tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15717009673176387802024-02-18T19:41:38.397-08:00A Community of the SpiritOn religion / spirituality, culture, and travel, as inspired by the Sufi poet Jelalludin RumiZijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-16391586510097073782015-10-05T06:58:00.005-07:002015-10-05T07:02:58.348-07:00A Healing Journey to the Land of Fire and Ice<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk4_WzQH0bwMKpUk9J_Ik-lvZWsrapmeMp2PkyRMXlW7zK7JAeUzHeTqqxotR0ASmeeCveaHaA3VgZaZkW3FiqbqYmHTbyNeKWNWIw08j-ULOggXjMzgsNmgyGjDlxzS_6mBgpiubDzmc/s1600/DSCN3453.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk4_WzQH0bwMKpUk9J_Ik-lvZWsrapmeMp2PkyRMXlW7zK7JAeUzHeTqqxotR0ASmeeCveaHaA3VgZaZkW3FiqbqYmHTbyNeKWNWIw08j-ULOggXjMzgsNmgyGjDlxzS_6mBgpiubDzmc/s400/DSCN3453.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I'm very excited to share that a story I wrote about one of my Icelandic adventures has just been published by <a href="http://www.elephantjournal.com/2015/10/a-healing-journey-to-the-land-of-fire-ice/" target="_blank">elephant journal</a>, along with some of my photos from the trip.<br />
<br />
Here's a little preview:<br />
<br />
<b>“Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.” ~ Mary Oliver</b><br />
<br />
Nearly a year ago, in October of 2014, I fell down some steps and
sustained a severe spinal injury, including compression fractures in my
thoracic spine, bruising in my sacrum and tailbone area, and whiplash in
my neck.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, my spinal cord was undamaged and I suffered no paralysis
or permanent impairment (though I did lose an inch of height due to the
compression fractures).<br />
<br />
After many months, I have made a significant recovery, with the help
of intensive physical therapy and countless other healing modalities,
and yet the healing process continues. Though I have been cautious about
over-exerting myself, a broken back can’t keep a good woman down, so
this past June I ventured to Iceland, alone, heeding a call from
somewhere in the depths of my soul.<br />
<br />
I felt that my intuition was guiding me there, though I had no idea why.<br />
<br />
In the Land of Fire and Ice, I experienced several everyday miracles,
including a profound physical ordeal that pushed me to my limits,
ultimately resulting in deep release and healing...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.elephantjournal.com/2015/10/a-healing-journey-to-the-land-of-fire-ice/" target="_blank">Click here to continue reading</a>.<br />
<br />Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-36299094281421687902015-08-04T08:09:00.001-07:002015-09-02T13:54:03.569-07:00A Sacred Journey to Goa, India<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7j9b4RFGujxm9ct04YXp0LzxrtEZVz52_I9hJIHEIF8s3wGSAwu0V8SNfpuRsKgRQCYloNgZTPbXsNcZhgRQzzcqYjl6vg8Mc70N3J5zXMQcPXt699OWs4Xli7R6jOAf3mbJ8O1oYaV4/s1600/Harish+Rao%252C+Whitney+Hall+%2526+Melinda+Rothouse+-+Goa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7j9b4RFGujxm9ct04YXp0LzxrtEZVz52_I9hJIHEIF8s3wGSAwu0V8SNfpuRsKgRQCYloNgZTPbXsNcZhgRQzzcqYjl6vg8Mc70N3J5zXMQcPXt699OWs4Xli7R6jOAf3mbJ8O1oYaV4/s320/Harish+Rao%252C+Whitney+Hall+%2526+Melinda+Rothouse+-+Goa.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<i>Originally published in the <a href="http://shambhalatimes.org/2015/07/08/a-sacred-journey-to-goa-india/" target="_blank">Shambhala Times Community News Magazine</a>, July 8, 2015</i><br />
<br />
In March of 2015 I had the opportunity to travel to Goa, India, with
two Shambhala friends, Whitney Hall from Austin, and Harish Rao from Los
Angeles. I met Harish, whose family is from Goa, during Shambhala Art
Teacher Training, and we had been talking for some time about
collaborating to put together a contemplative arts retreat or workshop
in India. This spring, we were able to plan a trip together to visit and
start laying the groundwork for a possible program in Goa. <span id="more-128163"></span><br />
<br />
As Harish recently explained, “I have heard Shambhala referred to as a
place where path, practice, and community come together. I have often
felt this way about my native Goa, India. This stretches back to its
Portuguese roots; travelers of divergent faiths and cultural backgrounds
have arrived through the years to create a unique melting pot and
diversity of art, spirituality, and music. It has long been a place
where people have come to discover aspects of themselves they may never
have known and connect with people from around the world seeking the
same. It is a balance of Indian and Bohemian integration that is hard to
describe, yet easy to experience. Goa, in some ways, is an untapped,
secret court of riches waiting to be discovered by those who venture
into its historical landscape.”<br />
<br />
For me, the journey held a quality of pilgrimage, with the
anticipation of visiting a sacred land, not knowing exactly what I would
discover or experience along the way. I’ve always dreamed of traveling
to India, the birthplace of so many sacred traditions and practices,
including meditation and yoga, which have deeply influenced my life’s
path. In addition to my meditation and contemplative arts practices, I
work as a writing and creativity coach, and I am pursuing a Ph.D. in
psychology, specializing in creativity studies. My dissertation research
will explore how contemplative arts practices, such as those laid out
in the Shambhala Art and Miksang teachings, facilitate healing, insight,
and resilience in workshop and retreat settings. So for me the journey
also represented a synthesis of my academic, research, and spiritual,
explorations.<br />
<br />
To continue reading the article and see some of my photos from the trip, click <a href="http://shambhalatimes.org/2015/07/08/a-sacred-journey-to-goa-india/" target="_blank">here</a>. <br />
<br />Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-37800236119088240162014-11-15T17:28:00.000-08:002015-10-02T11:45:19.688-07:00On Pain and Healing<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Five weeks ago, I slipped and fell down my side porch steps, plummeting down on my spine, and badly injuring myself. I sustained several compression fractures in my thoracic spine, as well as intense pain and bruising around my sacrum. The experience has been humbling and eye-opening, and quite an existential journey. I felt inspired to write a poem about it in an attempt to express my feelings about this twisted path of pain and healing. Here is what manifested:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
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</style><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Let the pain
be your guide, they said.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So I opened
my body and heart </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">to the
curious sensations</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">of bones
fractured, bruised and aching,</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">muscles
clenching for dear life </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">to hold me
upright--</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">keep me from
succumbing once again </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">to the awful
pull of gravity.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Some days
the pain softened, </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">and I could
move freely, make love,</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">even dance
to the sweet sounds of gypsy jazz.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Other days
my spine screamed in agony and</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I simply could
not attend to the basic necessities.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Found myself
huddled </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">on the
floor, in the pose of the child,</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">my nervous
system frayed,</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">gasping for
some reprieve.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But I
discovered the pain was not so solid,</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">that my
bones had become a barometer</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">of the cold
front passing through,</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">the rains enveloping
the earth,</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">of cruel
words and tender acts of love, </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">all
registering deeply within my marrow.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Walking the
streets, </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">grateful for
strong legs and supple flesh, </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I drank in
the vastness of the sky,</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">quivered
with the cool caress of the wind </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">like never
before. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Precious,
precious gift, to be alive,</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">embodied within
skeleton and tissue</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">that can
sustain blunt trauma,</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">and yet
heal, again to feel </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">the warm
glow of sun on skin.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">--Me</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Update - 9/2/15: I am pleased to share that this poem has been published in the new compilation "<span class="highlightNode">Capturing</span>
Shadows: Poetic Encounters Along the Path of Grief and Loss" edited by
Louis Hoffman and Michael Moats through University Professors Press. "<span class="highlightNode">Capturing</span> Shadows" is now available on Amazon: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Capturing-Shadows-Poetic-Encounters-Along/dp/1939686091" target="_blank">http://www.amazon.com/Capturing-Shadows-Poetic-Encounters-Along/dp/1939686091</a></span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">About the book: "Long before contemporary approaches to helping people
face death, loss, and other life transitions, poetry was used by many
cultures to assist the grieving process. Today, it remains an important
healing art. Captu<span class="text_exposed_show">ring Shadows is an
original collection of poems about actively engaging one's grieving and
loss with a purpose. The poems were written by therapists, counselors,
educators, and others who understand and have experienced the struggle
of leaning into one's pain...Whether wanting assistance with one's own
grief and loss, a deeper understanding of the grief and loss, or a
resource to help others in their journey, <span class="highlightNode">Capturing</span> Shadows is a wonderful resource for all touched by death, loss, and other difficult life transitions."</span></span></i></span><br />
<a href="http://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.com%2FCapturing-Shadows-Poetic-Encounters-Along%2Fdp%2F1939686091&h=bAQHMkFSSAQGq_f9PNpLEh-GCgEmZPUJeYjlO3_wxi1ab9g&enc=AZNId89SGVXTdRw04mBj3cYjEZrqE9Y4U6uweWBrf5RBaaFrvjdwn9Ua-MFpZMNfYqNFxbnuNMuz-LOz4_IWqt8eDX8ou64Tgcz7xpW8cK4hr5ysl8_t6lPZR361qOuOJvkHIj8ook_vzqS4gAsFz7gFZV0cfhQU-7V4Gem31W5rhWwStJUALAo00_L_pB4GB2SIvOFuxAK2Slzd3hQ2m0M_&s=1" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div>
Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-36921552873605153372014-03-06T09:23:00.000-08:002014-04-02T14:58:10.616-07:00On Love<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">"You shine like the sun," he said, and then...<br /> Dreams of coming and going;<br /> the tension of messiness and imperfection.<br /> The old, old wounds we carry around<br /> into every new connection...<br /> I love you, even in your pain and your untidyness,<br /> and I'm grateful for your love.<br /> Terrifying as it is,<br /> the will to open, <br /> to love and be loved<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> overcomes all objections in the end.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">--Me </span></span>Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-72775992727368926282013-12-28T13:11:00.000-08:002014-01-01T13:16:10.195-08:00Musings from Eastern Europe<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmvgODgRlEZss9RoN9LWo4F1QE6P6IQyAjrlOipB9JwKGS84-mxIjkkjkCGYErfN7zg41m0zzkLRPli61WA7q_BifHNy50aQiFkZzoCuhnvWLSTQJr7RQew2TUyNAQfhZ_5pqUExFjR88/s1600/DSCN2680.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmvgODgRlEZss9RoN9LWo4F1QE6P6IQyAjrlOipB9JwKGS84-mxIjkkjkCGYErfN7zg41m0zzkLRPli61WA7q_BifHNy50aQiFkZzoCuhnvWLSTQJr7RQew2TUyNAQfhZ_5pqUExFjR88/s1600/DSCN2680.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I recently returned from a trip to Eastern Europe with my friend <a href="http://goslowphotos.com/" target="_blank">Jake Lorfing</a>. We traveled to Prague and Poland to start laying the groundwork for a possible contemplative arts retreat focusing on the Holocaust. We spent time in the old Jewish quarters of Prague and Krakow, visited the former ghetto / concentration camp of Terezin in the Czech Republic, and spent three days at Auschwitz, where we stayed at the <a href="http://www.cdim.pl/en" target="_blank">Centre for Dialogue and Prayer</a>.<br />
<br />
For me, it was also something of a roots journey, as my Jewish side of the family came from Poland, the Ukraine, Lithuania, and Austria, but I had never visited these places before. <span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".r[17pse].[1][3][1]{comment10151846542697883_28468844}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3]"><span data-reactid=".r[17pse].[1][3][1]{comment10151846542697883_28468844}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0]"><span data-reactid=".r[17pse].[1][3][1]{comment10151846542697883_28468844}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[0]">To be honest, in some way I viewed this part of the world as the heart of darkness, the place
from which my Jewish ancestors fled. And certainly it was, for a time.
But it is also a place like any other, full of good people living their
lives, with a complex and tragic history, with a rich culture, and a living
present...We spent a lot of time walking the camps and contemplating the enormity of what happened there. It's impossible to put it into words, of course, but I did take a lot of photos, and found myself scribbling out this poem high above the Atlantic during the long flight home:</span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".r[17pse].[1][3][1]{comment10151846542697883_28468844}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3]"><span data-reactid=".r[17pse].[1][3][1]{comment10151846542697883_28468844}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0]"><span data-reactid=".r[17pse].[1][3][1]{comment10151846542697883_28468844}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[0]"></span></span></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Riding the edge of twilight<br /> Chasing the setting sun</span> </span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Above the clouds, below the sky<br /> Five hundred miles an hour<br /> An arctic haze of pink and blue<br /> Is this limbo, or just another never-ending transatlantic afternoon?<br /> <br /> Your kiss still lingers<br /> Even as it fades.<br /> In fits of sleep,<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> I dream another universe<br /> But awaken to my breath,<br /> The beating of my heart. <br /> <br /> I saw grace etched in stone<br /> In the epic streets of Prague<br /> And despair rendered mute<br /> In Birkenau's rusted barbs.<br /> Only the trees, those elegant trees,<br /> Bear witness now.<br /> <br /> How to return and not to forget?<br /> To honor these few borrowed breaths<br /> With a resounding yes <br /> That trumps all instances of no<br /> A love that suffuses darkness and light, <br /> As the soft overcomes the hard,<br /> Melting into night.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">-- Melinda Rothouse</span></span><br />
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<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">Click <a href="https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10151830151072883.1073741827.593297882&type=1&l=9b3698dc81" target="_blank">here</a> to view more photos from the journey. </span></span>Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-1079559640725429732013-06-13T16:36:00.003-07:002013-06-13T16:37:14.882-07:00What Inspires You? Introducing Syncreate<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0S89En7dVYNUUM2DZZAA_LciY0TwCpeUz9lHp49tVm8Z_a8yjKYPfrU-TzNj2KwKHeLuHFMUabHjw9E-9vXj84p6qFWz39MM3G634pWwgBNMySioTODFAFrNxKLyISrALLrc_ewguW8I/s1600/SYNCREATEhighreslogo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0S89En7dVYNUUM2DZZAA_LciY0TwCpeUz9lHp49tVm8Z_a8yjKYPfrU-TzNj2KwKHeLuHFMUabHjw9E-9vXj84p6qFWz39MM3G634pWwgBNMySioTODFAFrNxKLyISrALLrc_ewguW8I/s1600/SYNCREATEhighreslogo.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
I'm so pleased to share my newest venture, <a href="http://syncreate.org/" target="_blank">Syncreate</a>, a partnership with my colleague Charlotte Gullick. We founded Syncreate to offer creativity coaching, consulting, retreats and workshops, mentoring,
international study, and storytelling services to enhance creativity,
foster communication, collaboration, and community, and nurture
compassion. Our main areas of focus are creativity studies, writing and
storytelling, public speaking and singing, and end-of-life issues.<br />
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We recently help our first half-day workshop, "The Art and Science of Creativity: Exploring the Path and Expanding Your Tools," in Austin. During this event, we explored the neuroscience of creativity, how to facilitate the creative process, and concrete tools to foster dynamic, creative learning and leadership.<br />
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One of the first questions we asked participants to think about was "What engages and inspires you?" After the workshop, we blogged about our experience and some of the exercises we explored together. Click <a href="http://syncreate.org/116/" target="_blank">Syncreate Blog: What Inspires You?</a> for the full post on the Syncreate blog. Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-91679427016517594462013-04-02T13:00:00.000-07:002013-04-03T07:15:26.842-07:00Tahitian Dreams<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I flew a quarter-span of the globe<br />
to the middle of the South Pacific,<br />
tracing the balms of coconut and vanilla<br />
back to their island roots<br />
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I saw the Southern Cross for the first time<br />
and I understood...<br />
Tahitian dreams made real,<br />
rendered in shades of aquamarine<br />
no artist's palette could conceive...<br />
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Tiny rippling waves<br />
greeting the sandy beach ~<br />
a quiet meeting of land and sea.<br />
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I woke at dawn<br />
as if summoned<br />
to greet this precious new day.<br />
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The sun rises slowly<br />
behind a huge bank of clouds<br />
making a masterpiece of the sky.<br />
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Earth meets sea<br />
and sea meets sky<br />
the sun sets the water ablaze<br />
as the wind caresses my tender skin.<br />
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All photos by Melinda Rothouse, Copyright 2013. For more images of my adventures in the South Pacific, please visit this link: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10151348420937883.1073741825.593297882&type=1&l=60ff27eee1"><span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10151348420937883.1073741825.593297882&type=1&l=60ff27eee1</span></a>Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-64269020923428339982013-01-12T15:21:00.004-08:002013-01-12T15:23:16.283-08:00On Death and Grieving<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My maternal grandmother, Maxine Marinelli Beach, passed away last Sunday at the age of 101, just three weeks shy of her 102nd birthday. Though I had been preparing myself for her passing for a long time, I am surprised by the depth of my sadness and grief. I wrote this poem about her life and my memories of her to read at her memorial service.<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Memories of Nana
Maxine</b></div>
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Nana Maxine
moved slowly,</div>
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inching
along with her cane, which</div>
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she might
point at you menacingly, </div>
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if you were
out of line, </div>
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with an
arched eyebrow,</div>
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an impish
smile rippling across her face.</div>
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There was
fire behind her eyes,</div>
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always twinkling,</div>
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quick to say
“I love you,</div>
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a bushel and
a peck,</div>
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and a hug
around the neck!”</div>
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<br /></div>
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She leaves a
legacy of</div>
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beloved
landscapes, </div>
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rendered in
oil paint,</div>
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and hanging
in gilded frames.</div>
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An
appreciation of fields and fence posts, </div>
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lazy rivers
and softly sloping mountains, </div>
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sparrows and
seagulls, </div>
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the shimmer
of light on water, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
the majesty
of the sea, </div>
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and the
thousand shades of blue, yellow, </div>
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and crimson
in the sky at sunset -</div>
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an eye for
the magic and wonder </div>
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of the
natural world.</div>
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<br /></div>
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She survived
a stroke that left her</div>
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paralyzed on
the right side of her body,</div>
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and learned
to paint again, left handed.</div>
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An artful
life lived in the little details ~</div>
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Silver-rimmed
cat glasses and colorful clothing.</div>
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A doorstop
made of a stone with a ghoulish</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
little face
painted on it. A Christmas</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
ornament of
macramé with a chocolate</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
inside, and
a note saying “Squeeze me</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
and I’ll
give you a kiss!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I remember chasing
fireflies </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
out in the
yard at Round Hill</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
on a warm
summer evening.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Picking
herbs for soup with her</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
in the back yard
of our house in Georgia,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Playing Hearts
and Rummy Cube with</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
her and Papa
Dave at their condo in Florida, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
where she
also helped me with a school</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
project, in
the fourth grade – </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
a
topographically accurate map of Thailand,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
fashioned
with artists’ clay.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I remember receiving
handwritten letters, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
scrawled in
her unmistakable left-handed script,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
relaying the
little details of her daily life and travels,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
and brimming
with affection.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I remember
driving across the Midwest,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
tracing the
footsteps of our ancestors, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
visiting grave
sites and farms, and the banks </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
of the
Mississippi at Nauvoo, as she compiled </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
the family
history.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The last
time we saw her, we sang the old songs </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
together,
and she still knew all the words.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Wife,
mother, grandmother, great-grandmother.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Artist and
matriarch. Centenarian. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
She lives in
our hearts,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
And we carry
with us her sparkling smile,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
her lovely
paintings, and her unwavering love.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx7a_ZLiLgtY8BkvNmNg2MMu4KKSJpG4_StaNx33DNnKmkNR1JTNYRH2ZaMv_bRVgfBvrz0U_W-94Auh4p4J9yqHnZwSCbI_UCXlsS44y6wJ0ZUBZYA91e0XWuL-af5BBBjrRGK9ZY518/s1600/MJ+%2526+Nana+Maxine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx7a_ZLiLgtY8BkvNmNg2MMu4KKSJpG4_StaNx33DNnKmkNR1JTNYRH2ZaMv_bRVgfBvrz0U_W-94Auh4p4J9yqHnZwSCbI_UCXlsS44y6wJ0ZUBZYA91e0XWuL-af5BBBjrRGK9ZY518/s1600/MJ+%2526+Nana+Maxine.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
--Melinda Rothouse </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-72155044606201135932012-03-19T18:48:00.002-07:002012-03-19T16:57:30.149-07:00The Tao and the Waking Dragon: A Spiritual Journey Through Modern China<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcdlKAAn47d45l_A0NEcYbnFXUucOu98SBdwNH0CBLSFkkzP71UZlwF_15C5KAx_ytzqevRPuWtM3U5NcOnYSALgPTxh1M4-p9Yc4yU3NUR1laTMn08navbqsR7Ad6zOhpeoAWqMLq5EE/s1600/DSCN2900.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcdlKAAn47d45l_A0NEcYbnFXUucOu98SBdwNH0CBLSFkkzP71UZlwF_15C5KAx_ytzqevRPuWtM3U5NcOnYSALgPTxh1M4-p9Yc4yU3NUR1laTMn08navbqsR7Ad6zOhpeoAWqMLq5EE/s320/DSCN2900.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;">The ride from the futuristic international arrivals terminal at the Beijing airport revealed pristine highways, snarled traffic, rows of tidy apartment blocks, and modern office buildings, but I felt comforted by images of the Buddha that adorned the dashboard of the cab. I had requested a hotel within one of the few remaining traditional Beijing <i>hutong</i> neighborhoods, characterized by narrow alleyways framed by a mix of grey, tiled-roof courtyard houses and small shops. Our young <i>hutong</i> guide proudly identified himself as a Christian, eager to practice his English before attending seminary in Los Angeles. He spoke passionately of the importance of having faith—something to believe in—regardless of the dogma.</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Although the communist government suppressed religious practice after 1949, and destroyed or defaced many sacred sites during the Cultural Revolution, the Reform and Opening period beginning in the late 1970s eased restrictions on religious practice. In fact, traditions like Confucianism and Buddhism have been encouraged of late by the government, which now sees them as promoting social harmony. Members of the younger generation will tell you that China is a secular society, yet in the next breath they’ll relate an elaborate Buddhist fairy tale, or explain (at the Temple of Heaven, for example) that despite religious differences, most Chinese can agree on the relationship between heaven, earth, and humanity. Older Chinese tourists bow and pray before images of traditional Taoist deities, while collection boxes housing images of the Buddha or Guan Yin fill with colorful bills and coins, even at a tourist jade factory. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-6l-5akfWPjvQUiC9YeWiBQblJCDVKmX-imo5XB1Rg0YH8CVrkVihERWr3gfv78zEnS6BuGywg7fGGcFWuHpsIrFYRfi34OKxuvCyYfFfo6y-CMSc-_ayARPgf7fmXJAnGw0utASkk7s/s1600/DSCN3289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-6l-5akfWPjvQUiC9YeWiBQblJCDVKmX-imo5XB1Rg0YH8CVrkVihERWr3gfv78zEnS6BuGywg7fGGcFWuHpsIrFYRfi34OKxuvCyYfFfo6y-CMSc-_ayARPgf7fmXJAnGw0utASkk7s/s320/DSCN3289.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;">From Beijing, our quest led to Shandong Province, where Confucius taught his many disciples, and where Tai Shan, China’s most sacred mountain, rises dramatically from the surrounding flatlands. Traditionally, the route to the summit required a six-hour climb over a steep stone trail. But today visitors can take an air-conditioned bus to a modern cable car that lets off near the peak. A wide path carved from the mountaintop winds through a series of sacred gates, shrines, and temples dedicated to various deities, including the imperial gods, Confucius, and the Taoist fertility goddess Bi Xia Yuan Jun. Benedictions from ancient emperors painted in huge red and gold characters sparkle in the sunlight, while pilgrims burn long sticks of yellow incense in huge, open-flamed burners. The day we visited, my friend and I encountered only one other Westerner on the mountain; we were such an anomaly that a pair of Tibetan Buddhist monks asked <i>us</i> to pose for a photo with them as a memento of their journey. Reaching the Temple of the Jade Emperor at the crest of Tai Shan, with its flags billowing in the crisp breeze and the sweet aroma of incense wafting by in thick curls of smoke, one can easily understand why the Chinese have revered this place as sacred for millennia. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik2LpGIUut3iOTt9d2g0oiHHAqp1_sd8lKm8BFFfXHIvjIa2FFBubUxTh4vd-M0JT9RH-VhWHQ-CF3GxStzBitwvfTABEDKDKNqC404OuFiIfLbpY6_OB9bznADe_xdDsHkhlGOA9n6Xw/s1600/Rothouse+Shaolin+Temple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik2LpGIUut3iOTt9d2g0oiHHAqp1_sd8lKm8BFFfXHIvjIa2FFBubUxTh4vd-M0JT9RH-VhWHQ-CF3GxStzBitwvfTABEDKDKNqC404OuFiIfLbpY6_OB9bznADe_xdDsHkhlGOA9n6Xw/s320/Rothouse+Shaolin+Temple.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;">From Shandong, we journeyed by train to Luoyang, in Henan Province, which our guide described as the “Heart of China,” because of its importance as a multi-dynastic imperial capital. She noted that while Shanghai was born only a century ago, and Beijing claims a 3,000-year history, Luoyang traces its roots back eight millennia.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> Indeed, many local people have unearthed ancient artifacts simply by digging a few inches into their fields. The Luoyang region hosts some of China’s most famous sacred sites, including Song Shan, Shaolin Temple, White Horse Temple, and Longmen Grottoes, a collection of spectacular Buddhist caves. To the contemporary seeker, these sites provide a marvelous window into China’s religious legacy, as well as a complex portrait of contemporary attitudes toward spirituality. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Shaolin Temple has become one of the most popular tourist destinations in China. Legend has it that Bodhidharma arrived there from India in the 5<sup>th</sup> century CE, bringing teachings that became the foundation of the Chan (Zen) Buddhist tradition. As the story goes, Bodhidharma also developed a series of postures that became the foundation for all subsequent martial arts lineages during a nine-year cave meditation. He taught the poses, which imitated the movements of animals, to his students to support their meditation practice. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">A huge entry gate welcomes visitors to Shaolin Temple, framing a promenade lined with vendors selling souvenirs. One can opt to walk or ride though the complex in small, open-air electric buses. As with many Chinese cultural sites, the elaborate tourist infrastructure, along with strict government oversight of tourism, can hamper any sense of authenticity, yet the natural beauty and serenity of the area still inspire. The temple sits in a protected valley in the shadow of Song Shan, one of the China’s five Taoist sacred mountains, and still supports a thriving martial arts community. On a given day, one can observe groups of uniformed youth practicing their Kung Fu forms in unison near the temple grounds.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8FpiV5lTKgDRqfU9PALtnyJK6EQWjtdQqmrn2tY38u11PAlrBtsi17wKmrJrkD-ZFsSE5EtTN44_rJ5rVRgmOiWo1g2X_u08QIxTRsnRTs9VfpKR52Q0IQ7Xf9U-iHclQZA1WfX9Oqk/s1600/Rothouse+Longmen+Grottoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8FpiV5lTKgDRqfU9PALtnyJK6EQWjtdQqmrn2tY38u11PAlrBtsi17wKmrJrkD-ZFsSE5EtTN44_rJ5rVRgmOiWo1g2X_u08QIxTRsnRTs9VfpKR52Q0IQ7Xf9U-iHclQZA1WfX9Oqk/s320/Rothouse+Longmen+Grottoes.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;">The unassuming White Horse Temple, located just outside of Luoyang, is named for the steed that arrived, along with two Buddhist monks, carrying the earliest sacred sutras to China from India. Held to be China’s oldest Buddhist temple, it was founded in 68 CE by Emperor Ming of Han, who governed from Luoyang. It’s a working temple with a contemplative atmosphere, where monks stroll in orange robes and devotees pay homage to icons of the Buddha and Guan Yin. Because most Buddhist monasteries were disbanded and destroyed during the Cultural Revolution, this type of devotional Buddhism (rather than the more meditative, philosophical traditions favored in the West) is typical of modern Chinese Buddhist practitioners.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Indeed, Buddhism has traveled a complex path in China, alternately revered as a compassionate guiding philosophy or rejected as an unwelcome foreign religion by various ruling dynasties. At the Longmen Grottoes, we learned how Tang dynasty empress Wu Zetian used Buddhism as a form of social control, pressing thousands of potentially unruly peasants into labor to create the Buddhist sculptures with the promise of rebirth in a heavenly realm. The grottoes consist of thousands of stone figures set into man-made caves and porticos, painstakingly carved into the limestone cliffs that abut the Yi river. The largest statue, an image of Vairocana Buddha, looks serenely over the valley from a height of nearly 60 feet. Some of the smaller carvings have been polished to a gleam by countless fingers rubbing them for good luck over the centuries. Many lack faces and hands, disfigured by weather, political conflict, and unscrupulous collectors, yet even the faceless bodhisattvas retain a sublime grace and dignity. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO0dzzqCsEphAKkrr0Dey9eJpFmRhHQxYWx7df32LGL1zju7_iKU6XX8BY3fKl1NEDJUx8qhpo2VDlbHngm2FvlAoeN-PyWhvCsiFGRozLCsV_uclBSbzp-vS4bE6ci2KFHoCJ_MthmYk/s1600/Rothouse+Wudang.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO0dzzqCsEphAKkrr0Dey9eJpFmRhHQxYWx7df32LGL1zju7_iKU6XX8BY3fKl1NEDJUx8qhpo2VDlbHngm2FvlAoeN-PyWhvCsiFGRozLCsV_uclBSbzp-vS4bE6ci2KFHoCJ_MthmYk/s320/Rothouse+Wudang.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;">A tour of religious sites in China begs a visit to Wudang Mountain, enclave of Taoist sages and Tai Chi masters, in northwestern Hubei province. Wudang earned the designation of UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1994, and the film “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon” brought Wudang-style martial arts to an international audience. To accommodate the influx of tourists, the government has created a large welcome center, deployed a fleet of buses that whisk visitors around the mountain’s hairpin turns, and even installed a cable car to carry people to the summit. Propaganda signs painted on trash bins encourage environmental consciousness with pert slogans, such as “Every Lovely Plant and Flower Needs Your Priceless Love” and “Welcome to the Natural Oxygen Bar.” Yet the steep stone stairway to the Golden Shrine, perched impossibly upon the mountain’s tallest peak, offers truly breathtaking views of cascading, mist-shrouded ridges. And seemingly unfazed by the crowds, female priests still lovingly tend the magnificent Purple Cloud Palace’s Taoist shrines. A tangible sacredness permeates Wudang, drawing both curious tourists and students eager to study Tai Chi in its native setting.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq8WvhpIm7F3X7iG9TyMo_77PkLmcqsViQu6xyruHcfbRZDGaB_o5tKYo1URPeEqR_9RhtExCSSb-aE123d5KKs0iEdudgoRUfVJGBcDIi7rJeO6CPDIl1q1LE1n5adJcPE7Xvb_0h1jE/s1600/DSCN3773.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq8WvhpIm7F3X7iG9TyMo_77PkLmcqsViQu6xyruHcfbRZDGaB_o5tKYo1URPeEqR_9RhtExCSSb-aE123d5KKs0iEdudgoRUfVJGBcDIi7rJeO6CPDIl1q1LE1n5adJcPE7Xvb_0h1jE/s320/DSCN3773.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;">It’s not far from Wudang to Xi’an, in Shaanxi Province, home to a flourishing Chinese Muslim community. Now a formidable modern metropolis, Xi’an once welcomed Silk Road traders, and is one of the few Chinese cities that retains its traditional city walls. In addition to facilitating trade and communication between China, the Middle East, and Europe, the Silk Road also brought Islam into China, beginning in the 7<sup>th</sup> century. Today, the city’s bustling Muslim Quarter still hums with small shops and street vendors tucked into narrow alleyways, offering everything from salted walnuts and dried apricots to freshly baked flatbreads and lamb skewers. Xi’an’s mosques feature a unique fusion of traditional Chinese and Islamic architecture, providing a welcome respite from the bustle of daily commerce in the streets just outside. Indeed, ducking into one of the smaller mosques in the neighborhood, one could easily mistake it for a Chinese temple but for the Arabic calligraphy, quiet prayer hall, and crescent moon adorning the rooftop. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX9H4PE_Y0nO9sj81NfE8_wDraSowPVEceB9kUECGchQVfTXntgvigRbCm8rNFub-zAlXy7o3xu8RlkEOQw2rk1Ua3v2sbWFZRIbz0XgUS9qe3259XXJFPQV19uk09nTKVOevIGsbQmM4/s1600/DSCN3963.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX9H4PE_Y0nO9sj81NfE8_wDraSowPVEceB9kUECGchQVfTXntgvigRbCm8rNFub-zAlXy7o3xu8RlkEOQw2rk1Ua3v2sbWFZRIbz0XgUS9qe3259XXJFPQV19uk09nTKVOevIGsbQmM4/s320/DSCN3963.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;">My journey through China culminated in ultra-modern Shanghai, with its international character and eclectic architecture. Even in this most cosmopolitan of cities, I caught a whiff of quiet spirituality at the lotus pond in the People’s Park. In the Buddhist tradition, the lotus represents the triumph of the spirit over materialism. It blooms for only a few weeks each summer, and on a Saturday morning in June, Shanghai locals gathered around the pond, quietly cherishing the natural beauty of this sacred blossom. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQthA7m580rfh-8-WQnd2GWJQQILxn7M8qiKW1bbB_vNwL1nEd9tWRsIRWRqMPdLhPBJnt69YfK6p0YfahgegQHaia8X82h7updprf9XtCTApV1K3SqrkwMOiFYCvsZ-3w6yTuvHGfEbw/s1600/Lotus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQthA7m580rfh-8-WQnd2GWJQQILxn7M8qiKW1bbB_vNwL1nEd9tWRsIRWRqMPdLhPBJnt69YfK6p0YfahgegQHaia8X82h7updprf9XtCTApV1K3SqrkwMOiFYCvsZ-3w6yTuvHGfEbw/s320/Lotus.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-7565530727760971352012-02-04T10:42:00.000-08:002012-02-09T06:31:20.447-08:00February RainsStrange, unsettling dreams<br />
and a deluge in the night.<br />
Rolling thunder heralds cooler weather.<br />
As daylight unfolds, dewdrops glisten<br />
on plush leaves as north winds<br />
assail the chimes.Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-40629628097639535392012-01-31T06:24:00.000-08:002012-02-09T06:25:32.611-08:00Foggy MorningGrey fog embraces the dawn<br />
after a steady trickle of rain<br />
that fell all night long,<br />
drawing out the freshest<br />
hues of green<br />
and slowly coaxing<br />
this parched landscape<br />
back to life.Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-8951367825218949772011-11-15T09:37:00.000-08:002011-11-17T06:32:18.829-08:00Moody WeatherAnother cool fall morning ~<br />
moist air drapes the world<br />
in a blanket of dew that falls, lazily,<br />
from the pecan trees in sparse droplets,<br />
each hitting the ground with a distinct "splat,"<br />
giving the illusion of rain.<br />
<br />
The air feels thick and not quite hazy;<br />
morning sun presses through<br />
in soft rays, giving shape to space.<br />
The squirrel's chatter is less insistent than usual.<br />
Dogs bark, but with less urgency.<br />
Even the traffic's hum has a gentleness to it.<br />
<br />
I notice, with a flicker of recognition,<br />
that even the weather has moods...Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-22163302706242748062011-10-24T08:36:00.000-07:002011-11-15T06:36:56.923-08:00The New Year's MiracleOn January 1st we smashed pumpkins in the front yard,<br />
dubbing them "the Baby New Year," and filling them<br />
with our hopes and aspirations,<br />
in an impromptu ritual of endings and beginnings.<br />
<br />
At midsummer a vine began to grow,<br />
lengthening with the long days of August and September,<br />
sprouting lavish yellow blooms that nurtured the bees.<br />
<br />
And now, in autumn, a new pumpkin has emerged,<br />
turning from a deep green to a golden orange ~<br />
We check its progress each day,<br />
marveling in this process of co-creation.Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-22933628734890592402011-07-14T17:41:00.000-07:002011-07-14T17:54:12.413-07:00Buddhist-Christian Dialogue in Austin, TXThis article was originally published on the Austin Shambhala Meditation Center's <a href="http://austin.shambhalatimes.org/2011/05/20/austin-shambhala-center-hosts-members-of-cristo-rey-catholic-church/">Shambhala Times News blog</a>.<br />
<br />
<b>Austin Shambhala Center Hosts Members of Cristo Rey Catholic Church</b><br />
<br />
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="width: 770px;"><tbody>
<tr><td valign="top" width="520"><div class="widecolumn" id="content"><div class="post" id="post-86">On a recent Thursday evening, members of Cristo Rey Catholic Church in East Austin visited the Austin Shambhala Meditation Center for an introduction to Shambhala Buddhism meditation practice. As a professor of religious studies and proponent of interfaith dialogue, I was thrilled to hear about this event. I had the opportunity to communicate with the leaders of both congregations about their experiences of the evening, as well as their reflections on interfaith communication more generally.<br />
<div class="entry"><br />
Cristo Rey’s pastor, Father Jayme Mathias, has been teaching a world religions course over the past year, in which the congregation’s predominantly Mexican-born, Spanish-speaking members have had the opportunity to learn about and visit a variety of religious centers, including a local Hindu temple, an Islamic Center, a Mexican Baptist church, and a Mexican indigenous spirituality center. Father Jayme’s request to visit the Shambhala Center provided a growth opportunity for both congregations. On the one had, the Shambhala Center had never before offered instruction in Spanish. On the other, as Father Jayme notes: “The course on world religions has been eye-opening for many. Because some 87% of Mexicans are Catholic, they are not so accustomed to thinking of faith traditions outside their own.” Indeed, both congregations challenged their comfort zones, opening their hearts and minds for an evening of learning and discussion.<span id="more-86"></span><br />
<br />
When the members of Cristo Rey arrived, Austin Shambhala Center Director Billy Boyar welcomed them and offered an introduction to Shambhala Buddhism, with assistance from Rita Ricardo, providing translation and meditation instruction in Spanish, and Luis Iglesias reading passages from <i>Shambhala: La Senda Sagrada del Guerrero</i> (<i>Shambhala: Sacred Path of the Warrior</i>) by Shambhala founder Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche and <i>Gobierna Tu Vida</i> (<i>Ruling Your World</i>) by Shambhala’s current teacher, the Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche. Shambhala Center members Toby Bernal, Lynn Wolfe, Darren Dyke, and Ginny Foley also helped to welcome members of Cristo Rey for the evening.<br />
Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche, in his efforts to establish Shambhala Buddhism in the West, was a strong proponent of interfaith dialogue and study, hosting a number of interfaith conferences and gatherings, and founding Naropa University in Boulder, Colorado. Billy Boyar recalls: “I mentioned that Trungpa Rinpoche was interested in creating a dialog between Christian and Buddhist meditators. To accomplish this dialog, Rinpoche had organized the Christian-Buddhist conference on meditation in Boulder in 1985. I had the good fortune of attending that conference, where I heard a number of excellent teachers, both Christian and Buddhist. Relating this history was an attempt to find common ground.” <br />
<br />
Indeed, it seems that between these two religious communities in Austin, TX, common ground is alive and growing. Father Jayme, a frequent traveler to Asia, observed in a recent issue of the <i>El Heraldo de Cristo Rey</i> (<i>The Cristo Rey Herald</i>), his congregation’s weekly newspaper: “In Mexico, taxicab drivers place rosaries, images of saints, and other religious objects on their dashboards, rearview mirrors and visors. In Thailand, these same places are adorned with myriad buddhas and other Buddhist objects and images. Both in our Roman Catholic faith tradition and in the Buddhist traditions of Thailand, we find religious images and paintings, altars and incense, holy water and floral offerings. That is, despite our differences, there is also much that we share in common as members of the same human family.”<br />
<br />
In the spirit of interfaith exploration, I recently ventured to Cristo Rey for the 11:30 a.m. Sunday Bilingual Mariachi Mass, and what a wonderful experience it was to hear Father Jayme lead the Mass in both Spanish and English with such a lively musical accompaniment! I would recommend this experience to anyone. And, as a member of the Austin Shambhala Center I can certainly recommend the Center’s offerings of meditation instruction, public meditation, and other classes and workshops on mindfulness practice, Buddhism, and the contemplative arts. The city of Austin offers such a rich variety of religious communities and experiences, and it’s heartening to see some of them genuinely reaching out to one another. For more information on interfaith efforts in Austin, check out the:<br />
<a href="http://www.interfaithtexas.org/">Interfaith Action of Centeral Texas (iACT)</a></div></div></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
--Article by Melinda Rothouse with gratitude to Father Jayme Mathias of Cristo Rey Church and Billy Boyar of the Austin Shambhala Meditation CenterZijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-38415086802242385242011-05-13T14:45:00.000-07:002011-07-14T17:53:28.457-07:00Emerging from SleepA work in progress...<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span><i><span style="font-size: small;">Tropical winds carry with them</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">memories of passion and longing ~</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">the scarlet flush of a stolen kiss and</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">other dreams from distant lands.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">My bones lay heavy and dull, </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">held in place by a force stronger than gravity.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">It’s hard to emerge from this dewy world</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">where dreams of lust and longing,</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">seduction and satisfaction </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">hold me fast with long, sticky fingers -</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">trapped between dream and waking.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">I lay here, savoring the pleasure,</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">gazing out the window as pecan branches sway</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">and rustle, tickled by those sultry breezes.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">I’ve slept so deeply these last few nights;</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">ambrosia for an insomniac.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">It’s the same sodden slumber and deep dreaming </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">I experienced after moving to New Orleans, </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">with its enveloping, steamy air and those same southern, Gulf winds</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">making their way north from the Caribbean,</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">carrying their stories and their sorrows with them.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">And these remnants infuse my dreams, </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">flooding the valley of my subconscious </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">with a pungent, penetrating musk</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">of jasmine and brine.</span></i></div>Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-7361072761250939202011-04-21T17:42:00.000-07:002011-07-14T17:52:52.519-07:00Miksang and Haiku<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHa8ZA5EAGjrkN0_MDV8gaaUrIM2fGa6NGnUVYo5s-tvDRLegHJrd9r3Ax96NZdf2DDYqekIbMQCvtYO9JNxSKIqB_uYoObLDvxHZnH4lKjbjKxmvQAbAn5vY7-yNRMb1URPyg5Y3DzgA/s1600/DSCN2548.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHa8ZA5EAGjrkN0_MDV8gaaUrIM2fGa6NGnUVYo5s-tvDRLegHJrd9r3Ax96NZdf2DDYqekIbMQCvtYO9JNxSKIqB_uYoObLDvxHZnH4lKjbjKxmvQAbAn5vY7-yNRMb1URPyg5Y3DzgA/s320/DSCN2548.JPG" width="320" /></a>I recently participated in a weekend workshop called The Way of Nature: Miksang and Haiku with teacher and poet Miriam Hall. We spent two days photographing, writing, and wandering around the gorgeous environs of McKinney Roughs Nature Park outside of Austin. Here's what emerged:<br />
<br />
Red honeysuckle<br />
lavishly adorns the pole ~<br />
in spring's new wardrobe<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Gis4a5Y0Bf__OzYi7wAeFTfcjJ-wlEu0O8hGx3iwaf6ev0XT5XUB08a6T4lM7ySqUgpboltIckCNN2reFiXXkMnhppGqxwFJRJFtthrmjH6GZ3C84i7ttgQ9qNCHRkBcha6gqiRcs9g/s1600/DSCN2539.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Gis4a5Y0Bf__OzYi7wAeFTfcjJ-wlEu0O8hGx3iwaf6ev0XT5XUB08a6T4lM7ySqUgpboltIckCNN2reFiXXkMnhppGqxwFJRJFtthrmjH6GZ3C84i7ttgQ9qNCHRkBcha6gqiRcs9g/s320/DSCN2539.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Lizard changes hue<br />
as bees busy themselves in<br />
opulent pink buds<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTq1fyxuP4q84Bu4qEZmQB6owHqXgGxrtbMIJDVp_TuO4jwqFsPT2ScLaS07G99jFU3qIEObEA2PS96FFFawfBJidTtotYIjL6ITOJO8f-k_yZYj7b9Zda1s3l3_gMezBAA5UtvdLyeKw/s1600/DSCN2550.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTq1fyxuP4q84Bu4qEZmQB6owHqXgGxrtbMIJDVp_TuO4jwqFsPT2ScLaS07G99jFU3qIEObEA2PS96FFFawfBJidTtotYIjL6ITOJO8f-k_yZYj7b9Zda1s3l3_gMezBAA5UtvdLyeKw/s320/DSCN2550.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Last year's spent seed pods<br />
hanging on, not yet displaced<br />
by this season's shoots<br />
<br />
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tickles skin and rustles leaves ~<br />
Whoosh! A gusty angst<br />
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my eyelids growing heavy<br />
amidst the dry reeds<br />
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taunting me with its graceful<br />
plumes ~ tonight I'll sneeze<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-29457588574060464772011-03-09T06:29:00.000-08:002011-07-14T17:51:17.056-07:00Retreating to Dzogchen Beara: Eastern Spirituality in Western IrelandNew article about my experiences at a Buddhist retreat center in Ireland, published on <a href="http://religionnerd.com/">ReligionNerd.com</a>! Religion Nerd is an e-magazine that offers information and a wide array of perspectives on world religions and issues related to religion, both in America and internationally, and aims to foster religious dialogue.<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;">From the moment I stepped into the van, I knew I had entered a different world. The other passengers were already well-acquainted with the weekly O’Donaghue bus from Cork to Castletownbere, a little town somewhere far out on the Beara Peninsula in West Cork, Ireland. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Heading home from a day of commerce in the city, many passengers carried loads of shopping bags that filled the narrow aisles while others were making a weekend commute to the Peninsula. A musty odour permeated the vehicle, smoky—dusky, an infusion of cigarette smoke and body odour, perfume and food. Aromas left behind by the countless passengers who made the trip many years past. The seats worn and threadbare, the windows smudged with breath and oil from the many heads that rested upon them...</span><br />
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<i>By the time we reached Castletownbere, most of the other passengers had disembarked at various points along the roadside. “Can you stop just there, at the next crossroads? Thank you, thanks so much! Goodnight,” passengers imparted before disappearing up wandering side roads or into neat modern homes. Exiting the van in Castletownbere’s tiny square, I looked around helplessly for a taxi, finally asking the driver of the van where I might procure one last mode of transportation to my destination.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>“Where are you headed, then?” he asks. "<strong>Dzogchen Beara</strong>,” I reply.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>Another voice joined the conversation; I turned and found the man who had sat behind me on the van, whose accent I had earlier struggled to decode as he talked on his cell phone. “Oh, yes, I’m going that way—a lad is on his way to collect me. He should be able to drop you off if he’s got room—he’ll be going right past there.” He assures me. “Wonderful,” I reply.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>As we wait, we introduce ourselves, and it turns out he’s just back from Galicia, Spain, where he completed a three-month pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. My impression of him shifts drastically from country bumpkin to world traveller—religious pilgrim…And so I hitched a ride with him and Gert (Gurd?), his German friend who cheerfully rearranged the back of his car to make space for me: “Feckin’ sold me other car!” he shouts.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>They asked if I have previously been to Dzogchen Beara? ”No, this is my first time.”</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>“Well, whatever they say, don’t sign anything,” says Gert, wryly.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>“What, you think they’ll ask me to sign my life away?” I inquire laughingly.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>“Just don’t sign anything!” Gert insisted, slightly suspicious of the strange Tibetan Buddhist retreat center residing in their midst.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>I arrived around 9:00 p.m. at the international hostel, where, like some post-millenial contortion of Tabard’s Inn from the Canterbury Tales, the party is just beginning. Gathered in the kitchen were a zany lot of merry Buddhist/hippies, cracking jokes about death and reincarnation, and celebrating the departure of Anna, a willowy, wise, gracefully aging and painfully kind guest. Though she’s the guest of honour, she jumps up when I walk in, welcomes me, and shows me to the women’s dormitory. Settling my bags, I returned to meet the other guests: There’s gentle Richard from Holland, who gave up his career in the theatre after his parents’ passing to come and live among the Buddhists, shrewd Cynthia from New Zealand, a widowed retired former hostel-owner (the Buddha’s Abode, it was called), three cheerful Italian students on summer holiday, waifish Clare-the-Mermaid from France, and Tim from who-knows-where, strumming the ukulele in a vintage three-piece suit with flowers in his hair, leading a call and response to: “Who’s got the love?” “We got the love!” Damien, the social worker-turned-musician from Dublin, whaling on his digerideedoo and a local Corkonian, Brona thrilling us all with her oven-rack-and-shoelaces-turned organ of the gods (just put those little loops at the end of the shoelaces into your ears while I run this fork across the oven rack, and prepare to be amazed—note to self: must try this at home; great party trick).</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>In the midst of all this mayhem, I craved a quiet evening curled up with a book, but soon accepted that there was nothing to do but join in. As Ross, my beloved dharma buddy back in Austin would say, “don’t hesitate; just say yes…”</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>Though <strong>Buddhist</strong> rather than <strong>Christian</strong>, this place seemed somehow in line with the long and storied Irish monastic tradition, or at least some 21<sup>st</sup> century version of it. Being at Dzogchen Beara, I felt that I had entered a living breathing community along the lines of St. Enda (father of Irish monasticism), who lived all those centuries ago on the desolate Aran Islands, an emphasis on simplicity, quietude (certainly not always observed), communal living, recycling and composting, meditation and study. Yes, in the hostel we slept in bunk beds with ten to a room rather than in individual beehive huts, but during my long walks along the craggy hillsides, and hours spent in meditation looking out over the broad, vast sea, I felt a sense of the contemplative life.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>Not only did I feel a connection with the Irish monastic tradition, but also with the worldwide Buddhist community. Dzogchen Beara is one of the main retreat centers of the <strong>Rigpa sangha</strong>, under the direction of <strong>Sogyal Rinpoche</strong>, a Tibetan lama who fled Tibet after the Chinese invasion. After coming to the West and studying comparative religion at Cambridge, he founded a network of Buddhist centers all around the world. Rinpoche’s international students gather at retreat centers like this one to practice intensive meditation, study, receive teachings and spiritual transmissions, and deepen their practice. You can feel the dedication in their stories and the incredible distances they have traveled to be here. Several visitors tell me of their hometown Buddhist communities in places like Dublin, Nelson (New Zealand), and southern France, and I marvel at the flowering of this tradition of non-violence and compassion.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>Chris, a longtime Rigpa member and engineer, who was helping to revamp the center’s communication systems, told me of the Rigpa center in South London, where he assisted with renovations. In its former life, before being purchased by Rigpa, the building served as the courthouse where many of the <strong>IRA</strong> trials of the 1970′s and 80′s took place. He spoke of cells where IRA members were once held, under maximum security, while awaiting their trials. These same cells are now dormitories and meditation rooms—talk about poetic justice.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>During my last evening at Dzogchen Beara, a group of us journeyed into town for an evening of music at the local pub. Sitting at a street side table with the cool ocean breeze nipping at our shoulders—it’s Saturday night and the whole town, people of all ages, are out to relax and socialize—my international Buddhist friends broached the topic of religion in America. Dubliner Edward observed that Americans seem to be more religious than Europeans, who retain a post-Enlightenment skepticism about religious dogma and the intolerance it can foster. Perhaps it is this skepticism that makes Buddhism, with its pacifist and non-theistic stance, an appealing alternative for Europeans to the religious traditions of the West.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>And what of religion in Ireland today? Although religious matters suffuse the tempest of Irish history, many 20<sup>th</sup> century Irish writers, most notably James Joyce and Edna O’Brien, have written about the oppressive nature of Irish Catholicism and searched for possible alternatives. Both seem to be asking, can you be Irish and neither Catholic nor Protestant? Is there another alternative?</i><br />
<i> </i><i>My sense of things is that, despite Ireland’s legendary Celtic past and its staunchly Catholic identity, these days many Irish people, like Joyce and O’Brien, are skeptical, if not downright cynical, about religion. Even people who drop into Church every now and then for good measure, don’t find much that’s “deep and meaningful,” especially among the younger generation. Of course, that’s not always the case, as my friend who walked the pilgrimage route of Santiago de Compostela could attest. Traversing the countryside, one sees endless ruins of ancient churches and monasteries, some lovingly restored and touted as tourist destinations, and many more slowly decaying in the middle of fields, but go to mass at a contemporary church and you’ll find it maybe a quarter full. It makes me wonder whether religion, at least in the Christian sense, isn’t regarded as a relic of a violent and socially-repressive past that the Celtic Tiger is all too ready to leave behind.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>And what of the ancient Celtic/Pagan tradition that’s so identified with Ireland in cultural imaginings? Sure, you catch glimpses and hear whispers, especially in the odd women’s retreat advert promising a reawakening of feminine power and sexuality, but it’s not really a living, viable practice as far as I was able to observe. What about alternative/Eastern religions? Well, as in America, people are looking for an alternative way to connect with the spiritual without all the cultural and historical baggage of Christianity. Yoga studios and Buddhist meditation centers are popping up all over Ireland, as a brief Google search will reveal. And, as my experience at Dzogchen Beara attests, although they do not appear to be as ubiquitous or as mainstream as they are in America (at least, not just yet), some people claim that religion is dead, that it has no place in the contemporary world, and yet people are turning to various spiritual traditions (often not the ones with which they were raised) in record numbers, especially in the wake of 9/11, war, economic recession, and a general sense of disconnection and spiritual malaise. If my time at Dzogchen Beara is any indication, spirituality still flows in Ireland, and indeed across the globe. Though we may not immediately recognize it, religious traditions are crossing borders as quickly as any commodity, revealing the true depth of humanity’s interconnection.</i><br />
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<b>View the full article on ReligionNerd.com <span style="font-size: 130%;"><a href="http://religionnerd.com/2011/03/08/retreating-to-dzogchen-beara-eastern-spirituality-in-western-ireland/">here</a></span>.</b>Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-33513872425739707732011-01-12T10:29:00.000-08:002011-01-12T11:36:17.068-08:00Miksang Photography<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQMO29K6PYyUGu00eb2RWyyKQkMgo0sFwfiO_-j0F1Nr74OfZFM36fa83D47pikQ40P20LBPtrU001jQI8pTdl5R6d4hLauQIwzCQkVSuLcrOfQ7LhHCab5aBZ0nBPMZJTE3a1rbW-jQ/s1600/DSCN1286.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQMO29K6PYyUGu00eb2RWyyKQkMgo0sFwfiO_-j0F1Nr74OfZFM36fa83D47pikQ40P20LBPtrU001jQI8pTdl5R6d4hLauQIwzCQkVSuLcrOfQ7LhHCab5aBZ0nBPMZJTE3a1rbW-jQ/s200/DSCN1286.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561378032121660162" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvNE4D4skRMChmfHtbpPQIdpctyI0W51fCkL0Usq3RrdsTuumlhyLAb1kPoZEdxLFPgyjvbCQ7XAYcCI4aUY0J2a0sN2TXm32rcFlkwOTsRnHIrdAFONY9cSDeqc_f28yZFVdcFEU1rEY/s1600/DSCN1966.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvNE4D4skRMChmfHtbpPQIdpctyI0W51fCkL0Usq3RrdsTuumlhyLAb1kPoZEdxLFPgyjvbCQ7XAYcCI4aUY0J2a0sN2TXm32rcFlkwOTsRnHIrdAFONY9cSDeqc_f28yZFVdcFEU1rEY/s200/DSCN1966.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561378033564406098" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAE0nekCIiKzU1HCqF7dUP-rbgVWbzVKVG0FfEp8hb2m1W1l9Cy1gKcBpYu0beIoAl6vVJC4LLEh9_HZ6D2AMiRiQs0_Ynkl3NdVinJ3rCUBDHhbOk8pU3eltQ709jVow4AD3jLpAp5ro/s1600/DSCN2066.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAE0nekCIiKzU1HCqF7dUP-rbgVWbzVKVG0FfEp8hb2m1W1l9Cy1gKcBpYu0beIoAl6vVJC4LLEh9_HZ6D2AMiRiQs0_Ynkl3NdVinJ3rCUBDHhbOk8pU3eltQ709jVow4AD3jLpAp5ro/s200/DSCN2066.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561378040125675570" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: right;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Photos by Melinda Rothouse</span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Miksang is a practice of contemplative photography that fosters a deep engagement with the phenomenal world. Like other contemplative arts disciplines, Miksang emphasizes the experience of pure perception, of opening oneself up to the inherent beauty and energy of the world itself, rather than attempting to cultivate any notion of creativity or “skill” within the individual artist. It is about appreciation rather than mastery, recalling Suzuki Roshi’s “beginner’s mind,” in which many possibilities exist, rather than attempting to achieve any sense of expertise.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Miksang in practice begins with what is called a “flash of perception,” in which the photographer encounters the world as it is, before labels or judgments, even before concepts come creeping in. It is the raw, naked moment of “seeing,” an intimate encounter between the perceiver and the perceived, which underscores the inseparability of self and other. It’s not about taking beautiful pictures (though beautiful pictures may emerge), but about dancing with the world of forms, colors, and textures. It’s about noticing, and resting in, the space around things just as much as in the things themselves. Sometimes the subjects of the photos remain unrecognizable—it’s impossible to identify "what" they are by our usual conventions of naming and labeling—and this is just the point: to get beyond our habitual tendencies of categorizing and conceptualizing experience, and to return to the immediacy and freshness of our sensory experience. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Even photographing people and landscapes becomes a new experience, as the photographer senses and communicates the energetic exchange between people and within nature; as a practice it’s a way of opening oneself to the world of experience. Often the results can be quite humorous, even ironic, as when the Miksang practitioner begins to explore the connections between seemingly unrelated images or objects, like the “orderly chaos” of graffiti, objects in shop windows, or various elements within an urban street scene.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">I have had the pleasure of attending several Miksang photography workshops, and have found a deep peace in the practice of wandering around the familiar streets and parks of Austin while allowing new, surprising, and fresh sensations and experiences to wash over me. There is a great joy and contentment that arises when we simply relax and allow ourselves to open to the wonders of the phenomenal world.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Many thanks to Miksang teachers Jake Lorfing, Miriam Hall, and John McQuade.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">You can learn more about Miksang practice and workshop opportunities at <a href="http://miksang.com/">The Miksang Institute</a> and <a href="http://www.miksangtexas.com/">Miksang Texas</a>. There is a Miksang Level I workshop happening at the Austin Shambhala Meditation Center on January 29-30, 2011.</span></p>Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-12874235710640703722010-12-10T15:22:00.000-08:002010-12-10T15:39:38.455-08:00Reflections on an Interfaith Panel Discussion on Sacred Arts<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.iconarts.com/images/Icon_Gallery/Theotokos-Tenderness.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 211px; height: 279px;" src="http://www.iconarts.com/images/Icon_Gallery/Theotokos-Tenderness.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">I recently hosted a panel discussion on sacred arts at Austin Community College. One of the panelists, Irene Perez-Omer, an iconographer in the Eastern Orthodox tradition, wrote this wonderful reflective piece on the event. I am reprinting it here with her permission. For more information about Irene and her work, please visit <a href="http://www.iconarts.com/">www.iconarts.com</a>:<br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><u>Blessed is the Kingdom of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit</u></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ></span><p style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I usually want to write and stop myself; partly because I don't feel like I have any authority to write anything about spiritual matters or theology; partly because I probably won't say anything new; and lastly because no one might want to read it. Today though, I will write in spite of the usual apprehensions. </span></p><p style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">A few weeks ago, I participated in a Sacred Arts Panel at the local community college. It was a nice evening shared with my co-panelists a Jewish Rabbi and a master/practitioner of Ikebana which I found out was a Japanese art of flower arrangement. We all got a chance to talk about the tradition and practice of our respective forms of sacred art. The Ikebana practitioner spoke of the meditative aspect of her work, and of the harmony of the different elements in her arrangements. Each different branch and each different species of plant represented one of the basic elements of the cosmos, each was equally necessary and important as part of a harmonious whole. She spoke of how we could learn from her art, that each element was necessary and important to sustain the harmony of the arrangement and reflecting on these relationships we could work towards an enlightened society. A society according to her philosophy, where no matter how small a person, how seemingly insignificant their job, this person was necessary and equally as important as another person having a job or function that was considered by many to be of greater importance. That we are all equally valuable in creating and maintaining harmony in the world. All of us have a place and a function to perform that is valuable for the whole, that we all deserve dignity no matter how humble our station in life. </span></p><div style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Then, it was my turn to talk about Byzantine iconography. I have had the opportunity on several occasions to give lectures about iconography in the past. In the last year and a half, I changed the focus of my presentations from the art historical point of view which is what usually people expect, to a more direct and necessarily theological approach to understanding iconography. So, in about ten minutes I explained the Orthodox Christian doctrine of the incarnation of Christ, and how that was the sole reason and foundation for iconography. God became man and dwelt among us; so we can represent Him whom people saw, spoke to and ate with. Before the incarnation it was impossible to make images of God. Furthermore, by becoming man, Christ restored the icon of man which was made after Himself and in this way restored our fallen nature to its original beauty and stature. And by also dying a human death and rising from the dead, Christ had now effectively made possible our salvation, our return to God in His Kingdom. So by becoming human, God allowed human beings to become like god. The persons who have achieved this goal are the ones represented in iconography and whom we call Saints. I explained that we are all called to this transfiguration and even in our imperfect state we are considered icons of God as we (included here is all of humanity) are all made in God's image. In addition, I spoke about the veneration of icons, and why this is not idolatry but simply a show of respect and veneration to the persons represented on the icons, not an adoration of the materials which form part of the icon. I briefly explained some of the formal aspects of Byzantine icons (perspective, anatomy, light.) Finally, I explained how the architecture of the Church building, the iconography, the hymns, and the Faithful gathered, both formed part and supported the whole movement of the Liturgy, the ascent from this world into the Kingdom of God, the whole of the visible and invisible creation, humankind and angels, earth and heaven united to participate in this feast which culminates in the Eucharist, communion with God. .... yes, this was a lot to swallow in a little over ten minutes.</span></div><div style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />After me came the Rabbi, who had been listening with interest and I guessed amusement to what I was saying. Following a brief introduction by the moderator who revealed the Rabbi as a trained singer, musician and Hebrew theologian, the Rabbi asked us to close our eyes and started singing a wordless melody. His voice was very smooth, beautiful and the melody had an ancient sound. After a a minute or two he stopped. He then told us how in his faith, which was about 2000 years old (Hebrews after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem in 70 A.D.,) they didn't use images but music, more specifically chanting in their services. He explained how he tries to express the moment, the mood or state of mind in his synagogue through his chanting. How the word "chanteuse" comes from enchanter, someone who can transport you with sound, take you to a different place, a different state of mind. He then expressed how fleeting time is and no matter how much we try to capture the moment with still photographs, or videos that we can never relive the moment. The moment is all we have and so he tries to create an experience of the moment with his chanting during the services at the Synagogue. He explained how the Hebrew chanting relies on 8 principal modes and the chanter can improvise according to his ability and sensitivity based on those 8 modes; that it was similar to Jazz in that sense. He also referred to Byzantine chant as having different tones that function similarly as in the Hebrew style of chanting. To demonstrate how different Hebrew chanters from different cultures would chant the same mode he demonstrated the way a Hebrew chanter from Yemen would sound, one from Morocco, one from Israel and one from America. It was fascinating and at the same time familiar as I have heard Byzantine plain chant by Monks from Mt. Athos, chanters from Syria, from Palestine, from the USA and they all use the same tones but have different flourishes and cultural accents of their own. However, the Rabbi kept coming back to the subject of time, how little of it we really have in this life, how we need to make the most of it, that once a second is gone is gone forever, and how we need to really be present at each and every moment so we may live it fully. </span></div><div style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />After this, we all answered questions from the audience. We all shook hands, and told each other how much we had enjoyed each others' presentations, etc. The Rabbi mentioned that he thought my presentation was interesting or something along those lines. I can't remember at the moment. It seems to me now that there were things I said that he hadn't heard before. </span></div><div style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">What struck me about the evening and the reason why I am writing this is that a couple of days later, I kept thinking about the Rabbi and what he said about time. I finally realized that the Rabbi was really anxious about time. For two days I thought about what he had said and wondered why he is so worried about time? Why does he feel that there is no time, that time is slipping away? I wondered why I wasn't worried about it like he seemed to be? I wondered if this preoccupation with time was part of the Hebrew religious mindset or just his personal view of his faith or experience. But, why was I not worried? Was I missing something?</span></div><div style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />Then, came Sunday, and I went to Church as usual with my family. Once in Church, I lit candles, venerated the icons and with anticipation waited to hear the Priest say the words, "Blessed is the Kingdom of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit." I feel joy when I hear these words at the beginning of every Liturgy. I stood there by my husband in Church, chanting along with the chanters' "Kyrie Eleisons" and looking up at the Platytera on the apse, looking at the icons of the Saints on the icon screen, and remembering what I had told the people at the Sacred Arts panel. Then, I realized why I am not concerned with time. I was in the company of the Saints, of the Church on earth and the Church in Heaven, surrounded by Angels and Archangels, and on my way to receive the Holy Eucharist, on my way to the heavenly banquet, on my way to communion with God. I was already beyond the time of this world and into the time of the eighth day. I remembered telling my audience at the presentation that the Liturgy was an eternal Liturgy going on in Heaven and on earth forever, a constant thanksgiving and praise. That's why I am not worried about time. Christ has opened the gates to the Kingdom of God and we are all called to the company of the Saints, we can all be there as sons of the most high, where time is eternal and Love is never ending. </span></div><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >I am so thankful for this and for my Faith which is so wise and beautiful, and for God's love in giving us eternal life.</span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >- Irene Perez-Omer</span>Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-81889518628045059332010-07-21T17:58:00.000-07:002010-07-21T18:21:43.198-07:00Crocodile's Smile<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfH4MzQhYcANrCov5c1aLSJc6_bHbw0NQ7WO3JYHGh-q2zKypHGaS-K63PYNZ550yRjDi1J-FMfgGTYWqC3jPGicYl3Gt9gTRqoNnxo5E2w1gUnb6MeLi9KQqiSi-Ge7zU6bDkZK8T-4E/s1600/DSCN3941.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfH4MzQhYcANrCov5c1aLSJc6_bHbw0NQ7WO3JYHGh-q2zKypHGaS-K63PYNZ550yRjDi1J-FMfgGTYWqC3jPGicYl3Gt9gTRqoNnxo5E2w1gUnb6MeLi9KQqiSi-Ge7zU6bDkZK8T-4E/s200/DSCN3941.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496534548796358066" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Notes from a shamanic journey...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Into the Belly of the Beast ~</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">I remember viscerally the experience of being in the swamp, moving through dark waters, being snatched and eaten, clamped in the jaws of a crocodile, and entering a different dimension. Thrust through the threshold of life into death and beyond. There was no fear, just a willingness and a curiosity to learn what lay beyond. Being chewed and swallowed and discovering the energy, the wonder, of being without a body ~ only spirit. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">And then the delightful, joyful feeling of weightlessness, immateriality ~ zipping across time and space instantly in a flash of light ~ still a mental and spiritual presence without the hindrance of a body and all of its attendant needs. Joining with my lover's spirit in a dazzling dance of pure, intermingling intimacy, like a vortex.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">We here on earth are so heavy, so close to the ground, so preoccupied with all of our basic material needs, dragging our feet through the mud. But once we are free from the body, this is true egolessness, pure presence. Nothing to worry about / nothing to sustain. No ego or sense of "self" whatsoever. Utterly free, moving through galaxies and dimensions, a bodhisattva in space, acting only in compassion, perceiving and attending to those in need ~ there is no self to get in the way.</span>Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-42783456686700691822010-02-20T07:51:00.000-08:002010-02-20T08:43:38.010-08:00On Kirtan, New Orleans, and the Tibetan New Year<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ_MAbFyXiSWi6KZp7AZtVXjEeIoCuYeYQ3_Nqcq4g3Li-mwj1rf6rlbig6ZvRArK_28aOV6qQEF8Y83CLqZZOagmyNXoE1h0AmBjbD-CyQgPucoE2NuuBR6Og2M-bY-RKt_sIoBS77r4/s1600-h/Shiva-nataraja.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 142px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ_MAbFyXiSWi6KZp7AZtVXjEeIoCuYeYQ3_Nqcq4g3Li-mwj1rf6rlbig6ZvRArK_28aOV6qQEF8Y83CLqZZOagmyNXoE1h0AmBjbD-CyQgPucoE2NuuBR6Og2M-bY-RKt_sIoBS77r4/s200/Shiva-nataraja.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440360159603752674" border="0" /></a><br />I had the good fortune last night to go and hear <a href="http://www.seanjohnsonkirtan.com/">Sean Johnson and the Wild Lotus Band</a> from New Orleans play for the grand opening celebration of <a href="http://www.eastsideyoga-austin.com/">East Side Yoga</a> in Austin. The band performs kirtan mantra chants with a bit of NOLA funk thrown in, and though I lived in New Orleans for a time I had never heard them play. What fun! A great, big spiritual sing along, and so healing. We sat shoulder to shoulder, swinging and swaying to the lush rhythms while Sean, Gwendolyn, and Alvin ushered us into another dimension. Would that more spiritual practice was so drenched in music and love!<br /><br />When asked, Sean spoke about the Superbowl and what it meant to New Orleanians for the Saints to have won--people spontaneously running out into the streets, embracing strangers, high-fiving between cars, and dancing in the streets of the Quarter all night long. And all of this in the midst of carnival season. What a triumph for the city, five years after Katrina, when so many had left her for dead. I've been thinking a lot about NOLA lately, the city I had to leave but who always resides in my heart...<br /><br />Themes of union and separation ~ both are important in the spiritual path ~ Shiva Nataraj, dancing the world into existence, unburned by the ring of flames that surrounds him because he is one with it. In union there is no distinction, but only from a place of separation can we see and feel and touch. As the Tao says: "Free from desire, you realize the mystery. Caught in desire, you see only the manifestations" (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 1). And yet it is an endless dance, for as the Buddhist Heart Sutra teaches us "Form is emptiness; emptiness also is form." We swirl back and forth between unity and bittersweet separation, because that's where learning and growth occur. Learning how to become more and more gentle in the face of fear and injustice and sorrow...<br /><br />Learning how to love, learning the power of love ~ this was the major message from Shambhala Buddhist teacher Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche on the occasion of the Tibetan New Year (Year of the Iron Tiger, 2010), which fell on Valentine's Day this year. How can we express kindness and gentleness when provoked, rather than anger and aggression? Love is the path...<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Shiva Nataraj image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons</span><br /></div>Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-42773449174580949612010-01-26T22:00:00.000-08:002010-02-20T08:30:18.968-08:00Sitting with George<span style="font-size:100%;">Just sitting.<br />You, draped in gorgeous brocades.<br />Me, just breathing.<br />I feel that we are breathing together,<br />yet when I pause, I know<br />that you are gone.<br />Eyes and mouth half open--<br />frozen<br />passing away.<br />Waves and waves of breath.<br /><br />The fear and uncertainty of sitting with a corpse for the first time--incense burning to mask the smell of death and decay. A strange contrast of ritualized order and chaos. The care and deliberation of the fine, brilliantly colored silks, the shrine, smoke wafting through the air, and the chilling, tearful rawness of sitting with the lifeless body of a beloved teacher and friend. Cold. I remember feeling very cold--a chill that wouldn't leave--possibly from the dry ice packed beneath George as he lay there, mouth open, glasses slightly askew...</span>Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-35761432135346411672009-06-27T10:00:00.000-07:002010-02-20T08:20:56.841-08:00Exquisite Noticing<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVm-cGWmYMyfmgWnRkIpE0VM-AKAEGRy7zuLaU83KfsvugaZ1oR4KRb5WfArEmWvQS6MeFD12s_kq0zAL0qd6xW0xpNGklqpaJRV5xn7W363j3NdtzfJJHa3BQkesVt4hS7ur3lmwNdbU/s1600-h/DSCN0455.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVm-cGWmYMyfmgWnRkIpE0VM-AKAEGRy7zuLaU83KfsvugaZ1oR4KRb5WfArEmWvQS6MeFD12s_kq0zAL0qd6xW0xpNGklqpaJRV5xn7W363j3NdtzfJJHa3BQkesVt4hS7ur3lmwNdbU/s320/DSCN0455.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352062315908407426" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;">May, 2009<br /><br />En route to Italy to meet up with friends in Umbria. I've been charged by my friend Klare with "taking it all in," and by my friend Kerry with "Exquisite Noticing." Colors, textures, elements; scents and sounds. From the plane I observe the way rivers wind their way over the earth ~ the way the land merges with the sea, as we flew over the Mississippi delta downriver from New Orleans. I was startled and then thrilled to recognize the geography as we passed above it. And the clouds: now thin and wispy like gossamer, little bits of nothing; then thick and substantial like cotton; sometimes dark and ominous, kissing and jostling the plane as we fly amongst them. Water mingling with air, substantial and ethereal at the same time...<br /><br />Laying in a hammock in the shade ~ utterly enveloped and supported, looking out upon the most spectacularly sweeping vista of the Umbrian countryside. Tractors rolling by on their way to tend to the hay fields, grapevines, and olive groves. All manner of birds chirping and fluttering by. Just taking it all in, with every breath ~ the way the breeze caresses my skin, the passing of the day from darkness into dawn, morning to midday, and evening into nightas the sun traces its arc across the heavens. It's all greenery and rolling hills ~ pastoral~ with sweet valleys and sensuous mountain ranges, easy on the eyes.<br /><br />I am remembering the view from the plane as we came across Southern France, over the Southern tip of the Alps and the coastline of the Mediterranean ~ mountains trailing down to the sea; earth meets water. And how, in the dawning light, the rising sun reflected off the sea, painting a dazzling peach-gold shimmer. Fire on water. I wondered, is light the fifth element? Or is all light encompassed by fire? Our sun, the source of our natural light, is of course a fireball, so perhaps this is so.<br /><br />A cat gave birth to four kittens the first night I arrived. The miracle of life ~ ordinary magic. Exciting, primordial, simple, beautiful. Mama cat squeezing and pushing, yet so completely calm and peaceful ~ purring for her new children and licking them cleanas they suckled, even when only two had been born and two more remained inside of her. She knew just what to do, though really only a kitten herself...<br /><br />The sun has finally relinquished its stranglehold on the day, and it is such sweet relief. The crickets are singing their songs to the night and the air feels so succulently soft on my skin. The tiniest sliver of a new moon hangs low in the Western sky. I've never seen the moon so slight. New moon ~ new beginnings. Hillsides and valleys softly cascading down to the Tiber valley, and then up again to volcanic peaks. Tiny specs of light sparkling in the warm, hazy nighttime air. All is well in the world and soon I will be sleeping and dreaming of you...<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Photo by Melinda Rothouse. To see more pics from Italy, click <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/melinda.rothouse/Italy2009?authkey=Gv1sRgCK3OzOPd4YbATQ&feat=directlink">here</a>.</span></span><br /></div>Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-48646006944017841952009-02-03T07:44:00.000-08:002010-02-20T08:21:24.424-08:00Relax with Every Step<span style="font-size:100%;">I sit with a Zen meditation group led by <a href="http://www.sonbuddhism.org/biography.html">David Zuniga</a> on Monday mornings here in Austin. Last week David relayed a story from the life of the Zen Master <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shunryu_Suzuki">Shunryu Suzuki</a> (founder of the San Francisco Zen Center and author of "Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind"). Near the end of his life and while living with stomach cancer, Suzuki Roshi was participating in a work day at the Zen Center. All day long Suzuki and his students engaged in hard labor, moving rocks and other materials around the Center grounds. One by one, his students stopped to take longer and longer breaks, some of them disappearing from the scene, but Suzuki Roshi worked tirelessly throughout the day. Finally, one of his senior students asked him how he was able to find the energy to continue working, and the reply was "I relax with every step."<br /><br />Ah, how profound. Relax with every step, with every breath...This is the secret to working with energy, to refilling and replenishing our reservoirs of energy and vitality. Exertion and relaxation are two sides of the same coin ~ they complete each other ~ the yin and the yang. Out of the spaciousness of relaxation comes the impetus of exertion, and after an expenditure of energy, there must be rest, equal and opposite; otherwise there is imbalance, stress, and fatigue. How simple, and yet how challenging in the context of our speedy, restless lives. A beautiful aspiration: relax with every step.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Photo by Melinda Rothouse.</span></span><br /></div>Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571700967317638780.post-58956365024830619212008-12-02T06:08:00.001-08:002008-12-02T09:07:30.194-08:00Trees in Love<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHhYHppLxLsCxkPMe5xWud-ubK-EVDjx92-gzBvyQI1bsPG90bLxYBHVU9Nsf67AIjJSLL73gc_cGCsWKaWwNYs53ziDMddKzvS28my7EvIeuJOIuG_k2U7UwtXPOOAH0N5dujBXNPJ80/s1600-h/DSCN0088.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHhYHppLxLsCxkPMe5xWud-ubK-EVDjx92-gzBvyQI1bsPG90bLxYBHVU9Nsf67AIjJSLL73gc_cGCsWKaWwNYs53ziDMddKzvS28my7EvIeuJOIuG_k2U7UwtXPOOAH0N5dujBXNPJ80/s320/DSCN0088.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275240092259952546" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">As I sat in meditation this morning, attempting to calm the whirlpools of the mind and contemplate the vast spaciousness of emptiness (no small task!), I happened to focus my gaze up and outward, out through the window of my meditation room. It's a view I have looked upon many times before, out over my neighbor's yard, her tin-roofed shed, and up into the canopy of pecan trees that graces my block. But this morning I saw something I had never noticed before: two trees, "independent" beings each with its own root system, their long trunks rising gracefully from the earth, having grown so close together at their crowns so as to intermingle, their branches weaving together in an embrace of shared foliage. I thought it such a beautiful symbol of love...</span>Zijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11348422428004375849noreply@blogger.com2