The Chicken Who Came to Visit

There’s usually a reason the dogs go crazy. Last night it was the chicken. A bold bird, it was making its way up the steps surrounded by yapping dogs when I went to see what all the commotion was about. In reality, a rooster, as this morning he woke me at daybreak cock-a-doodling. He’s a taciturn bird, seemingly unmindful of insane dogs snapping at his heels. He’s a tough looking bird with sharp claws and a beak, Hopefully able to defend himself because it’s a tough life in the country for a solitary chicken.

A couple days ago I talked to my son about how the way we look at things can change everything. The last time I lived in this small desert town, I felt trapped, restless, wanted to get away. Of course, that was much how I lived my life, always thinking of the next place to go. Today, I’m at peace. I have friends. A job I like. A stray chicken livens up the day. “You had a bad attitude about a lot of things,” he told me.

Yes, I did. I tried to change my life by changing geographics. It worked for a while. In some cases, the changes were deep and permanent. I still drink green tea and practice the tai chi I learned in China. The education I received in Santa Cruz and Nevada has given me a career. But the running did nothing to heal or change who I was.

Today, in the last place I ever imagined living, I’ve finally come home. I’ve finally stopped running.

Wolf Moon

The wolf moon woke me up last night, beaming right through the window. The clouds cooperated, opening just enough to let it shine through, but obscuring Mars that was also supposedly visible right next to the moon.

I can never get enough of the skies in this high desert. Scintillating colors. Clouds. And a horizon that just goes on forever.

For a long time, it seemed to be the ocean that I needed, those lands along the edge where the waves crashed into the shore. There’s a different kind of border here, one of desert and mountains, of restless earth and petroglyphs, caves and volcanos. A place of transitions.

Wholeness

Life is changing. And I believe it’s changing because my head is clearing up, and because for the past year I’ve consciously chosen to follow a more spiritual way of living, not just think about it and not just talk about it or read about it, but to follow the steps. Practice tai chi which has guided me to a more mindful way of living. Sit in meditation that calms my mind. Prayer nourishes the spirit. All of these change things. Slowly. But they change.

My life today has caught me unawares. This isn’t where I saw myself. I never would have dreamed myself here. Living alone in the cold and snow with a dog and two cats as my main companionship. And yet I feel whole. Another change. I don’t need someone else to complete me. I’m not an empty half without a mate. Wholeness comes from a whole spirit, from within. It’s not something I can ever get from another person.

The sky here is amazing. Mornings I wake up early, go outside and watch the dawn break open over the high desert. The gleam of morning sun and scintillating colors stop me, teach me silence.

Cold Days in December

For the first time in many years, I’m starting to feel at peace with my life and my surroundings. Maybe it has to do with regular meditation practice. Maybe just the stage of life. Kids grown. Life transitions. Being alone.

A few days ago, the full moon looked so large it seemed to be bouncing off the desert floor rather than hanging from the sky. Silver in a navy blue sky. The days cold, the wind is quieter than usual.

The nights have been below zero. The days sunny and also bitterly cold. I’m feeling overrun with cats in my life. And, yet, something in me can’t send them off to the pound where I know they’ll be put to sleep. Too many cats in this town already. Too many people who won’t spay or neuter their pets. But I can’t kill an animal. Maybe I’m still too raw from all my life changes of late, but somehow I need to make a positive contriubtion to the world, not a negative one.

Thanksgiving

Today is cold. I hiked up to the top of a hill that I was told was once an Indian burial ground. Boulders circled the crest and I could see in all directions.

Some days my mind is clear. This isn’t one of them.

God for Sale

This past weekend in Sedona, Arizona, two people died and several others were hospitalized after taking part in a sweat lodge led by self-help guru, James Arthur Ray. Adding to the irony of the situation, the retreat was located in Angel Valley.

Ray, developer of The Science of Success and Harmonic Wealth® and a contributor to the best-selling book and video “The Secret,” is touted on The Secret’s website as “an expert on many eastern, indigenous, and mystical traditions.” Charging thousands of dollars for his “enlightenment” seminars, he seems to have ignored one of the essential teachings of all these traditions–that true spiritual teaching doesn’t come with a price tag.

Arizona, and particularly the Sedona area, is a geological powerhouse. Charles Vargas of the Apache Nation in San Carlos says, “Man has always sought stones for higher understanding. The stones are medicine and their spiritual use like those put in the fire of the traditional sweat lodge are all part of the meaning, part of the design, part of the truth of that practice.” Of course, truth is an elusive thing and can hold different meanings for everyone. Even the idea of charging for spiritual lessons has as many defenders as it does detractors. Everyone needs to make a living, and if someone has the gift of imparting wisdom, why shouldn’t he or she be paid for it?

In earlier days, shamans and spiritual leaders were supported by their community, relying on donations for food, shelter and clothing. Today, most of us need money to survive, so it could be argued that money has taken the place of those more pragmatic donations. Yet some traditions still support this idea of giving only what you are able to give. The Mount Shasta Buddhist Abbey offers all of their retreats on a donation basis. Churches, synagogues and temples don’t charge for their services. Spirituality in the Native American community doesn’t come with a dollar sign, and herein lies the problem. Traditional sweat lodges are usually offered by invitation only. They are generally small and the group knows each other well. If a stranger is invited in, it is done after careful consideration and agreement among the regular participants. Just because someone wants this purifying ceremony doesn’t mean they will be able to easily find it, or if they find one, be permitted to take part in it, no matter how much money they offer to pay.

Enter the gurus. Armed with just enough knowledge to simulate a traditional ceremony, they offer retreats, seminars, and workshops promising prosperity and major life changes by learning a few simple tools and “truths.” For a price, participants can have what they may feel they are being denied–an authentic transformative experience. In the case of James Ray, this transformative experience included a sweat lodge purification ceremony. However, it was not a traditional sweat lodge. Larger, than usual, it was packed with strangers who had just met that weekend. They had eaten a large breakfast on the day of the sweat, and Ray co-opted the ritual to his own specifications.

Who isn’t seeking transformation? Everyone seems to be searching for something to fill that vague feeling of emptiness and discontent that so many of us carry around. The thing is, maybe the fact that we’re not finding the experience we’re looking for indicates the need for self-reflection and patience. We live in an impatient society. Instant gratification and the desire for more drives us. We buy better bodies, flashier accessories, the best wine, food, sex, clothes. Why not buy enlightenment as well? If we have the cash, it’s readily available.

Finding something that is freely given takes more time, more searching, more patience.  Vargas says, “All 12 of the sacred stones mentioned in the Breastplate of Righteousness can be found in this state (Arizona). The great spiritual traditions, at their root, all speak the same essential truth.” Transformative experiences are all around us, but they often come in ways that are too simple for us to grasp. They come through repetition. Meditation is easy to learn, but difficult to maintain a regular practice. Sit with your spine straight. Breathe in. Breathe out. Do it every day. Or hit your knees and pray every morning, every night. Walk slowly through the world. Listen to the people you encounter. The panhandler on the street might have the just the words you need to make a small shift in the way you think, the way you live.

But we’d rather pay money to escape from our daily lives for a few days or a week where we’re given the structure to practice these simple teachings. And there’s nothing wrong with this. Retreats can rejuvenate us. We can benefit from stepping away from routine whether it’s going to the Burning Man or a bible camp. But somehow we need to make a distinction between the need to get away from it all and learn something new and having a true spiritual experience. Spiritual awakening can’t be bought. It comes when we search diligently, or it comes in a flash when we’re least expecting it. Living our lives by spiritual principles is something else. Once the initial bliss wears off, we’re left with the mundane reality of our lives. We falter and fall, but hopefully, keep moving forward.

Shamanism, and its connection to the earth is as old as the rocks, those deep bones that hold our planet together. God is even more ancient than that. Maybe that’s where we should be searching for our answers–in the rocks, in the sky, on our knees.

Be Careful What You Wish For

I wanted cats. The cats keep coming.  I took in Mr. Darcy in from a lady overrun with cats, and he’s a good fit. He’s made the place his own. Comes and goes as he pleases.

The people who live in my downstairs house allowed their cat to have kittens, in spite of offers from others to get her spayed. In a town overrun with feral cats, it’s no surprise they can’t find homes for them. Seven kittens now scamper around the rocks and sit outside my door. Naturally, I feed them. One, who I’m calling Tolstoy, has become a regular visitor, no doubt because I give him special treats. Gray tiger cats. Calico cats. In their favor, they’re already learning to kill rodents. Lola, the mother, a good mouser.

Last week I looked outside and two Siamese kittens sat on the woodpile. A few days later, like a ghost, a white cat appeared. Maybe part Siamese. Last night four of them gathered around the food bowl when I went upstairs. Pretty wild, these ones. Run when I come near, although the youngest comes closer by the day.

All together 13 cats now live at the house, unless more showed up during the night or unless one was eaten by a predator. I can’t bring myself to take them to the pound where they’ll live in a cage for a few days and then be put to sleep. When they’re old enough I’ll trap them and get them fixed. I’d rather let them trust their fates to the elements than send them to a certain death.

I’ve heard that there’s a link between cruelty to animals and cruelty to humans and I believe it’s true. When we’re hardened to life, any life, even the most lowly forms, it closes our heart to human life as well. Maybe just a little, but our hearts can shut a little at time, such small closures that we might not even notice.

But the beauty of the human heart is that it can open in just the same way.

Another Sunday Morning

I’ve decided to delete some old posts so today I’m adding something new. I’ve always loved the sound of the wind. I’ve always loved the way it makes me feel.

Today as I sit in my study, I feel at peace with myself and the world. I’ve been spending several months now in AA and am learning a lot. There’s something about listening to people be honest with themselves. Something happens. It’s not a place for everyone, but it is a place for me right now.

I don’t lie anymore. Not to myself. Not to others. Once I allowed my lies to be something of a joke. “All women lie” became one of the slogans of my former life. “All women are crazy,” was another. Those were the biggest lies I allowed myself to live with. When we let ourselves believe them, we perpetuate the myth. We buy into it. We become part of it. I’m not crazy and I never was. I can be a pain in the ass, and for a long time my temper was out of control  No doubt about that. But that’s different from crazy.

Today I’m not looking toward the future and I’m not regretting the past. For today, I’ll stay in this moment with this life. With this peace of mind.

Fire Season

It’s that time of year when hot dry winds blow across the mountains. Helicopters are circling overhead day and night watching for smoke. Wildfires are flaring up.

A few days ago, one burned on a neighboring mountain. Smoke filled the air. Meg, the chocolate lab who lives downstairs howled all night. My dog curled up and watched with mournful eyes. Mr. Darcy, the cat remained aloof.

Last week driving home from Reno a fire raged behind Hallelujah Junction. They are posted on the news. The flit across Twitter and those strange social media places.

Today the wind wails like a banshee. It rattles against the windows with a high-pitched howl.

It stirs up my restlessness. I am ready to travel again. The world is calling and it’s time to step into a new adventure.

Birthday

I celebrated my birthday today without wine, without any substance of any kind unless chocolate truffles from Trader Joes count.

Instead I woke up and meditated. Drank some coffee and went to Chester a tiny town in the mountains. Mt. Lassen hovers over it. In the evening my new friends Joelle and Carol took me out for drinks (iced tea in my case). I wish I were the sort of person who could drink wine. I so love it, but I’m pretty sure, no really sure, that I can’t. Something in my metabolism can’t take it. It messes me up. It tears up my body and confuses my mind. Every day without it I feel more centered, more balanced. I may be healthier than I’ve ever been these days.

It’s a fabulous night. The sun has set, but the sky is still fairly light. Pink but filled with heavy black clouds. It’s a rollicking Sierra thunderstorm. Lightening flashing over the mountain tops. It flashes in my studio. It shakes the windows. Streaks of it come shimmering down. It’s the perfect ending for my day.

Radar, the coyote dog, is curled in her bed. Mr. Darcy, the gray and white long-haired cat who decided to live with me is completely freaked out and under the bed.

I’m writing. I’m dreaming.

I so love dramatic weather. These mountains. The wind.