I should have said Yes to the Italian, No?

I like to think of myself as a writer, which would work if I actually wrote even somewhat regularly, which I don't. Also, just by the quality of that first sentence, I need more practice and have a ways to go. This is what we call free writing... stream of consciousness writing, where the "editor" isn't really turned on and is actually better completely turned off. I have a very strong internal editor who is very difficult to silence. While I write, I am simultaneously reading my words through the eyes of at least three or four other people who are judging and reading into every word. Needless to say, I don't get much done.

View from my exquisite room at the Atlantic Hotel

I actually started writing tonight because I thought I should say something about the Italian I met on Ft. Lauderdale Beach Blvd. last night. (I am in Florida attending some workshops on new software we are implementing at my office.)

First of all, he was extraordinarily Italian and in the best of ways. Probably about my age, handsome as could be, pleasantly overweight, and on a skateboard. I was walking from my hotel after a long day of travel, hungry, and intent on enjoying a bit of sunset on the beach and hopefully finding a nice spot to enjoy a lonely meal. Along the way, I started singing. No one was around (and I am shy about singing out loud in public unless it is a performance venue) and I was truly enjoying the air, the gorgeous crystaline blue ocean view, and simply feeling happy. The gentleman on the skateboard scooting by surprised me, and hearing my voice, he turned his head and smiled.

Then he stopped and within a few steps I met up with him. He asked if I was Indian, and I said no, but I am Sikh. Within a few moments we were laughing and talking about his college roommates who had been Punjabi Sikhs. He spoke better Punjabi than I did. His name was Gianni and what a natural charmer.

Italians appreciate good food, love, and natural beauty. I know this from Italians I have known and from books I have read (hello, Eat, Pray, Love). I haven't known a lot of Italians or read many books about Italians, but I feel confident in making that statement. I realized that he was hoping for some company for the evening. I felt flattered by his comments about my classic natural beauty that glowed from within. He also noted I did not have a wedding ring (and I wouldn't be surprised if this was one of the first things he noticed). I laughed and told him how both my husband and I had broken our ring fingers on separate occasions and had to cut off our rings. We'd never replaced them, and didn't feel the need to do so. We are so solid! Poor Gianni seemed a little disappointed, and said, "Oh, well I guess you probably don't drink either." I confirmed this. So we talked, shook hands, and parted ways, I walking one way, and he turned around and skateboarded the other.

Here is Gianni (not!). I should have said yes. It would have been fun to sit and talk.

I walked on and found a lovely Italian restaurant right across from the beach. The sun was sitting low in the sky which was already shutting its eyelids in shades of pink, orange and purple. I asked for a table where I could sit and enjoy the view and have a bite to eat. And I did. Some crusty warm bread dipped in luscious olive oil & garlic, salad with asparagus spears, goat cheese, baby greens, toasted pecans and a medley of other perfect ingredients, along with a virgin strawberry daiquiri for dessert. It was perfect; me, the sun, the sea, and a beautifully prepared simple meal. I felt complete and blessed.

Delicious. And the fork is not blue. I think it is reflecting the sky.

yes this is what I'm thinking

After skating for years on good genes, good habits, and yogic lifestyle, gravity is finally taking its toll. My turban does help a bit to hold everything in place, but realistically I can only tie my turban so many times in a day. All those who dye their hair, get their faces pulled tight, and spend thousands clinging to whatever remnants of youthful appearance they can... Really, I am not that vain. It’s a battle I refuse to wage, and a process I can fully accept, this drooping, wrinkling, graying thing.... later on, when I am actually old. However, for now, no harm done putting a few things back where they belong. Don’t you think?

One Step at at Time

Amputees come to my office every day.  Below knee, above knee, below elbow, above elbow, breasts, toes, feet…. Diabetics, veterans who lost limbs serving our country, breast cancer survivors, accident victims, and God knows all the ways good, everyday, folks end up minus a body part… Maybe they are coming in for a BK adjustment, a new bionic arm, or to pick up a few prosthetic socks. After a while some feel so part of the “family” here that they just walk right back to the staff room and help themselves to a cup of coffee.

The greatest days here are when a new amputee walks for the first time on her/his new leg. It’s like they have life again. I’ll never forget the look on a local police officer’s face the day he first tried out a new leg designed for high impact, heavy duty use. He ran across our walk room, and it wasn’t the running that was amazing, it was the smile on his face that literally filled every corner of the building. Some months later, this handsome man in his late 30s met all the physical requirements to be a fully active police officer, without any restrictions… saved from the fate of a desk job for the rest of his working years. 

The harder days are ones like today. A young woman came in, pushing her husband in a wheelchair. I am not sure what happened to him. I heard the words “burn victim,” which explained the fingerless gloves on his hands, hands that were missing most, if not all, of their fingers. His right leg, above knee and down, was also missing. Both their faces still bore the strain, grief, and shock, of everything that they have gone through, and he has suffered, since the terrifying moment that transformed their lives forever.

The great thing is they will get through this. He will walk, even run, again. Someday when he becomes a dad, he’ll be able to run and play with his kids. He will have hands to lift and hold his babies close to his heart. The face that is now drawn, grieving, and frightened, will again shine with light and he will again feel joy. His life will be transformed again.

Honest to God, I don’t always love all the things my job entails, but I do love what we do here, and that gives purpose to everything else.

Through the eyes of a child

I was thinking today about how I have always had an underlying belief that somehow the amount of gifts one receives has something to do with how much one is loved. I know that this is a perception and not a reality. Like many perceptions that many of us "adults" operate on, it comes from somewhere, and probably from something that happened many years ago. I am thus reminded of this short story I wrote a few years ago, about Christmas morning when I was three or four years old.

It was Christmas Day, the first one I remember.

The first thing I heard that morning was my big sisters squealing in my ear, “Wake up! Corinne, Wake up! Santa came! Santa came!” I followed them into the living room rubbing my eyes with my hands, adjusting to the early morning light. And then I saw the Christmas tree, all lit up like the night before, but with presents piled everywhere around. Carol and Nancy were first to their stockings hung on the mantel, and I could see all the candies and little toy surprises come pouring out and their faces so lit up with big smiles. Carol got mine down and handed it to me. It felt heavy and round. I turned the stocking upside down, in complete wonder about what could be in there!

And then a large onion tumbled onto the floor. I stared at that onion trying to comprehend that it was there and there weren’t any candies or toys at all, and all I felt was a terrifying crack in the world... We three girls in our flannel pajamas with happy little Santas, Nancy Fancy Pantsy always with ruffles…  The Christmas tree still sparkled with silver tinsel and lights, all decorated with twirly ornaments and the colored paper chains we had made with Mommy. Baby Jesus was in the manger with all the animals and angels and Mary and Joseph standing in the hay...

And somehow out from them and out from the walls of the living room that I knew, out through the windows with drapes flying, the onion and I were hurled through space, to some place else far far far away, where there was nobody else. My eyes looked for my mommy’s, hoping for some words that would bring me back to where things were right. She stood, holding my baby brother in her arms, her slender face surrounded by pink plastic curlers, and she explained, “Santa gave you an onion because you still suck your thumb.”

I was struck with disbelief, so much so I didn’t cry, I didn’t ask why, because what it all really meant I didn’t understand and it was too much to try to understand. She didn’t say anything else about the onion. I suppose my lesson was learned. Then we all started opening presents and dolls, toys, and games… and even though it seemed like I was back, nothing was ever the same again.

Oneness

Tomorrow is the beginning of the New Year. This is the first New Year's Eve I've ever spent alone. I got off work early, came home, plopped myself on the couch, and spent the afternoon and evening eating and watching TV... Ellen, Oprah, the news, Entertainment Tonight, Bones, and I don't know what else. Too much TV. I was feeling a little depressed about being alone. I ate an entire plate of homemade nachos first thing. Later I heated up a Trader Joe's frozen Paneer Tikaa Masala (fair), and then later downed a hunk of ciabatta spread with butter and some fried Tofurky Italian sausage (soy, for those not in the know... it's really very good). All comfort foods, blobbing out in front of the TV.

The highlight of all this was a Skype video call with Saki & Kris, and my granddaughter Cassie. I had been so immersed in feeling sorry for myself I'd completely forgotten today was her first birthday (I do have a bit of an excuse... we are all flying out in a couple weeks to celebrate and I have had that date so much in my head I lost track of the present). I can hardly believe though, even with that wonderful excuse, that I forgot her birthday. It just shows how asleep my brain is; as though I had turned myself off.

Finally I turned off the TV. It was around 9 PM and I remembered I'm driving to L.A. tomorrow and am going to play in the rainsabai kirtan late tomorrow night... so I had better figure out what I'm going to play and practice.

The last shabd I went through was Maanas kee Jaat Sabeh, from the Akal Ustat of Guru Gobind Singh Ji. Such a completely universal truth contained in this shabd and I'm sort of taking it as my hukam for the New Year.

I felt energized after playing, and remembered a day about 20 years ago, when I led this shabd at the Santa Ana gurdwara. The Siri Singh Sahib was there along with about 20 others from L.A. Out of all the times I've played this shabd, that was the epitome. It a perfect moment in time. The energy was amazing, my voice didn't crack, and Oneness was experienced.

The words "Ek Ong Kar" are often translated as "There is One Creator who Created the Creation." These were the first three words spoken by Guru Nanak when he stepped out of the river (literally "One Creator Creation"). He had disappeared into the river three days earlier, and when he emerged he was in an absolute state of bliss and realization. In the ecstasy of that realization, his first three words were "Ek Ong Kar." It seems to me, when I meditate on these words and imagine the experience of realization that he had in meditation... emerging from that he would be saying "God is One!! We are One!!" which is significantly different than the rather boring statement, "There is one God who created everything." That statement also implies separation, that God is some entity outside of us, outside of all that is.

In other words, I think we could use a better translation... God is ONE! Creator and Creation are ONE!

And that brings me to the translation of "Maanas Kee Jaat Sabeh..." the whole entire shabd. Try reading this aloud and let the words soak into your being...

Some are clean-shaven, some become renunciates and yogis.
I recognize all as One.

God Almighty, the Doer, who gives food, is merciful.
There is no other than Him. He doesn't make any mistake.
Do service to the One and only One.
Everyone's transparent Guru is One.
He has one face; know in all there is One Light.

The gurdwara and mosque are the same.
Some do puja and nivaj [various religious practices]
All people try to impress their way on others.

Prophets, super prophets, super super prophets, those of heaven, Mohammedans, those of all different countries and ways of dress try to impress their way on others.

Similar eyes, similar ears, similar bodies, similar speech: the dust, air, fire and water will mix together.

God is formless. The Puranas and Koran are the same; all forms are the same. All are made as One.

Just as some flames are formed and flames are different, but the fire is one when mixed.

Just as in one dust there are many particles; when at rest they are mixed into the same one.

Just as from one sea there are many different waves and there are small wrinkles on the water... when waves dive down it is called water.

Similarly, the world forms many forms; the invisible and seen are manifested. That from which all are sprung, into That all will again merge.

So many amphibians and fish swallow each other.
So many tortoises manifest, sprout wings, and fly.
So many birds fly in the sky that eat each other, digest, and die.

All of those in water, land and sky were made by the Lord of Death
and will be eaten by the Lord of Death.

Just as light vanishes into darkness and again the darkness merges into light --
That from which all emerges, into That all vanishes again.

Well, I've got about 5 minutes left of 2009 and this is my last post of the year.

May 2010 be a year where we drop fear, anger, doubt, and old destructive patterns. May it exceed 2009 in every wonderful way, and may we realize our true potentials and let them fully blossom. May we know ONENESS, may we SERVE, may we be GRATEFUL for every moment of this beautiful life and live them all fully. May we be GIVERS. May we speak from our HEARTS and LIVE COMPASSIONATELY. May we enjoy our loving relationships and nurture new ones. And may all insomniacs enjoy restful sleep.

Happy New Year!

I'm just not writing much these days.

I have a close friend who admitted to me the other day that she is critical. I had actually specifically telephoned her because I knew she was, and wanted her opinion of something that was troubling me. She of course told me exactly what I expected to hear, that yes there was something not quite right about such and such and she couldn’t quite nail it but she really felt definitely something was really off. That’s when she said, “You know, I am pretty critical,” and I said, “You’re right, and I’m cynical.” Which is true, because I am, about almost everything.

But that is beside the point, which is that (I’m inserting a qualifier here: generally speaking) we all too easily jump to conclusions and then latch on to any other opinion that remotely agrees as a way to support whatever we concluded. There’s some catch phrase… "Like minds think alike? No, that’s not it. Birds of a feather flock together? You know, the group think thing? It’s easier to agree than to disagree. For, to disagree successfully (not necessarily proving yourself right or being the loudest or most assertive, but simply stating your position well) you must know what you are talking about. You must have questioned, listened to and examined different points of view, digested the information, honestly considered how you feel about it, and not in comparison to others or by identifying with the opinions of others or whoever has the strongest voice, but really truly, based on your best efforts to understand, what is your opinion and why. That’s just the head part. There’s also your heart and your gut… your natural intuitive instinct… all these things come into play. This is really too much work for most to bother with.

It’s easier to agree, or to be loud in your disagreement, or be a tape recorder for what someone else said that sounded good enough to you, or close to whatever is the popular “think” for whatever group you identify with.

So maybe being a bit cynical isn’t so bad after all. I mean, I’m not really negative, but I am usually the last person to jump on the bandwagon. On the flip side, I’ve missed some great rides.

Crossing the Mountain

Perhaps you've heard that it's hot in Bakersfield. Summer starts in mid May and ends some time in October. Triple digits are the norm. When I moved here last October it was the tail end of 100+ weather. While job searching during August and September I came up to Bako from down south a few times a month and it was well over 100. This heat actually felt good to me. Trust me though, most people do not feel this way. For me, as long as the air is moving, I feel like I can breathe. At night when it seems hotter than the day, I simply keep the AC set at 85 or so and turn on a fan. That circulating air makes all the difference in the world.

As much as I may enjoy (or at least tolerate) the heat, my car (a very well maintained 1991 Toyota Corolla) does not. If it's over 85 degrees or so and if I don't turn the heater on full blast when driving up the mountains, the engine will overheat. The only problem is, driving in 100+ heat with the heater on full blast is a little bit of a torture. This fact makes trips to L.A. less attractive.

And that brings me to what is the hardest part for me living here. It's not the heat; It is that I do not yet feel part of a community. I know it's just going to take some time.

Making that kind of connection, at least for me, is important. Women need to connect with other women; it's in our DNA. We need these connections to feel whole, to counsel one another, to discuss those things our husbands have no interest in hearing about, and simply to chat and laugh together. I miss playing bid whist with my girlfriends. I miss my writing group and the sharing of our stories that brought us all so much closer together. I miss walking down the street in the neighborhood I lived in for so many years, and almost without fail running into a long time friend or new neighbor, and stopping for a few minutes to shoot the breeze. These small things, they are so great really, are often not appreciated enough.

As part of my mission to meet people, I've joined a writing group here in Bakersfield (Writers of Kern). I think this group will be helpful in terms of becoming a better writer and perhaps one day getting something published. I am thinking though of starting a new group, like the True Tales group I started in L.A., that isn't so much about the craft of writing as it is about sharing the small stories from our lives that we've written. Maybe something interfaith, or intercultural, or really interanything. This kind of sharing is such a wonderful way to gain deeper understanding, appreciation, and respect for one another. We can all use that, don't you think?

Gravity

There are signs now. Red ruddiness, sort of like acne, but blotchy, like blush powder splashed on in the dark. There's a name for it. Brown spots, there's a name for them too. Forgetfulness, to the point I think I may be losing my mind. Wisdom of simply knowing, of being, of seeing the game, the players, the ball, the goal, the boundaries, the out of bounds... and having good seats. The wondering about what still can be. Though the path ahead is not so long, it is broader, blooming, fragrant and rich with possibility. Seeing now, it has been so all along. I am fine with all of this. I truly am. I am fine with myself. And seeing my daughters coming into their own, each so beautiful. Life is so beautiful and is such a gift. So all this, none of it matters, I am fine with everything, and if my mind is not what it was, so what. It is what it is. I am who I am. And that's that. But really, must things submit to the gravitational pull so soon?