World Peace by Puppies and Potatoes

My gripe about BBC World News (1 PM on NPR) is that its coverage on the Arab Spring is quite extensive – sometimes a little bit too much. For a person who shuns television, my connection to world events and news is 80% NPR, 10% TIME, and 10% the occasional online news (including Weekend Update with Seth Meyers - seriously!). I love journalism in its many forms and I have a fondness for NPR/BBC/APM journalists. News is not known to be a popular source of happy emotions, however. It is very telling of human behavior that only what bleeds leads.

I have been contemplating lately what an extremely despicable, dreadful thing war is. It’s heart-wrenching to hear about the thousands and thousands of voices suppressed, of lives lost… all faceless and nameless to me, yet somewhere, their lives are being mourned by those who loved them and meant the world to them. I cannot bear to imagine what it would be like to lose a child, a brother, a best friend to atrocities caused by war. Is it really necessary to kill and annihilate?

The question then becomes – what do you do?

I say go for an afternoon run with a smile in your heart, stopping to appreciate the beauty around you. If you pass by a litter of four seven week old puppies that are just the softest, sweetest things, stop to purr and scratch ears. Let them chew on your shoelaces.

I’m being serious.

The Dalai Lama is an advocate and ambassador of peace the world over. If you ask him what he would do, his answer probably won’t be very far from mine. The only way we can spread peace (and love and joy and cartwheels) is if we cultivate it within first. If we know it so intimately and touch it and dwell in it, the rest just takes care of itself. (Maybe?)

That “space” is elusive, but it is THERE. It exists, if you quiet yourself enough to allow it. I will not claim to live “there”, but I know for a fact and without any trace of doubt that the more you allow the equanimity and compassion into your own internal life, the more apparent this truth becomes. Every opportunity for “it” exists in our daily lives. You don’t need to retreat to the mountains for weeks of solitude to find it (but maybe it helps). It is in folding kitchen towels (just ask Sylvia Boorstein). It is in the bath when you indulge yourself in a little more “me” time. It is in front of you, on your dinner plate. It is in presence (or the attempt at it) in all you do. Take five minutes to yourself each day to just empty yourself and feel things. See what happens.

I have had the luxury of nights alone this week. I am cooking more healthy vegetarian meals and getting my summer routine going again. Last night, after running my usual two miles (and cuddling the puppies when I ran into them), I sat at the dinner table and took a bite of my dinner. And there “it” was. In the potatoes. I bit into it and I just tasted so intensely all the love everyone (including me!) put into growing, transporting, selling, cutting, cooking the potato. It was sweet and full of the good stuff I cannot even put words to. I’m telling you. It was ridiculous.

And so begins my personal crusade - World Peace by puppies and potatoes.

Namaste.

The Best Things in Life are Free

First Time

Some of my friends find amusement in my “innocence”. I call it naivete, which is a lot of times, co-mingled with an unassuming approach on people. Even after almost five years in this country, I still find plenty of things that stimulate wonder, surprise and questions. There are still too many things I have yet to do, discover and explore. And they are not even the things-to-do-before-you-keel-over type either. They are probably the simple things non-foreigners could easily take for granted.

I spent the latter part of the beautiful Sunday afternoon hanging out with friends carving pumpkins. I could not have imagined a more perfect day to pop my pumpkin-carving cherry. It had been raining all day and the wind was howling as I ran to Peter’s front door. They were standing by the counter and have already started cleaning out their pumpkins (and drinking their beers). Marley ran up to greet me wanting to slobber all over my face. Peter had a wood fire going and music playing. Oh yeeah, this is going to be good.

I’m glad that nobody coddled me or offered to cut up my pumpkin for me. It made the experience entirely mine. Somewhere in between eating cheese pizza, dissing Minnesota’s pumpkin-carving talent (or lack thereof!) and joshing around, Peter started playing this lewd standup MP3 by this comedian Nick Something or Other. A snippet of the interesting conversation:

“Trish, does this inappropriate conversation offend you? We can listen to something else.”

“What do you mean? I’m not as innocent as you think!”

“Well, it’s just that Minnesota said….”

“What?”

“That you’re kind of….”

“Ugh. I don’t want to know.”

“I know you don’t drink beer, but can I get you a drink?”

“Do you have soda?”

He looks in the fridge, shuffles bottles around…

“Umm.. no… I wish I had milk or something.”

“Milk?!? I’m not a little kid!”

That is just HILARIOUS. And the funnier thing is they weren’t being mean about it. They were seriously being respectful and going out of their way to make sure that they don’t do or say anything that will make me uncomfortable. It was rather sweet in their genuineness and intentions not to offend.

In a couple hours, we were done! Behold our masterpiece (mine's the little monster on the far right):

It had gotten dark by the time we had finished. The room was only lit by the fireplace and our jack-o-lanterns. We all sat on the couch, childish grins on our faces, mesmerized by the fire while the wind howled and the leaves rustled outside.

Later that night, I walked into my house with the heavy pumpkin in my arms which I’ve decided I would give as a present to my friend’s kids who I’m seeing in the Bay Area this weekend. As I walked in the door, I thought about how much joy there is in doing things for the first time – monumental or miniscule. Then I got to thinking about how short my not-so-bucket list is, which I take as a good sign that I don’t really need to accumulate and collect to make my life meaningful. I honestly believe that it already is. Meaningful. Purposeful. Not entirely joyful all the time, but I accept it for what it is. I don’t believe in keeping a list of “things to do before I die” because the reality is, we must be prepared to die at any given moment (this is very heavy in Eastern teachings). Tomorrow does not exist. I often say that I am ready to die for the most part (well, at least conceptually, but who really knows?). But then I wonder if the true test is not death but dismemberment. Whether the measure is that at any given time, you are ready to lose a limb, lose one of the five senses, lose your mental faculties. When you die, it all ends. But when you get decapitated, mutilated and maimed, you are technically still here, but your ability and power to do things as you’ve always done them before are no longer available to you.

I am fearful of this more than dying, to be truthful. This makes me realize how I am deeply attached to the things my body and my mind enable me to enjoy and experience. I could not imagine not being able to dance. I could not imagine not being able to do Yoga asanas and attempting to do cartwheels. I cannot imagine not being able to look in people’s eyes and penetrate their souls. I cannot imagine not being able to take a walk when it just rained and inhaling the intoxicating fragrant smell of wet pine.

So all I am left to do is cherish these things while they are here…to really surrender to the present at any given moment, as if I’m doing, seeing, tasting, smelling, hearing, feeling everything for the first and last time simultaneously…

Namaste!

No Expectations. Only Surprises.

One of the best feelings like rainy Monday mornings (oh my God, everything is just so fresh…), is the feeling you get around people who do not expect anything from you. It’s not very easy to describe and I do think it takes a certain degree of awareness to tap into it, but when you get tuned to that place where the guards go down and you are not merely someone playing a role or reading from a script, it feels so damn good. This is why I crave being around my family so much. To them, I’m not someone who has accomplished this or that, who owns this or that. The labels of “spiritual”, “intellectual”, “successful”, yadda yadda yadda fall away. I’m not intimidating and powerful. I’m not *insert adjective here* relative to somebody else. I would like to think that I have even transcended the role of “daughter” or “cousin” or “niece”. When I’m around these people, I become Nobody. I love it. It's refreshing. Sometimes, the Somebody-ness that other people have built around me gets exhausting. And the humble home on Strawberry Way becomes my refuge.

My Grandma of 92 ½ also provides such warm solace and she doesn’t even know it. She doesn’t care about my identity, my role. Heck, she doesn’t even remember me! I am nameless, void of an identity and a personality. Every time I see her, it is like she is meeting me for the very first time. She is hardly ever coherent, and oftentimes, she would be asleep. When we watch people age like this, we really realize how the material, worldly things, have very little bearing. There is absolutely nothing material she needs or wants from me. There is absolutely nothing material I can give her. The only thing I can give her is love, and the only way I can give that to her is shower her with undiluted, unadulterated, full strength presence. When I’m with her, I am WITH HER. Nothing else. One day, her and I sat in the living room and I just let her listen to Bach from my iPod. Sometimes, I meditate while I hold her hand. I mean, what else can you do?

On the same floor is Rudy. He is, I don’t know, maybe 80, and the first time he saw me by the elevator, he said, “Will you save the first dance for me?” He won me over that day. Now, every time I see him, I talk to him for a little bit and he would be grinning from ear to ear. I would hear him chuckling as the elevator doors slowly shut before me. Nursing homes are brutal and sterile; there is very little laughter around. If I can give someone a few laughs with a smile and a wink, I’m all about it.

The non-romantic, non-relationship with The Italian is going well. Sometimes I wonder if having him around could be one of the psychologically healthiest things for me right now. It is a very honest, uncomplicated, clean relationship. It is really teaching me to slow down. This person seriously does not want nor need anything from me, it is very liberating. I have to admit that in the beginning, it was very confusing for the ego. How could this person not want anything from me?!

But the longer I know him, the more I see his conviction, strength and most of all, integrity. He does not want to get me laid. He doesn’t want me to care for him. He doesn’t want me to fall in love with him. I, in turn, trust him and do nothing to manipulate him or the situation. We are each our individual person and no attempts at filling each other's cavities - no co-dependency. All motives are made explicit - no stealthy manipulative tactics.

Yesterday, he made me push my limits and made me run three miles in the middle of the day while I trailed half a mile behind him. Absolutely awful for my ego, but good for my Self. Back at his place, he commended me for eating my lunch slowly and at the table, as opposed to eating on the couch in front of the TV as he often does. It's miniscule, but in a day, we have made a difference in each other's lives (as is almost always the case with The Italian). He teaches me to speed up once in a while. I teach him to slow down once in a while. Life is good. :)

This baffles a couple of people who know that I have been seeing him for seven months now. Why aren’t you together? Why are you still seeing him? Why? What are you guys exactly?

Aside from what I have already gushed in this and in previous posts, who the F cares??? What does it matter? Why complicate something that doesn’t need to be complicated? Our conversations are always enriching. We do a lot of fun, great stuff together and we always have an amazing, full and rich time. We share a deep mutual respect for each other, and while there's always work at the acceptance part, we try our hardest. The whole process is as organic like I've never seen before. When our time together is done, we release it. It’s done. Finito.

Non-possessive. Non-attachment. Complete trust in the moment and in the unknown.

No expectations.

Only surprises.

Namaste!

I'll Have a Danish, Please...

I have just been noticing lately that one of the hardest questions for me to answer is, “How do you feel?” On the flipside, one of the easiest for me is, “What do you think?”

Isn’t that interesting?

I am starting to realize how I have shut down the feeling part of me for a long time, and now every single time I get asked how I feel and I want to answer as genuinely as possible, I retort with a shrug. I’m not being sassy or smart. I tell the truth when I say I don’t know.

They say the antidote for trauma for someone who almost drowned is for that person to get back in the water and start swimming again. It must be true then that there is no other way to get back in touch with “feelings” (why does that word still make me cringe?) by delving into them, inviting them in for tea and having intimate conversations with them. And so I am.

I’m just going to come out and say it instead of hiding it underneath confetti and cotton candy.

I met someone.

Don’t roll your eyes and please put that raised eyebrow down because I know what you are thinking. Again, right?! Trust me, I have been asking myself how such strong connections are possible with an abundance of people, too. But this is what someone told me: If I were a guy, will there even be any questions or judgments? None. So shut up. :)

But here is what’s different about this one: there’s a sense of instant knowingness and disarming naturalness about this one. From the first millisecond, with very few words, I felt like I knew everything I needed to know, and vice versa. It’s astounding how much one can pick up with just observing and watching if one is just present. Presence meets presence. I did not have to articulate who I was, am, have become and still becoming. I exude my I-ness and this person saw it, I cannot believe it. This person stole my spiel out of my own mouth. He sees it perfectly, 20/20. It’s not this cerebral thing, either, the way it is sometimes with The Italian, but rather a more intuitive thing (notice that I use the word “thing” to substitute for something I have not have a word for. Poetic license, y’all.).

I never imagined how beautiful it would feel to have someone see you the way you see yourself. This person sees not only the miniscule details but the amalgamation of the parts that make the whole - the rainy days and happy days, the sunshines and snowstorms, the death and resurrection of it all. It feels ridiculously good. In the last twelve months, of all the people I have been acquainted with, I have not met anyone whose balls, sincerity, and fearlessness match this one’s. Best of all, this one gives me access to that in me who feels (as opposed to the one who just thinks), and that in me who does not judge those feelings as aye or nay. Feelings, after all, are not a faculty of the mind. And an even more exciting thing (which I believe is true about humans, not just this particular person) is that I truly believe that the only way this person can pick up on my I-ness if he is firmly rooted in his own I-ness. It only takes one to know one. If you don’t have it, there is no way in heck you can spot it.

There are people who think about happiness. There are people who talk about it. But then there are the rare and fortunate few who just are happy, like it’s embedded in their DNA code or something. They dwell so much in it that it’s literally laughable to think or talk about happiness. He’s one of those.

Okay. I better stop now lest I start drooling.

Aaaah… I think I am going to throw myself a homecoming party. This is amazing (well, terrifying but amazing nonetheless).

Ten cartwheels today. Five for me. Five for Denmark.