A Treasure Found at Home

I continue to consider what I should do with my life. How can I best be of service–best use the gifts I’ve been given.

I return again and again to ideas of some sort of social service. Ideas of becoming a grief counselor, participating in end of life care, or working with abused women or children. I’m not sure how to go about it, though.

It scares me. Can I hold that? Can I do it well? Is it selfish to not even try? I’m feeling a little overwhelmed by the intensity and quantity of fear and grief even in this city alone. Do I not relieve even a little only because I know I can’t possibly relieve it all?

How do I go about making this change in my life? I wonder if Naropa has an end of life program and if their program is accredited. I would love to join my Buddhist studies with this sort of care. Like the old Catholic nuns caring for the aged and orphans in their local community. Except I’d be a Buddhist nun, all dressed in vibrant saphron instead of black.

If I go the abuse counselor route, I think I’d better not wear the traditional nun’s robes. Somehow that just doesn’t feel right to me in that setting. At least, that’s not how I see myself there.

I’m tired. It’s time to do something.
I’m scared. It’s time to stay open.

To of my most favouritest people in the whole world are going to marry each other! Not only are they both great people, but they ROCK as a couple.

Here’s to Love and Birthdays.

Congrats, J and S!

Oh, I hope not.

The Way I See It #25
The wise healer endures the pain.
Cry. Tears bring joy.
–Erykah Badu Musician.

Besides making it painfully obvious that I spend too much money at #$s, todays blurb calls to mind a conversation I had recently with someone about tonglen.

Tonglen is a formal giving and taking Tibetan meditation practice. The basic idea is to breathe in the dark, heavy, frightening bad feelings and breathe out calm and space and ease. The first step in the practice is to connect with a sense of the infinite, so you don’t get caught up and bogged down by the black feelings. The intention is to drop the separation between you and the person (or people) you are doing the tonglen for or to drop the separation between yourself and your full range of feelings when you are doing this for yourself. Come to think of it, that’s precisely the way one drops the separation between self and other–by being open to the full range of emotions.

The more we drop the separation, the more we understand ourselves and others, the more we can give space to (and respect) what is happening for those around us. This experience of calm may get picked up by whomever we are interacting with, thereby creating a calm in that person, as well. As our mind’s reaction slows and we learn to ride it more than it rides us, the more we can let others pain flow through us and dissipate. The need to catch it, hold it, and send it back to them decreases.

As I try to explain the practice to a friend of mine who is an energetic healer, I suddenly realize how bizarre this can sound to someone who is used to protecting ‘self’. Someone who takes care to create some barrier between himself and those he connects with so he won’t take on the full feeling, because the full feeling isn’t comfortable.

“I did not create the barrier correctly, and her migraine felt like a pen stabbing into my eye,” he told me.

“Yes, that’s the point! You fully understand her pain by fully experiencing the same sort of pain. In that way you can create more space for her.” I think I caught him off guard with my answer.

Weird sounding or not, this dissolution of self and other through the formal practice of tonglen will be something I continue to hold as an intention. I tried to protect myself for years and it didn’t work. I still got hurt, perhaps more than I would have if I weren’t trying to hard to keep up that barrier.

As R’s Dad says, “Playing it cool is for jerks.” Tonglen is the antidote to being a jerk.

The Way I See It #27
Do not kiss your children
so they will kiss you back
but so they will kiss their children,
and their children’s children.
–Noah benShea
Poet, philosopher and author of Jacob the Baker, Jacob’s Journey and Remember This My Children

The concept of having children has been front and center for me recently. Playing with Peanut and Flower at the retreat, hearing a teaching which advised “Don’t disturb yourself with the worry of offspring!”*, hearing of the Dalai Lama’s response when he was asked if he missed having a family (apparently he nearly fell off his seat laughing), seeing this photo of a child effected by agent orange, reading about the children killed in Florida recently, the children missing in Georgia, how much more heartache and sadness and fear is there among the billions of people on the earth who don’t make it into the papers?

How do I bring a child into all this? How do I give someone this broken, dying world?

And yet…how do I not? How do I give up on humanity? My children will be a gift to each other as much as the world is a gift to them. My responsibility isn’t just to make sure they have all they ever want, but to teach them to keep their hearts open even when it is difficult; to love those who are hurting. I want to teach them to take the mud and the muck in their lives and turn it into strength and power and beauty–to become little lotus flowers.

And how do I do that except by learning it myself first? Stay open. Look into the experiencer, the thinker, where do those thoughts and feelings come from? Dissolve to? What do I know, what do I have faith in…Answer that and let the rest go.

I was named Pema Tharpa–Pema, the Tibetan word for lotus (sometimes written Padme). When I received the name I thought it was a lot to live up to. It is, it is. At the same time it is a great reminder of the potential I have within myself, of my unique circumstances.

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*Kunga Dawa delivered this teaching originally given by Padmasambhava. Kunga was a close student of Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche, and is the Kunga Dawa mentioned in the conjunction with the Sandhana of Mahamudra. Throughout the weekend, whenever Kunga quoted Trungpa Rinpoche he would speak his words in a special, funny, high pitched voice!

LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): One of my ex-girlfriends had heart surgery when she was an infant. They opened her tiny chest, fixed the problem, and sewed her back up, leaving a two-inch scar on her skin. By the time she became an adult, the scar had grown along with the rest of her, stretching to eight inches. I regard this as a good metaphor for the way our early psychic wounds expand as we mature. Having said that, though, I’m happy to report that you now have an excellent chance to dramatically dissipate the lingering pain of an old trauma, as well as to shrink the scar it made. Please take maximum advantage of the healing energy available.

Thanks for the supportive support, Mr. Brezsny.

While I was at Fr0gwood my told trauma scars made themselves shown on a couple of occasions. My only explanation is they are now closer to the surface, and the wounds are getting poked at again, with all the work I’m doing in therapy around safety.

Saturday night as dinner was ending and everyone was getting ready for the next phase of the evening, someone started playing the piano upstairs. My friend and I were thinking of taking a hike, but stayed instead for the rare treat of live, well played, improv piano in a quiet spot. The music was so touching and beautiful I had tears in my eyes before we even sat down. As I listened I thought about being young and lying under the piano as my mother played. Completely surrounded by the sound, I was safe. Being under the piano became my safe place, even when no one was playing. I realized it had been a while since I’d felt that safe and held. I have only my therapist’s office where I can really feel safe.

And then I realized suddenly that right there, right then, in that quiet room with a few of my friends I felt perfectly safe and held–and I started crying.

~

In contrast, last night as I returned from the SFSC I found the window by my front door wide open! I suspect Galahad was pawing at the latch and with the wind blowing as hard as it was in that little corner, the window flew open. He was at the door meowing longingly for me, so I figure 1) the window couldn’t have been open long or he’d have been outside already and 2) no one else was in the house or he’d be bothering that person for attention (or hiding).

I called Dharmaqueen and searched the house with her on the phone and an umbrella in one hand. Even when I checked each room twice I still felt a little weird. I slept with the light on and decided to invest in a baseball bat.

This morning I stopped by my upstairs neighbors’ apartment. They said they’d just been talking about how glad they were they had a ‘former nanny, Buddhist, dog lover’ for a downstairs neighbor since their five year old was hopping on one foot and they knew it wouldn’t bother me.

(It didn’t, I hadn’t even noticed.)

They said they would keep an eye open and told me to come ring their bell at any time of night if I had a problem. (“We’re used to jumping up in the middle of the night,” they said, referring to their two young kids.)

So, safety.

My old trauma and spiritual wounds around safety are coming up and asking to be healed, and they’re not going away again. I have some great places to work on this and some fantastic support around it and, most importantly, I’m ready this time.

I spent some time last night trying to find a picture or two to submit for the photo directory for my community. I couldn’t decide. Most of my pictures of me got lost in the Great Hard Drive Crash of 2005 (GHDC05). I managed to find five photos where I wasn’t pushed right up against someone else and you could see me.

I cropped them just to show my face.

I look completely different in every shot! My hair color and cut is not consistent from one photo to the next. I don’t know which looks most like me–I don’t know what I look like! Glasses, no glasses? Short short hair, long short hair? Red, bleached or ashy?

I also have trouble knowing how to answer when people realize there is a selections of names to use when referencing me, and they ask my preference. I don’t have one. Call me whichever of the many names available is most comfortable for you.

I think I don’t have a stable idea of who I am. And then the question becomes: Do I need to have that much of an idea of who I am?

At the retreat someone mentioned they didn’t know much about me. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Um…I’m just [Sparkle],” I said.

I do a lot more than just that, but are those things *who* I am? Is what I look like who I am? Is my name, or nickname, really who I am when it comes down to it?

What is your first thought when someone asks you who you are?

We have a new Pope!

–Edit–
I was surprised by how relieved and happy I was to see the news. I suppose I am still a Catholic at heart. It’s like being Irish or Italian for me. I don’t hold the passport, but I feel a connection.

I was in a conference call when I got the news. I couldn’t pull up CNN.com…every Catholic in America was probably trying to hit it all at once! I had to go to msnbc.com to find out Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger is now Pope Benedict XVI. He’s German, 78 years old. I thought they’d go for an Italian if they chose a Eruopean. I’m interested to see how things will change. Will he be as well loved as John Paul II, as good at reaching out and connecting? That man was a hard act to follow, as Popes go.

Birds in Water

Originally uploaded by Hjem.

LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): You’ve heard about horse whisperers, people who have a deeply intuitive, almost psychic rapport with horses. You may have also heard about baby whisperers, those who specialize in reading the body language and secret thoughts of infants. Well you, my dear Libra, currently seem to have the skills of a *dove* whisperer. If you like, you could probably achieve a mind-meld with those birds in the coming weeks. Perhaps more importantly, you will also possess the unusual blend of powers that doves have symbolized throughout history: to bring peace, to cultivate tender intimacy, and to bless lust.

Ok, so these are Rock Doves, and not really what one thinks of when someone says, “Dove.”
None the less, I feel this picture pretty much represents the birds I think I could connect with now. Birds all puffed up and warm, hanging out relaxing in the water.

By the way, I feel the closest connection with the one on your left his right.

It was nice to get away for a few days. I didn’t miss my email or my cell phone reception at all.

I played with babies, sat in the hot tub, sat among the trees, slept, read, chatted, cried, hiked, drank from a spring, cuddled, hugged, kissed, laughed, sang, danced and loved.

Not bad for three days away from the City.

One should not attempt to sort out finances right before one leads meditation.

Or

Perhaps one should.

Said to me, “You know a lot for someone who’s only 31.”

Overheard in the office, “That’s not a project, that’s a hassle.”

This one I just like the sound of, the feel and smell of:

The Way I See It #33

Hot allusions
Metaphors over easy
Side order of rhythm
Grit/s plain or with sauce
Message:
If you want to be a poet
You’ve got to eat right

–Nikki Giovanni Poet.

and

The Way I see It #34
There are no limits on how much the heart can love, the mind can imagine, or the human being can achieve.
–Lynne Cox Author of Swimming to Antarctica. She broke the world record for swimming the English Channel.

I should remember this in future even more than I try to remember today. I should hold it in mind as I consider my options and desires. How do we learn to love more except to stretch our hearts to hold just a little more than we think they might? Good question. Remember to ask yourself that, Sparkle.

I finally got some time to read some other people’s blogs today. Here’s what I found:

Touching
That’s what I felt.

Funny
To continue from yesterday.

My Unitarian
Jihad Name is: Sister Sword of Enlightened Compassion.

Get yours.

Is it really weird I find a connection between these two?

This morning, says my coworker, it was raining so hard the animals were lining up two by two in front of Noah’s Bagles.

Then this in the Chronicle: Brother Flaming Sword of Moderation.

Tonight there will be dancing. Some I will watch, some I may even participate in–depends on how awake I am at that hour.

Thank goodness for this weekend, when I have almost nothing booked!

April is Sexual Assault Awareness and Prevention Month

http://www.rainn.org/

“Civil protection officials handed out tea and croissants to those who had waited overnight in unseasonably cold temperatures to view John Paul’s body and pay their final respects.”

This from an article about Pope John Paul II’s laying in state, burial, and the election of a new Pope. How nice the security are handing out tea and croissants!

I’m in love with my skirt today. I haven’t had a skirt I loved this much in a Very Long Time. It makes me long for consistantly warmer weather. Talking to zoe_serious about how Summer will be for her (if it ever gets there) reminds me how Summer can be.

I remember streets and sidewalks so hot you had to wear shoes or burn your feet. I remember wearing cut offs and t-shirts at night. I remember standing on the street and pushing the soft soft globs of tar with my toes; it would dent and slowly return to form like slow moving, black marshmallow.

I miss the heat. I haven’t been warm in so long that I only remember what it looked like, not what it felt like. Is there a city like SF somewhere warm? Somewhere hot? I long for warm summer nights. I want to walk barefoot on the beach as the sun comes up, after a long night of dancing or some romantic something, and not have to be huddled up in a coat while doing so. Even at Burning Man, the nights aren’t warm.

I want to go to Cuba. Well, as long as I have a sexy, swarthy dancing partner, I want to go to Cuba—and a red skirt split nearly to the hip.

Crap! I wrote this in wordpad and then lost the first bit! This entry en medius rex:
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I also fixed a cabinet door Sunday afternoon and today I’m going to the hardware store to get what we need to fix the towel rack. I love being the handyman–er, handychick.

The director asked me to help him put together a Dharma Art weekend–movement based Dharma Art. That will be all sorts of challenging and fun. I’m nervous and excited.

And I was so proud of myself for saying No to something Shambhala related just the other day. So now I’ve agreed to something much bigger. *shrug* That’s all right, I didn’t want free time anyhow. It will make dating Mr. Bee much more…anticipatory…if I never get to see him alone.

(Hmm, I wonder if he considers us “dating” now. I think I need a Mr. Bee to Sparkle dictionary.)

Speaking of Mr. Bee: There are chinchillas in his garage. Chinchillas! So cute and soft and cute! I didn’t go look at them up close, but I will…oh, yes, that is on my list of things to do. I can’t remember if chinchillas are more wild than domesticated. As in, will they bite me if I stick my hand in their cage? I seem to have a memory of petting the chinchilla in the pet store in Walton-on-Thames, but was I doing it surreptitiously? These poor guys are in the garage, though! All cuddled up in the dark when suddenly someone (Mr. Bee) starts the truck’s engine and turns on the lights which shine right into their cage! Dude, if the owners (who are not Mr. Bee’s household) don’t want to care for them I’m sure I can find a good, warm, less frightening home.

After dinner we watched some of “Elephant Parts”. He’s playing to my past Monkees interest. Was he reading that copy of the Lunatic Fringe?

**C’mon Y’all. We gonna talk about love right now!** Dig that funk, man!
I have to admit I miss having an office like I did at 1nterw4ve. So nice to be able to close the door and sing along with my music in the morning before A got in. And so nice to be able to have a separate space for A and I (and F). I miss those guys. I should dig up email addresses for them and see what they’re up to these days.

Dude, found $10 in my purse! I love finding money; I love it even more when it’s not a $1.

One trip to Stacey’s later:

I bought Foucault’s Pendulum with my found money. I’ve been stuck in the middle of Jewel Ornament of Liberation and I think I need a book with a good story to jump start my reading again.

Dig it. Free coffee. We got downstairs just in time for the barista to hold up a cup and ask if anyone wanted a free tall toffee nut latte. Oh, me! Pick me!

I haven’t had a toffee nut latte in ages and I really like them. Yum-my.

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I am escaping to the outside for lunch. I’m not sure where I’ll go, but I’m up for a walk and some sunshine and as much fresh air as a chick can get in the middle of downtown. Maybe I’ll go look at the bay and have mixed feelings about not having K with me while I watch the ferries pull in.

He sure takes a lot of energy, but it feels good to have all that love in the middle of the day. No one here climbs up on my lap for a cuddle. Plus, no naps at the office; and story time isn’t nearly as fun.

Maybe I’ll go to sur la table and pretend I have the skill and confidence to use all the fun fun kitchen gadgets. I still have fantasies about Entertaining; having that Sunday Brunch tradition we had in TX except having everyone just come to my house instead of some crowded restaurant. I miss having little traditions, a place we always meet on Fridays to start the night, a place we eat together on Sunday for Brunch. I guess I like familiarity, as much as I also like exploring and trying new stuff. I like a solid base.

But that was what Refuge in the Three Jewels was all about, eh? Accepting groundlessness and change as the natural state of things. Not having too much attachment to things which will change (read: anything and everything). I think that will be my concept of the week for next week’s meditation reminder posting. Using Popcorn Boy’s fabulous “Zen bar mitzvah” description. I love it!

Holy Cow, I’m thinky today! Must be the lack of sleep.

Dude, cake in the kitchen. It looks good, but… um… and I’m told I’m alone in this perception… it tastes like salmon. I couldn’t eat it! So gross. I’m eating carrots to rid my mouth of the memory of the taste.