Kamichu!

The other day Misha suddenly announced that she had decided on her future career.
"I now know what I'm going to be when I grow up!"
"What is going to be then?" I asked. It was about time she had come to this decision. She is already four and I'd been waiting patiently for years.
"I am going to be a god."
I wondered, feverishly, if a Master's Degree was required for Godhood.
"Yeah. And I'm going to wear a very pink dress. With jewels. Lots of jewels."
She sounded definite. I would have to come to grips with all the pink. I began announcing the good news to friends so that they could get their wish-lists in order. She was going to be very busy in the near future and I wanted to give them a heads up. That night, I wondered if I had handled the situation properly.

It just so happened later that same week we were watching our newest Netflix acquisition: Kamichu!!

The first lines of the movie may prove to be the most memorable in film history:
"About yesterday. Something happened...um...I happened to become a god."
Misha gasped! That girl had macked her original career plan.
But as the tale wore on, being a god didn't' seem quite so glamorous. Yurie Hitotsubashi, the middle schooler/god was still very bad at calligraphy, clumsy in PE and couldn't get the boy she liked to even notice her. She invited typhoons by accident and was surrounded everywhere she looked by other gods. At one point she says to a fellow god, "I didn't know there were so many gods," and he replies, "Oh there are as many gods as there are things in the world."

By the end of the movie Misha seemed quite convinced that being a god was nothing too special at all and openly began questioning her career options.
Meanwhile I was still reeling with the depth and beauty of the Shinto message in Kamichu! There are gods all over the place. The world is teeming with holiness. The soccer ball and the edamame (see above picture) represent in the divine world. Have we just not yet awoken to our truest calling as spirits experiencing the human condition? To see the divine in all things. To recognize. To redeem the boring. To revel in the commonplace.
I'm off to the basement to do the laundry. I'll alert you if I see the god of socks. (Misha, meanwhile, is still searching for a job that allows for superhuman grace, courage and non-stop glittery-ness. I think she's well on her way).

Lion of Judah

We welcome with glad hearts

Wylder Judah Wilkerson
11/10/08, 10:05 pm.
5lbs, 6oz; 18" long
Loka Samastah Sukhino Bhavanatu
Congratulations Jerry and Allegra
Great work on making a beautiful lad.

Sweet Dreams

I shall begin this story with words you never want to hear:

I had the weirdest dream last night....

But here goes: George W. Bush was President of the United States. (You may not want to hear those words either). It was September 12, 2001. He stood before the gashed earth that was the Twin Towers and made the world wide proclamation:
"This is a GREAT opportunity for love. We shall exemplify the Christian principles-the principles of all great spiritual traditions and employ compassion. We shall love our enemies. We shall love our Muslim brothers and share in our injured humanity. This event will be the beginning of the healing."
And then he began singing the Youngblood's song, "Come on people now, smile on your brother. Everybody get together, try and love one another right now."

BIZARRE! I KNOW!!

But then the dream continued to unfold as the reverberations of these words were made manifest. The earth literally blossomed. I will not go into grisly detail about the flowers and rainbows and hand holding and singing. Hunger was a thing of the past and the word "war" was a fiction! And there was more. Much more.

Now it's possible that in one of the other dimensions this has taken place. But whatever. We're sharing certain aspects of a dimension right now that does not include George W. singing "Come on People Now."
What my sleeping mind was doing is called in yoga parlance pratikpaksha bhavanam,
or cultivating the opposite state of mind. Desikachar's student Bernard Bouchand translates Patanjali's Sutra 2:34 as this:

When harassed by doubt, cultivate the opposite mental attitude (pratikpaksha bhavanam).

Sutra 2:35 goes on to say:

Cultivating the opposite mental attitude is realizing that it is our own impatience, greed, anger, or aberration that leads us to think, provoke, and approve conflicting thoughts, such as violence. The intensity of such thoughts may be weak, medium, or strong, but their consequences, ever self-perpetuating, are always suffering and ignorance.

And finally the grand kicker!
Desikachar translates Sutra 2:36 as:
The more considerate one is, the more one stimulates friendly feelings among all in one's presence.

It's one thing to try to cultivate compassionate, forgiving even loving thoughts towards a figure as remote and unreal as a politician, so how about starting with yourself. When that nagging, particularly nasally little voice pops into consciousness stating you may not be good enough, beautiful enough, smart enough, enough enough, try a little pratikpaksha bhavanam. Give yourself the same opportunity to blossom like the earth, replete with rainbows, unicorns and freedom from suffering. I am quite sure that friendly feelings are more contagious than the Swine Flu.

100 % Gen-U-ine

Occasionally I read parenting books. Sometimes I need some navigational tools as CEO of the Clifford/Joanou Family, but the problem is that most parenting books end up making me feel like shit. Upon reading most of these "helpful manuals" I feel that I've irrevocably damaged my children by saying for example, "No!" or not using the correct words for the potty, or when insisting they try broccoli I've seeded an eating disorder which will later haunt all of us. I'll think, "Why, WHY did I insist on making them eat broccoli??"

Recently I stumbled upon a book, and judged it by its cover. (See above). The adorable little naked guy sitting in the grass was irresistible. and so against my better judgement I checked it out— "Your Child's Self-Esteem." I held the book in my hand and smiled at the little nude person. I felt happy. I felt promise. Then suddenly the lessons of Yoga began to shroud my optimism. Am I not, as a dedicated practitioner, supposed to diminish my sense of self until I am merged with the greater Self? Then what am I doing holding this book which suggests to go in the opposite direction. And how does one possibly instill such ideas in children?
Despite my experience with such books, and David's total loathing of them, I read it anyway. Since it was written in the mid-60's it was delightfully free of current parent lingo. As I read, my eyes fell upon a phrase that shone like a beacon of truth. THE GENUINE ENCOUNTER. That's what the book was promoting. The simplicity and necessity of the genuine encounter in your relationships with children. This is the moment in conversation when you're really listening. The moment in nature when you're really looking. The moment in a crisis when you're really feeling. This little book suggested that most children can spot the genuine from the fake, and crave the real connection more than anything. I don't think this is exclusive to children.The book suggested that in moments of shared consciousness our sense of self is cultivated and reassured.

But how do we fulfill that need and still cultivate selfless service? Ghandi suggests that the more selfless you become in service, (that is the less you worry about the outcome) the closer you get to the genuine encounter. The more you get out of your own way, you find your life's purpose and this is the source of self-esteem and surplus. The Bhagavad Gita suggests that you come into direct alignment with your principles, you are guided by your dharma and the aspects of the ego that fetter and bind us will fall away in the course of our practice.

So, I sat my girls down and had a heart to heart with them gazing directly in their little eyes (cultivating the GENUINE ENCOUNTER). I explained the nature of the Great Self and the appearance of the individual self. I explained that they would be freed by seva and prayer. I explained that we are all sharing a consciousness and that we should try to direct our attentions to the genuine encounter so that our dharma is revealed and we can do the righteous work.
And then I gave them each three gummy bears, a kiss, and sent them to bed.
Just kidding. I would never give my girls gummy bears before bed.

Yoga Superstar

Close your eyes. Imagine you are 16. Recall your most beloved star. Remember that love, that interest, that fascination. Now imagine that you are in the presence of this person. Your sixteen year old self in the presence of Elvis Costello, David Bowie, Princess Leia, Hans Solo, E.T, Sean Cassidy, or your favorite Beatle, Rolling Stone or even Bob Dylan. OK— you got the meditation. Now you know how I felt this Wednesday night in the presence of TKV Desikachar.

He was sitting all by himself in the corner of the Women's Building in San Francisco. His hands rested on his knees quietly observing the crowd trickling in. He was wearing pants that appeared to be Dockers, a cardigan, giant black framed glasses, practical shoes and a scarf. He also appeared to be slightly amused by the surroundings.
I was telling Jo-Ann about it and she said, "Well, did you go up and say hello?"
"God, NO!" I shivered at the thought. "I was too shy."
For some reason she thought this was funny.

Now I am not going to go into great detail, because it would take all night. He gave a wonderful lecture concerning yoga and meditation. I will report that he announced at the beginning in a thick South Indian accent: "I am going to teach you meditation. And you will LOOOOOOOOOVE it!"

And he did. Without ever mentioning meditation again, he proceeded to show us that learning meditation is a practical matter. That one must simply begin. His chanting was precise and beautiful, not in the aesthetic sense of singing, but in the sincerity of his voice, the command of Sanskrit, and the clear thread of devotion that he carried for his Teacher. Mr. Desikachar had us move in very, very simple gestures, while chanting simple mantras that saluted the Earth and the Sun—the very sustaining elements of our being. He translated one of the mantras as: "Oh moon, you are a beautiful person. You heal me!"
It was all so simple, but it quite literally made me giddy. As he wished us goodbye, he said, "I hope you have a beautiful life!" I was so moved I imagined rushing the little podium and hugging him. For me he embodied the deepest elements of teaching Yoga.

I tried to explain it to David when I got home, but failed, as I am here, in imparting how important the experience was. We were in the presence of a true Master, though I think Mr. Desikachar would deflect such a title. I knew we were all in the presence of an authentic teacher, and I was delighted to find that such a great vessel of wisdom prefers Dockers and comfy shoes.

Go Fly A Kite, Or Not...I'm Not Attached

The Gita emphasises again and again that one should cultivate an attitude of non-attachment or detachment. It urges repeatedly that one should live in the world like the lotus-leaf, which is unaffected by water. He who acts placing all actions in the Eternal, abandoning attachment, is as unaffected by sin as a lotus-leaf by water—Padmapatramivambhasa.—

Sri Swami Sivananda

If the above is true, then I'm screwed. My lotus leaf is saturated in water, soggy, bogged down and often slightly bummed at getting wet. I am attached. I am attached to all sorts of outcomes, big and small:
One time I was in a therapeutic situation, and I told the therapist that I had taken the girls kite flying.
"Oh, that sounds nice!" she said blandly.
"Not if you go kite flying with JOAN CRAWFORD." I yelled at her.
She looked at me blankly.
"You know. NO WIRE HANGERS!!!"
Nothing.
"Mommy Dearest?"
"Oh, yes. Well it must have been upsetting." You know how those therapists can be. So noncommital some times.
"I ruined the experience entirely."
"How?"
"I FORCED them to have fun!"

Here's the scene: The day before was a blustery day, perfect for kite flying. We went to the back yard and tried, but trees and fences and stuff kept getting in our way. It was a little frustrating, and so I promised to take the girls to the Berkeley Marina where there are fanny-packed kite fliers galore.
The next morning equipped with our kites, we drove directly to the Marina. It was the most eerily windless day that I have ever experienced in 20 years on the Bay Area. I tried to remain cheerfully optimistic.
"It's OK, girls. Let's go up that hill. There's bound to be wind up there!"
I began the march, and Lucy followed gamely, while Misha began to wail that her sparkly Mary Janes were getting muddy. She plopped down half way up the hill, refusing to go further.
"What about kite flying!" I shrilled, cheerily.
"I don't want to. It's dirty here." she yelled back.
I continued on, determined to provide my daughters with a memory to cherish.
"Here!" I gasped at the top of the mountain/hill. "This will work."
There was still not a leaf trembling on a tree. The sea was glassy.
"Hold your arm up like this and RUN!" I shouted.
Lucy did as told, and began running down the hill as fast as she could, kite skudding behind her on the grass.
"NO! Sideways!" I shouted down the mountain/hill to her.
"Oh," she said and huffed up the hill again.
She began again and ran down the mountain hill, the kite dragging hopelessly behind her.
"It's not working," she shouted despairing.
Now a realized soul would have laughed at this moment, taken the opportunity to marvel at the TOTAL AND COMPLETE windlessness and offered to buy her girls a fizzy water at the nearby market.

But no...
The tale goes on and on, us running sideways and up and down the hill. The kite getting a foot of air, teasing us that it might go up and then diving nose down in the muddy grass, where Misha lay. Lucy, in her wisdom tried to quit several times, but I kept at it like Old Yeller—frantic— rabid for success. I was rabid for fun. I was rabid for flight.
Needless to say the outing ended on a sullen note back in the car, the kite in a degraded state in the trunk and no mention of kite flying made since.
The therapist should have said: "I can't help you."

But the Bhagavad Gita might. It says over and over to not be attached to the outcome. This is exceedingly difficult. The opportunity for release from this bondage is provided for us on a minute to minute basis. Expectation creates attachment. So how does one go through life without expectations? If I were just a little bit better of a person, I would find out. (Expectation) But for now, I am grateful for the dawning day and the opportunity to try a little less hard to accomplish anything other than being Present.

Though in all honesty, I still want to see that freaking kite in the air.

A Couple of Tra La La La's

The other day I cracked out the Wizard of Oz movie. I thought it was high time for some serious psychedelia around our household. As the Technicolor magic began to unfold, Lucy started to say:
"Are those munchkins children?"
"No, they're little people."
"Is that scarecrow a man dressed in a scarecrow suit?"
"Uh, yeah."
"I can see the wire on the witches broom. Can you see it?"
"I think so..." My answers were starting to fade.
"That isn't a real monkey! That's a guy in a monkey suit. And that field of poppies is FAKE!"
And I was sad. Here it was. The unraveling of magic and make-believe.
I wanted to say:"Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!!"
But I tried to patiently answer her questions, and gently suggested that she give herself over to the Hollywood delusion so that perhaps her little sister might take pleasure in the fantasy.
"I can see the man inside that tree costume!" she bellowed proudly.

Even as I tried to shush her, I deeply admired her intelligence, curiosity and will to differentiate between the real and unreal and how The Wizard of Oz is a wonderfully yogic tale in that regard. The best moment came when she realized, on her own, that the Cowardly Lion, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, the Wizard and the Witch were all people from Dorothy's everyday life. She realized that Dorothy had occupied a vivid parallel universe with flying monkeys, little people dressed in FAB outfits, mean talking trees, a horse that changes colors and a hair salon where you can have your eyes dyed to match your gown!! Even still Dorothy was at home. She had always been home and the wizard could not bestow any gift that was not already present in the receiver. Lucy and Dorothy realized that there's no place like home and that all you had to do was unveil that reality for it to be so.

As the great saint Ramakrishna said: "It is all a question of the mind. Bondage and liberation are of the mind alone. The mind will take the color you dye it with."
The big question is: Will my mind match my gown?