A Weekend of Compassionate Devotion: A Saint, A Teacher, & Devotee Musicians (Week Eleven on the Bhakti Path)

My weekend started off with a visit from Elizabeth Ann Seton, a Catholic Saint, on Friday evening. As I slept , we met in that place between worlds, disguised as a dimly lit church. I could not see more than a few feet in front of me, the room colored in amber light in the darkness. 

She lay on an unrecognizable rectangular block, a searing pain went through her like a lightening bolt. I felt it through my whole body almost pulling me out of myself. "See, fast and quick," she said referring to her passing.

We switched places and I was next laying on the slab, feeling that surge once again, strongly holding onto me without letting me pass on. My soul lingered instead of moving on quickly like hers had. I complained to her, like a toddler, "My death was more painful than yours. I could not move on as quickly as you did." 

The next moment, a ceramic statue of her lay where her body was. Five tiny sparks of fire ignited one by one above her head. Each one, a miracle performed by her each day after her death, she reflected. "They didn't think the fifth one happened. They were wrong. They counted the days wrong," she said about those who knew of the miracles after she passed. 

As I merged from sleep to  the wake state, I heard her say to me, "Not Ann Seton. Elizabeth Ann Seton." I searched for her on Google and proceeded to message my friend. I was just visited by "Mother Seton," as she was called. A fellow New Yorker, who cared for the poor, hungry, taught children, and eventually formed the beginning of convents in the U.S. 

On Sartuday, I had planned to teach my morning gentle yoga class, followed by a Karuna Reiki certification workshop. The day was to conclude with a kirtan with international duo Prema Hara. I went to the side porch of the yoga studio to see the bright faces of my teacher and fellow student, who I had come to know and love over the past few years.

Karuna Reiki is the energy of compassionate action. In Hinduism and Buddhism, Karuna, can be translated to be a means of reducing the suffering of others. Over the course of almost five hours we proceeded through learning about this form of reiki, receiving the attunement (the giving of the energy to someone who wants to be able to give to others), giving the attunement (learning to be the vessel and teaching it), and giving reiki to each other. Each form of reiki comes with its own set of symbols, that are kept in confidence by reiki practitioners. These symbols carry a meaning, a purpose with them. In the case of Karuna, one example of a symbol would be its use in healing childhood trauma.

As I received my attunement, I started with my hands in gasho (prayer position) as I sat in an armless chair. After a few moments, my teacher guided my hands to the crown of my head, opening my palms. Intense heat flared from them with my only relief coming from my instructors cold finger tips. 

When my hands were moved back into gasho, I had a vision of a man, a guide, in a canoe. We were on a body of fresh water, the edges almost looking like marshes with trees and plants growing up on the edges. 

"Would you like to go for a ride?" my guide asked.

"Where are we going?" I replied.

"On a journey." And with that, he took my hand and paddled the canoe away from the shore. 

A hawk flew overhead hanging around the leafless trees at the edge of the water to my right side. A whale that shouldn't be there swam under the canoe, proceeding forward. Everything faded to purple, then pink, and finally to white light. 

I saw a modern city (like the horizon of N.Y.C.), its image flipped and fuzzy, as if staring at it through a heat wave. As my eyes regained focus, there was a long empty road leading up to the city. The long stretch reminded me of author, Tony Hillerman's, description of roads through Arizona in his fictional Native American mystery novels - wide open space, no trees, the earth reflecting a red-orange glow. 

My eyes were suddenly adjusted as if I was wearing goggles. I realized that an eagle head was placed over me, like a mask. Everything started to look clearer as I looked out of the eyes of an eagle. "You will see things differently now," I was told by a faceless voice. The attunement was over. 

As I started my practice attunement on my classmate, she laughed saying to me, "I feel that!" indicating that my ability to provide this attunement was there and surged through her. We continued on practicing the process. I focused on each step of this sacred process, both giving and receiving. 

When it was time to receive, I happily hopped onto the massage table, closed my eyes, and let go. My classmate was instructed to give the energy of the eight symbols of Karuna Reiki, one by one, two minutes for each symbol. Each symbol had a different meaning, a different flavor to it. The first one made me anxious. If I did not hold my body in place, I was sure my legs were going to lash out. The second one brought the color purple with it, my crown chakra being pulled open, and my throat chakra, which opened during the first symbol, stayed wide open. 

A little while later, I heard a vehicle pull up. It was early evening by now and we were in a guided meditation. Prema Hara had arrived. Onto the next adventure for the day.

I was greeted by a hug from Kamaniya and greetings from Keshavacharya Das. The next hour was spent with her setting up wares and where they would sit while he hooked up wires, speakers and prepped the technical aspect of the evening's event. We were greeted first by the man, who neither of us met before, who made the evening possible by connecting us both. He greeted everyone with a big warm smile, his friendly daughter in tow. 

While our group was small, Kamaniya and Keshavacharya chanted mantras, while she played the harmonium and he played a drum. Our tentative group warmed up with call and response, clapping at various points, and finding a comfort in our soul as we sat on chairs and meditation cushions on the floor. A video above their heads provided us with the mantras for easy following, decorated with Indian art of Hindu gods and goddesses. For many parts, I closed my eyes, and let my soul move my body from side to side or hands clapping, allowing the sounds of the words and music to penetrate the deepest part of me. 

As the evening drew to a close, Kamaniya and Keshavacharya spent some time with me in a philosophical discussion of people's search for God and Hinduism. They spoke of their Jewish-American teacher turned Gaudiya Vaishnava guru. Radhanath Swami's book, The Journey Home, was the evening's reading inbetween mantras. I purchased the book from them, feeling drawn to reading more of this man, who when only 19, set out on a spiritual quest through Europe, the Middle East, and Asia. Through bouts of hunger, cold and feeling alone, he carried on to find his path.

And for the first time, I felt myself let go of an ocean of sadness for not having experiences like Radhanath Swami or my husband, who have traveled around the world. I have never had a conventional life, or the most predictable path. Life presented moments to me, where I was. I never had to search for it. I never had to travel for it. It sought me out. It found me. 

Once again this weekend, I found myself on a journey that perfectly unfolded before me, not so far from home. A vision of a saint known for her compassion and devotion. A reiki whose name means compassion. And a kirtan of loving devotion. The world spared no expense to bend time and space to bring happiness, kindness, compassion, and devotion, to my doorstep.

My bhakti path continues to bloom. 

I'll Be Happy Now

My father taught me to be on time. He never taught me to be early. He told me never to be late. I remember being a child walking along with him to an above ground subway in Astoria when he said this to me pointing to his gold watch. My mother was always late. I take after my mother. I was born late. I arrive almost everywhere late. I strive to be on time, but some days, it just doesn't happen.

My mother always has been obsessed with clocks and watches (and mirrors and technology, but that's beside the point). When I was a teenager, I asked her to stop giving me watches every Christmas. When I was in my twenties, I had to remind her about the watches and clocks. I never did like them.

I remember sitting in a team building exercise at a former job many years ago. Collectively, everyone in my small group (broken up by our Myers Briggs results) did not wear a watch. I looked at the wrists of those around the table when I noticed. No one liked them either in my group! We later realized this was a common thread for our small Myers Briggs personality type. Time irked us.

Recently, I purchased a book I was drawn to - Eckhart Tolle's The Power of Now. As someone who practices and teaches meditation, I am very used to the concept of being in the "now." However, I was fascinated with his thoughts on this. Tolle says that we live only in the past and future. Our past says who we are. Our future is where we put our happiness. Like when I get a new job, I'll be happy. Or when I meet the love of my life, I will be happy. We don't allow ourselves to be happy right here in this very moment.

People go through spurts of loving themselves, but mostly, we spend so much time during the day "beating" ourselves down. It seems that when our thoughts are not about the past, or not about the future, (or perhaps even during those times), we are thinking about how we are not good; how we make a "stupid" mistakes. How often do we think to ourselves, I'm wonderful! We may have a passing thought of I look great today. Or I'm a pretty smart cookie when we have an accomplishment. How often do you just take the time to say I'm a great person? Generally, we don't. Instead, we cycle through why we are not good enough.

Subconsciously, we think we don't deserve to be loved, and yet we seek love with a vengeance. Perhaps, secretly, unconsciously, we are looking for love from our self, but deny that one thing that could make all of the difference in the world. Perhaps if we let go of the past, let go of the future, be here in the now with the sounds of the world around us, our own breath, feeling the temperature of the space we are in, we could come to a stillness and find that we are good enough.

Week Ten on the Bhakti Path: Connecting Back to Our Surroundings

My favorite place to write is outside when the weather is warm, the sun shining into the evening. I sit outside on my back porch as the pair of robin's stare me down, feel the cool breeze as it passes through the porch and listen to the myriad of bird calls. Sometimes a bunny makes it erratic way through our yard. I get to see the blooms and colors of the spring, summer and fall seasons make their way around my garden.

I grew up in New York City and Astoria. My green was the occasional tree and visits to Central Park. My wild animals were the occasional squirrel and pigeons. I had little connection to the earth. My mother grew up on a farm in the former Yugoslavia, happily planting herself in a city with no green around her. I never thought anything of my desire to be around nature until I lived in Florida.

When I was twenty, I moved to Amelia Island, a small tourist town that you could drive across in fifteen minutes. I loved going outside and smelling the ocean (when it didn't smell like a local factory), and admiring all of the tropical plants around me. I was still not accustomed to nature, when within a month, I called maintenance to escort an iguana out of my apartment. (Of course they laughed and told me to shoo it outside with a broom. Which I did, freaking out the entire time.)

This past weekend, my family and I visited my in-laws farm settled in a small town outside of Ottawa. The weather was pleasant and I made my way around the grounds. I saw more animals this year than I had in year's past. As we neared the border to Canada, a wild turkey was strutting across the highway knowing it had all the right to do what it wanted. (Canada had introduced wild turkeys into my husband's family's town about ten years ago and did a big push with turkeys in Ontario in the 1980's). Crossing onto the American side, I don't think that turkey knew it would have less pedestrian-friendly drivers on that side of the border. At the farm, I saw an entire flock owning several acres of land, grazing.

We looked at the renovated slope down to the creek my father-in-law had been working on for years when I came across a turtle coming up the side. My husband said they usually make their way up the hill to lay their eggs (unfortunately sometimes on the driveway where they have to be moved). Later on, as I sat watching the stillness of the creek, staring at an old beaver dam, when a beaver left the edge of the water several feet away from me, paddling with it's tail like an Olympic swimmer. A little while later still, I saw my first muskrat swim here and there as fast as its body would move it. It was a weekend of first animal sightings.

I sit here tonight, the eve of Earth Day, my Robin stalker watching me as I type away, thinking about all of the marvels nature has given us. Miracles are in the Aurora Borealis, the life that regrows each spring, waterfalls, the cries of baby birds high in their nests wanting their next meal.

Aside from admiring all of these wonders, Earth Day is also a time to think about how we impact our environment every day. There are pockets of water in the Gulf of Mexico (and even close by in the Chesapeake Bay) where the algae is so plentiful due to pollution pouring in. Aside from the algae, nothing else can live there. This one in particular is larger than the size of Connecticut. (http://www.nbcnews.com/science/science-news/gulf-mexico-dead-zone-size-connecticut-f6C10798946) (For a brief video, check out http://oceantoday.noaa.gov/happnowdeadzone/. Note nutrients is referring to pesticides, fungicides, and chemical fertilizers.)

There is "Garbage Island" (also known as Great Pacific Garbage Patch) in the Pacific Ocean which is 7 million square miles. Some reports indicate it is the twice the size of the U.S.A. Since the garbage area is between countries, no one will claim the right to clean-up this part of the ocean. (http://education.nationalgeographic.com/education/encyclopedia/great-pacific-garbage-patch/?ar_a=1)
Meanwhile, animals ingest plastics, medical supplies, and other trash, misidentifying it for food leading to the death of many animals.

Plus, we have the North Pole, once cold and supporting the life of arctic animals like polar bears, beluga whales, walrus'. Now, their home is warming at unprecedented rates where ice banks melt and starvation is becoming more common.

When we see pollution in our own backyard, we take action. What we don't see, we ignore. Put a landfill in your neighborhood, and suddenly you would attend a council meeting to object to its installation. What we need to do is realize that sometimes, especially if you are fortunate, you cannot see environmental devastation in your own backyard. They may not be in your backyard, but they are in someones. Long term, they will effect your lifestyle.

We forget that everything we do, consume and purchase has an impact on the globe. From the clothes we wear, to the food we eat; from the household cleaners we use to the paint we color our walls with; from the way we recycle (or don't) to our bags at checkout; all of these impact our world.

"Make Earth Day, Every Day," is a common quote people see plastered this time of year. As I finish this thought, my neighbor is spraying pesticides along our fence line. I grumble as I call my Yorkie back from the fence. I realize how important it is to make sure every day is Earth Day, and to continue to share the message in hopes that we care for the earth as she cares for us. The earth gives us so much everyday-food, shelter, breathable air, water. When will we learn to live in harmony and if possible, give back?

Week Nine on the Bhakti Path: Knowledge in Stillness

For many years, I wondered what my purpose was. What was my career suppose to be? What was I put here on this planet to do? One day, a few years ago, I realized what I had been doing on the side, my holistic health practice, was what I was meant to do.

Today was one of those beautiful days that reminded me of it. I started the day helping someone who was working through a physical issue. Part of it was me being Macgyver trying to adhere a heating patch to the body with gauze tape since the patch was not sticky. Next was issuing turmeric (in my top five picks for all time best herbal remedy). Lastly, I placed my hands on for Reiki where I saw the issue in the body. I left that moment feeling perfectly still inside. The world was quiet.

This evening, was my Wednesday night meditation class at the studio. I guided a yoga nidra using the touch points on the body, focusing on the heart's desire, and leading through various visualizations. At the end of class, we did a breath meditation. I found myself sharing all the nuances and techniques of meditation, talking about the delicate balance between letting go and being fully present. As I left the studio, I became fully present of that feeling I felt earlier in the day - stillness. As I stood outside with the sun still gleaming in the sky, I realized that this is what I am meant to do. I am meant to heal people.

I am not teaching anyone anything they don't know. That was a concept that was a little hard for me to accept years ago when one of my teachers mentioned it to me. "We are just a guide, reminding others of what they've forgotten." Now, I hold that concept to my chest like a mantra.

We know how to breathe. We now that a sense of peace comes from severing ourselves from the chaotic world and all of the distractions that come with it. However, sometimes, we forget.

As a child, I would pause standing in Tree pose. I would feel more comfortable sitting in a modified lotus pose. I had no idea what yoga was, let alone any of the asanas. As I grew and recalled more past lives, I pointed to my past life in India. My memory came through in subtle ways before of the conscious memory.We have inside of us, this knowledge, (whether it is the collective unconscious, time not as linear as we perceive, or past life memories) that we forget and just need to be reminded we know.

Wherever we are in our practice, whether it be yoga, meditation, or simply just being a compassionate human being, we should remember that there is always more to "remember." And we in turn can help others "remember," as well.

Photo courtesy of notable-quotes.com

"At first you might find that nothing happens there. But if you have a sacred space and use it, eventually something will happen. Your sacred space is where you find yourself again and again."

~Joseph Campbell

What Would You Give Up for Peace & Happiness?

Would you be willing to give up your car, your house, your job to live life in slow motion? What if you had a Porsche, a mansion, and a job that rolled in $200k a year? It's funny how we wish for a simple life, yet pray for more money to make our life easier.

A few weeks ago, during a visit from monk, Bhante Sujatha, visiting from Illinois, he talked about how rich people suffer and poor people suffer. Essentially, everyone suffers. Having more or less money doesn't solve any of our emotional problems.

I never liked watching the news, so I don't. This strong opinion developed as a child where when I was young, I had to share a bedroom with my mother for several years. In addition to her Dallas and Dynasty viewing requirements, came the news - as often as she could get it on T.V. I wanted nothing to do with the outpouring of negative depressing stories that colored the television. Today, in the rare moment I catch a glimpse of the news on my mother's television screen when I visit, I find myself even more horrified. The news to me seems like a repeat of the yellow journalism of the late 1800's.

I used to get my news from online sources, along with my pop cultural gossip. A few years ago, I quit that for the most part, because of poor reporting and negative slants. I used to think that if I ever started a newspaper it would only report happy news because no one ever does. Now, I heavily rely on my husband and daughter to keep me apprised of world and cultural events. I supplement with NPR and BBC. While I love BBC News online and visit it often, I admit I find myself mostly focusing on science and technology. Most of my online time is spent working, researching and writing. My only cultural connection seems to come with the occasional visits to Geekologie, and every now and again popping into a new favorite virtual spot -Lifebuzz.com.

I don't remember how I bumped into this gem of a site, but after one viewing, I signed up for their emails. Their site and posts are uplifting, hilarious, and curious. "SlowMo" is all three.

Slowmo, a former wealthy doctor turned rollerblader, now spends his time enjoying life rather than trying to climb the corporate ladder (http://www.lifebuzz.com/slomo/). I was no exception. Up until my last corporate stint about six years ago, I climbed, crawled and pleaded for a way up that ladder. Even though I was not doing what I felt was my life purpose or even my career goal, I pushed myself. I aligned part of who I was to my success in making that happen. And while I had no desire for a fancy car, a mansion, or all the money in the world, I still salivated for success. And yes, winning the lottery would be nice, I told myself. After all, think of all the good in the world I could do with money.

But would I be able to give up my house, my car, and my job just to hang out at the beach all day long? You betcha. Sign me up. Now it would be nice to start off with a hefty life savings to start my new life off with. However, the thought of being one with nature, being able to just be happy and not worry about wearing that "mask" we all wear, seems pretty appealing.

Slowmo takes life at a slower pace now living with the bare essentials. He finds a connection to spirituality now that he never had before.

We don't need a huge savings account to start a life of living in a peaceful present moment. We could start right now, in this moment, simply by doing what we want to do, when time allows it (which we have to create and make room for). We can realize that all of those things like a new car that is crazy polished, a lawn that is perfectly mowed, a house that is like a museum instead of a lived in home, may not be so important. Perhaps, if we could live like him, in each breathing moment, we too could find what truly matters in life.

Week Eight on the Bhakti Path: 251 Pages of Distraction

Been feeling out of it. Spent a week pretty much in bed. Started feeling fatigued a week ago and then BOOM! Woke up one morning not able to make it out of bed. It took a day's rest to get up and do a few things. Then slept for another twelve hours.

Gave blood for the third time today. On my bhakti path, trying to find the love and joy in me and everything, has once again come up short this week. I am grateful to have the opportunity to have a blood test and for the lime green tape used to cover up my vein that was prodded. I am having difficulty finding the appreciation for the prick and the bruises on my arm, however. I'm thinking by now, though, that we will be creating another problem, perhaps blood loss due to doctor denial.

Doctors haven't figured out what is going on with my body this time. I seem to always be the mysterious patient. So far my potassium is low, but not low enough for doctors to be convinced that I have every single symptom of potassium deficiency (which I do). Since the doctors don't like that thought, they keep searching for another problem. Meanwhile, I'm told to eat more bananas. Which I do. Along with my new favorite supplement, moringa. This plant has like three times the amount of potassium as a banana and is this superfood that is chock full of nutrients. It's a tree whose leaves are high in B12, iron, calcium and more. They are using it in third world countries where malnutrition is prevalent. I became over the past few days the greatest fan of moringa. I even ordered a tree and ten seeds. It's tropical and I can't possibly keep it at my house with the minimal sunlight streaming in through our windows, or keep it alive outside past October since it only like weather 60 degrees or higher. For now though, I dream of walking over to my tree and eating leaves off of it like a koala bear snacks in the trees in Australia.

But keeping up with the theme of appreciation, I do have much to be grateful for. A husband who drove me to the doctor's and made me dinner. A daughter who massaged my hands when they were in terrible pain. And a surprising moment-Mud Season by Ellen Stimson. This delightful book made it's way into my hands to be consumed in a mere two days in between naps. It was such a great mental break reading about this one woman pursuing her dream and moving to Vermont (along with the ups and downs and hilarious moments sprinkled along the way). But now, I really want to know what happened to her quaint country store!

Other people's stories can be such a relief from our own lives. Today, I thank Ellen Stimson, for a few hours mental break from dealing with fatigue, achy bones and a mind that wants to create, while its body just needs a rest.