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!

This is not writer's block

I just don't feel like writing, and feel like I have nothing to say, or whatever I have to say isn't interesting enough to write about, or it's nobody's business but mine.

Where is my muse???

Ranting and Writing

I am still not writing much these days... Except perhaps for school. I am taking a completely engaging American history class, a Public Policy class, and a Women in Literature & Film class. Perhaps this has something to do with why I am not writing much, because I have so much writing to do for my classes.

I am particularly dreading the essays for my English class; two more to do in three weeks. I thought I would love this class. I don't. I can't believe I once considered being an English major. What was I thinking? And that's just it; I wasn’t. I was inspired. I had such amazing English professors at Santa Monica College! I felt transformed by our readings, the insights gained, and how much I learned just by, well, writing about or in response to the various novels or poems. Doten, Engelmann, Remmes.... these professors shed light on the path of self-discovery and forced me to stretch my mind and bend my brain. I learned so much about myself and human nature through our readings, lively discussions, and most of all, by writing essays. It was in the writing that understanding revealed itself.

So why do I hate this class so much?? I just wish it was over already. It's the extraordinary amount of time it demands of me, the volume of reading, the volume and caliber of essays required, and the complete lack of interaction with students and the professor herself. That is the main problem. This can't be blamed on the fact that this is an online class. My English 10 class, "Ethnic Literature of the U.S." was an online class. It was one of my most favorite classes ever. Prof. Remmes selected enlightening novels that opened up cultural worlds to me. Our online discussions helped me see difficult issues from many different perspectives. With an online discussion you actually have time to think about what you are going to say, rather than just raising your hand and blurting out whatever jumps to mind. So the discussions were intelligent, provoking, and fun. I loved how my thoughts, analysis, and understanding all crystallized in my essays.

And that's exactly why I am so disenchanted with this class at CSUB. The two online discussions we had were tedious, and without much real dialog. We each independently follow the syllabus, read novels, watch the films, and then write essays and submit them. I do not feel stimulated, except by the novels themselves. I do not feel motivated to excel except by my obsession to get straight A’s. I don't feel inspired. It's not fun. I want it to be over. I resent this professor, who is incredibly qualified, is the author of distinguished text books, and probably has all kinds of academic awards. I resent her because she doesn't do anything (in terms of interaction with students) and still gets paid. I resent her because she has an easy job. I resent her because I have to work so hard to get an A with her, and I really don't have time. I am concentrating on the classes that have to do with my major which, thank God, is not English.

Some people have been nudging me a little to write on my blog. It's been months since I've posted anything and what a disappointment it must be to read this and have to listen to me complain! I'm sorry! Bless your heart for bearing with me this far. But actually, probably a big reason I've been writing next to nothing for pleasure is because my life these days is my job (which I love), school (3 nights a week plus online class, and all the accompanying studying, research and writing), and my personal life (my what?), which I actually do have.

Anyway, now that I've vented, let me say I am thankful for everything. I am thankful for the most amazing, courageous, compassionate, and wise girlfriends in the world (I am listing them first because three of them came to visit me yesterday here in Bakersfield and I am still awash in their love and beautiful spirit). I am thankful for my husband a million times a day. I am so glad, so thankful, thank You GOD, every single day that I am with him and not with that loser I thought I loved 25 years ago (and that is not my first husband, so don't get me wrong). When you look and see all the miracles in your life, the weavings of life that are so perfect.... then we know the hand of the Divine in arranging our affairs, providing the lessons we need to learn and grow... I am thankful for my daughters. O my god, my daughters are the blessing of my life. It is my blessing to be their mom. Funny how the older we get, the more we want to be with our kids, and the farther away they move. I am thankful for all of the lessons I have had in my life and all of the lessons and challenges to come. God is so great, life is such a gift, everything is so perfect… even dreadful English classes.

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.

A Day in Capistrano

There are a few things about this town that are completely different from L.A. Well, maybe more than a few things, but there are some differences that stand out. First of all, I've never seen any place where so many homes have their own private parking lots. I noticed this last summer when I started looking for a home to rent, preparing for our upcoming move. In some areas it seemed like every house had a huge driveway. I mean HUGE, as in large enough to park several cars and a bus.

Then, when I looked through real estate ads I noticed that "RV parking" was commonly listed along with the other selling points for many houses.

It struck me as a little odd, because in L.A. real estate the size of one of these driveways would be covered with a house. Although I'm sure there are many families in L.A. that own RVs, and maybe some who even have a parking space for one in their driveway, I can only remember ever seeing RVs (and as an oddity) parked on the street. I had an assumption that RVs are for retired couples who want to see America on a budget, or for families who rented them for weekend trips to the mountains, or to go visit relatives in Missouri. So, I thought it odd that RVs are so popular in Bakersfield.

Now, I think I know why.

It's hot here in the summer.

Today my husband and I drove south to Capistrano Beach to spend the day with friends who rent a beach house there every summer. We left Bakersfield about 9:00 AM and it was already in the 90s, with a forecast of 104. When we arrived in Capistrano three hours later it was a cool 80 degrees.There was a houseful of friends, relatives, and kids of all ages, along with plenty of food, sun, surf, sand and beach cruiser bikes. A wonderful sea breeze, negative ions, the rhythmic roar of surf, and Jane Austen's Emma lulled me into a state of sweet relaxation. I woke to my husband's touch, reminding me it was time for our bike ride.

We hopped onto borrowed cruiser bikes, mine pink, slightly rusty, and with a cute little wicker basket in front just the right size for my water bottle and sunscreen; his black and sans basket. We rode a mile or so up the narrow private road to the bike path, and then kept north. That's when I noticed the entire beach side of the bike path was blanketed with RVs, maybe a hundred of them, and dotted with camp tents. It was like a beach town, everyone out in the sun, on the beach, in the water, playing cards, and cooling off.

It makes complete sense. Pay a little parking fee (many were just parked in the parking lot, not in the campsite) or campsite fee, and there you are. Let the kids loose, set up your pop up gazebo, drinks in the cooler, stocked fridge and pantry, keep the sunscreen handy, and you are on vacation.

I'm just an ex L.A. girl who has always lived within 8 miles of the beach and never needed an RV to get there, but I'll betcha most folks with RVs here in Bakersfield use them for heading to the coast during the hot months. And it beats paying $300 a night (or more) for a hotel room.

I am not running out to get an RV, and doubt we will ever ever own or rent one. However, I am realizing my L.A. naivete. How hadn't I even known there is an entire culture of people who use their RVs all the time (in the summer at least). Totally cool.

Godzilla's on vacation

My husband and daughter are off to Tucson to visit his mom for the July 4th weekend. I spent yesterday cleaning house, interspersed with watching NCIS, noodling on the internet, and napping. Today I rewarded myself for a job well done by going to L.A. to see a few friends and get a little shopping done.

This worked out great, because when I called my bff Siri Bhrosa about getting together she suggested I join her and her husband Kirtan Singh at the Walnut gurdwara in leading kirtan. I haven't played kirtan at gurdwara here in Bakersfield in the 9 months that I've lived here (this is entirely because I haven't been assertive at all getting on the schedule). I couldn't find my little shabd book anywhere in the house, so chose one to play from a handful of printed shabd sheets I had on file, "Chit Aavai Os Parabrahm Lagai na tatee vaao." Perfect. Gratefully, God was merciful and my voice was working today. So often I start losing my voice or it cracks or otherwise malfunctions.... but today it was right on and the energy was great.

Afterward as we were driving back to L.A. Kirtan Singh commented on how he loved how empty the streets all were. It's Saturday, the 4th of July, and looking down the road there was not a single other car on that street. His theory was that everyone must have left the city en masse for the holiday.

I think he's right.

After our little Walnut trip, I stopped and visited with my other bff Hari Bhajan for a couple hours, and then headed out to do a little shopping around (I'm looking for just the right area rug for my living room... no success today). Headed down Robertson Blvd. toward the 10 Freeway, this is what it looked like around 4 PM:



Shopping done and not quite pooped, I decided not to stay in L.A. for the picnic and fireworks at Rancho Park. I got on the 405 and headed north toward Bakersfield around 6 PM. You would have thought, except for the fact that it was still daylight, that it was 3 in the morning, there were so few cars on the freeway. It was so bizarre, to be in L.A., on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon, driving on a surreally empty freeway, specifically the 405 freeway from LAX and northward.

This is going north on 405, headed out of San Fernando Valley:


And this is I-5 somewhere north of Castaic:



I did not hit traffic of any substance at all until I neared Bakersfield!

Normally, we all know, L.A. is so jammed with traffic it can take an hour and a half going from the West side to downtown, a distance of maybe 10 or 12 miles. In fact, typically when I am leaving L.A. and my car is stuck in the tight rows on the freeway with all the other zillions cars wherever the hell they are going, I am struck by how if these same cars were on the 99 going north out of Bakersfield, you'd think a mass evacuation was in progress. You'd think Godzilla was coming over the mountains about to invade us and we were all cramming the freeways getting the hell out of there. L.A. is like that all the time, in a constant state of Godzilla coming.

God, I love Bakersfield.

Oh, but my poor husband. He is coming home from Tucson tomorrow, Sunday afternoon, at the end of the holiday weekend, into LAX, and then he is driving home to Bakersfield. It is too painful to even imagine. But at least he will come home to a clean house and a happy and unstressed me :-)