A Treasure Found at Home

This past weekend was full of things I didn’t expect. From Friday’s lunch including a visit to Macy’s (where there was a huge Buddha on sale in the women’s clothes), to my sister being in town, to the baseball game, to a conversation about not paying attention, to shorter walks than planned, to a super brief visit with Sis, to cuddles and forthright honesty. Things looked one way and then they were another. This weekend kept me on my toes.

Buddha and the Mannequins

Originally uploaded by Hjem.

It’s amazing what happens when you talk to people—when you really listen.

I started to write this entry all about all the things which surprised me and how. It was very long. Very Long.

And I thought about what people would think. Not People, not They, but people. The people involved. The actors in my little unexpected dramas.

Probably the café owners don’t mind my writing about the surprise of finding them closed when we thought they should be open. And BT probably doesn’t mind my saying how pleasantly surprised I was at how much I enjoyed the baseball game. The other café owners certainly won’t mind my telling the world about the wonderful surprise of finding PG Tips available to patrons.

But some surprises were unexpected moments of intimacy. Some were things which pissed me off and I don’t know that I can write fairly about them now.

So I’ll say this: The one thing I did expect was the leaving of the scales tilted at a rakish angle, the good far outweighing the bad. Finding a Buddha at Macy’s is auspicious.

In Tibetan Buddhism one of the most advanced meditation practices is going to the charnel ground. You can imagine how amusing I found it to be holding this Buddhist dialogue right above The Universe Within exhibit last night, then.

As the foyer filled and agitation levels rose, I forgot about the exhibit. I was being told again and again how horrible the line was and how people were having to wait. I tried to stay calm and tell people we were aware there were about a thousand people all standing around in line. (How we could have missed it is beyond me.) And to assure them we volunteers were standing around seemingly doing nothing to help because there was actually nothing for us to be doing which might help. I also pointed out that if a thousand people show up at the same time to claim tickets it causes a bit of a clumping, and too bad not more people showed up earlier when we first opened the door to help spread out the numbers. *smile*

Then there was the couple who came up as I was returning from trying to find the end of the Will Call line. The woman walked right up to Garma, D and I and said, “I bought tickets for tonight but I don’t want to wait in this line.” I was fascinated by what she might be about to suggest. Was she about to ask if she could cut in the front or did she want one of us to stand in line for her?

Garma started telling her how we were trying to negotiate with the people running the box office. D agreed and tried to help console her. I think I was still watching her with a little smile waiting for her brilliant plan. Garma and D went off to try to sort things out and the woman started talking to me again.

Woman: “They should have mailed the tickets.”
Me: “A thousand people bought their tickets last week; there wasn’t time to mail them.”
Woman: “I bought my tickets weeks ago. Can I just use my tickets another night?”
Me: *blink*
Woman: “If I don’t use my tickets tonight will they still be good another night?”
Me: “This is the only night we’re doing this.”
Woman: “What?”
Me: “We’re only doing this tonight. There isn’t another night.”
Woman: “It says it goes through September.”
Me: “We have teachings through September,” I’m furiously thinking if this is true, but don’t think it is, “but we’re only having this event tonight.”
–more confusion–
Me: Finally getting a clue, “Oh, you’re here for the dead bodies! That’s downstairs.”

I explained to her how to find the exhibit. I hope she made it. I wonder how many other people came for dead bodies and got sucked into Buddhism. The proximity seemed even more apropos with the addition of the Will Call debacle.

Last night I saw Wisdom & Compassion: Pema Chodron and Jack Kornfield in Dialogue, moderated by Michael Krasny.

S took me shoe shopping at lunch and convinced me these really cute orange open toed shoes actually went with my suit. I really do love them, and imagined wearing them on dates with tall men. Or out with friends and catching the attention of tall men who would buy me drinks and then I’d leave without giving them my number. Until the one tall guy with the broad shoulders and dark hair pulls out the bar stool for me to sit down while he buys my drink, stands when I leave to check in with friends and is generally so warm and intelligent that I’m inclined to give him my email address… years from now you will all be invited to our twins’ graduation from Harvard as Valedictorian and Salutatorian. The party will also be a bon voyage for their work with Doctors Without Boarders. I’ll post in my blog when they win the Nobel Peace Prize.

Oh, excuse me, I think I got carried away for a minute. Back to the reality of the shoes.

My toes have blisters and my left foot was going numb. I probably should have taken them off before I tried to find the end of the Will Call line for the woman in the green sweater. I wasn’t having any better luck than she was. I ditched the shoes before we went in to the theatre for the main event and never put them back on, even for the cab ride home. (I did have my feet up on the seat with me, though; not knowing what ick might be on the floor of that taxi!)

Will Call was a nightmare! We thought, at first, it was poor planning. A thousand people bought their tickets within the past week and they all showed up at the same time to pick them up. Turns out there was also a computer glitch of some sort preventing the box office from sorting things in a quick way. They also wouldn’t let anyone from Shambhala or Spirit Rock help with the tickets.

The foyer was packed. Almost all of it was the Will Call ‘line’. I never did find the end. I just put the woman in line at one point in front of a couple people who also couldn’t find the end and had just declared themselves part of the line. People weren’t even all facing the same way. You couldn’t tell who was behind whom!

Thirty Five minutes after the talk was supposed to begin, the people who make those sorts of decisions finally decided to let everyone in without tickets. If they’d been waiting in line that long, it was proof they had bought something!

I’m learning I’m not as much a fan of the ‘dialogue’ format as I am of straight out teachings. I’m all for discussion which gets further into teachings, but these things tend to touch on so many aspects it’s difficult to get too deep into any of them. That said, there were the themes of Wisdom and Compassion.

Jack shared a story he’d heard from a seat mate on a train from DC to Philly. The man worked with people who had been in jail for murder. One young man had killed another boy in cold blood as part of a gang initiation. The victim was not someone he knew. He was caught, tried and convicted.

When his sentence was read, the mother of the victim stood up, looked right at him and said, “I’m going to kill you.”

The boy was taken to prison. In about six months the woman came to visit. She began visiting him regularly and would leave him money sometimes. As he got closer to release, she asked him his plans. He had no idea what he was going to do.

She thought she had a friend who could get him a job.

Later she asked him where he would stay. He had no family to speak of, so he didn’t have a plan for housing.

She had an extra room he could use.

One day she called him into the living room, “Do you remember when I told you I would kill you?”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied, “I’ll never forget it.”

“Well,” she said, “I did. I killed you. You are not that boy anymore.”

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She is just an ordinary woman. A real woman who had her son taken from her suddenly and violently. And she responded with a level of compassion I’m fairly certain I can not muster.

I am in awe of her. And of the boy who let himself be touched in that way, who was open to changing himself.

We are, at the end of the day, all worthy of love and all suffering and all have the potential to be just like either of these normal, everyday, extraordinary people.

This video from Storm Chasers in 1999 in Moore, OK shows why I’m afraid of tornadoes. This is an F5… watch till the end where they talk about this being the fastest wind ever recorded on Earth.

Just awesome.

the children ARE the Treasure!

Originally uploaded by Hamster_grrl.

The one elementary school on Treasure Island is in danger of being closed. The children maybe be the treasure, but people seem to be losing sight of that.

LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): We’re all in the closet in one way or another. Every one of us feels that there’s some part of ourselves we’ve got to hide; that if we reveal the totality of who we really are, we will suffer. For example, U.S. Army Sgt. Robert Stout, who was wounded and got a Purple Heart for his service in Iraq, ultimately decided he was tired of being secret about his homosexuality. As a result, he can’t re-enlist, even though he’d like to. My psychotherapist friend Alicia has always used astrology in her practice, but only recently chose to be open about it. Some of her colleagues broke off relations when she told them. According to my reading of the omens, Libra, it’s an ideal time to carefully come out of whatever closet you’ve been in. I’m not saying there’ll be no repercussions; just that you’ll have clarity and strength as you deal with them. And the freedom you create with your brave revelation will change everything for the better.

I was just talking about this last night with someone. I feel a huge lack of integrety by not coming out and telling my parents I’m Buddhist. Of all things, my RELIGION!

I’m scared about what will happen when they find out. What an embarrasement I’ll be for having screwed up this badly. I mean, really: divorced, a writer, living in CA, and now Buddhist?

And Mom thought blue hair was the worst of her worries.

Sometimes a particular type of therapy is more difficult for one person than another. Sometimes it takes a little time to really get the basics of a particular approach. Such is the case with me.

My weekend was a little difficult. Not so hard I needed meds, but certainly a little therapy time was in order. A friend of mine suggested a time honored approach which works very well for her. It hasn’t been my traditional way, though as I’ve opened to new theories and more ‘woo-woo’ I’ve tried this particular therapy a few times with usually good results.

Yesterday I proved I don’t quite have the logistics down though.

Read the rest of this entry »

Today’s Horoscope:
Someone neglected to fill you in on all relevant details. Tell this person you need to know the dirt. You can always dress things up later.

These things hit weirdly close to home some days.

I was grumpy all weekend. I think it was not enough dancing, not enough Star Wars, and not enough things going *my way* damn it. In other words, just letting that shenpa wrap it’s little hook-side-out Velcro self all around me so everything stuck.

You might think that a couple days of meditation was just what I would need to drop things. I might have thought that, too, until I tried to do it. I was in such a state, though, that being at the Shambhala level brought up a lot of discomfort for me.

As meditators, we should take care of ourselves so we have the energy to do the work. Right? If we’re physically not well, our minds are more cloudy which makes them that much more difficult to wrangle. I had not taken great care of myself last week. Participating in the weekend was physically difficult for me. On top of that, I saw the whole weekend through the eyes of the new Communications Director position. What needed to be communicated which hadn’t been? (Like checking the messages on the phone — there were 6 in regard to the weekend.) Also sitting back not being part of the staff was weird and somewhat difficult for me.

Could it be I was feeling a little groundless and out of control in terms of some other life events, too? Could those feelings be compounding each other? Certainly not. /sarcasm

On Sunday we were instructed to take an aimless walk for about half an hour. Just walk and notice what we loved, what we were drawn to, when we felt revulsion; just notice. I noticed a mop with a flattened plastic handle, some interestingly placed grip strips outside a shop, a girl with blue hair and an interesting skull tattoo on her back.

And I noticed a baby bird which had fallen out of the nest. The little guy looked like the personification (birdification?) of shocked anxiety–all puffed up and trying to be invisible right there in the middle of the sidewalk.

The sky was a cacophony of bird calls as the adult birds circled overhead and tried to scare off anything that came close. They screeched and took short flights from perch to perch trying to get the best view of the lost child. Tree… wire… tree… building… wire… tree… wire… tree… building…

I took some photographs of the little puff of feathers, all the while trying to keep an eye out for signs of the nest. Stepping back into the shadow by the building, I watched as the baby tried to help himself. He was clearly not in the best of health. He was too young to fly, and too injured to walk. He would take a step and fall over rolling a bit and opening his wings to try to keep balance. Flutter to the left, flutter to the right, he drunk-stumbled a few inches at a time, rested and started again.

He was aiming for the street.

He tumbled off the curb, righted himself, and aimed for the middle of the street.

Ok, I thought, this is where I step in. I’d make a horrible nature documentary camera person. But this was San Francisco, not the wild plains of Africa, so I walked over, picked the little guy up and set him in the tree—still not having any idea where the nest was.

He fell. Ploop.

So I picked him up again and set him next to the base of the tree. He was in the shade, next to the trunk and nestled in the dirt and bits of nature. I hoped he felt safer than out in the middle of the sidewalk with no where to hide.

I watched him for a bit longer from my spot against the building. He didn’t try to flee this spot. As I stood watching, another person from the weekend came walking by. I pointed out the bird to her, we fawned over it a little, and then both walked on.

I spied a bird hospital just across the street and down a block. I headed over thinking they might be able to help. Part of me remembered I was supposed to be working on a meditation exercise, and another part of me countered with the thought that I was supposed to go where ever I was drawn, and I was currently being drawn to the bird hospital. A fantastic justification, if you ask me, but the bird hospital was closed.

On the way back to the center I passed my friend buying birdseed to try to help feed the little guy. We sprinkled it around him, but he seemed uninterested. I suspect he was too young for it in addition to being in shock from the trauma of falling out of the nest.

That evening, as we had our final discussion, the other person shared her story of the bird. She had gone back at lunch with someone who thought she knew how to help. The baby bird was already dead.

Maybe I killed it by putting it in the tree. Maybe it was that fall that caused it to die. Maybe the little fluff ball was more dead than alive when I first saw it.

Life happens without regard for me. Nature continues to do what has always been done. What makes me think I’m so special?

I just am. That bird just was. Basic Goodness is. I can just let things be without having to try to control them, and the better I learn that the less grumpy I’ll be.

Last night was KFOG Kaboom. I didn’t watch. For FOUR years I’ve wanted to go see this damned firework display and last night I didn’t go again. I could hear it from my bedroom, but I was already ready for bed and not interested in getting dressed again and wandering around the neighborhood to find a place to see the fireworks.

I love fireworks, I just have a horrible track record in terms of actually getting to see them.

Last night I was feeling wimpy, and I am again today…

Complaints behind the cut, so I can write them but you don’t have to read them. Read the rest of this entry »

From Astrology.com

Don’t even think about pretending not to care. You hate being a phony, first of all, and your feelings will be written all over your face. Just say what’s on your mind. If anyone can do it nicely, it’s you.

Ok, here’s the truth:

I love how my voice sounds right now! If I sounded like this all the time I’d be thrilled. And I would have learned to sing the blues years ago. Damn it, why aren’t I dating a guy who can play steel guitar?

I have to admit I’m not in any rush for this cold to leave, even though I know I’ll feel better in a thousand other ways when it does.

Me: I’m just tired, it hasn’t been a very good week.

Friskycat: Well the good thing about a bad week is it can’t get any worse.

Me: My mother will be here in an hour and a half.

Friskycat: It can’t get any worse.

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I don’t really mind her being here, but it would be easier if her visit didn’t cooincide with the product pre-pilot, a cold, ending a relationship, and my period. Ya know?

Here.

Updated Hourly. I guess you’d have to be religious about checking it if it were going to be useful at all… or you’d have to be really really lucky. I’m not sure how useful it will be, but it’s neat to have anyhow.

Reading Mark Morford’s column today, my discomfort with living in the US is raised again. I’m glad I found this little pocket of liberalism that is SF.

But, then, sometimes SF seems too soft for me. Mostly in terms of relationships. I’m fine with people doing what they think honestly works best for them, but I get the feeling here people are more inclined to just do what’s easy in the name of being kind or open or something.

It’s not the breaking up and getting back together cycle. I saw (and did) plenty of that in the Metroplex. But never ONCE did I hear the reason for all that confusion was because the parties weren’t “done” or because of their Karma.

We knew. We *knew*. It was because we were confused, scared, chicken, nuts, selfish, and/or lost. If I couldn’t keep myself away from my abuser, it was because of my own inability to stand up for myself and risk hurting his feelings and hurting myself (briefly) in order to let go of the known yet sucky for the unknown and more respect.

And when it ended, it was because I was done with feeling bad. “We” were never done.

And since I’ve moved here to this place where relationships are so soft and fluid, I’ve learned how to stand up for myself and demand what I need.

And it does suck sometimes. It does hurt to say I can’t have what feels good now because I know it will feel worse later. I’d rather hurt a little bit now, it’s just the pain of breaking a habit, right?

So, while I’m at it, why not look at some other habits? Like living here, or living in the U.S. at all. I don’t feel part of the whole. I’m clearly on the fringe, but not fully in the fringe.

I hear CO is beautiful, but conservative (compared to SF). I’m told with shock that Bolder is a College Town. Well, so is Waco. “College Town” doesn’t really tell me much. I’ll keep it in mind, but it will certainly get a few visits before it’s short listed or crossed off.

Portland…I could live there again for sure. I’m only concerned about the amount of rain, but maybe I could buy a sunlamp for my living room.

Or, leave the country. I’m hearing wonderful things about New Zealand. Technically, I have family in Australia.

I’m just getting jumpy. I’ve been here four and a half years, I’m getting antsy.

And maybe my relationship with SF is suffering from the same lack of comitment I see in so many personal relationships among my friends. Maybe I just need to commit to the City, buck up, and ride out the low point because I know I’ve felt more at home here than anywhere else I’ve ever lived. I love this City. I’m inspired by it.

I’m just feeling a little protective of myself right now.

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EDIT:
I mentioned to my coworker from Boulder that dharmaqueen mentioned the town was very white. He replied, “Oh no, it’s a College Town.” So I just checked on the web: White Non-Hispanic (84.2%).
I’d say that qualifies as a snowstorm.

Rob Says:

LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): There is no God. God is dead. God is a drug for people who aren’t very smart. God is an illusion sold to dupes by exploitative religions. God is a right-wing conspiracy. God is an infantile fantasy clung to by superstitious cowards who can’t face life’s existential meaninglessness. JUST KIDDING! In fact, anyone who says she knows what God is or isn’t, doesn’t. That’s why I suggest that you confess what you don’t know about God. If you do, ironically, you’ll get a direct bolt of communication from God Herself. Now read Adolfo Quezada’s prayer: “God of the Wild, you are different from what I expected. I cannot predict you. You are too free to be captured for the sake of my understanding. I can’t find you in the sentimentalism of religion. You are everywhere I least expect to find you. You are not the force that saves me from the pain of living; you are the force that brings me life even in the midst of pain.”

I can feel some of my God-blocking habits rearing their heads. I’m feeling pretty tender right around some old wounds.

Let’s just go ahead and substitute ‘Love’ for ‘God’ and keep this by our beds.

——– clip and save! ——–

There is no Love. Love is dead. Love is a drug for people who aren’t very smart. Love is an illusion sold to dupes by exploitative religions. Love is a right-wing conspiracy. Love is an infantile fantasy clung to by superstitious cowards who can’t face life’s existential meaninglessness. JUST KIDDING! In fact, anyone who says she knows what Love is or isn’t, doesn’t. That’s why I suggest that you confess what you don’t know about Love. If you do, ironically, you’ll get a direct bolt of communication from Love Herself. Now read Adolfo Quezada’s prayer: “Love of the Wild, you are different from what I expected. I cannot predict you. You are too free to be captured for the sake of my understanding. I can’t find you in the sentimentalism of religion. You are everywhere I least expect to find you. You are not the force that saves me from the pain of living; you are the force that brings me life even in the midst of pain.”

Again, I am amazed at how expensive gas heating can be. I wish I owned my place (and had more time) so I could replace the windows and doors with better sealing versions.

Actually, I just wish I had more time. Or that I was doing less of things I’m not enthralled by so I could spend a little more time at home cleaning and organizing.

…or maybe I wish I had a wife.

I think that was the best suggestion so far.

Not that having a wife would solve the heat issue. No, what I really need is a better made comforter and an extra blanket…and to buck up. On cold nights I could use the comforter and the blanket, on not so cold nights I’d use just the blanket. On middle nights, just the comforter.

Man, I miss warm.

That’s where the bucking up comes in.

I love San Francisco. I’m in no rush to move. (I’m in no hurry to call it my forever home, either, to be sure.) I don’t know where else I’d live, though I’m hearing a lot of great things about Colorado, to be sure. I’m thinking of checking that out.

Ok, truth be told, I’m experiencing some PMS. Nothing seems quite right and I’m a little frustrated, mix in a dash of sleepy-grumpy and you get Sparkle thinking about How Things Could Be Different. Luckily, I’m aware of the fact that much of my unsatisfactory feelings come from a change in hormone levels and not a ries in actual unsatisfactory circumstances.

Of course, there have been times when I wish I weren’t as aware so I could just be pissy and demand some extra cuddles and be Nice to me, by Golly! –which is probably not the best way to actually encourage anyone to hang around, cuddle and be nice to me.

And I’d rather go out of my way a bit to have someone hanging around who’s willing to go out of his way a bit.

Fermat’s Last Theorem wasn’t proved after all! This just in from a friend via email.

And apparently there is a bit of a kerfuffle over the news. Not everyone is buying the story.

/geeking_out

At one point my passenger develops a nosebleed (really).

Song of a New Position

I am the Knower of Gaps.
I am the Communications Devi.
I am the new Communications Director for the SF Shambhala center!

I am the multiplexer and the demultiplexer, the router and the broadcaster.
I am the funnel, information flows through me.

Woah, I need to get organized!
I am the Knower of Gaps.

I may have spent too many years in Texas, but–

A man with his leather hat pulled low, leaning back with feet propped up, tapping out the rhythm on his knee as he sings along to Crosby Still Nash and Young.

So. Sexy.