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A Storm Brews or The Other Woman

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I wake early and roll over in the dim light of a rainy sunrise.  L is still sleeping heavily, jaw quivering in little fits, head tilted toward me, resting on his fist, on his pillow.  I want to reach out to this beautiful man, with his long flowing locks, cascading down his smooth, bronze body.  I reach my hand out toward his shoulder, fingers lingering in the faint glow of morning, but hesitate. I can’t bring my body to graze his. I am still holding her.  Carrying her on my back.  She is pulling me from him.  “Stay safe,” he messaged her at 11 pm, completely out of the blue, the night before.   “Protect yourself,” I hear a little voice within.  I know he loves her so much, is so devoted to her.  I come first, but she is a close second and it scares me.   We do our own yoga practice.  He comes to me in my propped up savasana and kisses me tenderly. Slow, sensual - then greedily, moaning. I warm to him as the sun warms the earth.   Later, we sit on the floor just inside the fr
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Simplicity in a Colorado Campground

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This morning at our campground outside Durango, Colorado I sat on the green painted wooden picnic table just outside our RV.  I watched the Lazy E ranch across the green field.  There were four horses grazing on the fenced in ranch land.  They were each a distinct color.  But they twitched their tails like they were performing a synchronized dance. The tan and off-white pair didn’t part from one another.  The burnt orange horse stayed at the top of the hill.  The black one moved around and neighed often.  There was a brilliant white mare pacing in the corral.  She tossed her head and shook her mane as she walked around and around, her body’s response to taming perhaps. While I was watching the horses, Bisous sniffed bushes, peed and ate grass.  He had just wandered back to the picnic table when we saw two mule deer following the path about 50 yards in front of us.  I silently beckoned Bisous onto the table next to me, where he sat, eyes never leaving the deer.  The pair, one m
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Joyous Melancholy

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Each utterance evaporates when pen scratches paper like a bubble floating in moonlight popped by little fingers - giggles echo in darkness, wiggles ripple in this Divine Play. Oh joy! Then- Creaking swings are abandoned and sway longingly, empty in tendrils of cool, damp breezes. These words won't be revisited: Adoration, divine, surrender, hunger, longing, desperation. In each speak they release, transform, rebirth unknown. Like bats they flit exuberant or melancholic from my heart cave. In the dark cave, you are now a remnant of an echo of a giggle- fleeting but precious. I am a joyous, bittersweet roar resounding from deep within your groin- exploding forth from a mouth of compassion. This giggling child dies. The roaring monster dies too. Like drowning fish, we speak now.  Slipping from tongues, through fingers, into abysses of seldom perceived realms. "I love you," roars me. "I love you," giggles he. Or forever hold
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Travels in India: Reflections on the Yoga Sutras

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Yogas chitta vrtti nirodhah. The restraint of the modifications of the mind-stuff is Yoga. (1.2) This is the goal of yoga. In his commentary on the Sutras, Sri Swami Satchidananda says it is the chitta vrittis that disturb our peace and create the differences we see in the world. He says, “The entire world is your own projection.” In Buddhism, this is called emptiness.  If we work from the inside out, we can heal ourselves and the world. As Gandhi said, “Be the change you wish to see in the world.”  If we can master peace within the mind, within ourselves, we realize the problem was never “out there” to begin with. The Lake at the Sivananda Ashram, Neyyar Dam Of course, I haven’t mastered chitta vritti nirodhah . So far, I may have experienced only brief moments of total awareness and silence - the kind that comes when one thought stops and another hasn’t yet come. A practice of sitting meditation offers strength and awareness for the rest of the day. For example,
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India Trip Coming Up

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My first trip to India is coming up in less than a month.  It's been a long time coming as I've been drawn the culture for a long time.  I'll be staying at three ashrams for meditation practice and then going to teacher training at an Ayurveda center. I may have some time for writing while I'm there.  We'll see!
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Death of a Bird

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The california ocean is shocking in the late summer. I was covered in goose bumps as I came out from the water.  On shore, I realized a handful of women were looking down the beach at my dog, Bisous.  He was playing- jumping around a black bird with a long neck.  Earlier, the bird floated like a duck in the ocean close to shore.  Now, it was stationary on land, pecking in Bisous's direction.  Kensi, Nathan and I  started calling, “Bisous!”  He paused mid play-pounce and Nathan ran toward him.  When he got there, he motioned for us.  Something was wrong with the bird.   “He’s hurt?” Kensi asked as we approached.   “Something’s definitely wrong with him,” Nathan replied. The bird was wobbling like a drunk. Nathan squatted and leaned in for a closer look.  This scared the little guy and, trying to back up, he toppled forward, beak stuck in the sand, waves lapping onto his face.  I reached down and tried to sit him up again, but he wouldn’t stay.  I wrapped my hands aroun
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Howard, the Dead Head

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My favorite area in Koh Panang , Thailand is home, temporary or permanent, to some of the brightest beings I’ve met.   Last week, while there, I was reminded of another shining soul that Kyle, Kensi and I met on our road trip last summer when we were visiting our grandma . After a few days with her, feeling stifled by the Louisiana heat, we sought respite in bayou waters. It was there we met Howard. Deeply tanned, the man sank into the water with a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon held high. I guessed he was anywhere from 40 to 60 years old.  Behind a goofy smile, he had three grey teeth, triumphantly hanging onto red gums. Scraggly, dirty blonde hair fell past his shoulders, held out of his face with a pink bandanna tied across his forehead. Sending ripples our way, he moved toward us. As he joined our circle, knee-deep in the murky water, I nodded at his upper arm and asked, "You a dead head?” The band’s skull logo and the words, "Greatful Dead," were inked there
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