Been in the Tetons for only three days and already my skin dries out in high, hot, dry climate. Sore throat also. Huge adjustment, on all levels. Did more Tai Chi than usual to try to counteract.
Last night's event a potluck gathering of old friends, mostly female, and I found myself in more of "speaker" mode than I expected. It felt as if the group wanted that, probably because I used to work as an astrologer here, and would sometimes give talks on coming astrological transits. So I did that, and tied it in to the book, and the use of the book as a tool for helping people get in touch with unresolved grief that does seem to inhabit everyone. I have yet to meet anyone who disagreed with this premise: that grief may be at the bottom of all that keeps us from exploring our connection to the universe beyond the momentum that still drives this culture—the fear of lack and the hunger for status and physical goods in lieu of real meaning.
The astrology of current times is consistent with Mayan and other prophecies of a coming "end-times" in which those who can evolve rapidly enough to withstand the stresses of increasing acceleration of the pace of events will be called upon to provide leadership and refuge for others less fortunate. These aware souls will need to be able to work with grief on a massive scale, given that humanity will suffer increasing losses of all kinds. To my mind, the most important preparatory work we can do is to give ourselves time to slow down to stillness, and to allow whatever unprocessed grief that we ourselves are still holding to surface. As grief surfaces, and expresses—through tears, howling, dreams, art work, dancing, whatever!—it transforms, quiets down; miraculously, we find that our awareness can then spread into a spaciousnes that naturally incudes others. In this way grief becomes the gateway to love.
In this way we can move beyond the "me first" territorial attitudes that breed hostility and war and keep us from finding solace in each other's company, keep us from sharing what we do and are and have with gratitude and trust.
Tonight, another event, this one a combination of the Jewish friends of Jeff and the drumming group that he belonged to. Another evening, no doubt another brand new situation that hopefully, I will be able to resonate with at whatever level the situation calls for.
Today at 11 am., I meet with the Hospice Director here, at her request.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
Extremes, as viewed through two scenarios
Extremes, as viewed through two scenarios.
1. Imagine me, sitting around a fire circle (no fire, because of extreme fire danger due to drought so dry the plants crackle underfoot) in front of the yurt that I used to live in with Jeff, a yurt that has been turned into a shrine for a young climber who lived in it and died with another young climber from the yurt community, falling thousands of feet while roped together in the Tetons. Twenty people with me, all from a community of grieving souls who have been immersed in the aftermath of a number of recent deaths, some natural, others by suicide. A circle of Love wrapping us around on this full moon night as we spoke of grief and its gifts of tears and awareness and hearts opening to the whole world. Equal numbers of men and women willing to allow their vulnerability to show as they honored both their own inner processes and the beings who have preceded us into the spirit world. Could feel Jeff and these others around us, holding space for us, helping us diffuse the boundaries between worlds and open to interdimensionality and interconnectedness. An extraordinary evening.
Then, today, after a wonderful morning walking in the dry mountains with my friend Chris and a fresh salad lunch together, I open my iphone and find the battery dead. Dead! Dead battery in one week old $500 iphone! Immediate clenching tightness in my whole body, plus intense obsessive focus on how to fix this phone when I am nowhere near an Apple store and won't be for weeks. All awareness practices, of which I am so proud, OUT THE WINDOW as I worked for over an hour with Apple support to figure out where to send replacement phone, where to send my iphone once it's been fixed, and how to stop being bitchy to the man on the other end of the line. Given the nature of this trip, staying only a short while wherever I go, it's crucial that the phones arrive when they say they will arrive . . .
(So very fortunate that I backed up all contact and schedule info on paper before I left town.)
So yes, extremes.
Tonight, a potluck event with old friends and the book, and the catalytic action invoked by an evening devoted to the sharing of grief. In my mind's eye, a mountain of grief, now beginning to spout like a volcano, or boil, from the collective body. I see hundreds, thousands of circles of grief, gathering to remember who we really are as persons longing for love, as souls pouring out love. There is no end to what might be created when we allow ourselves to dive into our deepest fears, our deepest denial.
1. Imagine me, sitting around a fire circle (no fire, because of extreme fire danger due to drought so dry the plants crackle underfoot) in front of the yurt that I used to live in with Jeff, a yurt that has been turned into a shrine for a young climber who lived in it and died with another young climber from the yurt community, falling thousands of feet while roped together in the Tetons. Twenty people with me, all from a community of grieving souls who have been immersed in the aftermath of a number of recent deaths, some natural, others by suicide. A circle of Love wrapping us around on this full moon night as we spoke of grief and its gifts of tears and awareness and hearts opening to the whole world. Equal numbers of men and women willing to allow their vulnerability to show as they honored both their own inner processes and the beings who have preceded us into the spirit world. Could feel Jeff and these others around us, holding space for us, helping us diffuse the boundaries between worlds and open to interdimensionality and interconnectedness. An extraordinary evening.
Then, today, after a wonderful morning walking in the dry mountains with my friend Chris and a fresh salad lunch together, I open my iphone and find the battery dead. Dead! Dead battery in one week old $500 iphone! Immediate clenching tightness in my whole body, plus intense obsessive focus on how to fix this phone when I am nowhere near an Apple store and won't be for weeks. All awareness practices, of which I am so proud, OUT THE WINDOW as I worked for over an hour with Apple support to figure out where to send replacement phone, where to send my iphone once it's been fixed, and how to stop being bitchy to the man on the other end of the line. Given the nature of this trip, staying only a short while wherever I go, it's crucial that the phones arrive when they say they will arrive . . .
(So very fortunate that I backed up all contact and schedule info on paper before I left town.)
So yes, extremes.
Tonight, a potluck event with old friends and the book, and the catalytic action invoked by an evening devoted to the sharing of grief. In my mind's eye, a mountain of grief, now beginning to spout like a volcano, or boil, from the collective body. I see hundreds, thousands of circles of grief, gathering to remember who we really are as persons longing for love, as souls pouring out love. There is no end to what might be created when we allow ourselves to dive into our deepest fears, our deepest denial.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Some Men in My Life
BTW: Got iphone working again, after a call for support. Turns out it can freeze up like a computer, and requires a simple fix.
Great fun bottling estate oil with George from old old trees in a dry desert area on a Greeek island that reminds me of much of Wyoming. Had trouble getting the oil to stop pouring before running over bottle lip. Much cursing and swearing and approximately four dozen bottles later (most of them wiped off), we moved into the bar area (the kitchen he is using is rented from the Casper airport) and sat around with another old friend Miles, whom I hadn't seen for 30 years. So interesting, the way we watch each other age at different rates, but all in the same direction. And these two, George and Miles, creative, maverick men, have decidedly opened to their connection with other suffering humans. The edge is still there, but now as a very small part of a sort of diffuse understanding of the folly and ignorance that still drives them. I've been "processing" stuff with women for all these decades, and of course, watching us change and grow and unfold our various natures. But it's only recently that I can say I have great hope for the men in my life, and can see that they too, have been opening to the same path of expansion into a more spiritual understanding of their own lives, the wondrous stories that keep us shaking our heads at the strangenes of it all. And laughing, laughing.
For example: after doing gold jewelry for many years in big cities, Miles established a coffee shop in a small town, then worked with Native American kids who had been abused as a counselor, then ran a group home for adolescents back east, then returned to Casper, adrift, "no direction known." Had been "walking the prairie" every weekend with his wife, his own sort of spiritual practice, for a few years when he began to "see" in the desert in a new way, due to an arrowhead made of jasper that, one day on top of a windy, see-forever, hill, was lying at his feet. This led him in a whole new direction—mining claims!
And George, so protean and carefree when young, now at 62, the widowed father of two beautiful boys, 9 and 12, absorbed in keeping his kids safe, their bellies full, the house in order.
And me, on the road on what some might think a quixotic adventure, drinking a gin and tonic with the two of them, all of us now in our 60s, laughing and loving and so glad for the continued connection despite the long hiatus and the passing of years.
Which reminds me (and forgive me if I've already told this story; I would have gone back to look at other posts, but don't know how to save this and then return to it): my friend Steve, another marvelous man, who is staying with the kitties, wrote me this a few days ago, and warmed my heart all the way from Cheyenne to Casper: "I have found out what makes the cats really comfortable. I just have toread the NY times on the porch, your favorite perch. they both came around
and just started purring. I had a long talk with them and told them that I was going to be around for the next two months."
Tonight, first book event of trip, at the yurts, where I'm staying: to gather with a grieving community of climbers who lost two of their own, both young, roped together, hurtled 3000 feet, from a high traverse in the Tetons early this summer. One of them lived in the yurt that was mine up until five years ago. We will meet at the fire pit there, under the full moon.
Great fun bottling estate oil with George from old old trees in a dry desert area on a Greeek island that reminds me of much of Wyoming. Had trouble getting the oil to stop pouring before running over bottle lip. Much cursing and swearing and approximately four dozen bottles later (most of them wiped off), we moved into the bar area (the kitchen he is using is rented from the Casper airport) and sat around with another old friend Miles, whom I hadn't seen for 30 years. So interesting, the way we watch each other age at different rates, but all in the same direction. And these two, George and Miles, creative, maverick men, have decidedly opened to their connection with other suffering humans. The edge is still there, but now as a very small part of a sort of diffuse understanding of the folly and ignorance that still drives them. I've been "processing" stuff with women for all these decades, and of course, watching us change and grow and unfold our various natures. But it's only recently that I can say I have great hope for the men in my life, and can see that they too, have been opening to the same path of expansion into a more spiritual understanding of their own lives, the wondrous stories that keep us shaking our heads at the strangenes of it all. And laughing, laughing.
For example: after doing gold jewelry for many years in big cities, Miles established a coffee shop in a small town, then worked with Native American kids who had been abused as a counselor, then ran a group home for adolescents back east, then returned to Casper, adrift, "no direction known." Had been "walking the prairie" every weekend with his wife, his own sort of spiritual practice, for a few years when he began to "see" in the desert in a new way, due to an arrowhead made of jasper that, one day on top of a windy, see-forever, hill, was lying at his feet. This led him in a whole new direction—mining claims!
And George, so protean and carefree when young, now at 62, the widowed father of two beautiful boys, 9 and 12, absorbed in keeping his kids safe, their bellies full, the house in order.
And me, on the road on what some might think a quixotic adventure, drinking a gin and tonic with the two of them, all of us now in our 60s, laughing and loving and so glad for the continued connection despite the long hiatus and the passing of years.
Which reminds me (and forgive me if I've already told this story; I would have gone back to look at other posts, but don't know how to save this and then return to it): my friend Steve, another marvelous man, who is staying with the kitties, wrote me this a few days ago, and warmed my heart all the way from Cheyenne to Casper: "I have found out what makes the cats really comfortable. I just have toread the NY times on the porch, your favorite perch. they both came around
and just started purring. I had a long talk with them and told them that I was going to be around for the next two months."
Tonight, first book event of trip, at the yurts, where I'm staying: to gather with a grieving community of climbers who lost two of their own, both young, roped together, hurtled 3000 feet, from a high traverse in the Tetons early this summer. One of them lived in the yurt that was mine up until five years ago. We will meet at the fire pit there, under the full moon.
Friday, July 27, 2007
of spiny plants and olives
July 27, 2007
I thought I already posted this . . . oh well. And I can't ever repeat myself, so here's another post.
Tootling north from Cheyenne to Casper, I found myself "falling asleep at the wheel," great metaphor for what I DON'T want to do in life, and what I thought I was learning how not to do just yesterday listening to Eckhart Tolle. I'm afraid my ability to "practice presence" flickers in and out.
Stopped in Glendo State Park to walk and wake up and remembered why I love Wyoming so; not the Tetons so much, but the rest of the state--the harsh, spiny plants, the glorious multicolored rocks, the wind-scarred rock faces, what I call the "overthrust angle" of the hills, making some of them look like waves about to break, a vast ocean of earth forms frozen in time . . . If my soul belongs to Indiana (to my little house in Blooomington, Indiana), then my spirit belongs here, with the wild and free.
Then on to my friend George in Casper, where we are to bottle olive oil tonight. His olive oil, produced from his trees in the village of Visari, Crete, where his ancestors lived for one thousand years. We used to fantasize repopulating that village with a bunch of old hippies who want to live out our sunset years around old walls and donkeys. Still do fantasize some, and actually know someone who is doing exactly that with friends in another Cretan village.
My iphone doesn't seem to be working. So if you can't call me, I can still be reached by email.
I thought I already posted this . . . oh well. And I can't ever repeat myself, so here's another post.
Tootling north from Cheyenne to Casper, I found myself "falling asleep at the wheel," great metaphor for what I DON'T want to do in life, and what I thought I was learning how not to do just yesterday listening to Eckhart Tolle. I'm afraid my ability to "practice presence" flickers in and out.
Stopped in Glendo State Park to walk and wake up and remembered why I love Wyoming so; not the Tetons so much, but the rest of the state--the harsh, spiny plants, the glorious multicolored rocks, the wind-scarred rock faces, what I call the "overthrust angle" of the hills, making some of them look like waves about to break, a vast ocean of earth forms frozen in time . . . If my soul belongs to Indiana (to my little house in Blooomington, Indiana), then my spirit belongs here, with the wild and free.
Then on to my friend George in Casper, where we are to bottle olive oil tonight. His olive oil, produced from his trees in the village of Visari, Crete, where his ancestors lived for one thousand years. We used to fantasize repopulating that village with a bunch of old hippies who want to live out our sunset years around old walls and donkeys. Still do fantasize some, and actually know someone who is doing exactly that with friends in another Cretan village.
My iphone doesn't seem to be working. So if you can't call me, I can still be reached by email.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Near Grand Rapids
7/26/07. In a Day's Inn off I80. Spent the afternoon— after cruising the streets of Lawrence, wanted to see what that college town looked like, and it looks like Bozeman!— headed west on I70, listening to Eckhart Tolle talk about three ways to get into the here and now: 1) feel your way into sensing your "inner body," the aliveness in it: 2) observe how all sound comes out of silence, and 3) non-resistance: e.g., so you're stuck in a traffic jam; so what!
I hadn't heard him before, and there's something about the way his voice sounds, the spaces between his words as he says them that comes from the same place as the spaces between his words on the page. All of which make me tend to take him very very seriously as an author who does live his teachings. By practicing all three ways of moving into "the Presence," as he calls it, simultaneously, I found that I did not get tired driving, and that the time "flew by"—or rather, that it just didn't matter anymore! I actually had to make myself stop when it got dark tonight. Very unlike me. Usually after four hours driving, I have to roll the window up and down over and over again to stay awake.
This morning, did a channelling session with Jennifer, at which of course, the Big Guy, Jeff, came in right away and told both of us that we were way too serious about "trying to get in touch" with him or anyone else that's supposedly "dead." Says he's right here. That anytime he pops into my mind it's because he's getting in touch with me.
Told me that this organizational job I did to get this tour rolling was "the last time you'll have to do that." That now I can just relax and allow whatever happens to happen! Which is what I planned on anyway, but sure didn't want to tell him that, or he'd just say there I was again, planning something rather than allowing . . .
So the Eckhard Tolle CD was perfect for the occasion of this day, through the green rolling hills of eastern Kansas, recently blessed with plenty of rain. Tonight, just about to Ogalala, Nebraska where I turn off on Rte 28 and head northwest into Wyoming, first to Casper, where I stay the night with my dear frined George and his two young sons. He lost his wife and the sons, their mother not even two years ago to cancer.
Heartache everywhere in this achingly beautiful land.
I hadn't heard him before, and there's something about the way his voice sounds, the spaces between his words as he says them that comes from the same place as the spaces between his words on the page. All of which make me tend to take him very very seriously as an author who does live his teachings. By practicing all three ways of moving into "the Presence," as he calls it, simultaneously, I found that I did not get tired driving, and that the time "flew by"—or rather, that it just didn't matter anymore! I actually had to make myself stop when it got dark tonight. Very unlike me. Usually after four hours driving, I have to roll the window up and down over and over again to stay awake.
This morning, did a channelling session with Jennifer, at which of course, the Big Guy, Jeff, came in right away and told both of us that we were way too serious about "trying to get in touch" with him or anyone else that's supposedly "dead." Says he's right here. That anytime he pops into my mind it's because he's getting in touch with me.
Told me that this organizational job I did to get this tour rolling was "the last time you'll have to do that." That now I can just relax and allow whatever happens to happen! Which is what I planned on anyway, but sure didn't want to tell him that, or he'd just say there I was again, planning something rather than allowing . . .
So the Eckhard Tolle CD was perfect for the occasion of this day, through the green rolling hills of eastern Kansas, recently blessed with plenty of rain. Tonight, just about to Ogalala, Nebraska where I turn off on Rte 28 and head northwest into Wyoming, first to Casper, where I stay the night with my dear frined George and his two young sons. He lost his wife and the sons, their mother not even two years ago to cancer.
Heartache everywhere in this achingly beautiful land.
The Western Adventure Tour Begins
July 26, 2007 After six months of thinking about it, three months of planning it, six weeks of sweating it, and the last two weeks of feeling like I was in some kind of left-brained marathan to juggle details of places, people, events, times, publicity materials, and so on; after six months of thinking about it, two weeks of organizing in my head, two days of frantically nailing down all the details of what I would take with me on the road . . . it all came together yesterday morning when I waltzed out of Bloomington at 7 am (make that 7:15 am) and forgot my jasmine tea. Three blocks later, remembered tea, turned around.
Imagine me in my new little (used) black Prius ("Ebony" is her name) and new iphone recently loaded with all sorts of contact info, tootling down I70 towards Kansas City for first night stop with old friend from Jackson Wyoming, Henry and his (new, that is, new to me; they've been together seven years) wife, Jennifer. We looked at their astrology charts late afternoon and then out to dinner and walked on one of the trails, that, they report, will be all hooked together for 80-miles of trails in the area in a few years!
Hopefully the kitties will be okay with friend Steve who is staying there while I'm gone on this journey that will not see me home until September 29th. After which I turn around in six days and go again, this time to Peru for two weeks. Plus, Aggie next door says she's going to "let them inside" her house if need be, she so much fears they will also leave during my extended absence.
There are between 25 and 30 book events planned—in living rooms, libraries, new age centers, and a few independent bookstores— with more than that many people directly involved in working with me to manifest this dream of traveling around the country with This Vast Being and utilizing it to catalyze a deeper conversation on death, loss, grief and its gifts.
I look to transit Pluto exactly coveirng my natal Sun this year (27° Sagittarius) for the incredibly strong WILL neeed to pull this daunting adventure off.
Imagine me in my new little (used) black Prius ("Ebony" is her name) and new iphone recently loaded with all sorts of contact info, tootling down I70 towards Kansas City for first night stop with old friend from Jackson Wyoming, Henry and his (new, that is, new to me; they've been together seven years) wife, Jennifer. We looked at their astrology charts late afternoon and then out to dinner and walked on one of the trails, that, they report, will be all hooked together for 80-miles of trails in the area in a few years!
Hopefully the kitties will be okay with friend Steve who is staying there while I'm gone on this journey that will not see me home until September 29th. After which I turn around in six days and go again, this time to Peru for two weeks. Plus, Aggie next door says she's going to "let them inside" her house if need be, she so much fears they will also leave during my extended absence.
There are between 25 and 30 book events planned—in living rooms, libraries, new age centers, and a few independent bookstores— with more than that many people directly involved in working with me to manifest this dream of traveling around the country with This Vast Being and utilizing it to catalyze a deeper conversation on death, loss, grief and its gifts.
I look to transit Pluto exactly coveirng my natal Sun this year (27° Sagittarius) for the incredibly strong WILL neeed to pull this daunting adventure off.
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