Astrology Zone

So...call me whatever you want, but I read my horoscope religiously each month. But this is no ordinary horoscope, this is Susan Miller's Monthy Forecast (http://www.astrologyzone.com/), which ususally consists of a three page outline of what your month will look like. Now, I don't read into it too much--at least I try to resist the temptation to use the horscope as a be-all-end-all guide, but sometimes I can't help but believe.

Last Friday, the day before my 24th birthday, I watched the full moon rise. It appeared to be the biggest moon the earth has seen in a long while. There's no doubt that the tides rose and fell accordingly during this full moon's phase--we have proven that the moon does influence such things. This "troublesome moon" has since past, and I'm glad I survived, Susan Miller had predicted that something tragic would happen.

I find it interesting that we have no problem understanding that the moon can push and pull the tides, but when it comes to our own lives, we dismiss the idea that the heavenly bodies have any influence over our own direction. Not to say that every horoscope is right and should be trusted, because it seems to be a science that no one could ever fully comprehend and predict, but if the moon can raise the tides with its proximity to our planet, and we are ultimately made of the same energetic material, there has to be some sort of correspondence.

Though nothing tragic happened during this full moon for me, I could not help but feel a dark gloom over my life during this time. Something was weighing on me differently. I hope it lifts as the moon shift further away, and mars and venus continue their huge strides accross the night sky. Perhaps it's all nonsense--an escape--an excuse to use when things are great or not so good. Perhaps. But I can't help but believe.


On another note, here's a poem:

The Whale

Open vessel,
A fleeting reflection
Of collected lifetimes
Accumulated in a moment,
Then gone.

But there is more.
A lens through which to see
What is arising inside.
A story to make sense of it all
Outside.

Further beyond
The seat and the story.
Truth, it is a breeching whale.
Watch it submerge in a reflection
Of you.

I’ve seen the stars
Appear through the darkness,
A full aching, heavy heart
Unfolds like a river over rocks
It moves.

The spirit waits
In all things to be seen.
Just when surrender sets in,
Reveals itself so we don’t forget
To shine.

We all have...stuff

Yes we do. And it's funny how we feel more self-conscious and try to cover up our stuff because everyone else is so busy covering up that we're made to feel like we're the only ones carrying around a 100 pound bag of guilt or sadness or fear or any kind of concoction of suffering. The truth is that we all have stuff, suffering, baggage. I've spent a good few years ignoring mine, thinking it's not valid because it's not severe. But sometimes it’s the subtle persistence of suffering that can be more destructive.

I've started my New Years resolution early this time: I will not lie to myself anymore about what I carry. I will not be responsible for everyone. I will not gauge my happiness on anything outside of myself. I will stop holding on to my emotion. I will not make excuses for other people hurting me. I will be free. I will be free. I will be free.

And it's not like this all came out of nowhere. I had some hands on me yesterday, getting bodywork--my first time, with a good friend and teacher. She knows me, but she knows me ever better no that she could actually feel where I hold on to my stuff, my guilt, in particular. It's right in the middle of my back where she kept running her fingers deep and I kept flinching away--not because of pain, but just because there was something there I had never quite put my finger on (pun intended).

Sometimes we shove ourselves off to the side. We shouldn't. Take time to take care of yourself and know that what you feel is real.

This is a poem about the stuff I hold on to:

Guilt equals
sadness plus Responsibility.
I am always
the Responsible one,
the care taker,
the constant.
I am happy when
everyone else is happy.
I want to have a long talk with you
about how I feel.
I conceal this hurt
and my big soul takes over.
But my body can't lie anymore.
I am sad for your loneliness.
I cannot be responsible one more day.
I am happy when I am happy.

Thank goodness...

Thank goodness for today. For the outcome. For it all being over. The past few days, it has been impossible to escape from the bombardment of media over the election. Watching Obama give his acceptance speech filled me up with -- for the first time in a long time -- a feeling of pride for our country. I'm not very politically inclined, but I would be ignoring a big part of our world if I left these comments out.

And thank goodness for the time change. Last week it was so hard to pull myself out of bed. I completely skipped my meditation practice in the morning because I never had enough time before heading off to work. My excuse every morning was that I would just take the whole week off, and tie it in a neat little bow and forgive myself. But getting back into my meditation practice now that the time change has come and the dust is settling, is more challenging than I thought it would be to get back into that pattern of sitting. The analogy of the mind as a puppy dog still fits: You want it to sit and stay, but it continually gets distracted and runs away to play. So you get up, sit it back down, tell it to stay. Over and over again. Until it finally stays. But just like a puppy dog, if you let up for a few days or a week, sometimes it forgets how to sit still.

Another big change this week: I put in my notice at my daytime job. Perhaps it wasn't the smartest thing to do with the financial melt-down that we are in. But for me, the money and security is not worth my time spent in an office with no windows and no contact except with my computer. I told my boss I'd give him six months to find and train someone new. Now I only wish I last that long. Part of me will miss the consistency of the job, but I know I need to shake things up. Getting too comfortable anywhere is not conducive to growth.

Everything's Okay

So here we are. The end of September feels more like the end of the world with the financial meltdown. Is it 2012 yet? There’s a constant buzz everywhere you go, analyzing, worrying, rationalizing what is going on. It is our responsibility as citizens of this country to educate ourselves—always—on the important issues that face our country. It is our responsibility to educate ourselves so that we can make informed decisions. But as citizens of this world, of this universe, and of the bigger picture as whole, it is also our responsibility to step back from these situations that seem to suck us in with all the media coverage, all the alarmist buzz, all of the hype.

Don’t get me wrong: we are on the cusp of a very important time. Well, actually, forget that cusp. We are in the midst of history making with what is going on right now, and there are actions that need to be taken and talking that needs to take place and it is of utmost importance that we educate ourselves about this situation so that we can be well-informed citizens. But do me (and yourself) this one favor: step back, close your eyes, go inside and smile.

There is an unshakable place within all of us. Yoga has been my avenue there. When I am on my red sticky mat, breathing, moving, feeling my body on the inside, articulating small movements that build one upon the other, opening my heart, the whirlwind of life and its worries dissipate. As my practice has developed I’ve found that even when I’m off my mat I can return to this place of stillness, this place of stability and hope. I am my own best friend. I am okay. I am alive and breathing. I am here, feeling. The outside world may collapse at any moment, but there is something so solid inside.

Call it God, a soul, spirit, the universe. It is not dependent upon the condition of the outside world. So close your eyes, connect to that place that is always okay because you are here living, feeling, breathing, knowing there is something that lives on despite the suffering of the world. Now, more than ever, we need to connect inside to the deepest part of ourselves. We must not ignore what is going on in the outside world, but we must approach these very difficult times with a grounded, open, believing heart, that knows everything will be okay. We owe ourselves this space.

A (Semi) True Story...

There once was a young lady with the whole world open before her, but she did not know how to choose which path would suit her best.

She went to her mother and asked, “Where should I go?”
And her mother said, “come back home where I can feed you, and you will find a man who you can start a family with.”
But the young girl was not sure that this was her path.

So the next day she went to her professor and asked, “Where should I go?”
And the professor said, “You should go to graduate school and advance your degree so that someday you will have a rewarding job and lots of money.”
But the young girl was not sure that this was her path.

So the next day she went to the library. She found the travel section with all the books on all the beautiful places in the world. The librarian saw the girl and asked if she could help. The girl said, “Yes. I am wondering where I should go.”
“Ohh!” the librarian exclaimed, “You should go to the Caribbean where it is summer all year long and all the buildings are painted in bright colors.”
But the young girl was still not sure if this was her path.

The next day the girl went to her yoga teacher and said, “I am so confused. There are so many places I could go in the world, too many options to choose from. I am a very versatile and happy person and I would be glad to go anywhere, but it is so hard to know which one is right.”
The yoga teacher nodded and said, “Yes, the world is big indeed and there are many places one could go.”
“Where do you think I should go?” the young girl asked.
"The only place that truly matters," the yoga teacher smiled, "In".

Form is Emptiness, Emptiness is Form...

Form, Emptiness & Schrödinger's Cat

Many times I have heard the Buddhist phrase: Form is emptiness and emptiness is form. Many times this phrase has been explained, each time, touching upon my interest, holding it there for a moment while I understand, but then the second I think I’ve got it, the paradox seems to win and I relapse into my former confused state of mind. It’s the same thing with math for me. An equation has to be drilled into me countless times before the reasoning sinks in deep enough to stick.

Yesterday I was reading a book, Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism, and came to the chapter on “Shunyata” which is the Sanskrit word for nothingness. Apparently, when the Buddha first gave his talk on shunyata, several arhats attending the talk died of heart attacks from the impact of the teaching. I braced myself.

But it was old, familiar waters I was swimming in. The phrase I had heard many times, was repeated on the page: Form is emptiness; emptiness is form. Perhaps it is because I have more life experience now, or maybe the author, Chögyam Trungpa, laid out the truth differently, or it could simply be that it was probably the twentieth time this phrase has been explained to me, but somehow, its meaning finally began to solidify for me.

Trungpa gives the example of a maple leaf falling from a tree onto a mountain stream. This is form. Without labeling the leaf, the tree, the stream, the action still happens, objectively. Were someone not there to witness the leaf falling, it would still happen, and it would still be exactly what it is. Form is simple: it is what is. When we withdraw our labels, our identification with, our subjectivity, then that is when we are left with emptiness. So, all things, when we take away the observer, completely remove our self and our rationalizing mind, then we are left with nothingness, emptiness. It’s simple…once you get it.

The second part of the phrase, emptiness is form, though, challenges this simplicity. It is stating that though the maple leaf, the tree and the mountain stream are empty, they are also form. It is our very attempt to view these things as empty that “clothes them in concept”. The first part of the phrase simply states what is, but the second part of the phrase introduces a broader sense of what is, feeling; feeling the rawness of what is there, recognizing the isness in all forms. So form is emptiness and emptiness is form. After untangling the web around this idea, we can conclude, similarly, that form is form and emptiness is emptiness, because when it comes down to it, things are how they are.

My boyfriend, Will and I were discussing this, and being more scientifically inclined and rational, he mentioned that this is very similar to a popular quantum physics thought experiment, Schrödinger's Cat. Similar to the lesson of shunyata in Buddhism, Schrödinger's experiment fundamentally challenges our subjectivity with regards to how we view reality. It is also a paradox that could give you a heart attack.

Because I am not well-versed in physics like Will, I pulled this explanation of the experiment from http://whatis.techtarget.com/definition/0,,sid9_gci341236,00.html

Here's Schrödinger's (theoretical) experiment: We place a living cat into a steel chamber, along with a device containing a vial of hydrocyanic acid. There is, in the chamber, a very small amount of a radioactive substance. If even a single atom of the substance decays during the test period, a relay mechanism will trip a hammer, which will, in turn, break the vial and kill the cat. The observer cannot know whether or not an atom of the substance has decayed, and consequently, cannot know whether the vial has been broken, the hydrocyanic acid released, and the cat killed. Since we cannot know, the cat is both dead and alive according to quantum law, in a superposition of states. It is only when we break open the box and learn the condition of the cat that the superposition is lost, and the cat becomes one or the other (dead or alive). This situation is sometimes called quantum indeterminacy or the observer's paradox : the observation or measurement itself affects an outcome, so that the outcome as such does not exist unless the measurement is made. (That is, there is no single outcome unless it is observed.)

We know that superposition actually occurs at the subatomic level, because there are observable effects of interference, in which a single particle is demonstrated to be in multiple locations simultaneously. What that fact implies about the nature of reality on the observable level (cats, for example, as opposed to electrons) is one of the stickiest areas of quantum physics. Schrödinger himself is rumored to have said, later in life, that he wished he had never met that cat.

In this experiment, when we take away the observer of the cat, then it is easier to conceptualize that the cat is both dead and alive. That metal box in which they put the cat, is the way we see the world: we think we’ve figured it out because we have a name for everything and we have an opinion about everything, but the truth is that we really don’t know what’s in this metal box of a world we’re living in. Our frame of reference, everything we are basing what we “know” on, is a small fraction of the truth. We do not know what is on the opposite sides of the spectrum of this life, and so we base our knowing on what is apparent. This is form. I am here right now. I am drinking tea. It is form. But the fact that I really don’t know where here is in the great grand scheme of things…that’s emptiness.

Changing Seasons

If there was no calendar to mark the days, I would have noticed sooner that fall was creeping in. A tinge of color appears sporadically in the trees, framing the face of summer with the reminder that this too shall pass. It reminds me of the way a smoker’s hair will turn yellow, or the way the ocean slowly pulls away to reveal its foundation. We can feel it in our bones, like the sap leaking out of the trees; a slow settling into the moment that must come, when the garden withers and dies.

For most of my life, summer was my favorite season. Until I moved away from Maine, I didn’t understand how anyone could favor another season above this one. That’s because I never had a hard time sleeping at night or needed to pay for air conditioning. It’s not that this summer has been awful, but there have been enough uncomfortable days to change my mind. Not to mention, I spent most of my time inside an office building with no windows, so the bitterness has turned sour, and the sour has solidified into surrender.

If summer is life in full bloom and autumn is dying, then what does that say about my changing preference? I love the continual warmth, the freckles, the lusciousness of summer, but I’m anxious for cool, crisp air to breathe, smelling of wood smoke, visiting the apple orchard, sleeping better at night. Fall reminds me of horseback riding when I was younger. Every Saturday my mom would drive me out to Gray where I would take lessons. It was our designated time and it was cherished like the last leaves clinging onto the trees. It reminds me of hiking and the cold feeling of labored breath sitting heavy in the lungs.

It is this time especially—the cusp of summer transitioning into autumn— that has my heart full and anxious. My calendar is busy with commitments, but all I want to do each weekend is run away to a cool, shorter day on a mountain path winding up between reds, oranges, and yellows. And I can’t believe myself—how I used to dread this change.

There was a time, too, when I was an idealist, always positive, always optimistic. This is when I loved summer best. Is there a direct correlation here? Who knows. But it’s been strange that the tide of my life, as it changes, my attitudes my idealism, cools. My heart is still alive and well, but it is seasoned a bit more, and so, perhaps, it longs for a season to correspond to the rich colors that are there now. Perhaps not so perfectly alive and well, a bit more weathered. We’re all dying and I guess that’s not such a bad thing.

Nature dies so easily it seems, just gradually letting go; cutting off one leaf, one branch at a time. The sap, the life energy that rose in the spring, gradually settles down the trunk and then into the ground, underground where the roots hang on tight through the winter. The garden yellows, wilts, dries out; it is picked clean or left to seed. I am having a harder time letting go of my ideals, but I am learning to let go the way the world does, because it doesn’t take the harsh winds and the frosts and the disappearing sun so personally.

We do this, tend to take life and its insults so personally. How can life be so hard, we ask. Why did this happen to me? Why must I suffer and die? I don’t know. But I’m learning that this truth can’t easily be brushed aside and covered up with a positive attitude and sunny outlook. But it’s not something to take too seriously or too personally either.

Though it symbolizes dying in many ways, autumn has its own merits, of course. It is part of the cycle and therefore part of the birthing process just as much as the letting go. In the words of my grandmother, “Life goes on”, and it’s true, no matter which season you prefer or detest, it changes again and again. Sometimes we take this change too lightly, but each stage is pregnant with symbolism and opportunity to embrace the cycle of life.