Passage from "Daughter of Fire" by Irina Tweedie

"It all seemed so unbelievably lovely. The sea, the moon, the beach, patches of moonlight on the white sand, fresh fragrance of the sea and of flowers, and I was experiencing in myself a curious phenomenon: I was LISTENING WITH THE HEART. Yes, it was just so; the music was reaching me through the heart. The mind was still. The heart was wide open to receive the sound, and the sound went into it. The sound was, but the mind was not there...never experienced anything like that...But if I just listened, through the heart, just listened, and no thinking was involved in it, then the heart sang with the violins, it WAS the trumpet call, it WAS the woodwinds, and I WAS THE MUSIC."

Paddles

Paddles to the heart. Clear! Try again. Paddles to the heart. Clear! Try again. What I need no one can provide; damn paddles. Distract-line up perfect moments-stacking one on top of the other until a game of jenga is at play. Then- Clear! There was no sound. No more voices with their monotone pitches announcing "Clear!" Until a thump-thump-thump reaches around the room swallowing everyone up whole; no survivors except the beating of a heart holding a weeping woman up in it's sound.

What if you were God?

Who is God is a question that has been asked for thousands of years.  The concept of God has been addressed by countless civilizations. God has been many demi-gods to the Greeks and Romans.  God has been goddess to nomads and wiccans.  God has been identified through the written word of the bible. Before we address this personal issue, let us think about the human condition.

Human beings love boxes.  We love to put things into boxes and label them.  Perhaps it helps us better comprehend what we encounter every day.  When we put everything in a box, we are able to seal it and put it away deciding if we don't agree with what is in the box (or decide it is not part of our paradigm), or perhaps we put it aside to use later.  Either way, this is the way our mind works-literally.

Our mind houses files.  Ever wonder why you leave a room and can't remember why you don't remember something a few moments ago?  You leave a room and your mind closes that file.  It opens a new one for a different room.  Need to access your thoughts from the living room when you are in the kitchen?  Your mind will take a few moments to reopen the file from the living room.  If it does not do so properly, you can always go back to the living room to open the file and remember what it was you were about to get!

The reason for this most likely stems from a survival need built into our brain.  We still use this, however, daily, in more ways than we can imagine.  Think about when you see someone different than you.  Yesterday I was at Jubilee Day in Mechanicsburg.  The event has been around for decades and boasts over 75,000 attendees.  I stopped at the music stage to listen to soul music being played by a group of middle-aged men (see, there I go!).  The lead singer was from Harrisburg, had a shaved head, was a white man with sleeves, and was dragging on a cigarette while playing the harmonica.  I was so puzzled, yet enamored by this vision.  Isn't soul music by African Americans who really have something to shed from their mind about their losses and deep stifled soul?  Or perhaps we have the young starving female artist who has that raspy voice and can tell us about her struggle?  What does a white man have to reveal?  And there it is, my labeling of what soul music looks like-who is singing it.  I made peace with knowing that everyone has something to share.  I used the box and set it aside for later.

We can look at it another way.  A person in a conservative area has a gay couple who move in.  Rather than accepting that Bob and Harry or Joan and Michelle live next door, they label them as gay.  Into the box it goes with a label clearly marked.  They may decide what is in that box doesn't fit with their other labels putting it into the attic to collect dust.

So, when we approach who God is or who God isn't we have to realize that it comes with a box, a label, and then is used (or not used) based on our previously accepted boxes.  Religion can be a very personal thing, but we seek comfort in others feeling the same way.  Why?  We'll get to that momentarily.

I was raised Catholic with a very strong belief in a male God who had a son, created us and all around us.  As I got older while developing my intuitive nature, my own boxes changed and altered.  Yesterday, I once again broached the thought of God, but this time with another thought revealing itself to me.

What if God was like Q in "Star Trek: The Next Generation?"  What if God was one of other omnipotent beings.  He wanted to explore what it was like to feel love, to feel longing.  He wanted a journey of his own. So, he created our little slice of the world (I will now refer to as the "bubble"), along with all of the magical beings we see, hear or feel - angels and guides.  He created a place for us to go when we passed on, which was really only shedding our skin.  He then scattered himself into infinite pieces ultimately creating us.  What if that happened?  What would it mean?

We often hear things like "do unto others as you would have done onto you," or "see God in everyone and everything."  What if everyday we not only see the image and likeness of God in each other, every plant and animal, but are experiencing God everywhere.  That would mean that God is literally not just a reflection, not a piece of us, but actually us.  Everyday the person cutting us off at the light or sitting next to us on the subway, the person checking us out at the grocery store or caring for our children is God.

There are common traits that we as human beings all feel, outside of labeling boxes.  We are all inherently lonely.  How often do you sit at home and feel all alone whether anyone is around you or not, no matter how much family and friends you have.  We all have moments of utter loneliness.   We also all seek others to fill that void.  We are driven with an almost madness to connect with a life partner and to develop friends.  Even if time and location is a restriction for us, we seek community through social media.  We bond with people on television feeling as if they are part of our lives.  What are we seeking?

Our soul longs to be filled with one another.  Perhaps we, as God, are seeking each piece of us.  We are so completely unaware that in our amnesia of being here on this planet, during our incarnation, we are driven with an unconscious intelligence.  Seek.  Fill the void.  We are putting our own puzzle back together.  Yet we seek from everything outside of each other.  We look to the stars.  We look to the deepest depths of the oceans.  We look to music.  We often distract to not feel the feeling of seeking.

What if we were God?  Would you watch what you say to the people around you?  Would you be kinder to the person checking you out at the grocery store?  Would you not flip off the person who was overly cautious at the traffic light?  Would you share all you had with others?  Would you be nicer to mom or your husband?  Would you recycle more or clean the oceans.  After all, we take care of what we create.

What if you were God?  What would that mean?  Would you beat yourself up for every small error you make?  Would you start to love yourself unconditionally?  Would you eat healthier for your body?  Would you distract yourself less with television?

Perhaps the angels are here guiding us back to unity; helping us remember. When we see or hear God, perhaps it's because God is alive in each of us and that wisdom is sparked.

So, that may lead to questions like the Boston bombing this year.  God came together in each of us-runners helping runners.  Emergency personnel helping victims.  Spectators bandaging wounds. For those not in Boston, our hearts poured out with empathy.  "We" were all hurt.  What about the bombers?  How are they God?  Perhaps, like all of us, they forgot.  We all do un-God like things everyday.  How often to you gossip or snub someone?  How often do you snap at someone or start to judge a person?  We all forget who we are.

Add this to your box, put a label on it.  Maybe one day you will open it up being reminded that God lives in all of us. For me, I think I'll keep this box open for awhile, hoping to remember to use it daily.

Driving to Toronto

My husband and I seem to go more for mini breaks than vacations. The first weekend in June was allocated for Toronto for a friend's weekend. Up until a few days before we left, we didn't know if it was an extremely quick trip up and back or an extended day due to his project deadlines, nor did we plan any other activities. By Friday morning as we started driving the scenic drive to Toronto, we decided that we would give ourselves the extra day (driving back Monday) and we had plans. Friday evening we would join my husband's parents and aunt and uncle, Tony and Margaret for dinner. Saturday morning I would do yoga. Saturday evening was the wedding. Sunday morning was yoga for me and the afternoon was taking in an art gallery.

My husband and I are as similar as we are different. While I may not always succeed, I enjoy self-reflection. He wants to pretend there is no such thing. However, we both make a concerted effort to be good mellow people-except when trapped in a car together for ten hours.

Between rush hour traffic mixed with a wrong exit or two, the drive would normally only take eight hours. We started the morning with having to turn back home as he forgot his blazer and I forgot to go to the bank to make a deposit. Knowing that our pattern is fun talk, lots of laughs and then ready to choke each other over the smallest detail, I slept and I read magazines.

I was already getting car sick (soon to become a migraine) with his method of driving. My husband is a great driver. I have many phobias and issues with driving, so I usually keep quite except for a few things like “Break” (said in a calm soothing voice when the line of cars in front of us is at a standstill and he is still gunning it and about thirty feet away). Or “Was that the exit you meant to take?” (this has to be said after the exit is missed because saying it before an exit was missed would induce a major argument and after would only create irritation at me and himself for missing it). When we are in the city, I might say “Person” indicating a person is ten feet away from our car and you may be running that person over soon (that usually gets an exasperated comment or two). 
 Men reading this right now are imagining the entire car ride being like this. However, ladies, ten hours with less than ten comments-I'm biting my tongue. 

So, back to the car sick. I usually don't get car sick sitting in the front. However, when my husband drives, and talks simultaneously, he does this foot action that can bring anyone to a state of queasiness. It's the break-gas, break-gas, break-gas, until he is done talking (which can be awhile because he loves to talk). About six hours into the trip he asked me (again) if I was mad at him (when I get quite, he assumes I am mad at him). I mentioned I had a migraine. He then said “Why don't you take some ibuprofen?”

“I've taken six so far.”

“What brought on the headache?”

“Car sick.”

“What made you car sick?”

“You did the...” at which point I pantomime the action of break-gas, break-gas, break-gas.

“Why didn't you tell me I was doing that?”

“Because I didn't want to start an argument.” At which point this starts an argument and he has forgotten the previous ten conversations over the course of our marriage that when he talks and drives, we the passengers get the break-gas, break-gas, break-gas.

I had a client who brought me a 2010 issue of a vedic magazine. I had never seen that publication before, so it was my primary magazine for the ride. Sitting in the car I read about why all beings need to bring in shakti into their life, and how negativity can seed in the mind and spread without pruning, as well as how to let go of things that are not good for us. My husband and I even conversed over these subjects, both feeling zen after doing so-for a total of twenty minutes before we started to argue once more. We love each other, but know each other well enough to know that even though we may be emotionally scared when we park the car and get out, we still love each other, flaws and all.

When we finally reached our destination, we sat in the parking lot looking to resolve our last argument. After that didn't happen it seemed best to exit the car in lieu of spending all night in it. As we walked towards our accommodations, our argument turned into another one at which point I turned around to walk back to the car. Feeling compelled to stop, I did so next to a group of large rocks. It did not fall upon blind eyes to find the humor in this. My husband pointed out of all the places I decided to stop, it was near a 12 hundred million year old rock. I always tell Matthew he reminds me of rocks. They never move (or at least in their one dimensional world, perhaps move millimeters on their own over the span of millions of years). He is a Capricorn with a Virgo rising (for those not astrologically adept, that means very slow moving grounded people). For him to make a decision or commit to anything is like expecting a zombie apocalypse to actually happen. So, I stopped to think about my argument with my husband at a direct representation of my husband to me. That broke the tension.

We marched on to check into the dorm to find a power outage. My husband being practical, frugal and adventurous, booked us at the University of Toronto. I was up for this, believing it would be like an upgraded hostel experience. 
 

Ten hours from leaving the house, missing dinner with his parents (they had already left the restaurant), we ascended five flights of stairs to our floor, walked over students studying in the hall, and after fumbling with keys, poured into the room.

In our dark room, we put our luggage down, looked at the CN tower and decided to head out to find a phone to call his parents to apologize. (At this point we discovered the phones did not work in the room, the ladies bathroom was on the other end of the floor with guys also using it and not flushing the toilet.)

At the front desk, we were told power would be back on in one hour. As we walked around with the tension brimming from a long day, I stood in front of a RBC bank, laughing. I'm sure Matthew thought I was at my wits end having completely lost it. After a few moments I said, "Look at this. What seems odd to you?" From an outsiders perspective, tissue boxes sat upon pillars in-between each teller station as if ready for your tears with every bank transaction.

We then headed to see where I would take yoga the next day, stumbling upon Papa Geo pizzeria. The older Italian man behind the counter briskly said “next” indicating it was our turn to order even though no one was in front of us. We eyed our options. Aside from the typical pepperoni pizza, cheese pizza, there was a Tina Turner pizza, an Al Pacino pizza and a Charles Bronson pizza. The one that caught my husband's eye was the Roberto Benigni pizza to which he asked the Italian man if Benigni had ever been there (thinking the actor/director never filmed anything in Toronto). However, apparent he did visit the pizza shop. We decided on the pizza Margherita.

This greasy, but not oil dripping pizza, had the perfect amount of sauce that stood in the background while the front runners were the mozzarella, slices of tomato and basil. Yum! We each ordered a slice not realizing a slice meant a massive triangle sliced in half-one for each of us. I brought my second slice back to the dorm.

After eating the best pizza Margherita I ever had, I decided that on Saturday morning I would go and experience my first puja and follow it up with a yoga class at the same studio. I had been torn between that or a kundalini yoga class, but I had not experienced puja before and I would be able to take a kundalini class Sunday morning.

We walked back to the dorm to find power still out, thus walking the five flights of stairs to our room. I hiked to the bathroom on the other side of the building where after walking in, paused with the door still in my hand, looked at the sign on the door (making sure I was not so tired that I read the sign wrong), and proceeded past the teenage boy brushing his teeth in the ladies bathroom.

We pulled our single beds together in the middle of the room after having turned the light switches on to wake us up when power was fixed. We crawled in and slept. The lights were on a few hours later. I pulled my dead mobile in, set the alarm and crawled back to bed. (Thank goodness for not having had too much to drink otherwise I may have spent my entire night hiking to the bathroom, peeing, walking back to the room and starting all over again.)

That morning I awoke to a gray, cool morning that the groom to be referenced as “Smarch” on Facebook the day before. I took a cold shower as the spiket would not go past the midpoint between hot and cold, dressed, kissed my husband on the forehead and took the elevator down.

My maiden name is Murphy. When I have the start of a Murphy's law moment, it exhibits its true Irish nature and stays with you until the bitter end. My husband reminds me that Pathos is so close to comedy, so I am not without a sense of humor at these moments. I had a momentary hesitation that morning whether I should go to kundalini yoga instead of puja, but I quickly squashed that inclination. When I arrived at the studio, the lights were out and I felt an energy saying “Closed.” I stood at the edge of the steps unsure of what to do until a woman walked towards me, swooped in front of me, unlocked the door, and walked in. She turned to look behind me, kept the door open and walked to a back office. I followed her in, mimicking her practice of removing her shoes.

After a few minutes of waiting near the door, I started forward towards the a counter where the woman spoke with a man about the weekends retreat. She was saying that he needed to call some woman and tell her she must come in even though many people were away. I stepped forward, waited until one of them would address me, and then asked if there was class at 10:30am since there was a retreat this weekend. She said yes at which point I asked if there was puja at 9am.

“Everyone's at a retreat. It's only me doing the puja.” She paused and continued “I'm only doing it fast and quick. You can come back for class at 10:30. See you then.”

My verbal cue of “Closed” pushed me out the door and across the street to kundalini yoga. I stepped into the clinical looking studio seeking where to go. I took off my shoes and hesitantly started opening a door that said “Lotus Yoga Studio.” (The other signs said “massage” and “shiatsu”, and “In Session.”)

I heard a “come in,” and entered into a breathtaking peaceful room with a teacher and one other student. I was three minutes late and immediately thought of the sign at the other studio that read “If the class has begun and you are late, do not enter” and felt a pang of guilt for interrupting.

She directed me towards the mats where I grabbed one and a pillow. I set up my space and sat down in modified lotus. “Have you take kundalini yoga before?” asked small framed brunette framed in all white with a gray camisole peaking through. 

 

“It's been a few years,” I replied, having last taken kundalini yoga from a former teacher at my studio.

“Welcome.”

We started class with my intense co-student kicking into high gear with loud fast breathing and me having to stop and start over again and again. By the time we got to standing asanas, I was in much better shape with breath and movement, taking breaks as I needed them. I started a conversation with Yogi Bhajan, a deceased Master of Kundalini Yoga, in my mind. At first I was thinking “Damn. Why the arms? Why the arms again? Come on Yogi Bhajan!”

When we started a form of Utkatasana moving into bow pose with extended arms, I was in my groove matching the other student. Yogi Bhajan was proud and I felt him there cheering my on, guiding me over the next few asanas, being my cheerleader. He showed me a snake with him indicated this was opening my kundalini energy, letting it rise. It would be good for my creativity. When I became tired, he started telling me how many more I had to go. And sure enough, as I counted, it helped and the teacher stopped when he said she would. I felt myself smiling in my asanas. Yellow golden liked streaked through with a feeling of complete happiness.

After standing, we sat for a few more asanas, challenging my vocal cords with repetitions of the mantra “Satnam.”

After the mantra “Wa Hey Guru” we went into Savasana. My allergies kicked into gear clearing out from the heavy breath work from the past ninety minutes. I hardly relaxed wanting to remove my itchy eyes from my head. Upon sitting up for final meditation, I saw white light. The golden color was gone with everything purified.

After class, I bowed to my teacher and made small talk with the other student. My teacher, Prabhu Sahej Kaur, was kind with her time telling me she lives in the Guru Ram Das ashram nearby and the center I was visiting has come full circle with its ownership. It went from an owner to a writer/teacher who after fifteen years wanted to move to Montreal to write full time and gave the business to the original owners daughter, Gurushabd Khalsa. Mary Paterson wrote many books including “The Monks and Me” sharing details of her stay at Thich Nhat Hanh’s monastery in France. Prabhu Sahej Kaur just started her commitment to the studio just days ago, like many of the other instructors.

After we said our goodbyes, I walked next door to Tic Talk cafe with beautiful brick walls and a narrow space filled with small tables and chairs. You could hop on wifi there, which I thought later I might do with Matthew. I read the chalk board for breakfast options deciding to stick with a coffee until Matthew woke up later.

An Asian gentleman was reading his paper on the side of the counter. A few minutes later, he looked up smiling at me. I asked for decaf coffee and he mentioned something about a latte. I must have looked confused because a moment after calling into the kitchen, he was back to his paper and a pleasant smiling Asian woman came out. She said she didn't have decaf but could make me a “Decaf American Latte.” Did I have American written on my forehead? Must have because I then stumbled trying to remember what a tooney looked like in my wallet while she poured me a cup of regular coffee in a to-go cup. She pointed to the sugar, I poured and walked back towards the dorms.

There are things I miss about cities. I miss the diversity of being in a coffee shop run by an Asian couple with a white person at one table and a lady with a burka at another. I love that I walk (not drive) down the street to go to yoga, and a coffee shop, passing a bank and a book store. I love the recycle bins on the street with the plenitude of bike racks. I love that the kundalini yoga teacher said the ashram is just a five minute bike ride away (even though I can't ride a bike). I love the business man standing in his suit waiting for the light to change next to a runner spandex-ed out. I love the rude Italian pizza man with the best pizza that reminds me of New York and the pigeons reminding me I am in a city.

Matthew reminds me that life is always greener on the other side. I know this to be true. My saying for myself is “halfway between here and there.” Some days I wish that, if I could, I would live half my year in a city and the other half in the country. But for today, I'm enjoying the city.

Brandy

All around - fire
licking the open wounds of hundred year old aged wood
scraped and scratched
with fingernails carving a way out
beyond the box we've created.
Seeking a one inch hole to breathe -
fresh oxygen to keep us alive
but merely feeding the heat
asking for more, growing higher
into the soot covered ceiling.
Burning flesh to medicate,
to cleanse and clear
past mistakes played over and over in the mind.
Let the flames eat me up with him
so I have no one to blame.  I will pray for more than
charred skin this time
since he won't put down the bottle again.