I thoroughly enjoyed a wonderful couple of days, shared with my wonderful husband; a portion of my family (Dad, sister, one of my brothers, a niece, and a grand-niece!); new friends (Michael and Olivia, the absolutely delightful owners of Bradley House, the bed-and-breakfast where we spent the night); and old friends (Sundara and Nandadevi, returned from two weeks visiting family back East).
Our time was so full with all the driving and meeting and talking and eating, that I haven’t yet had a chance to read the many birthday greetings that arrived throughout the day. I look forward to doing that on the day after my birthday!
Today’s my sister’s birthday and tomorrow’s my birthday. Plus it’s one of those years when Father’s Day and my birthday coincide.
Then there’s the Solstice, and the fact that some dear friends are returning from a trip back East.
Perhaps best of all is that we can drive to Sacramento and celebrate with Dad and Cathy in person. Then we’ll stay at a beautiful B&B before picking Sundara and Nandadevi up from the airport on Sunday.
So, in honor of all this wonderfulness, I’m writing my blog now and — believe it or not! — leaving my computer home. No work for me this weekend!
The high point was sharing a lovely satsang with Rachel, our music/dance/theater/podcast devotee/friend from New York City.
We shared our pandemic experiences; caught up on what’s going on with the NYC meditation group; and explored multifaceted perspectives on music and the arts and how they impact our spiritual growth. Oh, and we sang, of course!
Ever-new joy getting ever-better acquainted with members of our growing Ananda Music family!
John Roedel‘s heartful sharing and poem from yesterday took me back to one of the “dark night of the soul” moments in my own life.
It was the mid-nineties. I was in San Francisco, living what I had thought was my “best life”, except that my supposedly wonderful life had started disintegrating around me over the previous year or so.
My marriage had ended and I was increasingly discontented with other areas of my life as well, but hadn’t a clue what to do about it all.
This particular night I must have done my usual routine of getting home late from a gig, having a snack and some wine, then watching something on TV to relax. As often happened, as one show ended I would start another…and another. Until it was the wee hours of the morning with absolutely nothing worth watching, but there I continued to sit — in my frustration and my (divine) discontent.
Which then led to feeling depressed and finally to despair.
What was I doing with my life? Why did I feel so horrible? What was wrong with me? I was trying to grow spiritually, so why was I feeling worse and worse?
Soon I was drowning in sadness and guilt and doubts, feeling unworthy and powerless and helpless. But then I started to hear birds chirping and realized that it was almost dawn.
I no longer remember what prompted me, but somehow I decided to drive up to Twin Peaks and watch the sunrise. Of course, it must have been my inner guidance, because as I reached the top of the hill I found it shrouded in fog, which started to make me that much more depressed!
But then the “aha” moment struck like a flash of lightning! The sun was still there despite the fog. In fact, it was already starting to burn through the fog, allowing the occasional beam of sunlight to peek through.
And I suddenly understood something new (to me) about faith and God. That even when everything seems the darkest and I’m filled with despair, God is still absolutely and entirely present.
Even when I can’t see Him.
This lifted a big weight off my spirit. I didn’t write a poem, and whatever journaling I did is long lost, but it truly was my own “song of sunrise” experience.
[Warning: this is a long one, but well worth it, I believe!]
Today I’m sharing something I read on Facebook, written by John Roedel. What he wrote — especially the poem! — resonated on a very deep level for me. Memories of my own dark moments of despair surfaced, and I believe some healing happened through the powerful experience his writings invoked.
I’m sharing what he wrote in its entirety, then I’ll share more about my own experience tomorrow…
Recently, I woke up at 4 a.m. feeling crushed under the weight of my anxiety. Unpaid bills. Graying hair. Strained relationships. Health problems of a loved one. Struggling writing career. Relentless bouts of depression. Self-doubt. Anxiety. Regret.
It was all laying on my chest like a cannonball. I have never felt this type of despair before.
I crawled out of my bed and walked across the street to find a park bench to cry alone on. I didn’t want my family to see me like this. I didn’t want God to see me like this.
I was at the edge of all that I could handle.
I put my hands in my face and just let it all out. Everything I had been holding onto. All my grief. All my sorrow. All of my fear. All of my pain.
It all poured out of my eyes. I hadn’t cried like this in a decade. The guttural groaning coming from me probably scared a couple squirrels into believing a wolf had made its way into town to eat a fat-tailed rodent for a snack.
I cried and cried until the sun came up. With my face buried so deeply in my palms I could hear my thumping pulse against my cheek. I felt each tear squeeze their way through the gaps in my finger.
It was like I was melting right there on that park bench. I figured in a couple hours a jogger would have to jump over the middle-aged puddle of clothes and hair that I would soon become.
My inner muse whispered in my ear like she always does in these moments when I’m barely holding on.
She told me to “write something.”
That was her usual prescription for helping me through a panic attack like this.
“No,” I replied out loud.
The nearby squirrels looked ar me with concern in their pebble eyes as I argued with my invisible angels.
I didn’t want to put it all on paper -or in this case on my phone. I didn’t want to write about this unseen heartbreak I was going through. I didn’t want to read it. I just wanted to melt down into a drain. I was too tired to do anything else.
“Open your eyes, John,” my muse spoke softly.
“Why?”
“Because you’re about to miss it,” she said. I swear I could feel a pair of lips kiss my forehead.
I lifted my head. The sun was peeking. The darkness was the one that was melting away and I was still there – yet so was my anxiety.
“Miss what?” I asked.
My muse didn’t respond. She didn’t have to.
A lovely dragonfly was hovering about four feet away from me. She must have come to the bench to celebrate the coming day. We looked at each other. One of us was breaking and the other was honoring the breaking dawn.
“It’s all so beautiful,” my muse said through the sound of the dragonfly’s whisking wings.
“Yes, it is,” I admitted through my post-sob dry heaving.
The dragonfly danced for me. Up, down. Right. Left. It was just the two of us.
“Now…write…” my muse said.
I pulled out my phone and wrote this:
******
I wasn’t going to write a poem today
then I worried that if I didn’t that I might start to forget
how terrifying and beautiful this whole experience is
I would love to quit writing about the knots in my stomach and the rivers of grace I often find myself swimming naked in
but I think doing they would be the first step in taking the mystery of each of those mystical riddles for granted
and I’d rather be mocked and made to feel humiliated for my vulnerability
than to be bored
by the distinctive music that the wings of a dragonfly makes when it joins the harmony of the near-silent sobbing I produce while sitting at a park bench at sunup
the frequency of it’s outstretched wings the tone of my sentimental tears blend simultaneously to create the song of sunrise
two unwitting poets writing lyrics together under the crawling shadows of first light
one writing with her furious anisoptera form
the other with his trembling hands
both poets unafraid of remaining authentic to the growing melody that’s been playing inside each of them since they first hatched
both poets unsure that they will survive this day without being under the boot of an enemy we didn’t know we had
both poets recognizing their fragile role in the beautiful play they have been cast in
both poets equally considered grotesque or lovely
depending on which set of eyes look upon them
both poets taking inventory and writing their story
one blurry wing beat and one thirsty written line at a time
a lemonade dragonfly hovering a blueberry man considering a pineapple horizon pouring a pair of cracked coconut wings a single fresh watermelon smile
Tomorrow is the end of this challenge (my third!), so today was the last of four weekly fast days.
It’s an interesting paradox. On the one hand, by week four of the challenge I’m in a flow and things don’t feel as physically hard (even the fasting!).
On the other hand, by the end of each challenge I find myself starting to get a little squirrely and somewhat restless.
Nothing too serious, but this is why I love a program that’s broken up into chunks. Even if I start to crave something different, I can easily tell myself, “No way! There’s only ___ more days in the challenge; don’t give in now!”
Plus I’m getting wiser about how I “indulge” in-between challenges, so that I allow variety and a little splurging without completely derailing the process.
Today I got together with my friend, Eileen, for the first time since before the pandemic. We had a lovely visit over lunch and as we were leaving she raised the question of whether we had met in high school or junior high for the first time.
Well, it was definitely junior high school and we were all of twelve years old!
I particularly recall music appreciation class with Miss Jewett (or was it Jewell?), but we might have also been in Mr. Wang’s math class together. Band for sure — me on flute, Eileen on French horn. And probably P.E. and who knows what else!
I don’t believe we ever did the pinky swear, but after fifty years of friendship, it seems pretty clear we didn’t need it.
Singers from multiple locations in India, as well as New Zealand and Italy!
We just finished collecting the videos for our fifth version of the Ananda Worldwide Virtual Choir.
We’ve come a long ways in terms of figuring out the best ways to communicate with, make backing tracks available to, and collect videos from our global choir, but it’s still a very labor-intensive project.
In fact, it feels like pretty hard work….until the videos start pouring in!
I get such a thrill every single time I see the joy, devotion, and sweetness pouring through every singer. We’re spread all around the world, but I feel the reality of our oneness in Spirit each time we do this.
