My friend Myra Klockenbrink, who will soon graduate from the Integrative Nutrition Institute, has introduced me to a new whole grain (actually, it's a very ancient one): farro!
"Farro (pronounced FAHR-oh) was one of the first grains known to man and kernels have been discovered in Egyptian tombs," writes Italian food expert Michele Topor. "For centuries, this ancient unhybridized form of wheat has been grown throughout the Mediterranean basin. Farro gave rise to the Italian word for flour, farina. It was the standard ration for Roman Legions that expanded through the Western World."
Ask for it at your local health food store. It cooks up like rice or barley, is wonderful in soups, and has a stick-to-your-ribs quality. We ate it last night as a side dish with a bit of sea salt and organic butter. I could see it as a breakfast cereal with milk, currants, ground flax seed, and maple syrup. Or as a cold salad. Here's a farro with tomatoes and herbs recipe.
posted by Chattering Mind @ 11:32 AM | Permalink |
Poor Chattering Mind. The other Chatterings make ruthless fun of her for screeching, "Get your head away from the microwave oven when it's running! It will scorch your brain, you fool!"
Yes, I know there are better ways to convey my feelings, but why, oh why doesn't anyone just go along with me on this one?
Our seven-year-old, built-in microwave is positioned right at brain level. And yes, I could offer you information that says microwaves are perfectly safe , and information that says they may pose risks . (I really worry about people who work for years next to them in convenience stores and restaurants.)
But I cling to this fact: A friend of mine who used to work at the FCC (Federal Communications Commission) told me the technicians there always kept their distance from the microwave ovens in the staff lunchroom. "Huh? What does that mean?" I asked my friend. "Everything in moderation," he replied.
Risky to work next to when in operation or not, microwave ovens are so fast, so slick, so convenient, that even I succumb occasionally. Today, I was about to microwave last night's leftover collard greens (refrigerated on a plate with a side of farro). But then I spied a clean frying pan, on top of the range beckoning me. Oh, I'll just warm my little meal in that, I said.
The aroma of greens and grains quickly filled the kitchen. Some of the collards got nice and crisp at the edge. I sat down with my beautiful, steaming bowl and thought: This is delicious. I'm so glad I didn't microwave it.
"The ones who count are those persons who--though they may be of little renown--respond to and are responsible for the continuation of the living spirit, each in the active stillness of his sphere of work."
I spent eleven hours training last week with Reiki master Pamela Miles, author of "Reiki: A Comprehensive Guide." She speaks accessibly on the topic and seems to understand and have contacts within the mainstream medical community. It seems like she could be the one to catapult this form of hands-on caring into settings where it's never been practiced, or even discussed. Her website contains many medical papers on the success of Reiki healing in hospitals, and she has trained myriad hospital personnel in the method.
What is Reiki? Sometimes people incorrectly think of it as a "Beam me up, Scottie!" practice of laying hands to magically zap wounds or cancer cells. Others consider it Jesus's healing method, or God's love. While the National Center for Complementary and Alternative Medicine (NCCAM) of the National Institutes of Health (NIH) classifies Reiki as a form of "energy medicine," Miles disagrees. When trained Reiki practitioners calmly place their hands on themselves or others according to the designated protocol, Reiki consciousness (a term Miles prefers to "Reiki energy") "affects the subtlest level of the biofield [a.k.a. energy body or aura]... Unlike energy therapies, Reiki is accessed through, but not directed by, the practitioner. Once accessed, Reiki flows as water seeks its own level, gently encouraging the biofield toward balance."
If you have ever kissed a boo-boo to make it better, you have a notion of what Reiki is like. Unfortunately, you can't learn how to practice from a book. So precious and subtle are the initiations (or empowerments) bestowed by the trained Reiki master, and so edifying are the conversations you'll have within your class, you need to find a teacher who can "give" you Reiki in a way you'll find accessible. Miles recommends the Reiki Alliance's teacher directory as the most reliable international source of instruction. Since Reiki can become a loosey-goosey modality subject to New Age distortion, beware of teachers who promise Lazarus-style miracles.
posted by Chattering Mind @ 12:52 PM | Permalink |
My husband Mr. Chattering (a.k.a. Steve Waldman) and Beliefnet.com spirituality editor Valerie Reiss (who'll be blogging for me while I vacation in two weeks) have a short "Periscope" item in the current issue of Newsweek in which they define what makes Lohasians tick.
What are Lohasians? You are most certainly entitled to ask. They are people who live Lifestyles of Heath and Sustainability). Translation: That's anybody "dedicated to personal and planetary health." It's estimated that we make up about 17 percent of the American population. For greater understanding, have a look at the online Newsweek link.
"I find myself saying briefly and prosaically that it is much more important to be oneself than anything else. Do not dream of influencing other people, I would say, if I knew how to make it sound exalted. Think of things in themselves."
"I have many memories of quiet times in my life: an evening hearing frogs croak by the lake; an evening hearing catfish hit the bottom of a boat; the straightness of the pine trees in Mississippi; the Evergreens and Aspens of Colorado; the pastures seen out of the passing train window; an Elk calf in the grass at dawn; and sunrise at Chincoteague and Assateague Islands as the calm boats come back into the shore. All of these have been quiet moments of reflection I've enjoyed during varying spiritual retreats I've gone on. 'He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside still waters. He restoreth my soul.' Psalms 23:2."
Malas are strings of beads on which to count repeated mantras (words of spiritual or religious meaning). Last night, while researching the female bodhisattva of compassion Quan Yin (thinking I'd like to wear her in the form of a necklace or pendant), I found a collection of Quan Yin malas that would be helpful in solidifying one's meditative practice. The famous mantra, "Om Mani Padmi Hum" ("Hail to the Jewel In the Lotus") is associated with Quan Yin.
I'm always looking for gifts for people who are ill, gifts other than flowers that stimulate allergies, or plants that need watering in the hospital room. Here's an article I once wrote on the subject. Now I have some additional ideas: You might consider a gorgeous display of dried lavender to sweeten the sick room. Also, during a visit with my father last month, I learned of The Teaching Company's taped college lectures on all manner of religious subjects (Genesis, Augustine, America's religious history, Eastern practices, and so forth), nice for the bed-bound person needing distraction and intellectual stimulation. The full and amazing menu of offerings ranging from "Voltaire and the Triumph of the Enlightenment" to "How to Understand Opera" is listed here.
Nice editorial from David Brooks in The New York Times yesterday on how to develop a public policy that might bolster the brain power of our children. He concludes--surprise, surprise--that love is all they need.
"Kids learn from people they love. If we want young people to develop the social and self-regulating skills they need to thrive, we need to establish stable long-term relationships between love-hungry children and love-providing adults.
"That's why I'm grappling with these books on psychology and brain function. I started out on this wonk odyssey in the company of economic data, but the closer you get to the core issue, the further you venture into the primitive realm of love."
I'm not sure he really means "primitive" there; "unquantifiable," "unregulate-able" or "hard for this nation to manufacture" might have been better.
My friend Nell Minow introduced me to the most marvelous "contemplative photography" website last night. It's called "Miksang," a word that means "good eye" in Tibetan, and it was launched by Nova Scotian photographer Michael Wood. He blends his own photography "practice" with what he's learned over the years from the dharma art/nature of perception teachings of famous meditation teacher Chögyam Trungpa." What makes Wood's photography contemplative? Have a look.
"This journey is actually quite simple--to see with our eyes wide-open and our awareness right there. Once we have a moment of fresh perception, vivid and clear, there is a natural desire to communicate that experience," Wood says. The website has a gorgeous gallery, and calendar of Woods' workshops. "The visual world could be perceived directly, without the burden of our habitual likes and dislikes, associations, memories, all of which obscure clear perception. Without visual prejudice, we could then form the equivalent of what we have seen and express each perception precisely," Woods writes.
posted by Chattering Mind @ 12:01 PM | Permalink |
"...we must understand that meditation, the centerpiece of the Buddhist path, is itself the most radical kind of political action. Why? In meditation, we step out of the value system of the conventional world and start to look at things from a fresh viewpoint. Meditation is not activism as we usually think of it, yet it fulfills the definition in a radical way, because it is activity that fundamentally aims to change the world.
Finally, there is the knowledge that our political activities are also a way of working on ourselves. As we engage politcally, our own arrogance, aggression, small-mindedness, and self-centeredness are going to be exposed. We should take these as golden opportunities, offering us a more informed, more humble, and less self-preoccupied way of working with others."
"If you're trying to figure out what's coming next, turn off everything you own that has an 'off' switch, and listen. Make up some plans and be willing to change them on a dime. Identify your heart's truest desire and don't change that for anything. Be proud of yourself for the work that you've done. Be grateful to the people who helped you do it. Write and let them know how you are. You are, every one of you, someone's favorite unfolding story. We cannot wait to hear what happens next."
"Sweetheart," I said last night while sitting in the dark on the edge of my son's bed. "When I come in here to wake you in the morning, I notice that you're all scrunched up in a little ball, like you are very tense."
"That's because the covers fall off," he said. "And I do that to stay warm."
"Well, look at your body now, you're all crooked on the mattress. You look so uncomfortable. Will you try something for me?"
"No."
"Come on, get straight on your back in the center of the mattress and feel the bed supporting you."
"Mom--" he protests.
"Come on, please. This will be cool. Just get straight. Now allow your body to sink into the bed, and just let your arms and legs be floppy."
"Mom, you are treating me like a mutant."
"Close your eyes, and let them sink into their sockets. Now take a deep breath from your belly. Push your belly up towards the ceiling. And when you exhale say "Haaaaaaaa."
"Haaaaaaa."
"Big HA. Do it again. Haaaaaaaaaaaaa. Let it all go, all the tension of the day--"
"HAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaa."
"One more time."
"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
"Isn't that better?"
"I guess."
"Goodnight. I love you, honey."
"Night, Mommy."
Whatever happened to the good old-fashioned bedtime prayer? Well, we say those on other nights. But I was an uptight twenty-six-year-old when I learned the difference between a relaxed muscle and a tense one. So last night, I tried to give my son the gift of greater peace and relaxation. I don't want him to sleep bent out of shape. I want him happily centered within the whole darned bed.
"During Gemini’s transit, the Sun sails toward its northernmost limit on the horizon. North is a cardinal direction which in many cultures represents "knowledge and wisdom"—and so your journey in Gemini is also towards gaining more knowledge. Gemini takes us to the Summer Solstice (June 21), when the Sun slows to an imperceptible pace. That’s what 'solstice' means—to stand still. Gemini, as the last month of spring, brings us to this cardinal turning point, when summer officially begins and the Sun turns southward again, to retrace its steps along the horizon line. As the days lengthen in Gemini, let your mind also stretch and soar. Reach for new information, enjoy stimulating conversations, and take your curiosity everywhere."
--by Dana Gerhardt, in an article published in the most recent issue of "Moon Circles."
posted by Chattering Mind @ 12:26 AM | Permalink |
"Sacred and profane. What a gulf, what antipathy there is between those words! Yet all that 'profane' originally meant in its Latin root was 'outside the temple,' and later, still neutrally, in medieval Latin and French, 'not pertaining to what is sacred or biblical...civil as distinguished from ecclesiastical.' At what point did 'profanity' come into use as a synonym for bad language, cursing, with its implications at first of hostility to the sacred order and after that, in our own spiritually diluted age, of a defiance of propriety? My life after I went 'outside the temple' hasn't been profane in either of those senses. It's been what it has been, set against nothing and taking its course on such grounds without structures to house the sacred as I've been able, or been compelled, to rest upon."
--From Richard Gilman's 1986 book "Faith, Sex, Mystery: A Memoir," a journey from Gilman's Jewish origins through a Catholic conversion to a gradual loss of faith.
posted by Chattering Mind @ 11:46 PM | Permalink |
"Retreat a la you sounds like big $," writes CM reader Sharon in response to my post about my five-day retreat last summer. Au contraire! The best, most spiritual retreats at monasteries and convents are sometimes the cheapest! Really! And many contemplative centers affiliated with a diocese or large religious group can accept payment on a sliding scale. If you're interested in simple food, peace, and prayer--without the spa fixin's like warm spring pools or massages--you can find a great deal. The center I went to (where I used an outhouse when I didn't want to trudge down to the meditation hall) clearly isn't for everybody, but I was asked what I could afford, and I chose to pay top dollar which was five days for $500 (though that may have gone up somewhat in the last twelve months). That included meditation instruction and three simple meals.
posted by Chattering Mind @ 10:48 PM | Permalink |
Last Friday evening, I attended a service in honor of my son's Hebrew school teachers. At that gathering the rabbi reminded us that the weekend always arrives but that the Sabbath (which, as you may know, for Jews lasts 24 hours after Friday's sunset) must be invited. It has to be welcomed. That got me thinking about how busy we Chatterings stay on weekends and how valuable the Sabbath would be if we invited it into our home more deliberately. I take in moments of complete peace daily, but I know my life would be calmer, and I'd feel so blessed, if I observed a true Sabbath for a full day every week.
"For me, thankfulness and listening on the Sabbath involve breathing deeply, noticing sensory information, or just sitting and doing nothing," writes Lynne M. Baab, in her book "Sabbath Keeping: Finding Freedom in the Rhythms of Rest." She then describes a Christian man she knows who has been practicing a particular Sabbath discipline for twenty-five years. "For two hours he sits with pen and paper in hand, listening to God. When he hears something, he takes notes," she writes. That sounds lovely to me.
P.S. I'm taking a three-day Reiki training Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and will write up what I've learned later this week!
posted by Chattering Mind @ 11:58 PM | Permalink |
"Being is meditating twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Behavior as it is normally defined no longer exists... Accordngly, being is an optimal state. Plus, you're not just passively hanging around, letting things happen to you; you have momentum. And this momentum is a key ingredient of being; it is the process of becoming. That is, while being you're continuously becoming your core nature."
"I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights."
We know we should do one thing at a time. When chopping onions, for instance, it's best to chop with the whole mind, and not talk on the phone or listen to the radio. We also know it's best to dispense with all those "shoulds" hanging around--they don't uplift us, do they? No, "shoulds" tear us down.
But I should not have cooked seven organic eggs in water over a flame for seven hours last night. I could have done some serious harm. Where was my head? I'll tell you where: I was cleaning the kitchen, watching the tail-end of the "The Sopranos," and making a list of things to do, all at the same time. Then, in hopes of getting ahead on the packing of Monday's lunch for the boys, I thought at ten pm (just before checking my email) that a serving of egg salad in each thermos would be nice. How smart of me to start the project then! And when I lit the flame under the pot, I actually thought: mustn't forget. Then I did. And I awoke this morning a little before five to the most peculiar charcoal smell. What? Was my neighbor at his barbeque at this hour?
Strange how the mind works. Or fails to stay present until called to clean up a large mess. Thank goodness I'd gotten rid of all my Teflon pans. The fumes from an overnight burn like that would have killed our parakeets for sure. But the flame on last night's pot was on so low that the fumes never even stirred our smoke alarm. But now, I've got charred Farberware, and exploded egg shards on the floor, refrigerator, and kitchen walls. And there's a burned egg smell deep in the rugs. My hands and hair smell like smoke even now.
The lessons: Wake up, and then, once your reality is fathomed, hold no shame. I initially thought, 'Oh, my readers needn't know everything. A blogger covering meditative practice "should" be more aware, right?' But then I found a whole series of blog posts written by people who've burned their hard-boiled eggs down to nothing too! So I am not alone. My pal Laura, who cooks all the time, says, "Once you burn eggs, you'll never burn them again."
Do you multi-task? Teachers as varied as Shunryu Suzuki, Suze Orman, and Waverly Fitzgerald believe life is best savored one moment, one task, at a time. Can you go a week driving the car without the radio? Can you knit without music or TV? Can you walk without a cell phone at your ear? Can you shake a person's hand without worrying how you look?
Thanks to CM reader Daria for sending me the link to Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, an organization that helps parents of dying and deceased infants find volunteer photographers to capture their newborn and family free of charge--sometimes during the final hours or days of the baby's life. The images are so touching and unbelievable. And painful. The story of the group's two founders and their baby is here, and I too couldn't read the whole thing without crying.
"I will focus my energy on my true intentions. I will not be distracted by noise, chatter or setbacks. Patience, commitment, grace, and purpose will guide me."
Wedding season has begun! Did you know that August is the busiest month for weddings, with June a close second? This means that gossip-magazine moment is upon us--when the wedding party's personalities come out to strut. That's right, I'm talking wedding toasts, those often horrendous performances that cause time to halt and have you shaking your head for days afterward. How could the groom have so savagely mocked the social strivings of his new mother-in-law? Perhaps she was the dragon he had to slay. But how could the maid of honor have mentioned the bride's old flame? How many jokes about the groom's bad taste in neckties (before he was domesticated by the style-conscious bride) can anyone take? Where is the politeness, the sweet, sacred moment, the part when every guest weeps for joy that two people, each complete and comfortable within their own skin, have united as a greater whole? Is that part somehow reserved for the clergy?
There's too much to say on this topic. ("Cut your blog items in two! You run on too long!" scolds Mr. Chattering.) I've been on all sides of the wedding toast dilemma. I spent the first day of my own Barbados honeymoon weeping over a toast that was given by a college roommate. By winging it and being nervous, I've also botched a toast or two of my own. My most surreal moment was at a pre-wedding Big Sur bonfire roast, when I heckled one of the bride's drunk best friends when his toast became so obscene (grandparents and kids were there) that I could no longer listen to it. My intolerance, you see, may have stemmed from that unfortunate toast at my own wedding. "Oh, hurry it up. Other people want to go on!" I shouted from the shadows of majestic redwoods. He only paused. But a couple of people thanked me later for hastening him along. The next morning, the man's mother accosted me for interrupting her darling boy, and when it's all said and done, I learned not to heckle anyone again. Better to go off and fix your lipstick, or stay and watch it like the amazing HBO series that it is.
If you're straddled with toasting responsibilities yourself this summer, you can go online and find a canned quote that would be better than many of the wedding toasts you hear these days. I've found sites where you can pay a fee for wedding toast help, and though I haven't tried them, something tells me you're in reasonably decent hands. Wedding guests, I think, are so shell-shocked nowadays that you could recite anything sentimental, like this unattributed quote I found on a wedding toast site, and you'll get a huge, warm applause: "To the lamp of love--may it burn brightest in the darkest hours and never flicker in the winds of trial."
But you may want to push yourself a little more. My advice: Read Rumi. And Rilke. Write in your journal. Confront your own desire to tease or humiliate. What's going on within you when you feel drawn to reveal yourself in a negative light? Prepare. Rehearse. The act of giving a toast is enormously important. And when you sit down, you want to feel happily married to yourself, complete, in the face of a challenge that could have exaggerated your weaknesses, but didn't. Kahlil Gibran once wrote, "And think not, you can direct the course of love; for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course."
Let your love direct you, and you'll shine. Tell me your stories. What are your best and most ghastly wedding toast moments?
"Town & Country," the ultimate American "high society" magazine, has published a marvelous tribute to the "power of philanthropy" for the second year in a row, really demonstrating how socially conscious and helpful a glossy, jewelry-ad-backed magazine can be. In the June issue, you'll find a vibrant package that includes the struggle to revive New Orleans; Michael J. Fox's and Tracy Pollan's continued fund-raising for Parkinson's research; and Jerry Seinfeld's wife Jessica (who looks like the kind of gal you could laugh with over a cup a tea) on her successful New York-based charity Baby Buggy, which gets infant-care supplies and clothes to needy moms. The Seinfeld's little boo-boo (a boy named Shepherd) is pictured and he's cute too.
Place a piece of jasper, preferably green, on the stomach of the birthing mother. Placing your hands lightly over the stone, say the following:
Pain was here, feel it fade, Come little one, be not afraid. Pain was here, now fades away, Come little one, greet the day.
Place the stone near the mother, or let her hold it while repeating the chant, picturing the pain fading away easier and faster with each contraction, while welcoming the baby into the world.
posted by Chattering Mind @ 11:55 PM | Permalink |
I'm sitting at my desk eating Himalania organic sundried goji berries. They're coral-red, raisin-like berries that you can soak in tea, cook into breads, and blend into smoothies. But I'm munching them out of the package, three or four at a time.
"Harvested with care by monks for nearly 5,000 years, this sacred fruit has been legendary in Tibetan and Chinese medicine," the package says. Rich in anti-aging agents and cancer-inhibiting antioxidants, gojis "facilitate the flow of vitality" (including sexuality). One 28-gram serving (oops, I'd happily consumed two servings before noticing this) contains 170 percent of a day's vitamin A requirement. The same serving size also provides 12 percent of the day's iron.
Gojis taste a tad like tiny dried plums, and like green tea or a small glass of pomegranate juice (both of which I now consume steadily), they leave your mouth and teeth feeling clean. They're available at most health food stores, but if you can't find them in your area, here's another vendor . And here's a link to goji berry recipes. At this place you can learn to grow your own gojis! Once you taste them, you'll realize that they're in your life for good.
NOTE: Just as I was polishing up these paragraphs, I flipped back to yesterday's blog item on fibromyalgia (I do go back in to read what you guys are sayin', you know) and read a post about how much gojis relieved one woman's chronic muscle pain and inflammation! So I guess we're really on to something here.
As the voice of a loving friend, I insist that you take time off this summer, not to vacation, but just to be by yourself. That's right, just you and you. I happen to know you have a sufficient number of voices in your head to keep you plenty busy.
Last July, I benefited greatly from the five nights I slept by myself in an eight-by-eight-foot hillside hut with a floor-to-ceiling screen door along one wall. I ate simple, whole foods, met with a Sufi meditation teacher for instruction at dawn, held my yoga poses for twenty to thirty minutes each, rowed a boat, swam in a lake, and saw woodland creatures I still can't identify. Mink? Ferrets? Fox? I'll never know. Then at night, the sky was navy ink, the stars were pure and vivid, and thousands of fireflies rose up to my hill to play. I was contained head-to-foot in twinkling light. You just don't get that in your usual American Express ad. I was in heaven. I know what it's like.
Here's a link to an article about large spiritual retreat centers that should get you motivated to plan your own days of spiritual development this summer. Or uou can look here for religious retreat centers. And this site, which organizes centers by faith, can help you narrow it down. I wrote this for Beliefnet on how to have a spiritual summer. Stare at your calendar. Enroll in a seminar that will nudge you to a different level. Or vow to stay silent for a couple of days. Just develop a plan, and ask all of your selves to show up on time. Post your own retreat stories here, and tell us where you're planning to go next. How have your moments alone changed your life?
Yesterday a CM reader mentioned the debilitating pain and suffering of fibromyalgia. I'm aware of this disease because until recently my older sister has been under the cloud of it for four years--immersed in pain, aggravation, and worry. "If I have to live in this body for the rest of my life," she once said at the height of the illness, "I don't want to live very long." After trying myriad conventional and alternative methods of healing and pain management, a few months ago she tested the water-drinking therapy of Fereydoon Batmanghelidj, M.D. and, surprisingly, found her symptoms ease slightly.
Dr. B.'s most noted book, which I've recommended here before, is called "Water: For Health, for Healing, for Life: You're Not Sick, You're Thirsty!". His website contains helpful information--but please read the book first. I'm not comfortable with the idea of you drinking eight to ten glasses of water a day without following his specific instructions.
Unfortunately, Dr. B. died of pneumonia in his seventies, and like many people with good ideas, he set himself up for criticism by zealously claiming that virtually every disease known to man, birds, and monkeys (almost) was affiliated with chronic dehydration. Here's a link to his interview on how hydration can relieve chronic allergies. It of course begs the question: Why didn't his water habit let him live longer? I guess the lesson is that nothing cures everybody all of the time (no, Abe Lincoln didn't say exactly that).
But the water cure is certainly worth a try, especially with the support of fellow drinkers available by phone through the website. After eight steady months of drinking eight to ten glasses of water a day, and detoxing with a recommended amount of sea salt, my sister reports that she has cut her pain medication from six pills to four and sometimes goes hours without thinking about fibromyalgia. That, as sufferers know, is progress. She also says that her skin glows and she's sleeping better; she looks forward to cutting her meds further.
Drinking ample quantities of water is good for everyone, even the healthy. But pass this humble tip along to those you feel might most benefit from it!
I wrote of Eve Ensler's body acceptance campaign last week, and echoed the notion that everyone should love their rounded mid-sections (men, don't stop reading here--your belly is not exempt). While it's true that belly acceptance is a good first step, you shouldn't allow your stomach to splay over the great Southwest. Some attention to the body's core--the seat of your emotional responses, reproductive history, and deepest convictions--is necessary. The country's warm and recent embrace of Pilates, a yoga-influenced exercise method, perhaps speaks to how badly we needed tummy toning instead of that insipid, impermanent, sometimes dangerous procedure known as the "tummy tuck" (whoops, there I go with my aversions again).
CM reader Laurie Sue Brockway suggests addressing the emotional and physical needs of the belly through a new book (guys, this is where I will lose you), "The Woman's Belly Book" written by a former Kripalu yoga instructor named Lisa Sarasohn, a.k.a. "The Belly Queen."
"Sarasohn sees the belly as the site of women's soul power and connection to 'Source Energy,'" wrote a Publisher's Weekly reviewer. Apparently, Sarasohn "presents seven belly-energizing exercises that make up "The Gutsy Women's Workout," designed to increase the seven soul qualities: vitality, pleasure, confidence, compassion, creativity, intuition and purpose."
I've just ordered a copy because I'm realizing that I can't go to exercise classes anymore lamenting the fact that I've "just had a baby." (The guys are nine and twelve.) Want to unite with me in a Tummy Pride (and care) campaign?
posted by Chattering Mind @ 10:47 AM | Permalink |
Well, thank goodness for the high-speed Internet access in most hotels these days, for I'm sitting by my lonesome in a Holiday Inn. It's eleven o'clock at night, and after reading and sipping spring water in the Columbia, South Carolina, airport for five hours this evening, my flight back to New York was cancelled due to weather-related delays. When the pilot announced these grim tidings, many passengers whipped out their cellphones to relate to loved ones how shabbily the airline was treating them. The woman next to me was understandably in a high state of nerves since she and her husband were scheduled to close on an apartment in New York tomorrow morning. A nanny from Connecticut called her boss to say that--whoops--she wouldn't be able to take the kids to school and dance class tomorrow.
At a Parliament of Religions confab in Chicago in 1893, Swami Vivekananda became the first Hindu saint to bring India's ancient spiritual wisdom and yoga practices to the West. That's more than a hundred years ago! And when you connect, as I did, to the ardor of this man's teachings, you'll understand why a mere change of flight plans didn't shake my reality. Master Vivekananda once said:
"All these small ideas that [you are] a man or a woman, sick or healthy, strong or weak, or that [you] hate or love or have little power, are but hallucinations. Stand up then. Know that every thought and word that weakens you in this world is the only evil that exists. Whatever makes us weak and fearful is the only evil that should be shunned. Stand as a rock; you are the Infinite Sprit. Say, 'I am Existence Absolute, Bliss Absolute, Knowledge Absolute, I am He,' and like a lion breaking its cage, break your chains and be free forever."
I eventually had to pause this heady delirium to phone Mr. C. and say that Bliss Absolute wouldn't be home until tomorrow, and that he'd have to pack school lunches again for the charming young Chatterings.
posted by Chattering Mind @ 11:04 PM | Permalink |
I've been following Patty Lemer's writings on autism spectrum disorders for years. Lemer is the co-founder of Developmental Delay Resources, a non-profit organization integrating conventional and holistic therapies for children with sensory-system challenges. Years ago, without payment or complaint, she spent forty-five minutes on the phone with me discussing therapy options for one son whose motor development was unconventional at the time (but who now relishes swimming, diving, and choreographed stage-fighting lessons).
Here's an excerpt from an article by Lemer on watching her own daughter's efforts to grow a healthy baby. Wow. Look at this--
"Comparing my daughter’s experience as a pregnant woman to mine over 30 years ago boggles my mind. Her pregnancy is planned, mechanically monitored and managed. Prior to conception, she checked her thyroid function and completed a detoxification program. She has been eating a mostly organic, gluten- and dairy-free diet, and practicing yoga and Pilates. Over-the-counter vitamins are supplemented by high quality EFAs, extra iron from nettle tea and other important nutrients. She uses non-toxic alternatives for pest control and household cleaners, switched to an aluminum-free deodorant, and has avoided nail salons and beauty parlors...[my daughter and son-in-law] have read up on vaccines and their ingredients, and are purchasing toxin-free bedding, paint and flooring. This precautionary behavior is the culmination of all I have learned about possible causes and treatments for autism and related delays. I am confident that by living in a healthy fashion, she and others of her generation can prevent their children from having autism. If only more prenatal classes, obstetricians and pediatricians shared this perspective."
This month's "Vanity Fair" features a long profile of TV personality Anderson Cooper and includes a photograph of CNN's hottest correspondent working on the bed of a New Orleans hotel room with his portable computer resting on his outstretched thighs. Who would worry about this kind of working position as much as I do? Louis Slesin, Ph.D., that's who. He's the man behind the information-rich website MicrowaveNews.com, and he believes that until we know more about the health consequences of working with a computer actually resting on the body, even Anderson Cooper shouldn't try it. Read his views here in the article, "Keep That Laptop Off Your Lap."
Minutest of the feathered kind, Possessing every charm combined, Nature, in forming thee, designed A proof within how little space She can comprise such perfect grace, Rendering the lovely; fairy race
In her latest play "The Good Body," "Vagina Monologue" playwright Eve Ensler lifts her shirt to reveal her own "flabby, post-40 stomach" to a grateful audience. In the June issue of "O," on page 217, Ensler does the same thing. Her belly is soft, not Kate Moss's, but it is not an unattractive thing. And that is Ensler's point: that the pursuit of a perfect physique is driving us all crazy and should, in fact, be over, kaput, a non-issue in 2006. Here's one of the many vivid paragraphs she writes:
"Hating one's body is an all-consuming occupation and a dangerous distraction. It is an addiction. As we spend our days focusing on our thighs and butts, thousands die in Iraq, 37 million live below the poverty line in American.... In our isolated pursuit of thinness or the perfect body, we give up our power, our vision, our rights. We abandon a world that is in desperate need of our attention."
And later: "Love your body. Take back the world."
On the next page, you'll find an interview with meditation teacher/psychologist Tara Brach on how to relate to your body and detach from your critical self-assessments. So many women are paralyzed by internal chatter about how attractive they--and the women around them--are. Thanks to "O" for devoting space to this hugely important issue.
posted by Chattering Mind @ 12:26 AM | Permalink |
Mother's Day is not easy for those whose moms didn't "deliver," or for those whose moms are dead. Here's a user-generated article from Beliefnet.com's Mother's Day package, helpful to those feeling distanced from the upcoming commemoration on Sunday.
My own mother was wonderfully complicated. Sexy, funny, artistic...clank! Then unreasonable and remote. I had a dream about her once that really helps clarify my experience of being with her. (Dreams are such wonderful gifts, don't you think?) In the dream, I'm a little girl again, standing near dark velvet curtains on the periphery of a Broadway-sized stage. My mother is under a spotlight, on her hands and knees, at center stage, frantically sanding the floor. She is working so hard. And when I timidly step out onto the stage, my mother turns and yells: "Get off! Get off the stage! Can't you see I'm sanding it?"
Oh. Okay. There was no way to relieve her suffering, or share her space.
I think about this dream when I am compelled to empty the dishwasher instead of playing a board game with my kids. I know I can be guilty of the same sort of mom-ish "hey I'm busy here!" But I'm learning to hew less hard to this inherited character trait. Hard to do, but definitely possible.
Let's not sand the stage, ladies, shall we? It's a big stage and no one should sand it by themselves. Or sand it at all. Ever again.
posted by Chattering Mind @ 10:44 PM | Permalink |
I think you'll like this essay by Katherine Ozment, a mom who reflects on the day her small son served as ring boy at a gay wedding. LiteraryMama.com, the online lit mag that published this piece, is always brimming with great mom stuff. I haven't mentioned it before because you have to poke around the site to find the spiritual content, but it's in there.
And from Beliefnet.com, here's a swell round up of new "real mom" books.
posted by Chattering Mind @ 10:38 PM | Permalink |
In the airport last night, on my way to South Carolina to visit my dad, I purchased the latest copies of "O" (Oprah's magazine) and "Spa." My chattering assumption (I could hear it loud and clear) was that in "Spa" I might find fodder for a blog item that would shed light on--and perhaps even poke fun at--how the highly affluent live. As an instinctive liberal, I struggle with all kinds of anti-Republican, anti-rich-people assumptions even though I was raised in privileged only-the-best-for-my-kid circumstances.
As we head into elections this fall, it's important for us to identify these "thought paths," these ways of being flat, snobby, filled with you-can't-convince-me-otherwise assumptions (and oh, how I wish the other side would do the same thing). Even when we're on a spiritual path, these compassion-less thoughts occur (often phrased in our heads in a babyish syntax); as I reached for "Spa" magazine, my chattering thought was "rich people are bad." A more refined translation of what I was thinking might be: "People who have the income to habitually hang out in spas are generally self-indulgent and irresponsible."
Well, as the divine-guide-who-always-shakes-me-into-awareness would have it, the May/June "Spa" is a really good read, and it's not just for rich people. And if some of its readers happen to be well-manicured and superficial, this magazine seems to yearn to deepen them! (Do I still sound smug and superior? I'm trying not to be.) As I read "Spa" on the airplane, I tore out and ear-marked page after page. I noticed an ad for great sandals by Aravon, a company I'd never heard of. There's also a wonderful interview with Buddhist authority Robert Thurman in which he expounds on how he and others are turning the Menla Mountain Retreat Center in upstate New York into the "country's first Tibetan destination spa."
The magazine also has resources for really good yoga clothes, as well as fine information on which sunscreens and sunglasses are best. And of course, it features glorious photographs of the world's most peaceful places that only lucky rich people can go to regularly, but that I might dream of visiting one day, some day. While the magazine doesn't go out of its way to tell you how to try any spa treatments at home, you do get ideas (like how hard would it be to take a bath with a few small orchids?)
I don't know if it's a must-subscribe, but I'm placing it on my list and will keep you posted on what lies within.
Tomorrow: Eve Ensler's fabulous "O" essay on giving up body hatred! It will bend your world view!
Imagine inviting a friend into your home for a visit and a long talk. Then imagine serving something as beautiful as these hand-tied tea blossoms in a clear mug of hot water. You could be discussing the saddest thing: a divorce, an illness, death, or mishap. But the tea would revive and uplift you both. You might even just sit there and discuss how beautiful the tea is! Isn't it glorious how tea always brings us into the present moment?
Will David Blaine's breath-holding stunt encourage others to explore the yogi-like ability to slow down the heartbeat, still their metabolism, and stay super calm? Or is there a masochistic character to the man's pranks? Is he shortening his life? Or is the endurance artist like a moth that must fly into the flame? I'm thinking that Blaine's exploration of confinement reveals a complicated preoccupation with death and nothingness. What do you think?
We let the young Chatterings stay up the other night to see if David Blaine could hold his breath under water for nine minutes (who knew ABC's program would run on until 10 p.m.?). Next morning: uh-oh. Younger Chattering woke up and announced he still had some homework to finish. Actually he'd told me that before he went to bed, but I'd forgotten and I let him sleep until seven. Tears, panic. Remarks like "Now there's not enough time! Everything's ruined!" were only silenced when I turned on Steven Halpern's "Music for Accelerated Learning." Wow. Then the homework just happened. All done. The formlessness of the music relaxes everyone. We even got to school on time.
I upset a reader last Sunday with my post that said that while I favor natural medicines to conventional ones, I am trying not to judge those who go the conventional route because I've come to see that mood-altering medicines for depression and sleeplessness "may have" a role. I wish now I'd said, "have a role," because of course they do. But this isn't the first time I've angered someone over these types of questions. Once, after writing that putting children on Ritalin before all food dyes and additives have been removed from their diet was a "national tragedy" (I do get passionate about these things), a close friend wrote me a long, rather furious letter about why Ritalin was the right choice for her nine-year-old and that she didn't need me to lay a stigma on him.
I sent the most recent CM exchange to Frances Stahnke, director of a yoga studio in Northern Virginia, and a friend who has taught me (over a period of about twenty years) much of what I know about Chinese herbs, bodywork, and homeopathy. In my note to Fran, I even confessed to more than I'd posted here: that I have an aversion to doctors who won't consider complementary approaches. And in Frances's wisdom, she wrote this:
"When we have an aversion, even an opinion that we firmly believe in, it separates us from other fellow human beings. It puts up an 'ego' wall. This sends the message 'No compassion here, due to my opinion.' And the ego stops the flow of the heart, which is the ego's goal. My students often ask, 'How will I know if it is my ego influencing a situation?' I answer, 'The ego is that which does not smile,' which is something I learned from one of my teachers. Watch for it. I see all things as gifts of the divine and there have been times that I have used Motrin or antibiotics and been so thankful for their creation."
Thank you, Frances. And thanks to Daria who affirms what I'd said in my initial blog post: "There's a big difference between a temporary disequilibrium like a cold, an ache, or a sad spell, and a deep-rooted illness, like depression or cancer. For these, a holistic, multi-disciplinary approach is often used, and medication satisfies a legitimate need."
posted by Chattering Mind @ 11:56 PM | Permalink |
When I look back on the days when I was either nursing or carrying my children constantly, I remember two things: The way Mr. Chattering would rush home to help me (since he's generally worked in offices and I've mostly worked from home), and the life-saving humor of my women's group--mothers I'd met at the playground who then gathered in homes, for three hours every other week.
The website HolisticMoms.com is a virtual group and meeting place that publishes a good newsletter and helps women interested in holistic childrearing practices find like-minded pals. Take a glance at their frequently-asked question page to get a better feel for this helpful group!
Today, I noodled around a website called GreenHome.com, and I realized, quite frankly, that I'm not as green as I like to think. Green Home markets a vast collection of hard-to-find products, all environmentally sound. I like the site's no-frills atmosphere, and the way it seems to widen the field of what's sustainable or good for the earth--including underwear (made of cotton that was never sprayed with pesticides), formaldehyde-free carpet, drain cleaners, shoes (love these), and janitorial cleaning supplies. Start noodling. You may spend more money on these products (though some aren't any more expensive), but I doubt you'll regret it.
Every time I go to synagogue with my husband and kids, one or two passages will leap off the prayer book page and touch me deeply. Here's one I gravitated toward last Friday at Temple Beth Elohim, on the eve of my nephew's bar mitzvah:
"In this circle of hope, in the presence of the sacred, may the heart come to know itself and its best, finding a fresh impulse to love the good."
Has anything happened recently to make you feel stuck in an unpleasant place? We live in an era when so many medicines are available to help us escape hardship: drugs for sleeplessness, anxiety, to alter heartache of grief. After years of disapproving of people who use such medicines, I'm seeing that drugs may have a place. I'm trying not to judge, at any rate. BUT I still gravitate toward natural systems that can help our bodies move through, or ease, everyday struggle.
So I enjoyed reading the chapter on "Emotional Emergencies" in the recently released book "The Yoga of the Nine Emotions: The Tantric Practice of Rasa Sadhana" by Peter Marchand. The teachings revealed here are based on lectures from Indian guru Harish Johari, and the lessons, I have to say, pertain more to mood than serious mental illness. But here are some ways to change the body's "chemistry" next time you find yourself falling down a dark and dingy rabbit hole.
When angry, Harish Johari advises: "Take a relatively cold shower, drink several glasses of cool water, and chew some green cardamom seeds." Stop eating meals until the anger is gone.
For fear or anxiety, the guru advises eating fresh ginger and drinking lemon juice in water. For sadness, a good cry helps release the sad energy. "Rinse the eyes afterward with cool water or rose water. Chew some fenugreek leaves and saffron or eat a light sweet dish that contains one or both of these spices." When depressed, try eating a good amount of fresh ginger and drink fruit juices.
Oh, that's folkloric, outmoded tripe, some might say. But I honor this type of simple advice because in each instance, the recipe requires pausing to care for the self through a system or ritual. There's no rush to the doctor or the medicine cabinet. And there's much more to the chapter, actually, with advice on how not to identify or attach to negative emotion. When depressed, for instance, it is best to visualize happiness, find positive imagery, and not tape a sign to your forehead that says "Pathetic. Hopeless. Terminal." That's my paraphrase, not the guru's wording.
posted by Chattering Mind @ 11:42 AM | Permalink |
"Anger does not require hostile acting out. First and foremost, it is a physiological process to be experienced. Second, it has cognitive value--it provides essential information. Since anger does not exist in a vacuum, if I feel anger it must be in response to some perception on my part. It may be a response to loss or the threat of it in a personal relationship, or it may signal a real or threatened invasion of my boundaries. I am greatly empowered without harming anyone if I permit myself to experience the anger and to contemplate what may have triggered it. Depending on circumstances, I may choose to manifest the anger in some way or to let go of it. The key is that I have not suppressed the experience of it. I may choose to display my anger as necessary in words or in deeds, but I do not need to act it out in a driven fashion as uncontrolled rage. Healthy anger leaves the individual, not the unbridled emotion, in charge."
Regarding my frantic search for lip balm, I got this nice post from CM reader Ursula. Thanks!
Einstein says 'God is in the details,' and your experience in finding the lip balm just as you were about giving up is spiritually significant. I'm horribly disorganized and lack the self-discipline to change that one little flaw. The almost daily experiences of searching for something keeps me humble and then the thrill of finding it gives me a reason to shout out "THANK YOU, GOD." I see it as God's way of getting me attention, and He succeeds every time. Often I find other equally important things that I didn't know I had misplaced, a little bonus. Somewhere I have a magnet that says 'Those of you who keep a clean desk don't know the thrill of finding something that was lost forever.' Hope you all find something meaningful in your lives today! It's out there. God is in the details and reveals himself through synchronistic often mundane events.
My lips have been chapped for a couple of days, and I've been feeling too busy to do anything about it. I tried tiny fingertip doses of cocoa butter and moisturizing cream, but nope, nothing but lip balm will do at times like these. Searched my purse. No Chapstick (sometimes I get lucky). Then I searched the bathroom shelf where cosmetics and do-dahs are waiting for me to organize them. Rattle, peer, paw, search, gosh, darn. Nothing. I decided that I'd have to make a special trip to a drug store, and that frustrated me terrifically.
Then the drawer I was pawing through got stuck and wouldn't retreat to its proper place. Gee whiz, can't catch a break. Then the stress turned global: Nothing in this house works. I can't handle simple tasks. If I could just reach back, and grab whatever's keeping this miserable drawer from sliding. Oh, I got it. What is this?
Lip balm. Stuck behind the drawer was a fresh tube of lip balm. Awash with gratitude, I realized that the thing annoying me was actually the object of my search. Do you ever have experiences like that?
I asked you to send me your spiritual quandaries, and got some fine ones. CM reader Kathy wrote of the subtle but vicious power struggles within the leadership of her metaphysical church. You don't need the particulars. But something tells me her sentiments aren't all that uncommon, since religious institutions--like families and companies--are organizational systems.
"I put out love, and it didn't reach its target. The whole situation...ruined the church for me. I didn't want to infect other parishioners with my negativity," Kathy writes.
This book has great chapter headings, such as "What Shall it Profit a Parish if it Gets over the Hump but Falls Into the Abyss?" and "Do Not Go Gently Into That Glob of Glue." It is healing to know that experts are out there addressing these questions and that you will, in time, use your experience to find a suitable spiritual home that will uplift and inspire you.
"Practicing on only one level of your being will not enlighten all of you. If you just meditate, your psychodynamic 'junk' will not automatically go away. If you just meditate, your job or your relationship with your spouse will not automatically get better. On the other hand, if you only do psychotherapy, do not think that you will be relieved from the burden of death and terror. Render unto Freud what is Freud’s, and render unto Buddha what is Buddha’s. And best of all, render unto the Divine all of yourself, by engaging all that you are."
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure," begins the famous quote recently used so effectively in the whole-family movie "Akeelah and the Bee." Print it out! Hang it up. Cry when you read it. But do you know who wrote it? I'll tell you after I let those unfamiliar with the passage digest the whole thing.
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."
After the full Chattering clan saw "Akeelah" last weekend, I unwittingly perpetuated a common falsehood: "That quote is from Nelson Mandela," I said. Nobody knows how the author-identity confusion started, but Williamson wrote the famous passage for her book "A Return to Love"; she straightens out the confusion here for good.
"Movie Mom" Nell Minow interviewed "Akeelah and the Bee" producer/actor Laurence Fishburne for Beliefnet.com, and the Williamson quote came up in conversation. Here's an excerpt:
Minow: The film makes great use of Marianne Williamson’s wonderful quote, “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.” Is there a quote that particularly inspires you?
Laurence Fishburne: In our garden, we have this quotation from Florence Scoville Shinn, a predecessor of Williamson’s: “Nothing is too good to be true, nothing is too good to last, nothing is too wonderful to happen." The Williamson quote is wonderful. Those are the messages that we need to communicate to all young people as soon and often as possible--those kind of affirmations, those kind of statements, those kind of powerful ideas that give people hope.
Minow: What is your faith background and what is the role of spirituality in your life?
Fishburne: I’m making it up as I go along. I love God and God loves me. Beyond that, I’m just making it up as I go along.
Sam Harris, author of "The End of Faith," is the new face of American atheism. Even though I don't buy his whole argument, he makes fascinating points. Plus, he's cool, charismatic. And he meditates! See him lament the incompatible claims of the world's religions on Comedy Central's "Colbert Report." Harris says he "trusts in conversation" more than God, and hopes for a world free of religious zealotry. If you can't download the program, a printed transcript appears at Raging Atheist. And Harris's blog on the Huffington Post is worth reading even though he hasn't hasn't added much lately.
It is not the language of painters but the language of nature which one should listen to...The feeling for the things themselves, for reality, is more important than the feeling for pictures.
"Is your mom mom-ish?" I overheard my older son ask another boy once. When he said it, I felt my own mom-ishness presented to me as a high concept. One wouldn't want to be too mom-ish, would one? A little mom-ishness goes a long way. But now the most mom-ish of all days is approaching. May 14 is Mom-ish, I mean Mother's Day.
As you cast around for gift ideas, you might want to glance at a website my friend (and first editor!) Carol Edgar showed me. Holy Orders solely markets merchandise made by people in monastic orders. On its homepage an animated nun on a tractor will greet you, an icon that nicely captures this website's sweet spirit.
Anyway, the most mom-ish item here is this handkerchief with "Bless You" embroidered on it! But poke around here to find other goodies, some of them edible.
In her latest nutritional newsletter, New York-based health and wellness expert Myra Klockenbrink encouraged people to visit their neighborhood grassy areas to pick young, serrated dandelion greens. She included a recipe for sautéing the greens with minced onion (or shallot), cubed red beets, sea salt, and an olive-oil-and-raspberry-vinegar dressing with walnut garnish. "Congratulate yourself," she wrote. "You have touched the ground, and eaten from it."
I wrote her right back to say, in essence, "Myra, are you crazy? We're in New York City. I wouldn't eat the dandelions from any park or even my own back yard." Here's her clever response. I have to admit, it made me think:
"I think that, overall, our parks are under-utilized. And foraging away from path edges and obvious pollution would mitigate any pathogens from being brought home. A good rinse and a good cook and they are probably more nutritious than much of our wantonly sprayed and manhandled produce. And if your backyard is dog-free, why not? The earth is the earth. Produce grown in a monoculture field is no more holy than a backyard, methinks. It's just that we are so separated from where our food comes from that we have become conditioned to have it handed down to us."
The gorgeous blessing I published yesterday turns out to be Irish. That's not too surprising, is it? And in response to one reader's question, a lintel is a horizontal structural beam that spans any architectural opening, usually a door. Here and here are some nice old examples. A rooftree is not a pretty tree that hangs over your roof, it's a beam to which other roof beams attach. Visit here and scroll down to see an old photograph of a church's rooftree being raised. Lovely.
My friend Frances Stahnke, director of the a yoga studio in Northern Virginia, wrote me with the following morning meditation and blessing, which she says came to her "on the spirit airways" Monday morning. You may recite it or think it as you bless the four directions, facing each direction in turn with open arms:
I am the Goddess of the north, bringing love, and the potential of all things.
I am the Goddess of the east, the joy of what is.
I am the Goddess of the south, that which is no longer seen but is felt, letting go into freedom.
I am the Goddess of the west, bringing forth reconciliation, some call it healing.
I am the Goddess of the north, bringing love and the potential of all things.
posted by Chattering Mind @ 12:32 PM | Permalink |
I like the old-fashioned idea of hanging a framed prayer or poem near a home's entrance to bless the house, so I was happy to find this hand-written blessing that's probably sixty years old at a Brooklyn flea market this past Saturday. I've seen the following verse on plaques before, but never written it down. You can type it in a fancy font and print it for yourself or anyone moving into a new house. It's a goodie.
God bless the corners of this house And be the lintel blest; And bless the hearth and bless the board, And bless each place of rest; And bless the door that opens wide, To stranger as to kin; And bless each crystal window pane That lets the starlight in; And bless the rooftree overhead And every sturdy wall; The peace of man, the peace of God, The peace of love on all.
If you love this sort of thing as much as I do, you should know that June Cotner, author of several books on blessings and prayers, has a whole text of verse for the home:"House Blessings."
Yesterday, I was standing in the elevator of Bloomingdale's Manhattan flagship store with a red-headed saleswoman who had sold me a pair of earrings ten minutes earlier.
"I actually came here to buy something to wear to my nephew's bar mitzvah," I said to her, "but I'm striking out badly. I need something sort of churchy and business-y but also a little sexy."
"Have you been to the third floor?"
"I have searched the third floor, and tried things on, but you guys are so fashion-forward--with cut away shoulders and sleeves and stuff--that I can't find anything appropriate."
Bing! The elevator stopped, and the saleswoman lifted her hand to her mouth to hide this whispered state secret: "Try Lord & Taylor!"
One thing great about getting older: You realize that clothes don't matter. The cut, the style, the trendiness of whatever you've got on, BLAH! Those things don't influence what you telegraph. ALL of them are subservient to...to what? Can you guess?
COLOR. Color is everything. Have you hit upon this grand realization yet? The color you're wearing can determine if it's going to be a good day or a bad day. Gather your friends and have them tell you, if you don't know, what colors bring out the best in you. What colors make you soar through space, or feel spiritually aligned and radiant?
You may not be the best judge. Most people aren't. But once discovered, the right color is right. It is holy. It releases your essence.
With help, I have boiled my colors down to hot coral-orange and icy turquoise blue. It's one or the other, generally not both together. And I'm trying hard to get out of black, changing my neutral base to a color in my hair: kind of a taupe-y olive or khaki. I look back on the days when I wore red, burgundy, navy, or ivory and I see confusion. My old colors now tell me the sad news that I didn't know who I was. But I had to go through all those colors to get to where I am now.
And I still relapse. Now and then, I'll pull something out of my closet--say, an ivory V-neck top that looks good with my ivory beaded flea-market cardigan. And I'll think in my chattering way: "I shouldn't have to wear bright colors every day of the week, right?" Wrong. By four o'clock in the afternoon, I gaze at my pallid porcelain self in the mirror and I say: "Ooops! Mistake! You lost yourself today! Tomorrow I will choose to glow again!"
Chattering Mind is a blog on motherhood, aging, health and healing, yoga, whole foods, spiritual music, meditation, as well as the struggle to manage time and clutter.
Read more about writer Amy Cunningham.
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I wrote of Eve Ensler's body acceptance campaign last week, and echoed the notion that everyone should love their rounded mid-sections (men, don't stop reading here--your belly is not exempt). While it's true that belly acceptance is a good first step, you shouldn't allow your stomach to splay over the great Southwest. Some attention to the body's core--the seat of your emotional responses, reproductive history, and deepest convictions--is necessary. The country's warm and recent embrace of Pilates, a yoga-influenced exercise method, perhaps speaks to how badly we needed tummy toning instead of that insipid, impermanent, sometimes dangerous procedure known as the "tummy tuck" (whoops, there I go with my aversions again). 
