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

Retreating to Dzogchen Beara: Eastern Spirituality in Western Ireland

New article about my experiences at a Buddhist retreat center in Ireland, published on ReligionNerd.com! 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.

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. 

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...

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.

“Where are you headed, then?” he asks.  "Dzogchen Beara,” I reply.

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.

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.

They asked if I have previously been to Dzogchen Beara?  ”No, this is my first time.”

“Well, whatever they say, don’t sign anything,” says Gert, wryly.

“What, you think they’ll ask me to sign my life away?” I inquire laughingly.

“Just don’t sign anything!” Gert insisted, slightly suspicious of the strange Tibetan Buddhist retreat center residing in their midst.

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).

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…”

Though Buddhist rather than Christian, this place seemed somehow in line with the long and storied Irish monastic tradition, or at least some 21^st 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.

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 Rigpa sangha, under the direction of Sogyal Rinpoche, 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.

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 IRA 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.

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.

And what of religion in Ireland today? Although religious matters suffuse the tempest of Irish history, many 20^th 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?
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.

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.


View the full article on ReligionNerd.com here.

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.

Reflections on an Interfaith Panel Discussion on Sacred Arts

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 www.iconarts.com:

Blessed is the Kingdom of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

- Irene Perez-Omer

Crocodile's Smile

Notes from a shamanic journey...

Into the Belly of the Beast ~

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.

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.

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.

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