Meeting in the Middle of the Bridge

There's an old saying that goes "Don't burn bridges." When I was younger, I didn't understand that-at all. I had no trouble fighting for what I wanted and remove obstacles from my path. Growing up in a household of constant conflict instilled in me a courage for conflict. Growing up with an Italian/Albanian family who would shout at each other everything they thought, probably also contributed to it. The shouting was not meant in a negative way. Some cultures just speak loudly waving their arms in the air. Conversation was a form of expressive art.

I thought the only way to resolve an issue was state what you felt, needed and wanted. And then of course, you push for it. I couldn't understand why others had trouble doing the same. If we danced around our issues, how could we resolve them? If we couldn't agree, I could easily part ways.

On Tuesday evening at my daughter's theatre showcase, the students had one skit with a look at what future college roommates could be like. One duo had conflict resolution. One roommate wanted to talk about the issue of accidentally waking up the other. The passive-aggressive roommate did everything they could to not talk about it, but rather mention snippets of how they were awoken. They refused to have a two-way conversation about the issue. The moment of complete hilariousness of this skit was when the roommate who was woken up showed their shirt that said "You woke me up last night." Again, they didn't want to talk about it, though.

"Pick your battles" is another phrase that entered my world when I was in my early thirties. Sometimes, I would just let an issue go. As I have a tendency to swing from one side of the pendulum to the other so rapidly, I went to the extreme left and started letting myself let go of way too many things. I became that person who avoided the conflict and instead suffered in silence. I would suffer for someone else so they would be happy.

The other day my daughter said how she was having difficulty cleaning her room. She doesn't want to be a hoarder, but finds herself with an emotional bond to almost every physical object, even something another person would consider junk. I told her about something I saw on television once, I think on Oprah. They had a hoarder divide their items into different piles. There was one with items you could not live without or had great sentimental value. Another was items you couldn't decide on or difficult to let go of. The last pile was items you could will yourself to let go of.

We all have these piles. They don't always manifest as physical objects, but rather as negotiations with others. At work, in our relationships, in our personal life, with our schedule. Sometimes we need to make piles of what is non-negotiable, what we need to consider and what we can let go of.

Pont Des Arts in Paris (A.K.A The Love Lock Bridge).
Couples bring locks with their initials and toss
keys into the water. Photo courtesy of
http://peoniesandpancakes.files.wordpress.com/

I think now in my late thirties, I am somewhere in the middle. I've learned to stand up for myself, while holding compassion for the needs of others. Sometimes if something is not a necessity for me, I let it go. It's still a challenge on both ends of the spectrum for me. I still suffer for others. I still fight for what I want. I'm a work in progress seeking balance. However, I find that if I can give myself time and distance from a situation I can find how to categorize the situation. (And being a Sagittarius, that can sometimes be only ten minutes tops.) I have learned that standing up for myself is important. Allowing my basic needs to be pummeled is not healthy. When it comes to my family, I will also certainly turn into mama bear. I practice compassion recognizing that my needs may conflict with someone else's. I say a little prayer for their happiness. And while my initial reaction may be to burn that bridge right up, that is sometimes not necessary I've found.

Perhaps if we met somewhere away from fear and ego, recognized our own needs and the needs of others, we could meet in a peaceful spot on that bridge and share it with one another.

Beneficial Garden Herbs

For Mother's Day, I spent the day in the garden. I'm a warm weather person. It's not until the weather reaches at least to 70 degrees, that you will find me working in the garden. Other times of the year, you will certainly see me outside soaking up Vitamin D, enjoying nature, but with a coat on. Gardening to me is best done in grubby clothes where I don't feel smothered in layers.

I threw on my work jeans covered in stains from years of dirt and paint and a simple red tee. I threw my hair back into a pony tail and wasn't sure where I would go first. I decided to plant some of the herbs I purchased last night with my daughter from a local nursery. Into the raised bed went Calendula, Rosemary, Dill, and Chamomile. The Lemon Verbena went into the ground this year near the day lilies and Feverfew as it got so tall two years ago, I learned my lesson.

Each year I go with a blend of cooking and medicinal herbs. This year's loot seemed more on the cooking side, but even those great herbs can help medicinally. "There's rosemary, that's for remembrance, pray you love, remember," says Ophelia in Shakespeare's Hamlet. Aside from memory, Rosemary is good for migraines, joint support and muscle aches, as well as digestion. In the Middle Ages, Rosemary was used to ward off negativity. A herbalist once told me to put rosemary in the worst possible soil and ignore it. All of my efforts to nurture it year after year was lost. Once I "forgot" about it, it thrived.

Dill is a favorite with potato salads and pickling cucumbers. This fluffy herb can help protect against free radicals, can help prevent the growth of bacteria, and is a good source of calcium and fiber.

Lemon Verbena, amazing in salads and in iced teas, helps with anxiety, stress, and relax muscles. With cooling properties, it can also be useful with fevers, diarrhea, and indigestion.

Another amazing herb for tea drinking and salad making is Lemon Balm, also known as Sweet Melissa. This is an aggressive herb and can quickly take over a spot. One small plant has been divided more times than I can recall. Grab some leaves and start to distress. This is also another winner for digestion issues.

Another favorite cooking herb in my garden that I adore is Basil. This flavorful herb makes its way onto my plate in a variety of ways, my favorite being a caprese salad with slices of tomatoes, hunks of mozzarella cheese, and drizzled with olive oil and vinegar. What I love to know as I am eating it is how it has anti-bacterial properties. It is also an anti-inflammatory which can be helpful with multiple issues in the body including rheumatoid arthritis, joint inflammation, back issues, and more. It has also been used for stabilizing blood sugars and help asthmatics with breathing. Plus, it's an antioxidant and we all love our anti-aging serums. It's nice to get it in this tasty leaf.

I'm up to twenty-three herbs and plants, both wild that I keep, ones that come back each year, and those annuals I purchased this year. Having a natural pharmacy in my yard is something that I treasure.

Herbal Remedies in the Garden

When I was around twelve years old, I remember buying my first "grown-up" books. As someone who was not the "average" teenager, my first book was about eco-conscious shopping and brands. My second was on herbal remedies listing uses from around the globe for each ailment. I had no basis to getting these books. My mother did not know anything about climate change or the benefits of recycling at the time (although she did encourage us to collect our aluminum cans and put them in the magical "recycle" machine for change). We lived in Astoria, N.Y., a city, where the only green was at Central Park. Even before that, I remember buying a small paperback book with a pink cover that gave tips on natural ways to combat the teenage nightmare of acne, facials and other health and beauty tips.

People ask me often how I know about herbal remedies. They ask if I studied it in school or am certified. Oddly enough, this knowledge came from experimenting here and there. My first introduction to the world of natural healing was through the astringent, witch hazel, which I learned about in my paperback acne book. At the time I never would have equated it with a shrub. I just knew it was an all natural remedy for getting rid of pimples. It didn't work for me, but I tried every recipe I could possibly make in that book. I used cucumbers on my eyes for puffiness. I used lemon juice in my hair for shine.

As a teenager (aside from lemon juice), I became a vegetarian and started on a food kick learning about minerals, vitamins and proteins. My mother was always an advocate of vitamins. I had upgraded from Flinestones' chewable to an adult tablet. My stepfather was into herbal supplements. Even was I was younger, my father touted the health benefits of cod liver oil.

My friend Missy decided one day when I was in my twenties, that we should make our own all natural skin remedies and sell them at a farmer's market in town. Her vast knowledge of plants was outstanding. Without her knowing, she became my teacher, and I her apprentice. Taking the information she gave me, I continued to researching herbs. Goldenseal, a perennial native to the U.S. has a yellow root that is known for its antiseptic properties. A pinch of this, along with a few teaspoons of french green clay, a drop of tea tree oil and a few drops of water became the perfect acne treatment. I learned to make massage and hair oils. My favorite scent blends was Ylang Ylang and Lavender. I made foot and body scrubs from sugar, salt, seaweed, sesame seeds, and coffee. I made my daughter's oatmeal bath for eczema with ground oats and powdered milk, along with her topical oil of olive oil and calendula. Food and herbs became topical dreams.

Through playing with herbs for topical, I inadvertently learned their medicinal properties. I cared for my family's ailments using that same book I bought when I was a young girl. Each new illness had me delving in looking for something I could concoct.

At a conference during one summer, my daughter who was with me, suffered from a bee sting. A holistic practitioner scooted outside coming back with a handful of dirt. She added a few drops of water from the bathroom sink and applied it to the sting. My daughter immediately felt pain free.

Then came my next lesson in learning herbs through gardening. I wanted an herb garden along with my vegetable garden. What should I grow? What would I use? Each year I added to my garden. A friend led me through the edge of the property where my studio is on beautiful farmland. I learned about wild weeds. Plantain is good for cuts. Dandelion detoxes the body. Stinging nettle for arthritis, digestion, allergies, and urinary tract support. Yellow dock root for cramps, hormone balance, blood builder and cancer. Cleavers (or sticky weed as I refer to it) for the lymphatic system. Common "weeds" gardeners pull out with so many health benefits waiting to be used! She also taught me to look at food, herbs and weeds to see the clues nature left behind. Beets are red so use for blood. Look at it's roots and cut one open and it looks like a heart. Sticky weed sticks to everything so it can collect what your body doesn't need.

Tonight, as I walked around a section of my yard where the spring and summer wildflowers grow, I saw the stinging nettle staring up at me. I recently read how it was stinging nettle picking time. Another first for me, but one I am excited for. And for Mother's Day this year, I think witch hazel for my garden has finally made it onto the list.

The Power of Sound

Sounds can evoke powerful emotions. A song can evoke heart felt tears. The chirping of a bird can make us smile. The sound of waves can soothe us. A honk of a car can bring us to attention. This morning on my back porch, I played Pharrell Williams Happy song on my mobile, picked up my shih tzu, Charlie, and started dancing. While he didn't understand the point of it, I was having a grand time.

In tonight's meditation class, we played around with sound. As we sat on our cushions, we chanted Om. Each part of the sound including the silence that follows has always brought me to a still place as if time didn't exist. During the start of meditation, I strike the singing bowl. Years ago, a friend led meditation classes at work. When she tapped the bowl with her wooden stick, it felt like everything funneled to one single place between my third eye, my third eye chakra. I would instantly get sucked into this void, if only for a moment, with no thoughts. At the end of tonight's class, I invited everyone to close their eyes as they went into a journey of sound. On the carpeted baby blue floor, I laid two singing bowls, tingshas, and a crystal bowl, tuned to the heart chakra. I started with striking one bowl, slowly laying in the next. I added an additional sound by rimming a singing bowl and then started rimming the crystal bowl. We sat in sound for almost ten minutes. At the end, some of the students indicated the sense of calm that overcame them.

Water with John Lennon's Imagine. Courtesy of
http://www.masaru-emoto.net/english/water-crystal.html

Dr. Masaru Emoto's book, The Hidden Messages in Water, reveals the world of sound through the perspective of water. Play for water upbeat, happy songs, and the water forms beautiful crystal shapes. Speak harshly to the water and watch it form into misshaped dull forms. The water literally transformed based on sound. (www.masaru-emoto.net)

How does that effect you? Depending on your body size (weight and height), you are approximately 60% water. "According to H.H. Mitchell, Journal of Biological Chemistry 158, the brain and heart are composed of 73% water, and the lungs are about 83% water. The skin contains 64% water, muscles and kidneys are 79%, and even the bones are watery: 31%." (Source: http://water.usgs.gov) Half of you is made of water. 

When the moon is full, the gravitational pull effects the tides. The ground is also changed, but we cannot witness it as we can with water. Have you ever heard someone say "it's the full moon," when referencing people's odd behaviours and angry outbursts? We are moved by water. We are driven by sound.

How we speak with one another can greatly alter our moods. Sometimes, it isn't even the words we say, but the way we say them. Maybe we should all sing Happy, dance a little, and speak with tender voices. 

Suggested sound for this week: Tibetan Singing Bowls Meditation
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q5dU6serXkg

Week Twelve on the Bhakti Path: From Ego to Bliss Body

This afternoon I attended Consciousness Awakening Techniques - Chidshakti Prakriya with Guruji Dr. Omanand at a local yoga studio. I arrived with myself, a cup of tea, and my purse. I grabbed a blue striped Mexican blanket to sit on and joined the room.

Guruji sat in a simple folding chair wearing a white tunic, white pants, white socks, and mala beads around his right wrist and neck. Black and grey hair rested on his shoulders. He shared with us that his guru was Yug Purush Mahamandeleshwar Swami Paramanand Giri Ji Maharaj, a Self-Realized Guru of this present era, initiated into Sainthood. 

The conversation turned to the sound "Om" (also sounded and sometimes spelled "Aum.") He said many religions share this sound. Shalom. Amen. And with Buddhists and Hindus, Om. The sound, he explained, is said to be the first sound of the universe. If you look on YouTube, you can find videos of the sound emanating in the vastness of space. We chanted Om, first in its entirety. Next we chanted section by section to feel where the sound resonated in the body. Through "Ah," "Oh," "Mm," and silence. the fourth sound, we could feel a stillness come over every one of us. The shy room grew even more quiet. 

As we were instructed to lay on the floor to continue the chanting, I took a quick sip of my tea, to which I found my teacher a combination of Saturn and gentle. "No drinking beverages while we move through exercises. No coffee." While I had my legs focused to the opposite wall, Guruji reminded us only our heads were to face in his direction. He softened the instructions with "how else then may I give you my blessings?" I was then told to remove the blanket from under my head. 

My ego swelled with anger, thinking about how I should leave. I was not drinking coffee. His assumption was incorrect. I reminded myself I was to be here and should leave my ego with my shoes. He was educating me on his traditions and beliefs. My American mind wanted too much flexibility. When had I not assumed incorrectly? Even in his incorrect assessment, I was sure that tea was also not permitted as it is considered a stimulant, as well.  I knew better than to put my feet in his direction, and how my head should be facing him. However, when I saw others doing it, I thought it was alright, abandoning a respect to a teacher. During break, I went downstairs to toss my tea and instead add water. I breathed through my initial reaction, feeling saddened that I allowed my ego to overcome my intention. I remembered how when people have even a momentary sad or angry thought, how it hangs like a cloud around the space they are or were in. I paused for a moment visualizing myself cleaning up after my own negative clouds. 

Courtesy of manforallseason.wordpress.com

After break, we discussed the bodies. We have our physical body, our Life force body, the Mental body, the Wisdom body, and the Bliss body. These are identified as Koshas, or sheaths, as written in the Upanishads by yogic sages over 3,000 years ago. Depending on the type of yoga, there are other bodies as well, but are not referenced as koshas. Other bodies include the Pranic body, the Subtle body. 

Guruji then led us into the healing process of Chidshakti Prakriya which is meant to eliminate physical, emotion and mental disharmony and disease. We started the practice with intense, yet subtle movements of the neck, followed by moving fingers and hands. Next, adding intentionally intense breath focused on the exhale, we moved hands, arms and torso. We built to faster paced physical movements such as interlacing hands behind the back and with every inhale opening the chest and with every exhale folding the body, head reaching to the knees and center. Some of the pranayama (breath work) and asanas we did, I recognized from my time studying with my yoga instructor. Other's reminded me of my practices in Kundalini Yoga classes. Fortunately for us, he did not have us practice these for five or ten minutes at a time. He was generous with breaks.

We then sat, without movement in a modified lotus pose, hands in Gyan mudra (index and thumb together, back of hand resting on the knees). We were told many times before and at the beginning of this meditation to not move. If we moved, any progress we made in reaching our "bliss body" would be lost to the distraction of the physical body. We were to witness what we saw in our third eye, our mind, our body, but not to judge or dismiss. 

The heat in the room was overwhelming from the physical asanas and with now just the breath, I felt like I was sitting in a sauna. The breath of the room was fast paced and I raced to keep up with it. By nature, I am a very slow breather. An eternity could go by before I would need to breath again when I was in a relaxed state. I struggled to keep the breath going, keep my focus off my legs going numb, keeping my mula bandha locked (tightening the buttocks and lifting the pelvic floor). I was not at first feeling like a witness, but an active participant in getting my body to be where it needed to be, while he encouraged us on. I felt Guruji's presence walking around the room, soon near me. 


A cold, wet, clothed stick tapped my forehead over and over again as Guruji said "Good" and "Release, let it go." An unidentifiable familiar scent entered my nose. I felt as if that stick went through my third eye, opening it up beyond any experience I've had before. My breath changed. Instead of a quick inhale and exhale, my breath took on a life of its own. I inhaled and then exhaled three times. Slowly, I felt my breath then slow down to my meditative breath with little inhale and exhale. The sounds of the room were alive with variance. Tears. Deep Breathing. Silence. We were all on our own personal journeys. Soon, we were all quiet. By then, however, I was on a journey out of my body. No longer was my essence connected to that person sitting on the floor, but rather several inches above following a kaleidoscope of images in my mind's eye. 

Diluted purple drops fell onto the canvas of my mind, over and over again. Sometimes it revealed nothing more. Other times, eyes looked at me. Just one eye. An eye of a boar. Eye of a man. Eye of a woman. Eye of a wolf. An unidentifiable eye. Each time it looked at me without judgement, just present. 

I found myself transcendeding that state into a blissful state of nothingness, yet pure joy. White light surrounded me. As I felt myself pulled higher and higher up, the state held, if for only moments until my mind shifted back to "am I leaning to the right side?" "Is my right hand about to fall off my lap?" Recognizing the thoughts, I then moved back up towards bliss for a second here and there before it was gone altogether. 

My thoughts made their way slowly back to the body where I realized my right leg was indeed asleep. Guruji then asked us to lie on our belly with our knee bent, hugging and releasing what was left to Mother Earth. I did so willingly, wiggled my toes, while butterflies ran up from my toes to my knee, blood rushing through. 


As I sat up, I saw yellow dots of sandalwood painted from the stick on the foreheads of the students around me. Guruji said we were in practice for one hour and twenty minutes, fifty of which, we were in meditation. I had not meditated for that long in who knows how long, let alone sat without movement. He invited us to do this practice again, to keep our spiritual minds active through reading and other experiential journeys. We were asked not to go back to the rat race again, loosing what we gained today. 

I made my way home to see my husband at work in the garden. My daughter giving me an early Mother's Day gift, words of gratitude for her childhood. My dogs greeted me hello. It was a beautiful day.

A Dream, a Cake, and a Request

I awoke on Wednesday morning with the words "Hare Krishna" etched in my mind, yellow words in a black space surrounding it. A voice said in my dream, "This is the second night you have dreamed this." I did not know what it meant, but something on my path was afoot.

I arrived to work gifted with three gifts in a row. They were simple gifts, but the timing was impeccable. One friend who shared with me the Om Mani Padme Hum experience, gave me the gift of three sticks of incense she got while in India, blessed by His Holiness, the Dalai Lama.

The second was cleaning out her kitchen and gave me a mini scraper she thought we could find useful at work. The third gave me a Canadian penny for the next time I was in Canada adding "I think they stopped making these, right?"

I went home to read a few more pages from my new book I purchased on Saturday evening, which happened to be about a swami who has more in common with me in regards to my inability to settle on a spiritual belief that I could have imagined. On my back porch, a hawk landed on my neighbor's shed, just over the fence line. I said "Hello, Krishna." A moment later, it flew away. It had accepted my acknowledgement. I then spent the next two days sick in bed. I wondered why and what I needed to be in bed for. After all, everything seemed to be kismet lately.

In between my rest and awake state fighting off a fever and migraine, I emailed a Krishna devotee for the mantras sung at the weekly celebrations. He kindly said, he would get them to me. Meanwhile, I found out that Radhanath Swami, the author of the book I was soaking up, would be in New York in the summer, to which I asked to be put on the list when details were available. An email then popped into my mailbox from a Buddhist monk seeking to hold a meditation and Q&A at my studio. He would be in the area in June.

On Friday morning, I awoke from yet another dream. A man I knew to be Krishna sat on a large white lotus flower. Soon in his place, the symbol Ohm (the sound or name of God) appeared. Next, a see through geometric shape that I could only see the purple outline of was in front of the lotus. In my waking state, I could not draw the shape if I wanted to. It was intricate and long like a diamond. I knew once again this must have a significance.

My day was well and my body was healthier than in the past two days. As I left work, my co-worker showed me a picture. I could not believe my eyes! I asked her, "Where did you get this picture?" She had lived recently in an apartment building with many Indian families, and knew many people from her stay in India. She said the baker at our work had made it. "Isn't it beautiful?"

The cake was made for a child's celebration. Full of color and animals, it said "Hare Krishna." While I did not know about the giraffe or the lion, Hanuman (Hindu God in the body of a monkey, a devotee of Lord Rama) and Ganesha (Son of Shiva and Parvati with an Elephant head) , too, were there on that cake.

I do not know what my future holds, but like a stream running into a river, the water is flowing. And I am following.

A Surprising Reminder from a Monk

I left the kirtan from Saturday evening feeling enriched. In my hands I had The Journey Home by Radhanath Swami. I lived in that book for five days devouring his story of a young man of nineteen on a spiritual quest through Europe, the Middle East and India. 

On Tuesday evening, a friend and I went to a Om Mani Padme Hum stone painting with Drepung Gomang Monastery Buddhist Monks at a wellness studio in Harrisburg. There we listened to and joined the monks in this mantra of loving-kindness and compassion. Rich deep guttural sounds swam from their throats. The room was quiet as a pin until the soft voices emerged chanting along. 

All of the teachings of the Buddha, it is said, converge in these symbol words. In this tight room with budding artists, we selected our stones with the monks assisting us in what color to paint each Sanskrit symbol. I quietly immersed myself into carefully applying the red, black, blue, green and yellow paint on my stones, feeling each stroke of the thin brush was as important as the last.

When done, I sat in quiet contemplation wondering if I should ask these monks what I was too shy to ask the group at my studio last fall. I wasted my minutes gathering up the courage by looking at merchandise, finding an orange shirt for my husband, and after playing two singing bowls, settled on one for myself. Etched with symbols and buddhas, I felt called to the one my friend played, which touched my heart.

I hugged my friend good night and spoke with the interpreter, who was also the driver. "Do any of the monks speak English," I asked.

"Some of them understand English, but cannot speak well. Do you have questions" he answered back.

"Yes," I said. And then pouring into what I could hold in no longer I said, "What would Buddha say about remembering past lives? Should we remember? Why would we remember?"

As I sat there this evening, I could not forget my brief memory of being a monk in a past life and being tortured by my captors. 

"Do you remember your last life?"

"I don't know about my last life, but past lives, yes. Many of them," I responded.

That folded into a question and answer session with pressure put upon me to perform a spur of the moment intuitive session of his past and future life. I gave what I could in that tight noisy room. He called over a monk who appeared to be in his forties, but with their youthfulness could have very well been in his sixties for all I knew. Sitting before me in a folding chair in rich red and golden robes he asked what his past life was. I told him what I got. "You were a monk for a thousand years. I see you living in the mountains before."

The monk said over and over, interpreted through the western-dressed interpreter, "You are special. You need to see the Dalai Lama and tell him." My thoughts on how I would get to Dharamsala were dismissive. 

He then proceeded to tell me that "we cannot believe you because we don't know you. If we knew you, we might believe you. Don't tell others about what you can do. Not everyone can accept it." And once again he reiterated that I should tell His Holiness about what I could do. When he left, the interpreter kept pushing for more information. What I did get the most information on was his current life, which I shared, but from which he held little interest in.

I left with the advice of the monk confused. My question had not been answered, but instead, I was left with confusion. I called my best friend Arabella in Tampa who translated for me. "You don't need to be a 'dancing bear' for everyone. They say Buddhist monks are the psychologists of the world you know. He told you to watch your ego."

I sat in a sadness for a day as my ego did drive me to ask. It was my ego that knew this was something special I had and I did not need confirmation in that. However, it (my ego) needed approval for what I could do since I was a child. In loving-kindness, however, the monk led me to remember that we don't always need to seek approval for the gifts we are given. We don't need to be a 'dancing bear' to prove what abilities we have. Sometimes, we are meant to just be in gratitude for what we are given, using them as the moment arises naturally.