My Vision Pin

It seems that everyone is obsessed with Pintrist. I admit it, I have been drawn in along with the masses.  Today, as I prepared for Warrior II, instead of thinking about my inward spiral, and shoulder placement, my mind was on my Pintrist page.  

I started with a picture of grey hair!  My hairdresser is my best friend.  We have been best friends since we were twelve.  She will not let me grow in the grey. If I could get it to look like this, and never have to color again, I would be thrilled!  Although, I would have to start wearing a bit of make-up I think.  

 

I occurred to me that it really is the ultimate vision wall. I started a Svapnadarzana board. It means dream or vision in Sanskrit.  In it I will post lots of fun dreamy things for the future.  I works well with The 24 Things. Letting go, making space and deciding what to call into your life.  I did a mini version of 24 this April but will get back into the swing for the July installment.  

Do you have a Pintrist page?

A New Flavor

I struggled with the key.  The lock was jammed again.  I checked that I had the right one, but it was hard to see. The super still had not fixed the light on the stoop.  I dropped my bag, sighed, and used two hands to jimmy the lock. CLICK.

I looked over my shoulder to make sure no one was behind me.  It was my first year in New York City and I was troubled by the thought that I would end up a tragic statistic.  I positioned my bag over my shoulder and readied myself for the six-floor walk up. 

My roommate would be home. She didn’t work on Tuesdays, so it was our movie night.  We were single and gift-less and it was Valentines Day; or as we called it “Black Tuesday”.

I checked the door was shut behind me and discovered a black, cardboard, heart taped to my mailbox.  I turned it over and read a single word, written in red, all caps. 

W H O

My roommate and I met one year earlier in Boston.  We worked at Cheers. The pub made popular by the television series.  It was her first week. She was friendly and spunky and I liked her instantly. It took her all of ten minutes to reveal that she was going through a breakup. 

“Really? I am too!”

“I’m Cristie, by the way.” She said and stuck out her hand.

We went out after work for an ice cream.  We sat outside and shared our broken hearts over three scoops and a wobbly table.  Whenever I hit a rough patch in my life, I still turn to Chocolate Fudge Brownie. 

I looked around the foyer but found nothing else. I stuffed the black heart into my coat pocket and ascended the stairwell.  At the top was another offering, stuck to the checkered tile floor.  A black heart set squarely in the center of, what once was a white tile.

I pried it up and flipped it over.

N E E D S

I learned about the Jewish boy she loved, who broke up with her because he could only marry someone in his faith. “Apparently, you can date a Shiksa for four years in college but you can’t marry them.” She said waving a spoonful of whipped cream.

I poked at brownie chunks and evoked my boyfriend. The cheater.  “He disappeared at the company Christmas party.  I couldn’t find him for 45 minutes.  It’s clear now where he was.”

It took just one large bowl of ice cream for us to decide to move to New York, be roommates, and star on Broadway. We moved in May, right after my 25^th birthday.

I turned the black hearts over in my hands, smiled, and then conquered the next flight by twos. The third floor offering was stuck next to the door of the lady no one ever sees.  We knew she lived there. We sometimes heard her talking to, what we assumed were cats based on the smell that trickled into the hallway. But we never saw her once in the year we lived there.  The back read:

M E N

The day we moved into our railroad apartment, we met two girls that lived across the street.  Our living room windows faced each over 86^th street.  They invited us over to hang out later in the week.  We climbed the six flights of stairs to their apartment and banged on the east side door.  A young man answered with a spatula in hand.  “Wrong apartment.” He smiled.

His friend sat at the kitchen table holding a beer. “He’s making lasagna if you would rather eat here.”

That night the six of us had dinner together.  I brought the Mint Chocolate Chip for desert.  

I went out with that chef across the street a few times. Cristie pleaded with me not to wear men’s XXL flannel shirts out on dates. I didn’t listen but I did let her talk me into wearing makeup.

Black heart number four hung from the flickering light in the fourth floor hallway.  I marveled that my 5-foot tall roommate managed to get it up there and thought that if she could do this, I might get her to do the supers job. I put dropped my bag, jumped up and grabbed it.

W H E N

Three months before our lease was up I was cast in my first big show.  I was going on the road for two years, playing the lead in The Will Rogers Follies.  Christie took me for my first manicure-pedicure. We bought silver toe rings on 83^rd street and wore open toed shoes although it was March.  Then we celebrated in a bistro on 1st with a large Strawberry Fudge Swirl. We promised each other that when I returned, we would find another apartment in a funkier neighborhood.

Fifth floor’s reward was fixed to the long, skinny window that revealed the alleyway. There was a bay of them on the side of the building. I looked down at the noisy pigeons who’s fussing awakened me every morning. 

G O D

The week before I moved out we were robbed.  A very thin thief descended from the roof and squeezed himself through one of those tiny windows and into my bedroom. We arrived home to discover the window open and sooty footprints on my bed. That evening, we went to the roof to look for clues with a pint of boysenberry and a couple of spoons.

Black heart number six was taped over the eyehole on my apartment door. 

M A D E

I tested the door. It was unlocked. “Hello?” No answer. 

I looked around the kitchen.  An oversized crimson heart covered the freezer door.  A glittery arrow pierced it and pointed to the handle.  I yanked it open. 

The freezer was empty, but for a lone pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Vanilla.

The table was set with several small bowls, each one filled with a flavor. Chocolate sprinkles, coconut, caramel, cinnamon red hots, blackberries and chopped nuts.  There was a note.

“Happy Black Tuesday.  Create some new flavor for yourself.  The future is wide open.”

We never did find anew apartment in that funky neighborhood.  But, we remain friends twenty years later and meet once a year in Manhattan. We see a Broadway show and catch up with each other. Then we take our six-year-olds out for an ice cream, usually topped with gummy bears. 

What is your recipe for your future Valentine’s Day?  Let’s write Ben and Jerry’s and create a new flavor for next years “Black Wednesday.”

An Army of Gays

Days 6-12 of The 24 Things Mid-Winter Toss.

My mantra for 2012 is: “One is plenty.” The bath salts and soaks in the cabinet, vitamins, and shoes are all getting used up before I buy another. If items of clothing are not worn for a season, they are given away at the end of that season, with just a few exceptions.

In spite of this, my closet is a mess again. How does it keep happening?  I didn’t purchase a lot of clothing in 2011; a pair of jeans and a couple of sweaters. Yes, one was grey.

Part of the problem is that I am 45 years old, and still have no idea what my style is. If it’s not yoga clothes, I am pretty much, at a loss.

My fashion sense has improved over the last fifteen years. I used to go on dates in a man’s extra large flannel shirt and black leggings.  The flannels have gone, but I am far from a fashion diva.  Many have tried to help and I attempted to absorb the lessons, but I am a slow learner.

I met my husband, Michael, ten years ago. He made me nervous.  He was older than me, never married, and traveled around the world many times.  He spoke obscure African languages, wore cool hats, and sported a beard.

I was in a show, in New York when Michael and I were first dating.  He would come into the city in between his travels and take me out. We were slowly getting to know each other.

Every Wednesday lunch, between shows, was spent with my friend and fellow actor, Adam. He was my trusted confidant. “I wonder if he’s a player”. I confessed over a shared salad.

“Listen sweetie,” Adam said and put his arm around me.  “Just go for it.  See what it’s all about.  If he hurts you, he hurts you, at least you followed your heart.”  “Besides,” He flexed his exposed bicep.  “If he hurts you, call me. I will have an army of gays, up there tomorrow.”

I spent the summer with Adam’s advice. It seemed to be working well. One fall afternoon, Michael and I drove to Maine.  We spent a weekend wandering in and out of shops, eating ice cream and enjoying a pre-child weekend; which you have no idea how much you should be grateful for because once you have a kid you spend all your weekends talking about your child.

“Try this on”.  Michael said and handed me a wool, navy blue, Greek, fisherman’s cap.  I scrunched up my nose shook my head.

“Just try it.” He faced me toward the mirror. I reluctantly pulled the cap over my ponytail. 

“You look adorable.” He said.

“Really? I am not sure.” 

“It looks great. Let me get it for you.” 

The more he used words like adorable and love, the more I believed that I was a hat person.

I yankeded the price tag off and sported my navy fishing cap through the streets of Camden, Maine.  I was sure this new worldly fashion sense was going to work for me.

Tuesday afternoon I returned to New York City. “Nice lid” the stage manager winked and held the door for me. “Thanks!” I breezed down the hallway.

I loved my new hat.

Adam was sitting in my dressing room. “Well?” he raised his eyebrows and grinned. “How was the weekend?”

I sat in front of my mirror and arranged my show make up.  “Fun” I said coyly.

“Oh.” Adam said. His mood darkened. He frowned and moved from the couch to my chair.  I felt panic rise in my throat.  “What?”

He put his arms around my shoulders and hugged me gently. I swallowed my panic  “He knows something bad about this guy.” I thought to my self.

 “Sweetie.” He removed my fishing cap and placed in on the table. “Not in New York.”

I loathed my new hat.

My husband turned out not to be a player. We have a son, who fills up both our lives. But, the problem in my closet still exists. 

My Greek fishing cap sits on a shelf next to my box of stage, false eyelashes.  My fashion sense lays somewhere in between.

Where is that army of gays when you really need them?

Days 6-11: I am working out my confused closet, cleaning out the cabinets in the bathroom and letting go of some stuff that’s just not me.  I will keep the Greek hat though.  It was one of the first gifts my husband gave me and even if it doesn’t work in New York I am sure we will travel somewhere where I’ll fit right in.

Don’t forget Day 12 is your Mid-Toss Ahimsa.  Take a moment, check in with your Sankalpa, and realign. 

Happy tossing.

Are you joining THe 24 Things Challenge? See what it's all about. 

A Revolution in Resolutions

The 24 Things Mid-Winters Toss. Day One: January 1^st 

Sankalpa

The empty boxes are on the curb for recycling.  The vacuum cylinder is coated with sparkles and stray pine needles are strewed about the house. The holiday commotion has settled and it’s the perfect time to appreciate all we have, let go of what weighs us down, and make space for new dreams.

Toss your New Year’s Resolution for 2012.  Instead, try a Sankalpa.  A Sankalpa is a simple but specific intention; a spiritual resolve. Kalpana means, idea, imagination of the mind, creation. 

A Sankalpa, is like a blank canvas and it is a powerful way to start any endeavor.

The difference between it and a New Years Resolution is the direction of the energy, behind the determination.

New Years Resolutions often require that we give something up; sweets or alcohol. The focus is on what we have been doing wrong and implies that we are not enough.   

But, a Salkalpa is centered on what we want to call into our life, the focus shifts to receiving and abundance. It allows your deepest aspiration and doesn’t require that you change who you are. 

Align with your Dharma

Dharma is the desire to be what your soul was meant to be.

When the individual aligns with the universal it is powerful. You know when your life is moving in the right direction; your energy carries and sustains you.

Sometimes our resolutions don’t serve our Dharma. When we force situations to be as we wish, rather than accepting what is, we exhaust our prana and it is likely that you are not in alignment.

A Sankalpa is a connection with this highest truth. Ask yourself; How can I serve my highest potential? Then listen. It takes courage to quiet your mind, tune into your heart and to do what is needed to answer your calling. 

I am, not I want.

Our thoughts create our reality. When we say that we want something we are reinforcing that idea that we don’t have it. We subconsciously remind ourselves that we are lacking, every time we repeat the wish. This makes it impossible to achieve any goal. 

A Sankalpa operates on the premise that we already have all we need to fulfill our Dharma.  If we accept that we are complete, powerful and open, the ego is put aside and we are free to call in our soul’s desire. 

Focus on a positive result. Word your Sankalpa with care, in the affirmative and present- tense; I AM rather than I WANT.

A Sankalpa is not “ I want to make new friends in my community.” Or “I want to be more patience with my child.” It is “I have many new friends in my community.” And “I am a patient, loving, compassionate Mother.”

This slight adjustment makes an immense difference. Imagine your best life, be clear, and remember that where your energy is directed, your future goes.

You are what your deep driving desire is,

As is your desire so is your intention.

As is your intention so is your will.

As is your will so is your deed.

As is your deed so is your destiny.”

Brihadaranyaka Upanishad

An Internal Vow

New Year’s resolutions are often shared and discussed. However, telling a goal makes it less likely to happen. It actually extinguishes our drive.

When others acknowledge our ambitions, the mind tricked into feeling satisfaction and we are less likely to do the work required. The mind mistakes the talking for the doing.

When you keep your promise to yourself, it’s sacred.

Let go

We cannot receive anything until we let go of expectations and actions.  That doesn’t mean that we don’t have desires and goals.  Rather, it means we have a clear view of what the spirit is calling for and faith in the abundance of the Universe.

A Sankalpa is not about achieving a specific thing within a certain time frame. It is broader and far more encompassing than that. It is a steady, internal, energetic shift.

Once you have come to your Sankalpa, every action either supports or undermines your intention. Each choice is an opportunity to strengthen your path.  When you are faced with a decision, don’t act on impulse, and determine if the action will serve your highest truth.

Be clear about what you desire, keep an open mind about outcomes, and sustain effort and faith.

“Once you make a decision the whole world conspires to make it happen.” –Emerson

Now go 24

Today we start our first 24 Things cycle for the year 2012. Let go of one thing each day for the next 24 days. Let go and create freedom, in the home, mind or body, and create a sacred space. Inside this sacred space you can develop the faith that you will be provided for and cherished without the aid of material things.

We are more powerful than we know and can call in the wonderful, when we learn to let go.

Make space in your life for your Sankalpa to enter.

Blog

We have a growing list of bloggers that join in on 24 Things and share their experiences.  If you are blogging let me know. I love hearing about the experiences of others and will link you up to the 24 Things website.

Make a magical New Year.

In The Midst of Gorillas

“The king's name is Gukubita. It means ‘beat’. But don't worry, he beats his chest not his visitors." Our guide Eugene winks, adjusts the automatic rifle on his shoulder, and turns toward the jungle.

We walk up the base of the Sambinyo Volcano to track Gukubita and his family of mountain gorillas.

Rwanda’s volcano region is called the Virunga Mountains and is the place Dian Fossey founded the Karasoke Research Center in 1967 to study and protect the gorillas.

Karasoke protects one third of all mountain gorillas in the Virungas, and because of their efforts the critically endangered population has increased by almost seven hundred.

Eugene’s machete rings out a high Cschringgg, as it strikes the bamboo thicket. The lush, emerald-colored terrain is difficult to navigate. There are no trails, so we walk on top of the vegetation.

I silently wish I remembered my gaiters and gloves, as my limbs scrape against the stinging nettles. Each unsteady step produces a new welt.

We pass three men who live on the volcano by day. They are armed, quiet, and greet us with nods. These men protect the gorillas from hired poachers, who kill the majestic animals for souvenir heads and hands, then sell them as bushmeat. The baby gorillas are taken from their families and sold to exotic animal owners, who focus only on their status in society and not their proper place on the planet.

"Poaching is a big problem in the Republic of Congo,” our guide explains. "But here in Rwanda our animals are protected. We have not had an infant stolen or mother killed in ten years."

I balance on the undergrowth and take in the views. Coffee, potatoes, and bananas grow on terraced hillsides and cows graze in a field below.

Our group halts suddenly. Eugene presses his gloved finger to his lips.

There is movement in the thicket next to me. I startle.

Nestled in the lush green leaves is a black, wrinkled face. A female gorilla sits, five feet from me. She is quiet and calm. Her eyes are the color of burnt umber, wizened by thousands of long, star-lit nights on the volcano. She holds my gaze and I well up.

Desikashar said, “Yoga exists in the world because everything is linked.”
The gorilla climbs a few inches up the hillside to an open space. She faces us and reveals her baby. The three-month old clings to his mother’s belly and she cradles him with one arm. I imagine that she is proud to introduce us. She turns and disappears into the vines.

I feel allied to this Mother. I think of the first time I heard my son’s heartbeat in the doctor’s office. That moment flicked a switch inside my heart. I thought, “This is God.”

I cannot fathom how any person could harm her and take that baby away.

Eugene clears his throat and growls. "I am telling Gukubita, the king, that we mean no harm."

Gukubita echoes the call. "We can enter now," Eugene tells us. "Remember do not run if you are frightened. If he beats his chest, slowly crouch down on your knees to show respect."

We enter a cave of bamboo. I hear throaty grunts above us. Another mother and baby lounge in a hammock-like nest. When they move a shower of dried leaves and twigs lands on our heads.

Gukubita lays on the ground chewing. His onyx coat shimmers in the sunlight. He surveys our group and seems comfortable, even tolerant, in spite of our intrusion.

I snap photographs and inch closer. He yawns, his tongue and teeth stained black. I stand ten feet away with my friend Laura, a filmmaker who stares over her viewfinder, mesmerized. Gukubita’s imposing size contradicts his mild spirit.

Eugene grunts again and Gukubita answers.

He yawns one last time and then begins his show. He reaches for a bamboo shoot and pulls himself upward. He measures six feet tall and 350 pounds. His dark hands curl into fists as he inhales. Then he roars, pounds his chest, and rushes toward us.

I lower my camera, drop to my knees, and avert my eyes to ensure the king knows I have no intention of challenging him. I recoil at the high-pitched sound of bamboo snapping. My fingers tremble as I reach out and hold Laura's hand. Then silence.

"You can look at him," Eugene whispers.

Gukubita poses on all fours at arms length from me. I resist a foolish urge to reach out and touch his silver shoulder. His breath mists from his nose. He waits as I attempt to take a photo with shaky hands. He repeats the grunt and sigh that means he accepts us and wanders off into the thicket.

Yoga teaches us that true personal strength is neither passive nor oppressive. We can only know authentic power when we find the balance between these two. This king is a yogi.
He earns our respect in a calm, direct manner. He demonstrates that his duty is to protect his family and that he will only wield his power if necessary.

I can no longer feel the stinging on my ankles and wrists. I stand in silent awe. Laura peels my fingers from her hand and laughs, “You can let go now."

The animals allow us to view their world. We witness babies in their mothers' arms, playful youths swing from branches in the distance, and our king sits high in the trees surveying it all. He effortlessly demolishes bamboo trees as he lowers the food toward his throne.

I wonder what the poachers are feeling as they approach such a beast. They must be terrified that he will pummel them.

Suddenly, I understand their desperation. They have no options. The power in their lives is unbalanced, so aggression is a means to feed their families.

Desikashar is right. We are linked. I have as much to learn from the poachers as from the King. We cannot choose to what we are inexorably connected, but each connection can lead us to empathy and understanding. This is God.

Gukubita assesses his family and their surroundings, then satisfied, he lays back in a bed of green, closes his eyes and goes to sleep.

I send a silent thank you from my heart, and wonder if the gorillas feel a relationship to us-- hairless, trembling creatures, who seek to capture the moment with black lenses in front of our eyes.

My guide whispers, “God roams the world but comes to rest in these mountains.”