Let’s just say this has not been my week. It’s funny because I have been feeling like life is moving too fast, that I have no time to slow down, and that there is never time to read or day dream because I am never sitting still. Well, I should have knocked on wood. Sunday I broke three fingernails, one down to the quick, trying open a stuck window. It hurt, I was mad. I hate trying to do things with bandages on your fingers, it’s just hard but also the bandages come off so easily. Just a pain, but not that painful. The next day, however, turned out to be painful.
I was getting breakfast Monday morning when one of my heavy ceramic plates slipped out of my hand and landed squarely on my big toenail. The pain was magnificent. Omnipresent. Excruciating. Beyond words. Comfort from my dear husband? His help was to suggest he drill, yes I did just write DRILL, a hole IN my throbbing big toenail to release the pressure. You know how when you’re hurt and there is talk of hurting more the hurt you feel increases like tenfold or something? I could not believe.
In any case, I realized that it does not actually allow me to slow down as much frustrate me because I still have to do all this stuff to do (in-laws visiting this weekend) but I am now moving at a slower rate of speed. It has actually made it worse. I know, I sound bitter and complaining and deep inside myself I know this is not that big a deal COMPARTIVELY but….my toe HURTS! If you have ever seen “Mr. Deeds” with Adam Sandler, you will appreciate that every time my husband looks at my toe he says “The hideousness of your foot will haunt my dreams forever.” No drill marks though, thank you very much.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
Mother Time
We sleep and wake at odd times: our tiredness, we discover, has many layers.
-Tony Cohan, On Mexican Time.
Lately I have been feeling like every day is at least two days long. And in that space of time, I am not quite sure what happens. I don’t even know how it happens. It’s as though time is actually dissolving before my grasping hands. I wish I could momentarily step out of the earth’s gravitational pull and somehow slip through the gap of a day: An entire 24 hours devoted to my renewal and to the tying up of loose ends. Unfortunately, life does not give time outs, and I am deep in the midst of a space I like to call *“Mother Time.”
The idea of “Mother Time” came to me when I started reading the virtual book club’s pick of the month: On Mexican Time, by Tony Cohan. I was immediately struck by the title and, as I delved deeper into the story, I could sense the peace and calm Cohan was trying to convey in his “sufficiency of days.” Having spent time in Mexico, and other like-minded places, I do understand this way of experiencing time on a superficial level: I enjoy it, I strive to be that groovy, but still I am a westerner…with a puritan work ethic…steeped in an ideology of production…set in the “having it all” mindset.
I have to say, however, I am beginning to cave. I hate to admit this, even to myself, but I am really tired. And besides that, I am very NERVOUS because compared with a lot of other women; I don’t think my plate is even that full. I am not a single mom and I’m not a working mother.
But still I feel like the work never ends. All the gardening, house cleaning, dog walking, baby swinging, cooking, dishes, entertaining, trying to exercise, maybe look nice, buy some new glasses because your baby broke your very last one and now your drinking coffee out of a shot glass from your college days oh OH and then try to find time to write because it clears your mind but there is no time by the time you try and then sleep beckons and oh yeah maybe I should try to seduce or be seduced but my mind is so cluttered because I haven’t had time to write and sort my thoughts and by now I have a serious writers cramp and my swirling thoughts collide in the air above my head creating such a cacophony I wonder if I might be making less sense than Babou’s first attempts at communication which makes me wonder if it was only coffee I put in that shot glass or maybe I should be using something stronger.
And that’s when I realized I am in “Mother Time.” That it is ok. The rules I once applied to myself no longer work or even really make sense. The rhythm of my day is not an agenda as much as a tango between loosely held goals and the needs of my family. The one goal and agenda I am holding firmly onto is that I will not lose myself in the fray. This is what I have come to call “Mother Time.”
My name is Jo, I am in Mother Time. Please don’t break my shot glass.
-Tony Cohan, On Mexican Time.
Lately I have been feeling like every day is at least two days long. And in that space of time, I am not quite sure what happens. I don’t even know how it happens. It’s as though time is actually dissolving before my grasping hands. I wish I could momentarily step out of the earth’s gravitational pull and somehow slip through the gap of a day: An entire 24 hours devoted to my renewal and to the tying up of loose ends. Unfortunately, life does not give time outs, and I am deep in the midst of a space I like to call *“Mother Time.”
The idea of “Mother Time” came to me when I started reading the virtual book club’s pick of the month: On Mexican Time, by Tony Cohan. I was immediately struck by the title and, as I delved deeper into the story, I could sense the peace and calm Cohan was trying to convey in his “sufficiency of days.” Having spent time in Mexico, and other like-minded places, I do understand this way of experiencing time on a superficial level: I enjoy it, I strive to be that groovy, but still I am a westerner…with a puritan work ethic…steeped in an ideology of production…set in the “having it all” mindset.
I have to say, however, I am beginning to cave. I hate to admit this, even to myself, but I am really tired. And besides that, I am very NERVOUS because compared with a lot of other women; I don’t think my plate is even that full. I am not a single mom and I’m not a working mother.
But still I feel like the work never ends. All the gardening, house cleaning, dog walking, baby swinging, cooking, dishes, entertaining, trying to exercise, maybe look nice, buy some new glasses because your baby broke your very last one and now your drinking coffee out of a shot glass from your college days oh OH and then try to find time to write because it clears your mind but there is no time by the time you try and then sleep beckons and oh yeah maybe I should try to seduce or be seduced but my mind is so cluttered because I haven’t had time to write and sort my thoughts and by now I have a serious writers cramp and my swirling thoughts collide in the air above my head creating such a cacophony I wonder if I might be making less sense than Babou’s first attempts at communication which makes me wonder if it was only coffee I put in that shot glass or maybe I should be using something stronger.
And that’s when I realized I am in “Mother Time.” That it is ok. The rules I once applied to myself no longer work or even really make sense. The rhythm of my day is not an agenda as much as a tango between loosely held goals and the needs of my family. The one goal and agenda I am holding firmly onto is that I will not lose myself in the fray. This is what I have come to call “Mother Time.”
My name is Jo, I am in Mother Time. Please don’t break my shot glass.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Weekend Wishes
After a long week of both myself and Babou being sick with colds, I am more than ready for a little rest and relaxation. I am heading south, down to visit my love and enjoy the incredible weather. I am so excited just to be in a hotel and not have to worry about dishes or laundry or watering or weeding...just to be for a bit. I am especially excited about starting "On Mexican Time: A new life in San Miguel," by Tony Cohan, the Virtual Book Club's book for this month (check it out at http://the-virtual-bookclub.blogspot.com/).
Surviving this week has made me think there should be a book called "Mother Time." I am surprised there isn't one yet. I can't speak, of course, for all mothers, but my sense of time has changed drastically since the birth of my daughter. I like this way of time much better than the goal-oriented sense of time I had before, but it can be...errr...challenging. My sense of time is more cyclical now, more malleable, more flexible. Much more natural. Sometimes hard though; it is a balancing act trying to get stuff accomplished with a baby. Mostly I feel its a challenge that keeps me fluid and flexible. At least that's what I say to myself to keep myself going on days that are too much, but it is mostly how I truly feel.
But, back to the weekend, here is some inspiration. Listen to the words of this song or, better yet, play it if you have it, and imagine dancing barefoot with someone you love. On a summer evening. In that perfect moment between light and dark, when things are fuzzy, but just clear enough (just like the perfect amount of wine!). Feel the fragrant, still warm grass under your feet. Even if its snowing, it still can be summer in your mind!
"Into the Mystic"
We were born before the wind
Also younger than the sun
Ere the bonnie boat was won as we sailed into the mystic
Hark, now hear the sailors cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic
And when that fog horn blows I will be coming home
And when that fog horn blows I want to hear it
I dont have to fear it
I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
Then magnificently we will float into the mystic
And when that fog horn blows you know I will be coming home
And when that fog horn whistle blows I got to hear it
I dont have to fear itI want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
And together we will float into the mystic
Come on girl...
-Van Morrison
Surviving this week has made me think there should be a book called "Mother Time." I am surprised there isn't one yet. I can't speak, of course, for all mothers, but my sense of time has changed drastically since the birth of my daughter. I like this way of time much better than the goal-oriented sense of time I had before, but it can be...errr...challenging. My sense of time is more cyclical now, more malleable, more flexible. Much more natural. Sometimes hard though; it is a balancing act trying to get stuff accomplished with a baby. Mostly I feel its a challenge that keeps me fluid and flexible. At least that's what I say to myself to keep myself going on days that are too much, but it is mostly how I truly feel.
But, back to the weekend, here is some inspiration. Listen to the words of this song or, better yet, play it if you have it, and imagine dancing barefoot with someone you love. On a summer evening. In that perfect moment between light and dark, when things are fuzzy, but just clear enough (just like the perfect amount of wine!). Feel the fragrant, still warm grass under your feet. Even if its snowing, it still can be summer in your mind!
"Into the Mystic"
We were born before the wind
Also younger than the sun
Ere the bonnie boat was won as we sailed into the mystic
Hark, now hear the sailors cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic
And when that fog horn blows I will be coming home
And when that fog horn blows I want to hear it
I dont have to fear it
I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
Then magnificently we will float into the mystic
And when that fog horn blows you know I will be coming home
And when that fog horn whistle blows I got to hear it
I dont have to fear itI want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
And together we will float into the mystic
Come on girl...
-Van Morrison
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Perspective
I learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if one advances confidently in the direction of (her) dreams, and endeavors to live the life which (she) has imagined, (she) will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.
-Henry David Thoreau
Thank you all so much for all the birthday well wishing! I am indeed such a lucky lady! Yes, I turned 32 this Friday and had a wonderful day filled with lots of good friends and wonderful food and yummy cocktails, litchi martinis being the cocktail of choice (mix half litchi juice and half vodka, add a couple of litchis themselves to the bath and viola)!
And I got a gift that will be of great interest to the virtual book club ladies! “T” presented me with a hardbound, SIGNED, copy of “Eat Pray Love!” Am I THE luckiest or WHAT? It actually says…”To Jo with blessing…Elizabeth Gilbert! Anyway, I thought you guys would get a kick out of that! You can imagine how excited I was!
I was also pampered with beautiful flowers, jewelry, and a massage and facial! I think I may have started snoring in the massage--it was all just too delicious and my Babou has been running me RAGGED lately. Literally, DC I think I have you beat as I am just over thirty and QUITE frayed!
Actually, I am very happy to be in my thirties. I am quite enjoying them. It seems to me that the twenties, at least for me, was all about fitting myself into what I thought I should be—they were all about achievement no matter the expense. It seems for me that now the thirties are all about consistency and discovering what fits me instead of the me trying so hard to fit into whatever mold the world thinks I should fit into. I have to say this is a lot thanks to my little ones…baby and dog. They are teaching me so much about rhythms and being yourself and being happy. They are truly blessings although needy little buggers!
Yes, I’d better close as they are both letting me know without a shadow of a doubt that we are LATE for out daily walkabout!
Thanks again for all the lovely Birthday wishes—I could not ask for more!
-Henry David Thoreau
Thank you all so much for all the birthday well wishing! I am indeed such a lucky lady! Yes, I turned 32 this Friday and had a wonderful day filled with lots of good friends and wonderful food and yummy cocktails, litchi martinis being the cocktail of choice (mix half litchi juice and half vodka, add a couple of litchis themselves to the bath and viola)!
And I got a gift that will be of great interest to the virtual book club ladies! “T” presented me with a hardbound, SIGNED, copy of “Eat Pray Love!” Am I THE luckiest or WHAT? It actually says…”To Jo with blessing…Elizabeth Gilbert! Anyway, I thought you guys would get a kick out of that! You can imagine how excited I was!
I was also pampered with beautiful flowers, jewelry, and a massage and facial! I think I may have started snoring in the massage--it was all just too delicious and my Babou has been running me RAGGED lately. Literally, DC I think I have you beat as I am just over thirty and QUITE frayed!
Actually, I am very happy to be in my thirties. I am quite enjoying them. It seems to me that the twenties, at least for me, was all about fitting myself into what I thought I should be—they were all about achievement no matter the expense. It seems for me that now the thirties are all about consistency and discovering what fits me instead of the me trying so hard to fit into whatever mold the world thinks I should fit into. I have to say this is a lot thanks to my little ones…baby and dog. They are teaching me so much about rhythms and being yourself and being happy. They are truly blessings although needy little buggers!
Yes, I’d better close as they are both letting me know without a shadow of a doubt that we are LATE for out daily walkabout!
Thanks again for all the lovely Birthday wishes—I could not ask for more!
Thursday, March 27, 2008
A Moveable Feast
Develop interest in life as you see it; in people, things, literature, music - the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself.
- Henry Miller
Driving up and down the state as much as I have the past month, I realize that I live in a most wondrous place, a place so unique and beautiful and inspiring in its many faces. I know that I am biased, I am a complete California girl, I mean COMPLETE. And I have not traveled all the states of America, I know that many are just as beautiful, unique, and inspiring. But California is home to me and I cannot separate myself any more than I could separate from my body; the hills have hardened my bones and strengthened my muscles, the air has perfumed my thoughts, and its beauty has lit my soul.
And there is still so much to explore! I still need to travel to the northern easternmost parts. I long to swim in the Salmon river and hike the John Muir Trail. I still have not been to Yosemite. And the desert. What can I say of the desert except that my sisterfriend and I zipped through it too quickly one road trip. But I will never forget our one stop, in the middle of the night, we stopped. We drove off the moonlit road and turned off the car. We lay on the hood of her car and stared at the stars and listened to the sound of silence until it didn't sound like silence anymore...just the night. In the desert.
Cultures for many years, many years ago, worshiped nature and I can't help but join them. If there were ever a hymn or prayer or whispered liturgy I would hear it in the center of a canyon, on the top of a mountain, in the bubbling of a stream, the caress of a wave.
"But my heart cried out for you, california! Oh california! I'm coming home...I'm your biggest fan California, I'm coming home!" The lyrics to Joni Mitchell's "California" rang in my ears as I drove and drove...feasting on the landscape unfolding before me, a litany of beauty I read with my eyes.
Yes, I am a California girl.
- Henry Miller
Driving up and down the state as much as I have the past month, I realize that I live in a most wondrous place, a place so unique and beautiful and inspiring in its many faces. I know that I am biased, I am a complete California girl, I mean COMPLETE. And I have not traveled all the states of America, I know that many are just as beautiful, unique, and inspiring. But California is home to me and I cannot separate myself any more than I could separate from my body; the hills have hardened my bones and strengthened my muscles, the air has perfumed my thoughts, and its beauty has lit my soul.
And there is still so much to explore! I still need to travel to the northern easternmost parts. I long to swim in the Salmon river and hike the John Muir Trail. I still have not been to Yosemite. And the desert. What can I say of the desert except that my sisterfriend and I zipped through it too quickly one road trip. But I will never forget our one stop, in the middle of the night, we stopped. We drove off the moonlit road and turned off the car. We lay on the hood of her car and stared at the stars and listened to the sound of silence until it didn't sound like silence anymore...just the night. In the desert.
Cultures for many years, many years ago, worshiped nature and I can't help but join them. If there were ever a hymn or prayer or whispered liturgy I would hear it in the center of a canyon, on the top of a mountain, in the bubbling of a stream, the caress of a wave.
"But my heart cried out for you, california! Oh california! I'm coming home...I'm your biggest fan California, I'm coming home!" The lyrics to Joni Mitchell's "California" rang in my ears as I drove and drove...feasting on the landscape unfolding before me, a litany of beauty I read with my eyes.
Yes, I am a California girl.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
On the Road Again
"I've always been crazy, but its kept me from going insane."
-Unknown song lyric.
No, dear reader, I have not disappeared into the ethers, and I apologize for my absence from the blogging world. I have actually been busy running up and down the beautiful state of California--literally from end to end most of the month, unable to get to a computer let alone much else. My husband's work as a diver is erratic and often he can be on one job in southern California one day and then be on another in Northern California the next. We travel as a family when the jobs are short, as they have been lately. I am tired and ready to be in one place for awhile!
I am returning home tomorrow and will enjoy catching up on everyone's blogs and get some serious reading in for the virtual book club. I will also be happy to how my little garden is growing, if the plum and fig are now in full leaf. If my lettuces have choked each other out yet as I have not had time to thin them. Back to the rhythmns of home life. Funny, I was getting tired of the daily round before my husband got called on all these jobs! I should watch what I ask for! But it was oddly what I needed for my sometimes gypsy-ish nature!
For all the travel, we did manage to make it fun. We stopped in Malibu for requisite fish and chips at Neptunes Nest, and watched the surfers catch gentle waves while the sun set slowly into an impossibly calm ocean. I am lucky enough to have visited sisters I havn't gotten to see in too long, had some amazing hikes, got to see that I definitly am not a city girl thanks to our time in LA. Lots of insights and fun mixed in with hours of driving till I thought I might scream! Babou was amazingly good. She is a trooper. I am so lucky. But most of all I will be happy to finally be home tomorrow and catch up on gardening, friends, writing, and my friends in the blogging world!
Ciao Bellas!
-Unknown song lyric.
No, dear reader, I have not disappeared into the ethers, and I apologize for my absence from the blogging world. I have actually been busy running up and down the beautiful state of California--literally from end to end most of the month, unable to get to a computer let alone much else. My husband's work as a diver is erratic and often he can be on one job in southern California one day and then be on another in Northern California the next. We travel as a family when the jobs are short, as they have been lately. I am tired and ready to be in one place for awhile!
I am returning home tomorrow and will enjoy catching up on everyone's blogs and get some serious reading in for the virtual book club. I will also be happy to how my little garden is growing, if the plum and fig are now in full leaf. If my lettuces have choked each other out yet as I have not had time to thin them. Back to the rhythmns of home life. Funny, I was getting tired of the daily round before my husband got called on all these jobs! I should watch what I ask for! But it was oddly what I needed for my sometimes gypsy-ish nature!
For all the travel, we did manage to make it fun. We stopped in Malibu for requisite fish and chips at Neptunes Nest, and watched the surfers catch gentle waves while the sun set slowly into an impossibly calm ocean. I am lucky enough to have visited sisters I havn't gotten to see in too long, had some amazing hikes, got to see that I definitly am not a city girl thanks to our time in LA. Lots of insights and fun mixed in with hours of driving till I thought I might scream! Babou was amazingly good. She is a trooper. I am so lucky. But most of all I will be happy to finally be home tomorrow and catch up on gardening, friends, writing, and my friends in the blogging world!
Ciao Bellas!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
A journey to devotion
Earth laughs in flowers.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
As I have said before, I am a spring child and I am passionate about my flowers. I have been this way all my life, just crazy-in-love with flowers of all kinds. All my life I have collected them, coveted them, and demanded them from unyielding lovers. I have bouquets in almost every room of my house, little gifts to the household gods—“please, please help me keep my home harmonious” I say as I set them in their spots.
Changing flowers and their water is a little devotional part of my housework, an inner cleansing and harmonizing of my space. I have always loved this idea of devotional service to the home. It has been in the background of my imagination for over ten years now. It is an attitude towards life that I strive to cultivate.
I remember reading a passage in one of my favorite books, ¡Yo! By Julia Alvarez, and feeling so happy that another has my odd habits: ”The minute they are in the house all the spirit waters have to be changed before she can relax or even unpack her suitcase. Don’t ask her why. At certain windows there are saucers filled with water, again don’t ask her why…She is not a wannabe witch and she is not a leftover hippy…These superstitions—he mustn’t call them that—are part of her island background.” Reading those lines for the first time felt so perfect to me because my rituals were also inspired by an island culture.
At the tender age of 21, I traveled to Indonesia with my best friend. We stayed in Bali for most of the month, devoting ourselves to exploring that beautifully exotic place. They say that Bali is the true Garden of Eden, and it truly is one of the most sensual, redolent places I have ever been lucky enough to experience.
Every morning that I awoke on that island, I was greeted by the strong scent of burning incense and…garbage! It was an admittedly odd juxtaposition of scents but, in an indescribable way, hauntingly pleasant! Every morning the Balinese women could be seen sweeping the front of their homes. After this duty was performed, they would carefully place a tray on their impeccably clean front porch. The tray, filled with a most beautiful assortment of colorful fruits and neat squares of rice, was always set against a backdrop of burning incense. I was struck by this simple ritual offering, of floating prayers of gratitude and renewal on wafts of smoke and anchoring them in the substance of the fruit and the rice and the rising of the sun.
I always thought, in my perfect life, I would make a similar offering to begin my day. In my perfect life, I would quietly entice the gods to pave my future hours with joy. I would inspire them with offerings of beauty to perfume their thoughts and make them smile.
After I returned home, however, my life quickly gained momentum and the idea went dormant somewhere in the back of my mind. I ended one relationship and began a new one (with my future husband) and we moved to Santa Barbara together. In the first couple of months that we lived there, we stayed at a sort of halfway house until we found our good spot on the outskirts of the city. The in-between-house was run as a collective. We all worked for an hour and, in return, we had a maid and our meals cooked. The food was all organic and vegetarian. The woman who ran the home had studied with a guru in India and that had inspired her to create this place for like-minded individuals to coexist.
I usually cleaned for my daily hour of service. They had a particular way of cleaning and whenever a room had been completed, it was the custom of the home to leave a stick of burning incense as the final touch. Suddenly that dormant idea in the back of my head began growing again! I was amazed to re-encounter this beautiful idea a half a world away from its birthplace!
Again, my life gained momentum and I moved, this time into an apartment with two male friends along with now-husband/then-boyfriend. That was an adventure all it’s own and needless to say the idea of enticing any gods went dormant until one day in one of my Religious Studies classes I was inspired by the topic of “Puja.”
Puja is the devotional practices one performs for whoever they are devoted to and is mainly a Hindu/Buddhist idea. The concept was so beautiful to me and was so obviously the underbelly of my experiences lighting incense to end a cleaning in the communal home, and in the witnessing of the morning Balinese practices.
The concept of puja ignited all the dormant ideas and excited their possibilities. I added, to my perfect view of my perfect day, beginning it with puja to my body, mind, and home. That I would face the rising sun with exercise, a cleaning of the body with breath, followed by a cleaning of my home, leaving each room sweetly smelling of incense. I would leave a gift of flowers in each room to inspire my gods to smile on me.
Of course, I do not do this every day. But, after ten years of cultivation, the idea is no longer dormant; it has steadily grown and solidified and now occupies permanent space in my consciousness. It is a framework that continually defines my mornings; I can see where I stand in my life against this background of devotion. Every day I work towards balance and beauty in all things. Every day I celebrate it in flowers and scent. Maybe it’s a bit too romantic an idea that my practices affect the gods attitudes, but I do believe Emerson’s idea that flowers are the earth laughing. And that makes me smile. And isn’t that what it's all about anyway?
Selah.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
As I have said before, I am a spring child and I am passionate about my flowers. I have been this way all my life, just crazy-in-love with flowers of all kinds. All my life I have collected them, coveted them, and demanded them from unyielding lovers. I have bouquets in almost every room of my house, little gifts to the household gods—“please, please help me keep my home harmonious” I say as I set them in their spots.
Changing flowers and their water is a little devotional part of my housework, an inner cleansing and harmonizing of my space. I have always loved this idea of devotional service to the home. It has been in the background of my imagination for over ten years now. It is an attitude towards life that I strive to cultivate.
I remember reading a passage in one of my favorite books, ¡Yo! By Julia Alvarez, and feeling so happy that another has my odd habits: ”The minute they are in the house all the spirit waters have to be changed before she can relax or even unpack her suitcase. Don’t ask her why. At certain windows there are saucers filled with water, again don’t ask her why…She is not a wannabe witch and she is not a leftover hippy…These superstitions—he mustn’t call them that—are part of her island background.” Reading those lines for the first time felt so perfect to me because my rituals were also inspired by an island culture.
At the tender age of 21, I traveled to Indonesia with my best friend. We stayed in Bali for most of the month, devoting ourselves to exploring that beautifully exotic place. They say that Bali is the true Garden of Eden, and it truly is one of the most sensual, redolent places I have ever been lucky enough to experience.
Every morning that I awoke on that island, I was greeted by the strong scent of burning incense and…garbage! It was an admittedly odd juxtaposition of scents but, in an indescribable way, hauntingly pleasant! Every morning the Balinese women could be seen sweeping the front of their homes. After this duty was performed, they would carefully place a tray on their impeccably clean front porch. The tray, filled with a most beautiful assortment of colorful fruits and neat squares of rice, was always set against a backdrop of burning incense. I was struck by this simple ritual offering, of floating prayers of gratitude and renewal on wafts of smoke and anchoring them in the substance of the fruit and the rice and the rising of the sun.
I always thought, in my perfect life, I would make a similar offering to begin my day. In my perfect life, I would quietly entice the gods to pave my future hours with joy. I would inspire them with offerings of beauty to perfume their thoughts and make them smile.
After I returned home, however, my life quickly gained momentum and the idea went dormant somewhere in the back of my mind. I ended one relationship and began a new one (with my future husband) and we moved to Santa Barbara together. In the first couple of months that we lived there, we stayed at a sort of halfway house until we found our good spot on the outskirts of the city. The in-between-house was run as a collective. We all worked for an hour and, in return, we had a maid and our meals cooked. The food was all organic and vegetarian. The woman who ran the home had studied with a guru in India and that had inspired her to create this place for like-minded individuals to coexist.
I usually cleaned for my daily hour of service. They had a particular way of cleaning and whenever a room had been completed, it was the custom of the home to leave a stick of burning incense as the final touch. Suddenly that dormant idea in the back of my head began growing again! I was amazed to re-encounter this beautiful idea a half a world away from its birthplace!
Again, my life gained momentum and I moved, this time into an apartment with two male friends along with now-husband/then-boyfriend. That was an adventure all it’s own and needless to say the idea of enticing any gods went dormant until one day in one of my Religious Studies classes I was inspired by the topic of “Puja.”
Puja is the devotional practices one performs for whoever they are devoted to and is mainly a Hindu/Buddhist idea. The concept was so beautiful to me and was so obviously the underbelly of my experiences lighting incense to end a cleaning in the communal home, and in the witnessing of the morning Balinese practices.
The concept of puja ignited all the dormant ideas and excited their possibilities. I added, to my perfect view of my perfect day, beginning it with puja to my body, mind, and home. That I would face the rising sun with exercise, a cleaning of the body with breath, followed by a cleaning of my home, leaving each room sweetly smelling of incense. I would leave a gift of flowers in each room to inspire my gods to smile on me.
Of course, I do not do this every day. But, after ten years of cultivation, the idea is no longer dormant; it has steadily grown and solidified and now occupies permanent space in my consciousness. It is a framework that continually defines my mornings; I can see where I stand in my life against this background of devotion. Every day I work towards balance and beauty in all things. Every day I celebrate it in flowers and scent. Maybe it’s a bit too romantic an idea that my practices affect the gods attitudes, but I do believe Emerson’s idea that flowers are the earth laughing. And that makes me smile. And isn’t that what it's all about anyway?
Selah.
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