A Healing Journey to the Land of Fire and Ice

I'm very excited to share that a story I wrote about one of my Icelandic adventures has just been published by elephant journal, along with some of my photos from the trip.

Here's a little preview:

“Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.” ~ Mary Oliver

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.

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).

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.

I felt that my intuition was guiding me there, though I had no idea why.

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...

Click here to continue reading.

A Sacred Journey to Goa, India

Originally published in the Shambhala Times Community News Magazine, July 8, 2015

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.

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.”

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.

To continue reading the article and see some of my photos from the trip, click here.

On Pain and Healing

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:

Let the pain be your guide, they said.

So I opened my body and heart

to the curious sensations

of bones fractured, bruised and aching,

muscles clenching for dear life

to hold me upright--

keep me from succumbing once again

to the awful pull of gravity.

Some days the pain softened,

and I could move freely, make love,

even dance to the sweet sounds of gypsy jazz.

Other days my spine screamed in agony and

I simply could not attend to the basic necessities.

Found myself huddled

on the floor, in the pose of the child,

my nervous system frayed,

gasping for some reprieve.

But I discovered the pain was not so solid,

that my bones had become a barometer

of the cold front passing through,

the rains enveloping the earth,

of cruel words and tender acts of love,

all registering deeply within my marrow.

Walking the streets,

grateful for strong legs and supple flesh,

I drank in the vastness of the sky,

quivered with the cool caress of the wind

like never before.

Precious, precious gift, to be alive,

embodied within skeleton and tissue

that can sustain blunt trauma,

and yet heal, again to feel

the warm glow of sun on skin.

--Me

Update - 9/2/15: I am pleased to share that this poem has been published in the new compilation "Capturing Shadows: Poetic Encounters Along the Path of Grief and Loss" edited by Louis Hoffman and Michael Moats through University Professors Press. "Capturing Shadows" is now available on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Capturing-Shadows-Poetic-Encounters-Along/dp/1939686091

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. Capturing 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, Capturing Shadows is a wonderful resource for all touched by death, loss, and other difficult life transitions."

On Love

"You shine like the sun," he said, and then...
Dreams of coming and going;
the tension of messiness and imperfection.
The old, old wounds we carry around
into every new connection...
I love you, even in your pain and your untidyness,
and I'm grateful for your love.
Terrifying as it is,
the will to open,
to love and be loved
overcomes all objections in the end.

--Me

Musings from Eastern Europe

I recently returned from a trip to Eastern Europe with my friend Jake Lorfing. 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 Centre for Dialogue and Prayer.

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. 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:

Riding the edge of twilight
Chasing the setting sun 
Above the clouds, below the sky
Five hundred miles an hour
An arctic haze of pink and blue
Is this limbo, or just another never-ending transatlantic afternoon?

Your kiss still lingers
Even as it fades.
In fits of sleep,
I dream another universe
But awaken to my breath,
The beating of my heart.

I saw grace etched in stone
In the epic streets of Prague
And despair rendered mute
In Birkenau's rusted barbs.
Only the trees, those elegant trees,
Bear witness now.

How to return and not to forget?
To honor these few borrowed breaths
With a resounding yes
That trumps all instances of no
A love that suffuses darkness and light,
As the soft overcomes the hard,
Melting into night.

-- Melinda Rothouse

Click here to view more photos from the journey.

On Death and Grieving

 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.

Memories of Nana Maxine

Nana Maxine moved slowly,

inching along with her cane, which

she might point at you menacingly,

if you were out of line,

with an arched eyebrow,

an impish smile rippling across her face.

There was fire behind her eyes,

always twinkling,

quick to say “I love you,

a bushel and a peck,

and a hug around the neck!”

She leaves a legacy of

beloved landscapes,

rendered in oil paint,

and hanging in gilded frames.

An appreciation of fields and fence posts,

lazy rivers and softly sloping mountains,

sparrows and seagulls,

the shimmer of light on water,

the majesty of the sea,

and the thousand shades of blue, yellow,

and crimson in the sky at sunset -

an eye for the magic and wonder

of the natural world.

She survived a stroke that left her

paralyzed on the right side of her body,

and learned to paint again, left handed.

An artful life lived in the little details ~

Silver-rimmed cat glasses and colorful clothing.

A doorstop made of a stone with a ghoulish

little face painted on it. A Christmas

ornament of macramé with a chocolate

inside, and a note saying “Squeeze me

and I’ll give you a kiss!”

I remember chasing fireflies

out in the yard at Round Hill

on a warm summer evening.

Picking herbs for soup with her

in the back yard of our house in Georgia,

Playing Hearts and Rummy Cube with

her and Papa Dave at their condo in Florida,

where she also helped me with a school

project, in the fourth grade –

a topographically accurate map of Thailand,

fashioned with artists’ clay.

I remember receiving handwritten letters,

scrawled in her unmistakable left-handed script,

relaying the little details of her daily life and travels,

and brimming with affection.

I remember driving across the Midwest,

tracing the footsteps of our ancestors,

visiting grave sites and farms, and the banks

of the Mississippi at Nauvoo, as she compiled

the family history.

The last time we saw her, we sang the old songs

together, and she still knew all the words.

Wife, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother.

Artist and matriarch. Centenarian.

She lives in our hearts,

And we carry with us her sparkling smile,

her lovely paintings, and her unwavering love.

--Melinda Rothouse 

February Rains

Strange, unsettling dreams
and a deluge in the night.
Rolling thunder heralds cooler weather.
As daylight unfolds, dewdrops glisten
on plush leaves as north winds
assail the chimes.

Foggy Morning

Grey fog embraces the dawn
after a steady trickle of rain
that fell all night long,
drawing out the freshest
hues of green
and slowly coaxing
this parched landscape
back to life.

The New Year's Miracle

On January 1st we smashed pumpkins in the front yard,
dubbing them "the Baby New Year," and filling them
with our hopes and aspirations,
in an impromptu ritual of endings and beginnings.

At midsummer a vine began to grow,
lengthening with the long days of August and September,
sprouting lavish yellow blooms that nurtured the bees.

And now, in autumn, a new pumpkin has emerged,
turning from a deep green to a golden orange ~
We check its progress each day,
marveling in this process of co-creation.

Emerging from Sleep

A work in progress...

Tropical winds carry with them

memories of passion and longing ~

the scarlet flush of a stolen kiss and

other dreams from distant lands.

My bones lay heavy and dull,

held in place by a force stronger than gravity.

It’s hard to emerge from this dewy world

where dreams of lust and longing,

seduction and satisfaction

hold me fast with long, sticky fingers -

trapped between dream and waking.

I lay here, savoring the pleasure,

gazing out the window as pecan branches sway

and rustle, tickled by those sultry breezes.

I’ve slept so deeply these last few nights;

ambrosia for an insomniac.

It’s the same sodden slumber and deep dreaming

I experienced after moving to New Orleans,

with its enveloping, steamy air and those same southern, Gulf winds

making their way north from the Caribbean,

carrying their stories and their sorrows with them.

And these remnants infuse my dreams,

flooding the valley of my subconscious

with a pungent, penetrating musk

of jasmine and brine.

Miksang and Haiku

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:

Red honeysuckle
lavishly adorns the pole ~
in spring's new wardrobe

Lizard changes hue
as bees busy themselves in
opulent pink buds

Last year's spent seed pods
hanging on, not yet displaced
by this season's shoots

Feather light spring breeze
tickles skin and rustles leaves ~
Whoosh! A gusty angst

Tired bones lean in
my eyelids growing heavy
amidst the dry reeds

Pollen hangs from tree
taunting me with its graceful
plumes ~ tonight I'll sneeze

Miksang Photography

Photos by Melinda Rothouse

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.

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.

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.

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.

Many thanks to Miksang teachers Jake Lorfing, Miriam Hall, and John McQuade.

You can learn more about Miksang practice and workshop opportunities at The Miksang Institute and Miksang Texas. There is a Miksang Level I workshop happening at the Austin Shambhala Meditation Center on January 29-30, 2011.

On Kirtan, New Orleans, and the Tibetan New Year

I had the good fortune last night to go and hear Sean Johnson and the Wild Lotus Band from New Orleans play for the grand opening celebration of East Side Yoga 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!

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...

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...

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...

Shiva Nataraj image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Sitting with George

Just sitting.
You, draped in gorgeous brocades.
Me, just breathing.
I feel that we are breathing together,
yet when I pause, I know
that you are gone.
Eyes and mouth half open--
frozen
passing away.
Waves and waves of breath.

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...

Relax with Every Step

I sit with a Zen meditation group led by David Zuniga on Monday mornings here in Austin. Last week David relayed a story from the life of the Zen Master Shunryu Suzuki (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."

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.

Photo by Melinda Rothouse.

Trees in Love

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...

Spiral Luminosity

Spiral. Shifting. Spinning. Energy of a hurricane, flowing outward and outward until it spins off into another plane, never to be seen again ~ out into untold universes, traveling to places we could never possibly imagine, across vast horizons, stretches of time and vistas that we could only know in dreams or telescopic photographs from deep space, otherworldly and beautiful but also cold and unknown. Perhaps those spaces are not so much "out there," foreign and distant, but places within our own hearts, so covered-over and protected that we no longer recognize them, so that we have become strangers to ourselves. Sometimes all we need is a reminder ~ a serendipity or coincidence that jolts us into a faint recognition, a near-forgotten memory ~ oh, yes, that is myself, and myself is no different from any other ~ we are all inextricably interconnected, but sometimes we forget...

Photo and stained glass by Melinda Rothouse.