adventures of a fearless (mostly) globe trotting seeker...
wondering, wandering, barefoot, nomadess

Friday, April 16, 2010

Doing the devil's work in the bible belt

friday, april 17
cleveland, ohio

love from cleveland, detroit, chicago
corn fields with billboards for churches on one side of the road
and for porn shops on the other
love from another strip mall where i bang out tantric manifestos on my cracked mac
cracked and smeared yellow from tumeric powder in india
exotic lands are far from this daily grind of another court yard marroitt,
another starbucks coffee shop
i eat the road every day like a lustful demoness

i spread the good word of tantra, a sacred road dog for god in the bible belt
doing devi's work, so often called the devil's work
me and my demons we get a kick out of this
as we sit in the back of the classroom giggling and throwing spit wads in the proverbial gears of sanctimonious spirituality
my sufi teacher used to say when someone was full of it
"you make me boring"
yes, self righteousness makes me boring
burn the light that you are

i'm not here to make apologies for the wildness in me
i won't go quietly with the music still in me
i will dance and dance
til my bones shake
til my heart aches and breaks
til i fall down laughing at myself and everyone around me
sucking the marrow out of life
one day at a time

furnace of joy (the path)

i see myself like a clay pot being fired in the furnace of life
of my own desires
of all that which i cannot change
and must accept and submit to (some call this surrender)
i call this my spiritual path
i call this fire the furnace of joy

when the path has asked so much of me,
which is to say my inner volcanoes began rumbling and erupting
and would be silenced no more
and when my inner became exposed to the outer
and when i am called out to the places i have hidden
and when they are shown in the light
in a burlesque revue
for myself and those i love
i call this burning
the furnace of joy

when i left my husband for a lover
and ran off to india to become enlightened
and ended up sitting on a toilet with dysentery
when he called me a saint and a whore
when he said he couldn't speak to me anymore
i said
someday we will be sitting next to each other again
holding hands
our faces burned with joy

because i married him afraid of not being able to take care of myself
and when my power began rising
i didn't want to stay
i wanted to be free to explore
my old clothes didn't fit anymore
like new wine in old wineskins
and still my path beguiles me
calls me to go just a little further
to test the boundaries
yes i am capable of love
in the furnace of joy

yea though i walk through the valley of death
of the fear of my own and the collective shadow
i shall fear no evil
for thou art with me
i cry out to thee
i search for your face as others search for the sun rising in the morning
great is thy faithfulness

when i pray
who am i praying to?
to whom am i expressing my deepest hopes and fears?
is god in heaven?
is the devil under the earth?
when i pray, i pour myself into myself
i pour my hope into my fear
in the furnace of joy

Monday, April 12, 2010

Healing Abuse...Amen

sometimes the wounds run so deep, so deep
it is hard to see how some of us have a fair chance at life

when i teach on tantra and sexuality, so much time i spend crying with students about abuse, molestation, sexual violence. the longer i practice and teach tantra, the better i have gotten in just sharing the moment instead of trying to have an answer. i sit in the opened wound with this student, this friend, this fellow human finding a way to move through the glory and pain of life. we are all fumbling for grace. for forgiveness, for love. oh god we crawl on our knees in a pilgrimage towards grace and love.

and sometimes, like in one of these tantra workshops, some word sets off the memories, a story is shared in the safe container of the group. the ground beneath opens and swallows us up. and in this place of feeling, the past and future disappear and we are just in feeling. in this naked moment.

i do not have the answers. i could blow some spiritual sunshine up their ass, about non-attachment and such. but i choose silence and sharing. i choose to look in the eyes of the one telling the story and to see myself reflected. i choose to breath a little deeper to stay, to train myself to stay and not run away.

because this pain is also my pain. i also come from a history of sexual abuse. i can relate, i can be triggered into my own wounds and pain. i have myself wrestled with the unfairness of life and questioned any reason to go on living in a world with so much unfairness.

somehow, the yoga helped heal me, to make me feel that life was good.

brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, husbands, wives and lovers, i feel you deeply. this is all of our story. the love, the longing. the pleasure the pain. there is no way out but to learn to accept and love what is. this human life is full of messy human interactions. there's no self-help book, no perfect meditation that can make you immune to that.

In tantra, we worship God as Mother. Mother is the giver of life. From the body we have all been born, even Jesus came out of his mothers body. So this tantra is an accepting of God as Life, as it is here and now. Not God in heaven only. God as Life here and now. And she is a bitch sometimes. Sometimes it feels like the laughing mother is playing with our lives. Or it feels there is no God to intervene on our behalf, to intervene to stop suffering and violence.

And still this Life comes with another breath. I breath in. I breath out.

I cry for you brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, husbands, wives and lovers, as I cry for myself. I also laugh, eat and make love. I do yoga and tantra and pray and pray. I pray for the Universal soul as I pray for my own soul.

I may not deserve some of the pain i was given and I may not deserve some of the stupefying beauty that i have experienced, but I am here anyways.

I had someone tell me that the sexual abuse was my lesson to become as powerful as I am. Perhaps. But I have grown tired of needing reasons, of making meaning. It simply happened, it simply is. And I wake up every morning, and i make a life for myself everyday, cobbling it together out of scraps of velvet, silk and leather. When I stand back I see beauty.


Sunday, April 11, 2010

For one more kiss...

Sunday, April 11

I had dinner with an older indian gentleman the other day. we were talking about yoga, meditation, spiritual power. he said that he hoped to be self-realized so he wouldn't come back to this earth.

i would come back.
for just one kiss.
even if that kiss ended up breaking my heart.

for just one magical kiss i would do it all again.

i don't think that's attachment.
i think that's loving my life.
after all, it's all i truly know i have
in the present moment.
and my broken heart always opens so pinkly, so softly
and i taste my tears on my tongue
and feel very much alive
it's the cracks in my heart that let the love in

for the sweet and the bittersweet
for the love of redemption

we humans walk where angels fear to tread