of the workshop “Into the Light,” at the bottom. I felt this was a message from D to say that he is alright. It was surely divine timing. I am dedicating this workshop to his memory. 

I remembered our last email interaction and light was there too.  I still had that lamp sitting by my front door and had even thought about bringing it over the previous sunday. Had I gone over, I would have found him.  I was actually thinking of him a lot that day, when I was making my bed I was remembering what my mom had said about giving me his bed frame - I didn’t know this until we had talked about it in the car that he had originally made it for himself. I started to realize what all he had sacrificed for me, how he was willing to give up something that he had put work into. What self-less love can come from someone whose biggest struggle was loving himself. 

It was hard after he passed to not feel guilty about putting off reaching out to him, but I started to hear him in my head saying, “I understand now. I can see it all from this (big-picture) perspective and I know you love me in your heart. I forgive you.” A few days after he passed, my mom told me how along time ago he told her that he and I “have an understanding.” I see now so clearly that we do and always have. D knows better than I do about what was in my way, and has been sending nothing but love my way and to all of us now that he has crossed over. We hope that this will help all of us to live in the light here until we too absolve in the oneness of light that eventually engulfs us all.