Love from Paradise

I have always held ambitious goals of myself to travel as voraciously and as often as the pocketbook and seemingly perpetually inadequate time-off work allows.  Every once in a great while, I am pulled to escape.  To unplug from the grid.  To not have to make my bed and wash my towels and prepare dinners.

Vacations are precious to me because it allows me to meet that person that I want to be.  Separated from the turmoil in my head and tossed into the unfamiliar and unknown, ironically, I regain my balance.  When I am anonymous to myself - the robotic one I become in the grind - I am in my element.  Grappling with a language I can only speak like a stuttering three year-old, I am humbled.  Out here, I know nothing.  I am no one.

Even to myself.
And it's delirious.

I am staring at the rushing waves, the wind tousling my hair about.  The water is a stunning aquamarine.  It was disconcerting in the beginning, but every night since, I am lulled to sleep by the immense sound of thunderous waves.  I bask in all this magic and express my gratitude that out here, there is none but the moment.  And in this space, I connect with what might potentially the best version of myself yet.  

Namaste and Love to you from Paradise. 

On Top of the World in 2013

More and more, I find myself seeking for experiences that are extraordinary.  In what I have seen and experienced of the world, I gravitate towards the authentic and unpretentious.  Why?  Because empirically, those are the ones that shape us, those are the ones that enrich us, and most of all, those are the ones that stay with us.  And the other thing I have learned is that those experiences WILL present themselves to you.  You just need to be ready to recognize it and walk right into it.

New Year's is a huge thing for me.  I'm not normally superstitious but I suppose that my Filipino-ness has been so ingrained in me that I still hold to the tradition that whatever you're doing at the stroke of midnight on the first of the year is indicative of how the rest of your year will look like.  I have spent at least one NYE on the plane and I could have sworn that my travel miles grew exponentially that year.  Although I must admit that I have given up on jumping up and down deluding myself that I will still gain an inch or two vertically.

One of my most magical experiences this winter was a hike in fresh snow at Mount Rose Meadows - sans snowshoes.  The bonus was a couple of chickadees feeding on my hand.  It was such a surreal moment that I and The Dutch immensely enjoyed that for Christmas, I got him a pair of snowshoes.  I picked them up at the local REI and as I entered the store, an announcement at the door caught my eye:  New Years Eve Midnight Snowshoe Hike in the Sierras.  We were spending Christmas in Canada but New Year's was still wide open.  Somehow, a typical NYE party consisting of dancing and boozing to usher a new year in did not appeal to me.  In contrast, a midnight hike in the snow in the woods to a ridge top?  That's more like a recipe for something unforgettable.

So guess what this girlfriend did.

Little did I know that we will get a series of snowstorms leading up to NYE.  Little did I know that it will be 9 degrees Fahrenheit (32 degrees is freezing) on NYE.

Still it remains, it is one of the best, unimaginable ways I could have ever spent welcoming a new year.

We had headlamps but the moon reflected so brightly on the glimmering snow that they were not necessary.  The forest was dense at times and snow still weighed heavy on some of the evergreen branches.

The ascent was challenging (500 feet elevation gain in 20 or so minutes?) but the vistas at the ridge top was stunning.  We had a clear wide view of Donner Lake, the distant fireworks of a couple of ski resorts, not to mention front row premium seats of the stars and the moon.  Glasses of champagne were passed around and as we counted down to 2013, I felt a sense of wonder and gratitude.

This evening will be tough to beat.

I woke up this morning after only four hours of sleep yet I was happy.  I had dreams of silvery woods covered in snow in the moonlight.  I catch a glimpse of the lingering snow outside and I think to myself that I will never look at snow the same way again.  The world is a beautiful place and if nothing else carries over to the rest of the year spare for this thought, then I am set.    

Happy New Year's Day to everyone!  May this year be our best yet!  Here's to more fearless adventures with the people we love!

It All Started with a Mouse

I'm not a big fan of amusement parks and touristy places. My travel preferences hardly ever include massively commercial destinations robbed of any local flavor. I've done the whole all-inclusive vacation once and that will be my last, thank you very much. BUT, I confess that I am a proponent of doing things you have instant unreasonable abhorrence for and of going somewhere you have never been before.

For Christmas, one of the presents I got from The lovely Dutch is a 3-day Park Hopper to Disneyland and the adjacent Disney California Adventure Park. We're spending New Year's weekend at Disneyland.

Great.

Don't get me wrong. I was thrilled about it and I didn't have to be drugged and then dragged to the car to go. I just had pretty low expectations. New Year's Eve at Disneyland, I am certain, will be MANIC.

We got there on the afternoon of NYE and decided to check out the main drag of Disneyland first. Despite the crowds, entrance to the park with the hopper tickets was very seamless. Hand in hand, we entered Disneyland, and my socks were instantly knocked off. It was as if I was transported into a dream. We walked towards Main Street, which mimics the downtown of a small and old American town. As if on cue, the Christmas Parade started. A ballerina was twirling gracefully on the first float and right behind was a Christmas car with Pluto waving to the throng of entranced crowds. The colors were bursting and alive. The music surrounds you in the most delicately tickling way.

My eyes widened like plates and I cannot believe it. They have instantaneously transported me back to that happy, uncomplicated, "in the present moment" place. I am love. I am joy. I am uncynical. I am trusting. I am in the Happiest Place on Earth.

I am a child once again.

And Walt Disney "imagineered" it precisely so, and all these thousands of people - performers, mascots, sound directors, ride operators, cleaning ladies, restaurant workers, balloon sellers - EVERY SINGLE EMPLOYEE - worked their butts off to make sure I feel exactly that.

On the drive back north on I-5, while The lovely Dutch takes a nap, I ruminate. It's hard to believe that the magic of Disneyland all began with a mouse. At the end of my weekend at this land of imagination and childish joy, I am shaking my head part in disbelief, part in amazement. How can all of that have been possible?

In my befuddled state, a serenade interrupts. It's quite simple, and what I experienced in the last two days make it downright compelling.

The dream that you wish do come true...


*****


For the sake of Disneyland virgins, I will not reveal too much. But I could not help sharing some pictures and unsolicited advice.

1. But Park Hopper tickets in advance. Your local Disney Store should have them. If you plan on being in SoCal for more than a few days for the amusement parks, the Southern California CityPass is a steal at $279.
2. Be prepared for throngs of people everywhere and waiting times of up to an hour at the popular rides. So it really pays to do your research in advance. Nerd it up a little with The Unofficial Guide to Disneyland 2012, for about $10 at Amazon. Disneyland Touring Plans is an online resource that even allows you to map out itineraries and print them out. Lastly, there is a free iPhone app called "Mouse Wait" which lets you track wait times. Woe to Blackberry users, this app has not (yet) been designed for you.
3. Take advantage of single rider line at The Adventures of Indiana Jones and Splash Mountain. You'll only queue for an eighth of the time the other patrons will.
4. FastPass it whenever you can, especially on Space Mountain and California Screamin'.
5. Toy Story Mania is INSANELY RAD. And Tower of Terror.

6. Actually, California Adventure, Disneyland's surrogate sister, is a beautiful park! It has some fantastic rides and the lines are shorter! Cars fans, watch out for Radiator Springs opening in the summer!

7. World of Color is a spectacular show not to be missed! I believe the BEST way to see World of Color is front and center. You can get limited access to this "preferred viewing" area only by buying a dinner package either at Ariel's Grotto or the Wine Country Trattoria. I recommend the Wine Country Trattoria. The food is surprisingly excellent, with fresh and healthy options! With wine, the tab will run about $60/head.

8. The line at "It's A Small World" can get prohibitive. The best way to still see that attraction from a different perspective is to get on the Disneyland Train. It goes right through it.

9. Don't skip the parades. So much art, creativity, and imagineering went into every single float and performance. Each one of them exuded passion! And watch them at night, when the lights are all aglow!

10. I don't think I need to warn you that Disneyland is crowded. It's amazing though that you don't hear people get annoyed. Children rarely cry. It's like there's this happiness blanket around! But do take breaks. The cappuccino and pastries at Blue Ribbon Bakery on Main Street are decent. Care for a quick cat nap? Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln right at the mouth of Main Street in Disneyland is perfect for this! (I speak from experience.)

11. Beware. Seeing Disney characters will make you squeal like a little girl. Guys included.

12. Bring sunscreen, screams, loads of energy, and tons of giggles! Don't forget to brush up on those old Disney tunes! :)

Thank you for the magic and the memories, Walt!

The Insignificance of Me

On a recent trip to Mammoth Lakes and the "scenic" way home via Tioga Pass and through Yosemite National Park, I was astounded by the grandeur and hugeness of the Universe, and how, in this grand scale, I am but an insignificant speck. But that doesn't mean I am not part of it. My life's occasional little soap operas are just not that important. Sometimes, it's crazy that we get caught up in the teeny details of our lives that cause imbalance and disproportion.

Over the last few weeks, we've watched the circus in Washington as our elected squabble over raising the debt limit. I had to voluntary peel myself away from it towards the end because it was exhausting. I'm glad that drama is over. Well. Kind of.







I have never been to Mammoth or Yosemite before and I am just ecstatic to experience it with someone who looks at the world with equal curiosity, openness, gratitude, and aliveness. Of course, it helps that he did all the driving, and didn't mind assembling my mountain bike. How wonderfully delightful and refreshing. :)



Nothing beats basking in the Mammoth sunshine, inhaling fresh mountain air as you do your pranayamas and looking upside down at mountains while you're in downward dog and headstand.









Yosemite is just another dimension altogether. Everything was massive and breathtaking in equal proportions.







Here's to an inspiring week!

Namaste.

Love and Sunday Mornings

So it’s cold outside.

So spring is not “supposed to be like this”.

In this world and existence of chaos, of wars and terrorism, of constant fears, doubts, and politics, of incessant noise and turmoil, there was at least one place where it was quiet, where Sunday was in its element and was just being its unequivocal epitome of Sunday-ness. It was calm. It was warm. There was no rush, no hurry. Things were in their perfect sweet spot in the universe, like shoes that hug your feet in the right, most amazingly delicious way. In our little cozy nook in the vast Universe, nutella banana crepes were being flipped (theatrically, at times), fresh oranges were being squeezed, and Love, oh my goodness, the Love was bubbling and spilling over.

Not in any of my wildest of dreams have I imagined “this” to be “like this”.

It’s unspeakable. It’s indescribable.

Insane in the Membrane

Einstein, one of the greatest minds of all time, defines insanity as doing the same thing over and over expecting different results. Before I completely lost it tonight, I caught myself.

You may have heard me say before that I adhere to the philosophy (of a couple of my teachers) that relationship is the ultimate and could be the most difficult of all Yoga. While I have not read anything about Patanjali writing about it, I believe that relationships are so potent in reflecting back to us where we need work, what our fears are, and hopefully becoming aware of these things could eventually lead us to liberation, non-attachment, which should be tantamount to bliss.

I snapped The Dutch tonight. I was not communicating what I wanted and did not get what I wanted (shocker... you mean he's not psychic?) so I stuck my tongue out, arms crossed and stomped away. I felt incredibly empowered after my episode, too. I was laughing at how silly I acted. Heck, I was entitled to acting like a five year old!!!

But after two hours, like a child coming down from a sugar high, I felt bad. I am thirty-one and this was NOT how a mature, stable woman would act. The way I acted felt very familiar... sickeningly so. It was how I acted in previous relationships. I would/did/could not express what I need because I was in denial that I even had them. So when I am not getting fulfillment and satisfaction, I just shoved it under the rug and made believe that it has gone away forever.

Total B.S.

In a moment of clarity, I realized what I did and what the consequences are if I did not backpedal. I want this relationship to be built on communication, maturity, and ownership. How could I expect to invite in open communication if I'm not giving it myself? I want to be better at this because I know I can. I would be a total hypocrite and a complete failure if merely gloss over it. I know it will gnaw on me and eat me alive if I don't undo this terrible pattern.

So I picked up the phone and owned up to my irrational behavior. I said the things that were extremely difficult to say, regardless of how the other person might react or what he would think.

I feel very proud of myself for allowing vulnerability in. It is a very tender and raw place to be in, but at this point, there really is no other option.

I think I'm going to be up in this tightrope for a while....

Namaste from fifty feet up high..
Trish

Nightmares

Dreams are very telling for me. They have been over the last couple of years. I may have whined about my lucid dreaming experiences, but later on have seen their utility in my life and have learned to accept it as a rare gift. I guess you can say that I’m one of those people who have bought into the Jungian view about the unconscious and their manifestations in dreams (better than Freudian, I think!). Guidance from a trained Jungian has taught me to understand my own psyche and the unconscious that lies latent. But experience has also taught me that there are never any definitive, linear interpretations to dreams. We can take stabs at what they mean, and most of the time, if you are attuned to your inner life, I honestly believe that they reveal amazing insight into emotions, feelings shoved deep in our unconscious. But again, you can fall into the dangerous trap of overanalysis and come out with the conclusion that rarely is there ever an absolute answer.

I have been feeling physically drained all week, which is quite ironic because this is the week that I don’t have anything outside of work planned. My schedule has been wide freaking open, I have to rub my eyes in disbelief. I don’t remember the last time I had a week like this! I can always tell when my cycle is looming over my head like a dark, heavy rain cloud. Exhaustion and craving for unhealthy salt-laden food is symptomatic. I can tell that this week is that week.

I skipped the confounding and nonsensical (to me, at least) Irish revelry and traded it in for a cozy night under the covers. I wasn’t prepared for the assault of nightmares (two that I can count).

I will not go into details, but I understood that the fear that I dare not confront in waking life intruded my dreaming life. Why? Just because that’s what dreams do. That’s what their purpose is. They say that when we are in our waking states, our egos are very safe and comfortable. Our egos let their guards down when we are asleep, which then makes for a conducive, safe backdrop for our unconscious to come out and play.

After almost two years of solitude (well....they were all mere flings, after all), I find myself on the verge of something beautifully and instantaneously terribly serious. During the day, I am the warrior, strong and ready for the battle again. At night, I’m the helpless, fearful princess trapped in the fortress waiting to be rescued. Apparently.

I may be unconventional in the sense that I am grateful for bad dreams, especially those that rock you to the core. It’s YOU telling YOU something, and the more important the message is, the more forceful the dream will be. And because you have been told, you are now in the position to ACT.

I processed today and I feel re-energized, rejuvenated. It makes me feel good that I understand the workings of my life a little bit more. A Buddhist teaching reverberated with me throughout the day that is helping me be a little less scared:


The nature of everything is impermanence. If we look at everything – relationships, loving people – through the impermanent nature of reality, if we look at, say, a water glass and understand that it is ALREADY BROKEN, then our relationship with it completely changes. If we love people as if we have already lost them (fatalistic or not, THAT is the eventuality of EVERYTHING), we become less afraid because when you think about it, who else are you not going to lose?

Namaste, high tens, cartwheels, and now, chaines….

Baby, I'm Renaissance

Here I am on St. Patty's Day seriously contemplating on curling up under the covers with the latest edition of National Geographic Travel (the cover story is South America) in lieu of a night of Latin dancing with friends. While the rest of America gets inebriated while garbed in green (which isn't my best color anyway), I just want to hang out in my jammies in my room and read. Since coming home from work, I've already ran (a terrible run) and had dinner, there is not much incentive really to go out except that I have a fabulous green dress that I have never worn yet that would be perfect for tonight.

I have not updated this blog in a while, but trust me when I say that things are going marvelously. I can't say too much right now, except that it surprises me sometimes how I surprise people sometimes. Makes me want to tap dance to this song. Not that I can tap dance...

Empirical State of Mind

Empiricism is both a blessing and a curse. If combined with obstinacy, then it really starts becoming troublesome. I train myself to go into fresh situations with a tabula rasa mindset. I don’t think there is much out there that I wouldn’t try at least once. Experience and contemplation are both teaching me that the things that we shun, we shun out of fear. When I find myself constricting or violently resisting something, it's usually out of fear and I examine why I’m afraid. I think it all boils down to a few things – unpleasant or uncomfortable situations, i.e. pain, both emotional and physical), loss of (perceived) control, and permanent obliteration, i.e. death.

Over the last couple years, I have learned to like fear. Not in a I-have-to-because-I-have-no-other-choice kind of way. I have made friends with it because I appreciate how much it has done for me. I learned how much wisdom, growth, and maturity is reaped from acknowledging its existence and examining where it stems from. I uncertain if I have written this in this blog before, but one of my favorite definitions of enlightenment is by Carl Jung. Jung’s view is that enlightenment isn’t a result of imagining visions of light, but in making the unconscious conscious. Unconsciousness loses its power when made conscious.

I remember flying from LAX on a tiny plane back to Reno on Christmas Day. There was awful turbulence 80% of the time we were up in the air. As the plane rocked and shook, I felt fear overcome me quickly. And when I felt that happening in my body, I asked myself, “What am I bloody afraid of?” My answer was death. Then I dug deeper. What about death am I afraid of? Have I not done everything I needed to do up to that point? Have I not done everything I could to live a fullest possible life? Have I withheld love from anyone in my life? Have I left anything unsaid to anyone?

At that moment, I realized that I could go right there and then. I have done my homework and didn’t have unfinished business with anyone. I was ready.

Then I started to relax and anxiety left my body.

You live the way you die, says one of my teachers. A powerful practice, especially in bouts of indecision is to ask yourself, “If I die today, would I still do this?” It’s pretty amazing how you taste and savor things differently in life after you answer such a simple question. Suddenly, you are forced to be honest about what is REALLY important in your life. It's a great perspective check.

I have gone on the deep end of the pool recently. A friend challenged the empirical nature I am protective of about exploring the local dating scene. What do you retort to something like that? I knew she was right so I caved. Shudder. It’s the day after Valentine’s and I’m going out on a blind date. I wouldn’t go into the gory details, but I am nervous and giddy, but also excited. In theory, it seems like this guy’s a good match, but I will suspend judgment for now. Empiricism teaches us that you never really know anything until you’re actually in the situation itself, and even then, your knowledge remains relative and limited. We are going to have dinner, some wine, and I have a feeling, long, gripping, intelligent conversations.

Namaste.

P.S. I have not written in a long time. For days, I was having a fistfight with an overblown ego that I was trying to humble and tame. Ego drains the inspiration out of me. To see myself writing again exhilarates me.

I Don't Fall in Love on the First Date

This might be a little bit useless and borderline TMI, but I don't fall in love on the first date.

Don't get me wrong. First dates thrill me immensely. I enjoy witnessing what people think their best foot forward is, and watching what they do with it. But for someone who enjoys the challenge of unpeeling people to their core unsuspectingly, I find the second date more enthralling.

I saw Joan Soriano again perform live in Sacramento last night. It's the second show of his that I have seen and sure enough, I've officially fallen in love.

For people who don't breathe Bachata, Joan Soriano is a musician of rural Dominican Republic roots, Dominican Republic being the country of origin of the genre, Bachata. I'm not going to pretend to be an expert at bachata music because first and foremost, my perspective is that of a dancer's. So here's a taste of Joan Soriano's music that you must experience for yourself:



The night before the last show of his West Coast tour, I watched "El Duque de la Bachata", a film by Adam Taub about this man whom they dub The Duke of Bachata.

Adam Taub weaves the poignant story of the man behind the music. Candid and vivid images of real life - a young boy flying a makeshift kite, Joan's old red Toyota with its cracked side view mirror and windshield, the sun filtering through the wood walls of the kitchen, a hen and her chicks scurrying about - give you a very personal sense of the beginnings of this man Joan Soriano. The story was told so intimately that you get the feeling that you are actually sitting in on the many conversations with Joan where he's shirtless in quite a few of, compounding to that feeling of engagement. There were zero attempts at making a life that was in no way ostentatious seem glamorous. It was very raw, very real. The true essence of the people who consist his everyday life were captured beautifully. Joan's wife, Alexandra, meets you while she mops the concrete kitchen floor barefoot. Jordy, his son, greets you while playing with a rubber tire, then an imaginary guitar. Fernando, Joan's brother who is also part of the band, amuses you with his coconut tree climbing. Joan's farmer father, Cande, enamors you with his dancing and harmonica playing.

The film walks you through the success that might have been an inevitability for a man of Joan's talent. Despite his lack of education and formal training in music, when a man's music comes from a place of true depth and genuine talent, he could very well be unstoppable. There were moments in the film where you get a sense of the thrill and joy of the success - and the oftentimes obscured loneliness that comes with it. In one moment, you see Joan's exhilaration as he walks behind Edilio Paredes, a Bachata master, in the streets of Manhattan before a show (a scene reminiscent of the guys of Buena Vista Social Club who had the same wide eyed wonder at seeing the skyscrapers of NYC for the very first time). In the next moment, you see him in the brink of being an emotional puddle because he terribly misses his wife and son while he's away on tour.

When I see a story told so intimately and so honestly like this, I turn into mush inside. There couldn't have been a better prelude to a "second date" with Joan.

At the show in Sacramento, I was standing next to Benjamin de Menil, Joan's producer. I asked him if it was love at first sight with the talent of Joan. I wasn't prepared for his deadpan reply, "No. He didn't show up for the first show. It definitely wasn't love at first sight."

Before watching the documentary, I didn't have a sense of what this guy Joan was about. All I knew was that he sounded good and I went with it. It is kind of like falling for somebody because he had great teeth and smelled nice. But my theory about second dates held true - it is there that you unravel the other person's complications and get glimpses of his past. And it is there that the opportunity for a love far deeper and more real exists.

It is way too easy to fall for Joan's music. But if Adam Taub wanted whoever sees the film to fall in love with his soul, in my humble opinion, I think he succeeded.

And.... It's a Wrap!

Things have been ridiculously manic the last few weeks – thus explaining my absence from writing. After returning from my trip, I was thrown right into learning a new dance routine, perfecting the first one, and rehearsals. The icing on that cake was I had to do it while I wrestled with the beast that was jetlag (and exhaustion - I was flying 9 out of the 14 days that I was gone) as I tried to get caught up with quarter-end stuff at work. How I managed to dodge the cold a few times remains an enigma to me.

The following week was a mix of stress, giddiness and anxiety in anticipation of my first public performance with the Gozalo Dance Company at the 3rd Annual Reno International Bachata Festival. Granted that our dance team is still in its infancy relative to the professionals and world champions of the scene, I’m happy for what we accomplished individually and as a team. Like they say, Rome wasn’t built in a day.

And now that things have calmed down, I finally had the time I have so desperately wanted to just collect myself. I feel like I owe 2010 the closing credits it deserves and subsequently, roll the opening credits for this year. We’re 14 days into the year, but I believe that it’s perfectly acceptable that I have put off writing for actually living my life.



It’s crazy to imagine that it was only in June of last year that I met and fell in love on the beach. Twice. The first time with salsa dancing. The second time, with myself. By this time, I have been divorced a year and already recovered most of myself. I could never have fathomed a more perfect place for this than Tulum. It was the utter depiction of heaven on earth and was the perfect setting for beginning a romance. Its waters were warm and clear, the sand reminiscent of talcum powder. It is off the power grid which tells you how its inhabitants care about preservation and sustainability. The town is flanked by Mayan ruins and protected biosphere on each side. There is an abundance of Yoga, beach cruisers, and Italian food (most unforgettable Italian meal of my life courtesy of Alessandro, dubbed by New York Times as the “pasta nazi”). The absence of bars and crazy nightlife is noticeable (hallelujah!). Remind me I why don’t effing live here again?!

The only party on the strip happens on Sunday nights at La Zebra. There is a stage on the beach, underneath coconut trees, where dancers are inspired to move by a live salsa band. I was confident about my booty shaking skills then, but unfortunately, to salsa dance, you need more than that. It killed me that I was left to watch instead of participate. The dancers were moving as if they were in a trance. They were lost in the rhythms of the music playing in their soul. It was very hypnotic to watch and I vowed to learn salsa when I returned to America.



And here I am, four months into salsa dancing, two months in a dance troupe, and two public performances later. I just destroyed my first ever dancing shoes after only a few weeks so I guess that’s testament of how much dancing has taken over my life. I guess it’s safe to say that I can salsa dance now.

Dancing aside, I felt like I have grown at precocious speeds. Anthony said once that it feels like I went from 29 to 33. And I think that wisening up only comes with watching yourself go through compulsions, patterns, addictions, desires and emotions. By taking the time to sit with myself and my shadow (oh Carl Jung, you have ruined me), I have really gotten to know myself and as a result, have gained so much solidity than ever before. I ended up falling madly in love with myself and I believe in my core that I am one of the most amazing people I will ever meet. I don’t mean any of this in the narcissistic sense. If I can’t fall in love with myself, how do I expect somebody else to?

I have tried to live fearlessly by purposely doing things outside my comfort zone. I trained myself to run. I traveled to five countries last year, two of which, I ventured on my own. I’ve gotten back to writing which is a piece of myself that I have denied for a long time out of fear. And because I have exposed myself to vulnerability, I learned not just to embrace and accept my fallibility, but to love it.

I always say that I’m at a beautiful place in my life. I am at a point where what I want, what I need, and what I deserve finally intersect. When there is incongruence, I don’t find it difficult to walk away anymore. I don’t fall in love with “promising” or “potential” any longer. I’ve learned my lesson. I don’t have space for that in my life.

And finally, the most humbling thing that I had to do in the last year of the decade was to apologize to The Ex. It was very short but it could be one of the most profoundly sincere apologies I could ever offer anyone. It took me one year and a half, but I knew in my bones that it was the right time.

And with that “I’m sorry”, I have also forgiven myself.

Serious Namastes and fist bumps to everyone in the world…
Feliz Anos Nuevos!

Trish

And So It Begins...

Here I am at LAX waiting for my flight to Tokyo and I find myself ruminating about the Little Guy. Two weeks ago, I finally read with him the Star Wars book that I got him. When I unveiled the book, his eyes lit up, but in a very controlled repressed way, like he almost did not want to allow himself to feel a little elation, a litte excitement. The way I would think little people who, at such an early age, have developed these protective mechanisms to deal with life's disappointments and pain. I should have known it then.

One of his most favorite things in the world is Star Wars. One of his least favorite? Reading. So I thought if I got him a Star Wars book, he could see the possibilities of reading for passion. He enjoyed the book and he gifted me with a little bit of the spark, the fire, that he allowed himself to feel. At the end of the session, he was looking longingly at the book and I told him that he cannot have the book yet. I had the brilliant plan of waiting another week to give it to him as some kind of incentive, to make him want the book so much that he will really work on his reading.

The following Thursday, I came to see him at our usual time. He wasn't in school. In fact, his teacher did not think he was ever coming back. His parents had divorced and his mother had taken him to Virginia City or something like that. Last she heard, the Little Guy was not yet re-enrolled in school. My face fell and I was filled with disgust for myself. Had I known it was the last time I was going to see him, I would have given him the book without hesitation.

What a powerful lesson. I always say that my life philosophy is to be prepared to die at any given moment, yet there I was, a colossal failure at practicing what I preach. I lapsed into thinking that tomorrow, next week, another time, exists. I was taught again that it really doesn't except in our heads.

I picked up a Rumi booked last week with The Banker in mind. I hesitated to give it to him out of fear that he would find the gesture too intense, too clingy, too premature, too touchy feely. All these doubts were running in my head. Then I was reminded by the lesson Little Guy taught me. Tomorrow doesn't exist. If you feel compelled, do it when that compulsion strikes for that moment is all there is. That could very well be the last time I see him, so I am in a way left no choice. So I wrote on the first page (and yes, it was kind of a little love note - it's Rumi, for crying out loud), signed it, and gave it to him regardless of how he would think of the gesture, or of what I would think of what he would think of the gesture. Ahhh.. Freedom. :)

If you believe that We are all here to manifest love, then what is the shame, fear, or apologies for that expression of our humanity?

I am excited beyond words about my trip and I have a sneaking suspicion that my life will change again because of what I am about to immerse myself into. I believe that all experiences have the power to alter our existence and challenge us to become better human beings. It will be interesting to watch what kind of me will emerge after this lesson and all the lessons I will yet learn upon my return home. And home? Where is that anymore? I guess I will find out in the next two weeks.

After checking in, I was given a mini dry-run of the Manila that I might have forgotten. A Filipino airline worker started chatting me up and was asking extremely personal questions that you would never hear in a typical American conversation with a complete stranger. I am reminded of the egolessness that lies latent in the Filipino culture. It can be overwhelming since I have not experienced such a bombardment of privacy in a long time. America's hyperindividuated culture has quarantined me from that. But there I was, talking to a complete stranger about where I grew up, where I live, what I do. I had to draw the line at "What is your phone number?".

Oh Manila, this ought to be interesting.

But first, Hong Kong.

Namaste!

Gyrations... Days #6 & 7

I've had a hectic weekend and I couldn't allow myself to not complete at least a week's worth of gratitude, so this is late, but nonetheless... I am grateful for:

• Passion, of varying forms and degrees - and a life full of it. On Sunday morning, on a spur of the moment trip to San Francisco, I was privileged to see some of the most impressive French post-impressionist paintings in this hemisphere. Thanks to de Young Museum, I was able to taste a little bit of Musee d' Orsay without actually going to Paris. You could not pause and stare at Van Gogh's "Starry Night" without dropping a tear. Seriously. It was so beautifully but painfully sad. You cannot tear your eyes away from it because it takes you to that place in you where you have felt exactly just like he did then - helplessly lost. You see the brushstrokes and it just makes you want to weep in consolation. The seeking, the questions, the desolation - it's all too familiar...

• Being introduced to new things. It's amazing to find art that intersects with psychology and recognizes (and tries to capture) the mysticism of the unconscious. A few of the paintings that resonated with me relevant to Post Impressionism, Symbolism and Nabis at the exhibition touch on dreams and the seeming universality of existential crises in humanity. My two favorite self portraits were "Self Portrait with Yellow Christ" by Gaugin, and "Symbolic Self Portrait" by Emile Bernard. It seems like both portray seeking the answers to what makes this existence meaningful.
• Degas and his soft, beautiful rendering of dancers
• Spending time, albeit short, at the beach. It was nice to see you again, Pacific Ocean.
• Meeting people with astounding life experiences. Conversations with a twenty-something cyclist who has traveled to the 'Stans and practically all over the world, fluently speaks at least five languages, and passionately talks about the North-South Korea chasm with unmistakable intelligence over sangrias first, margaritas next. How many people do you know has learned to salsa in Tajikistan?
• Gorgeous sunshiny days
• Health of family of people we care about :)
• Time with people who mirror our true selves back to us. Time with people who take us out of our heads and bring us into sheer presence. Time with people who make us want to take and give in equal healthy proportions. Time with people who make us experience what so many of us seek but never find....
• Love, without distinctions of conditional versus unconditional. Just Love as a state. Love as it exists.

Namaste!

Gyrations... Day #4

Today, I'm grateful for:

• The enigmas of life. I am finally awakening to the beauty that lies in the mystery. I think I am finally surrendering and allowing life to unfold on its own. Human feelings, while very fascinating for me, are also a cause of petrification. So I allow myself to be scared. I have witnessed fear take a few disguises in my life and this is a new one for me. People act on impulse out of fear that that moment will never come again. While true, I challenge this. So what if that moment never comes again? Will you be less whole?
• Experiencing new things in other people for the very first time.
• Fellow "orphans" to spend Thanksgiving holiday with. Great company, conversation, and wine!
• Seeing beauty in the everyday, mundane, quotidian, things, but also in the most unexpected places.

Namaste!

Closer

I still have a lot of neurological re-engineering to do. The imprints of the caretaker archetype in my psyche is a lot harder to banish than I thought.

There has been no better word to describe how I have been feeling in the last few days than exhausted. Drained. Exhaustion and I got very intimate. Exhaustion and I have been sleeping together. I knew something was amiss because despite the constant heavy traffic in my life, I never get this way. Physical activity hardly ever exhausts me. I get tired, but I hardly ever know depletion. There are only two things that I can identify that exhaust the living daylights out of me – unnecessary exposure to people who are so bought into the illusion of their helplessness, and my own unhealthy patterns.

Yesterday, I found myself opening up to a long-time friend about some incomprehensible stuff that I didn’t realize I was keeping in. Old patterns are frigging hard to break, man. It turns out, I was falling back into old habits of selfish desires to control situations and people because I hate sitting in the unknown. They are about the persistent and unhealthy desire to give all of me but deny anything back in return. They are patterns of infallibility and perfection.

I honestly did not know I had been carrying this the last two weeks. But it’s amazing and beautiful to watch it release once it’s recognized and acknowledged. Thank you, Aussie.

Last night was the soundest sleep I have had in a couple of weeks. I feel like I was defibrillated. I am so relieved because I had to see the Little Guy today and he doesn’t deserve a half-assed, zombie reading tutor. He deserves 100% of me. Today is a big day for us because I got him a Star Wars (his favorite) book that is in his reading level.

And to practice being on the receiving end, I’ve accepted an invitation to go to a Volunteer Services Appreciation social. I cannot be arrogant to think that helping out a child doesn’t deserve a little pat on the back and some ice cream. Little Guy’s teacher gave me an RGJ clip two weeks ago stating that it has been proven that children who receive tutoring help do exhibit quantifiable improvements in reading and math aptitude. I need to be open to receive gratitude when I deserved it.

I am making a difference. I don’t know why that’s so hard to admit but it is.

Tomorrow is another day to make a difference. Tomorrow is another day to recreate our future - inner and outer both.

Happy Thursday and Namaste!

Metamorphosis

I've had a physically difficult, snot-filled couple of days. I have been as sick as a dog. I honestly don't remember the last time I got sick like this. It's terrible.

My life experiences especially in the last 365 days or so have been teaching me that inside and outside are really one. I'm not claiming a universal truth here. I don't think I'm New Agey at all. I'm just speaking from empirical knowledge.

The last few weeks have been admittedly tough that it's not surprising that it eventually led to a physical illness. I have been hyper-processing some heavy shit that my body eventually had to collapse with the exhaustion. I've heard this from both Anthony and The Psychologist - sometimes, physical illness is cathartic. It's a release of sorts. It's cleansing.

I fought it with all my might, though. I'm a bada$$ woman - a puny cold is not going to deter me. But you know what? There's beauty in the surrender. There's a bottom if you allow yourself to sink with it. Eventually, you naturally come up to the surface. To the sunshine. To the fresh air. To the smell of rain and pine trees.

There is tremendous strength in vulnerability.

I cleaned out my closet last weekend and got rid of clothes. I had three mattresses that were sitting in my garage since I moved in that I finally got picked up on Tuesday. Some people in my life that weren't the healthiest for me have been slowly edging farther (and honestly, I'm glad). I'm cleaning house - literally and figuratively.

"I've had my run. Baby, I'm done. I'm coming home."

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!

Present

I’m trying to get back in the practice of getting out of my head and just being engrossed in the present moment all the time. Conceptually, it’s one of the simplest meditative practices. Personally, it’s one of the most herculean to master. Imagine repeating in your head: “I am breathing. I am following my breath in and out of my nose. I am stuffing this envelope. I am putting one foot in front of the other. My right side itches – I will reach my left hand to scratch it. I’m scratching my right side.” Now, imagine being in that space constantly. Crikey.

I’ve had a very quiet couple of nights and I did not realize how much I missed those, how good those felt. The last year has been fun and crazy. Socially, the pendulum has swung to and from opposite sides a couple of times, but now it is sitting at the middle. I am loving this reprieve. I am thrilled to be uninvolved and detached again. It is allowing me to set goals for myself, both short and long term. It is allowing me to take an inventory of my life and reinforce those that are most important to me and slough off those that don’t serve me.

I find myself in the familiar mind frame that the Universe is mine. The Universe is me. Such a powerful time.

And indulge me to play play a little play on homonyms here. I got two wonderful presents from Afghanistan today:

I wore both all afternoon. My co-worker asked how I can wear the scarf unwashed. Does the smell not offend me? No, it does not. In fact, that’s precisely why I kept it on. I like the fact that in an odd way, I was coaxed to reflect on the existence of other human beings. All because I have a piece of a foreign, far away land and culture with me. A few weeks ago, this scarf that I have draped around my neck was in the desert where it’s a punishing 120 degrees, where there is unrest unimaginable to me right now, where the women do not have the same rights as I do, where children are protected from lives of entitlement…

Yet at the same time deep, deep down, despite all these exterior differences, somewhere in a different part of the world, regardless of what the geographic, economic, social and political landscape out there is, there lies a place where people are people; and they are just people like me. Wearing the scarf made me feel somehow connected to the nation comprised of people no different from me or you. The smell of Afghanistan travels to my olfactory senses and I imagine the man (or woman? Are women allowed to work in that part of the globe?) who dyed the fabric painstakingly and created the aesthetic patterns. I hear the tiny bell sewn at the corner make its little playful jingle (which for some odd reason reminds me of a meditative bell) and I try to get in the consciousness of the Afghan man/woman who added this little detail and I ponder if this had any cultural or religious relevance. The scarf brushes my face and I can almost imagine the deep facial lines, the yellowing teeth that are exposed with the friendly, open smile of the jovial, enterprising man who peddled the scarf.

Alright now. I better hurry. I'm getting picked up in half an hour and we all know it takes me longer than that to get ready.

Namaste and TGIF!

Too Soft to be Broken

Trouble sets in and suffering takes over…

…when we have a mental construct of how things HAVE to be

…when we are not allowing reality and life to unfold naturally

…when we expect things to be other than how they are

…when we interfere and intervene and think that we know better

You would think that since we all have gone through this over and over and over (and over and over) in many facets of our lives, perhaps even in countless lifetimes, we would KNOW what to do the next time something similar presents itself. It can get frustrating how we still fumble and stumble sometimes. But this I will tell you. If you have become such a detached witness to your own life, it gets easier and less dramatic. If you go beyond the story, your heart remains open and you find yourself finding within you more capacity for immense and intense love than ever before. It's quite radical, but I'll take it. It’s moments like these when I hardly even recognize myself. I could never have imagined such behavior a year ago!

At the end of the day, we are only left to ruminate:

Do I know myself more than I did yesterday?

Am I a more loving person because of it?

Am I less of a person because of it?

Has my understanding and acceptance of other people deepened because of it?

Did I grow because of this experience?

And my answers induce in me heartfelt smiles.

And despite it all, I am just grateful.

Ten cartwheels for consciousness, conscious people, and those on the path to it everywhere.

Namaste.