Sailing Lesson (2023)
Six months ago, after searching for land to no avail, as well as not finding inspiration, I got interested in sailboats.
If it’s a midlife crisis, it means I’ll be sailing until I’m 130 years old!
I sailed and raced dinghies as a teenager, cruised the Baltic Sea right after high school, and fished commercially in Alaska for five seasons, but otherwise, I hadn’t been at sea for 35 years.
After browsing the classifieds on Boat Trader and Yacht World, I took off for New Orleans to go help my friend Maury get his newly purchased sailboat ready. I spent a week working and sleeping in intense heat, and continued to Florida where I started looking at boats for sale, stopping at every marina and boat yard along the way.
I kept driving up the eastern seaboard all the way to Maine, and then worked my way back down the coast. I looked at dozens of boats, was tempted to buy a few of them, drove 11,000 miles, slept in Walmart parking lots, often started my days at Starbucks (they open at 5:00am in some places) and finished my days at Wholefoods, looking for my next boats to go visit. I am grateful for corporate America for making my trip safe, predictable and digitally comfortable!.
Upon reaching Jacksonville, Florida, on my way back, I decided I had enough of looking and wasn’t ready to buy a boat. My deep dive into the world of sailboats was an eye opener as far as what it takes to refit a boat to make it ocean crossing-capable.
So I thought it would be wise to go sailing first, regain my sea legs and assess whether that lifestyle suits me, or if it was just another fantasy.
I signed up on a popular crew-finder website and created my profile. Most people looking to crew on boats are young, pretty, handsome, fit and experienced, so I wondered what chance I would have to get on a boat having next to nil offshore sailing experience. I stated that I used to be a farmer and, as most people know, small old-time farmers have to do everything and are usually pretty resourceful, tough and mechanically savvy.
I got in touch with a couple captains but nothing was happening. Then one day, I get a message from a captain who liked my profile story. Darn, my luck! His boat is an Oyster 56, a luxury yacht.
I had an hour interview with him, and I was in. I flew to Seattle a couple weeks later and got on the boat in Port Townsend where it was anchored. Luxury indeed! Built in 2006, the interior is all oak cabinetry and flooring, the boat has hydraulic furlers for main sail and Genoa, electric winches, air-conditioning, freezer, induction electric stove and oven, water maker, and top notch electronics. The owner, being from the Mediterranean, likes fine food and even bakes his own bread! For my first offshore cruising experience, I’m going to be spoiled!
I spent 31 days on the boat, and cruised 1,200 miles, visiting Port Townsend, Neah Bay, Newport, Eureka, Monterey and Ventura, our last stop. Because we spent several days on anchor at each stop, I could describe many technical details about repairing a broken motor mount on the main engine, adjusting valves on both main and generator diesel engines, replacing a circulating pump for the heating/air conditioning system, replacing salt water hoses and exhaust elbow on the generator, redoing the caulking on the front part of the teak deck, and polishing and waxing the deck and cabin gelcoat. I could talk about all the gourmet breakfasts and dinners I cooked everyday, and giving the boat a complete interior cleanup-bilge, engine room, storage and pantry.
But more importantly, I want to share my experience cruising double-handed (just me and the owner) with a very talented, experienced, demanding and tense captain. Having lived on fishing boats for months on end, with talented and demanding captains, or difficult crews, I had some practice in the matter.
I’m still digesting the experience as I write this, but let me tell you that it may have been one of the most meaningful experience of self-growth, self-mastery and self-control I may have ever had.
Many of you know me as being quite intense and demanding sometimes... Well, this month-long cruise, working my buns off, turned out to be a remarkable exercise of being completely in service to a boat and her captain, practicing not taking anything personally, being incredibly patient, kind, generous and loving. I have to say that it was humbling to be on the receiving end of impatience, snappy communication, and expectations well above the norm, especially for a non-paid situation.
Each day, I cultivated a grace and equanimity that I never though myself capable of mustering. Each day, I meditated on the millions of people who are in situations where they have to shut their mouth if they wish to keep their job. Everyday I said yes, and kept diving deeper into a sort of detachment from my needs. Each day, I found more opportunities to embrace qualities that had thus far eluded me, having a history of often getting triggered, reacting with anger, having high expectations, or being often disappointed. Each day was like re-entering the meditation hall, ready to face my demons, surrendering to the teacher, and having many opportunities to watch my mind and reactions.
I can’t say that I learned a lot about sailing or being on a boat that I did not already know. That will be for my next cruising experience. But I can wholeheartedly say that this was one of the most valuable spiritual experience I’ve ever had. One where I saw in me the seeds of goodness, kindness, generosity, patience and detachment. It gave me hope that I can overcome the affects of childhood trauma that always seem to have me living on edge, or on the fringe. I am very proud of myself, and surprised by the unexpected outcome of this cruise.
I am already looking for my next crew position, and look forward to practicing being impeccable, not just with my attention and concentration, seasoned mechanical and cooking skills, but with my patience and kindness. That way, when/if I buy a boat, I will be better prepared to be a good captain, one who manages to keep his crew happy, safe, educated, and above all, eager to return as crew for the next exotic destination.
However, I am in no rush to buy a boat, or being a captain. I have a lot to learn and am eager to do so. For me, the prospect of growing emotionally during cruises is as exciting as sailing surrounded by whales or dolphins, and for the time being, I am looking for inspiration.
What could I offer while living/ traveling on a boat? What kind of new mission could I concoct to continue using the Mil Abrazos nonprofit to do some good work? I’m hoping to soon crew on some expedition/mission-oriented boats doing some kind of education or humanitarian work.
As I post this, I’m getting ready to go to France to visit family and then fly to the Canary Islands to see about catching a boat crossing the Atlantic. I am also open to other destinations. I plan to be cruising until the Spring to seek inspiration as far as a new project.
I’m very grateful for having found my sea legs again. I am also very grateful for having been given the opportunity to cruise on a gorgeous boat with a captain who was a good teacher of maritime knowledge-navigation, docking, anchoring, weather, diesel and systems maintenance, rope making, sail repairs and baking bread!
The Swan Song of a Young Elder (2022)
I walked into the field ready for harvest and the red winged black birds were there, chomping on my Chihuahua blue corn. For the past two weeks, I had yelled at the happy fellows for pissing me off by eating the fruits of my labor, and was ready to again. But instead of a scream, my heart opened to a sense of gratitude for the ability to feed wildlife.
I worked a two-acre field pretty much alone last summer, growing blue corn, bolita beans and winter squash, waiting for volunteers to come farm in community, like our ancestors have done. I spent several days with a young Hopi man who shared songs, stories, and wisdom from his elders, like “tend your corn every day as if they are your children”. I seeded by hand with a couple friends following me to close the furrows, laid four-and-a-half miles of drip lines, and was able to get germination before the irrigation ditch went dry.
Hail, monsoon rains, and winds knocked over the corn several times. Hilling the fallen stalks, weeding, and the heat wore me out. I took long naps in between hoeing sessions. All other farm work was put on hold and I went into “management mode,” as one of my elders recommended.
A handful of friends came to weed, but I harvested, husked the corn and winnowed the beans pretty much alone for ten weeks, yielding 1,500 pounds of corn, five hundred pound of squash and four hundred of beans. After six years of primarily large-scale urban farming and four years on this farm, last summer was a brutal initiation. I felt a great sense of accomplishment, but also was exhausted. Not having young people learning by my side brought me great sadness.
I started this nonprofit farm along the Pecos River, ninety miles from Santa Fe, New Mexico, after running a popular two-acre urban farm in the city. I built a campground. I became commissioner of the irrigation association managing our thirteen-mile long ditch, wrote grants to teach kids the culture of the Acequia-the communal care of the irrigation ditch. Several essays I wrote on the topic of repopulating farmland were published in well-read regional papers.
I spent the winter alone, making gallons of soups with the crops I grew, and resumed construction on a farm building I established when I moved here. I repeatedly invited my previous urban farm audience to come participate in the simple chores of a farmstead and explore the potential of this farm as a community-building center. A resident made ice cream and cacao brownies for visitors. But to my great dismay, hardly anybody came. Instead, people cheered me up on Facebook. I oddly felt like the lone star of a survivor-type reality show!.
In March 2022, I turned 64, and had to admit that my strategy—“if you build it, they will come”—had failed. Continuously waiting for people to participate in a community endeavor didn’t make sense.
So it is with sadness and a sense of relief that I am putting the property up for sale. I am pleased with what I have accomplished and learned while stewarding this beautiful piece of land. The trees, berry bushes, and cover crops I planted, and the food I grew, fed a lot of wildlife. I gave myself wholeheartedly to both the project and the local community. I have no regrets.
The nonprofit was created as a community land trust, with a mission of exploring the creation of a permanent agrarian settlement, one of the principle tenets of Permaculture. Most people idealize a back-to-the-land lifestyle but don’t seem to understand that affordable farmland isn’t located at the edge of a city, and that practice tending the commons and growing a surplus of food, another tenet of Permaculture, is necessary. All of this takes great effort, resources, courage, discipline, commitment, and ingenuity. If it was easy, there would be plenty of flourishing agrarian communities in the countryside.
I lost ten pounds during the summer, but since I ate almost all the ice cream and brownies we had made for visitors, I am back to my normal weight and ready for my next adventures as a young elder. My wish is that the next owner of this farm benefits from all the work I did, and finds a way to preserve agricultural land for future generations. I believe we must create new communal settlements, where farmland is cared for, food grown, children raised, and people cared for through sickness and death.
Becoming a Community organism (2019)
I know that I am not a category. I am not a thing — a noun.
I seem to be a verb, an evolutionary process — an integral function of the universe.
R. Buckminster Fuller (1970)
During many plant medicine journeys, I fell into the pits of hell. I saw war, famine, torture and anguish as if I was in it. I felt it so deeply that I would be in agony, howling in despair for hours. The plant was showing me the pain of the world as being in me.
Has colonization made us so numb that we cannot, in normal times, feel the pain of a world where millions live in poverty, oppression and hunger? Where species, who have supported us for million of years, are disappearing everyday. Is the food we eat, water we drink and life we live preventing us from feeling and thus acting accordingly? Have we become that mechanized and insensitive?
With our environment toxified by chemical, religious, electromagnetic, radioactive, light pixels and other negative influences, how do we individually and collectively act as white blood cells in a sick and deeply out-of-balance system?
How do we decolonize and rewild ourselves, purifying and transforming the toxicity brought about by dogma, and a mind control education that pushes us to become obedient workers to feed a ruling class’ addiction to control, power and greed.
How do we drink and transform the pus of the world? How do we embrace the pain and oppression of the world as our own?
For many of us, is our longing for community a natural biological impulse to evolve into being an organism? Becoming a part of a whole, with a specific function in the body of the Earth.
Indigenous people, the ones who resisted or escaped colonization (if that’s possible given the might of the the industrial-religious machine!) do not view themselves as separate from their environment. Indigenous people having lived on their ancestors’ land are in on-going communication with their ancestors. They dance in community with the spirit of their ancestors.
Uprooting people from their ancestral land, which war, genocide, private ownership, speculation and imminent domain have done, is a sure way to break a people’s connection with, not only a sense of place, but with its sense of purpose - taking care of the land that has been their ancestors’ home and has sustained them for hundreds and thousands of years.
Without a sense of place and a sense of belonging, we cannot properly function as humans. We no longer feel part of a larger system that we are born from and die into. We do not have a true sense of purpose. We become colonized.
Our longing for community is a natural impulse, a whisper, or sometimes a screaming from the depth of our DNA, our collective memory, our tribal roots, our animal roots.
Trusting that impulse is key to transforming the human world into a new organism where every part is essential and aimed at the same goal-maintaining health and balance in the system.
Where do we now begin, if we are to follow natural impulses and restore balance on Earth, “repairing the World”, as the Hopi say.
Creativity in its pure form IS the voice of the Earth. We need to learn how to listen to our innermost feelings and dreams, and trust these impulses emanating from the heart of the Planet.
We are creatures of the Earth. Our mind, stewed for years in a colonized world, makes us believe that we are separate from that larger body-the Planet, our Mother.
If our heart aches these days, it’s because we are feeling. That means we can also feel the life that it’s possible to create when we extract ourselves from the machine and relearn how to be human again.
We’ve all experienced some degree of community, a feeling of belonging to a larger organism. We feel it in sacred union with someone, with family, a team or in an ecstatic dance. Or while visiting a forest, or swimming with a pod of dolphins.
In these moments, we operate more as an organism, however short-lived. We feed the organism and are fed by it. When that organism is clear about its function, it performs at a higher frequency. That energy heals, inspires and invigorates the cells of the organism.
The threatening circumstances of our damaged natural habitat are activating biological processes in us. Some will become sick (physically, emotionally and spiritually), processing toxicity accumulated through centuries of oppression/genocide/rapes/lies/mind control and pollution of all sorts.
The system of the Earth, in its infinitely perfect design, is equipped to heal.
The pus of the Earth must be understood and transformed.
Community with humans and non-humans is the phenomena that will carry us to a whole new level of existence. We don’t know how human will evolve. We don’t know what’s contained in our DNA.
A Hopi elder said: ”There is a river flowing now very fast. It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid. They will try to hold on to the shore. They will feel they are torn apart and will suffer greatly. Know the river has its destination. The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open, and our heads above water. And I say, see who is in there with you and celebrate. At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally, least of all ourselves. For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey comes to a halt. The time for the lone wolf is over. Gather yourselves! Banish the word struggle from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration”.
We have to trust that we can evolve, that we are in it together and that those of us alive in these times are equipped to live and assist in this new birth. Like a birth it can be glorious, messy and terrifying. We are future human beings and doulas all at once.
We are in a chaotic phase of metamorphosis where we are internally dying and being reborn at the same time. The ego must trust that we are all in this together and are all activated by the dire state of the world. The energy pulsing from deep within the Earth, is propelling us into an evolutionary leap to ensure humanity will survive, even if it’s just for a little bit longer.
We are in the process of healing the Planet. We are helping heal the toxicity of the Planet.
The process, however painful is helping bring balance to the system.
We need to feel part of the WE of humanity.
We need to embrace it all. Without doing that, we cannot heal.
We must attune to the greater body of the Earth, to help detoxify the biosphere, while also drawing upon the Earth’s evolutionary vitality to fuel our sacred walk.
This is the new medicine we need to embrace.
“Walk in beauty” they say.
Alright, what do we have to lose anyway?
May the New Year be magical like a forest, full of interesting creatures and wonder.
May we feel at home there, in our own heart, free like all beings should be.
Designing the New Agrarian Settlements
Fourteen years ago, while driving on a west coast freeway, I had a striking vision and got so engulfed in it that I overshot my destination by 17 miles. What I saw were highly organized, disciplined, well-trained and well-financed caravans of people arriving on farmland that had been devastated by chemical-based agriculture.
They showed up in colorful semi trucks and were erecting villages. They had trucks set up for carpentry, some for cooking, and they built mess halls, bunkhouses, shops and bathrooms to accommodate large amount of people. They had children and elders with them. These people had technologies to remediate polluted and sterile soil, and their mission was to regenerate farmland and grow food. The local population had been prepped about their arrival and were aware of their mission. They were like an Earth Restoration Corps.
At the time, I was deeply involved in running a ritual dance project in several cities, so I put the vision on the back burner of my creative kitchen. A few years later, the dance project having run its course, I set out to research how to bring about a sustainable culture. That led me to an interest in soil science and composting. I started my first home garden, launched a community garden in San Pancho, Mexico, and started Gaia Gardens, a large urban farm in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
During that time, I have been building a basecamp to begin an in-depth conversation about how to create a new agrarian settlement that can inspire and support a rejuvenation of our Northern New Mexico farmland.
When driving through our region, be it Mora, Abiquiú, Chama, Villanueva, Ribera, Penasco, Anton Chico and many other irrigated areas, it is easy to notice how little “agriculture” is left. Most of what people call agriculture in the region consists of growing hay and grazing a few cattle on irrigated pasture or on public land, both of which, as we know, are not so good for the land unless it’s done with a holistic approach.
Until World War II, these areas were the bread baskets of the region, growing an abundance and surplus of food. The cheap price of oil after the war made it possible to import food from far away places, food grown in large commercial farms most often powered by underpaid and abused immigrant labor from south of the border. Los Alamos and the State were hiring and drawing young people away from the family farms. With good salaries, they could afford to buy food grown elsewhere. Why would they work so hard growing their own food when the price of imported food was so cheap.
The countryside slowly saw its population diminish. The people who stayed resorted to grazing cattle for a living, as it doesn’t require nearly as much labor as growing vegetables, fruits and grains. With young people deserting the family farms, rural food stores disappeared and fresh food was no longer available as it had always been. People’s health started to decline. With poor health, poverty crept in and farmland got further abandoned.
The older generation stayed behind, clinging to the homestead. In some of these areas, 50% or more of the land is no longer irrigated because managing flood irrigation water is time-consuming and often labor intensive. Maintaining ditches is demanding so many of them are neglected for lack of labor. The parcels left fallow now risk to have their water rights repossessed by the State which is always hungry for water rights, limited by statute, to supply urban and suburban expansion.
The further away you go from the city, the less populated it is. From the perspective of a modern city dweller, it is pleasant to visit these areas on the weekend but the prospect of living in these areas is daunting. There are none of the delights that the city offers. If they have children, the prospect is even gloomier.
As many of us dream of returning to the land and live communally, very few of us do. We are stuck in cities or suburbia, caught in an ever speeding rhythm that breeds stress, disease, isolation and unhappiness.
So where do we start? How do we move from the when-I-win-the-lottery or retire fantasy, and begin a journey towards a different life for ourselves and future generations.
There’s been a multitude of communal experiments where people left the city in search of a new and more satisfying life. The hippies, the back to the land movement, the kibbutz and even as far back as the 1880’s in Germany when a young and educated generation left cities polluted by the coal-powered industrial revolution and resettled in the country, launching what we know now as the alternative health movement.
How do we draw from the successes and failures of all these experiments, to design a new form of existence where simplicity, sharing, caring and cherishing Nature, and service, are the tenets of our lives.
If it was easy to do, there would be countless communities all over the countryside. The reality is, there are very few. Statistics show that 90% of all intentional communities fail in their first year.
I see an obvious link between the need to reclaim and restore farmland for food security, and the creation of new agrarian settlements. They go hand in hand. Farming must return to a community model. Agricultural land must be reclaimed into the commons.
Farmland is dying to be loved. Irrigation ditches (acequias), which are the blood vessels of our desert agriculture, need care, reverence, upkeep and modernization. Given the unpredictability of our winter precipitations, the distribution of irrigation water must rely on more equitable and efficient methods to maximize the use of our water.
The elders who are still living in these remote agricultural areas, and still cling to their family land, hold a wealth of knowledge. We need to capture the story of their generation, learn about the food they grew, the grain surplus that was milled all over the region when most of the food grown was for human consumption. In New Mexico, over 90% of the food we consume is imported, while thousands of acres of fertile and irrigated land is either left fallow, or is used for growing alfalfa and grazing cattle.
When the Soviet Union collapsed, Cuba lost all its subsidies-imported oil, fertilizers, tractor parts and imported food, overnight. They recalled the old timers who knew how to farm with draft horses. They went organic. They cultivated every empty city lot. The average Cuban lost 30lbs. Cuba is now one of the most sustainable countries in the World despite a 60-year embargo.
Given the devastating effects of climate change on agriculture and the vulnerability of our food system, how do we prepare for what looks like a difficult future? How do we harness our collective resources, ingenuity and wisdom to create food security for our region? How do we concoct innovative cottage industries that can co-exist with small agriculture and provide a resilient economic base to the rural communities of the future? How do we help young people re-populate farmland, raise their family on the land and live a good life?
As many of us know, the family farm is a modern invention and a Hollywood myth. It doesn’t work. It burns people out. We need to get back to a collective way of farming where farmland is held in the commons and no longer speculated on. We need to design agrarian settlement that are well-funded, intelligently designed and rooted in sound governance agreements and practices. The urban population must get behind these new agrarian settlements and they must be designed to serve as places of practice for communal lifestyle, life skills education centers and sanctuary of sanity in a world gone mad.
I know we can do it. Now that our biosphere is in great danger, we have to engage a deeper part of ourselves and radically broaden our imagination, and find answers in our collective intelligence and in the wisdom of indigenous people.
We need places of practice to rediscover our humanness and create new models of sustainable existence. We don’t have to go back to living in caves. We must embrace all that is good and useful and create new villages.
We must bring people back to the land to care for the land that feeds us.
Standing Rock (2016)
People have been asking about my experience at Standing Rock.
I could write many details about how I helped keep the Medics and Healers camp clear of clutter because of the overwhelming amount of people and supplies arriving daily. Or how I removed piles of heavy snow that had accumulated in the camp, helped setup large tents for the newly arrived, installed woodstoves, helped finish an emergency shelter and more.
But upon returning home, I have been reflecting on a larger topic: what are the after effects of participating in a large prayer gathering like Standing Rock, where hundreds of Native tribes are gathered for the first time in history, where sacred fires are tended and women elders are nurturing the emergence of a new governance to guide this unprecedented resistance and sovereignty movement.
What happens when you enter the energy of a working hive and surrender to the needs of the hive?
What takes place in one’s system when you keep your attention in the moment, being willing to do what it takes to keep the collective tasks flowing to serve a camp that’s hosting and feeding thousands of people daily?
What happens when you realize that you are welcomed in an Indigenous-centered environment, mostly populated by privileged white folks and start embracing the fact that your Native hosts and their ancestors have endured (and are still enduring) genocide for the past 500 years?
And what happens when one is focused on tending to the well-being of a group a midwives, one of whom, a member of the Mohawk Nation, I had the privilege of traveling with from Colorado to North Dakota?
As when entering any powerful ritual environment, one’s Spirit can be deeply touched by the fire (maybe the water in this case!) of the sacred space opened by the sincerity and sheer scale of the praying.
I left sooner than expected because I started getting sick, something that rarely happens to me. I went to bed the last night with a fever, headache and upset stomach. I did not want to be a burden to a camp already burdened with sick and wounded people.
I drove for two and a half days with shivers and congested lungs. I slept two nights in motels and took 4 scorching hot baths. I chewed on Osha roots the whole drive and kept an open mind.
On the last 50-mile stretch before arriving home, I started feeling sad. I wasn’t quite sure where my feelings came from, as I should have been happy to be arriving home.
As I laid in bed that evening, I let myself sink into my sadness and was overwhelmed with grief. It was as if I was on my deathbed without having made Peace with my last partner of five years. I decided I couldn’t die in such a state and picked up the phone. I hadn’t been in communication with her for a few weeks. For an hour, we cried the deepest tears that we’ve ever cried together, acknowledging the gift that living and working together for 5 years had been. The healing felt much deeper than our shared experience. I felt as if the imprint of our families’ history was releasing itself from our lives. It was a remarkable and surprising experience.
I remember that during the first night of the blizzard at Standing Rock, I had a dream. I was running on water, totally thrilled to have mastered that skill. In the dream I called a friend, who happens to be a midwife, and told her that her son Kailash should come run with me on water. Upon waking that morning, it dawned on me what an auspicious dream it was while at Standing Rock, where thousands have been protecting water and the lives it supports.
Mount Kailash, the mountain known as Kailāśa in Tibet, lies near the source of some of the longest rivers in Asia: the Indus River, the Sutlej River (a major tributary of the Indus River), the Brahmaputra River, and the Karnali River (a tributary of the River Ganga). It is considered a sacred place in four religions: Bön, Buddhism, Hinduism and Jainism.
Needless to say that I worked with great joy that day, feeling quite blessed.
The day after returning from Standing Rock, I tried to write about my experience but nothing would come up.
It’s then that I turned on some music and started dancing. I felt indeed as if I was running on water. My Spirit was soaring.
Dance has always been a big part of my life and I’m again deeply inspired by the power of its medicine.
Over the years, I’ve come to understand that we can’t underestimate the healing power of our ecstatic expression on the collective, whether it is being kind, generous, artistic, loving, forgiving, playful or erotic.
More than ever, the World is calling us to release fear and embrace Life.
I am getting more confortable daily with embracing the energies of grief and ecstasy as two sides of the same coin.
So I dance, I pray, I trust and I listen deeply to my intuition. What does the world need from me right now? How can I best serve the evolution of humanity? How can I keep reminding myself that everyone of my actions is influencing the collective? How can I evolve as a man while the world seems to be disintegrating into absolute madness?
I cry, I dance, I laugh. I love every moment that I have left to live.
Mni Wiconi
Water is Life.
My Christmas present to my mother (and myself) was a week long retreat at Plum Village, Thich Nath Hanh's spiritual community in France. One of my Dharma friends had suggested that I go there as I was relating to her my hesitation between visiting my folks back home, going on a meditation retreat or taking a beach vacation to Baja.
The idea sounded great. I wondered, however, how my mother would react to such an invitation, since she is not a meditator, has never gone on retreat and does not like to be around too many people. To my great surprise and delight, she accepted and said it would certainly help her relax if nothing else!
Last year she had a mastectomy, underwent chemotherapy, is on anti-depressant and sleeping pills, and has attempted suicide at several occasions. She tends to constantly be on the go and seriously prone to depression.
Suffice to say that after her accepting my invitation, I began to wonder if I had made a good decision. Could I stand being with my mother for a week, and in a retreat environment? I had made reservations, the dices were rolled.
We arrived before dinner on a Saturday and were quickly shown our rooms. A permanent resident briefed us on the daily routine, rules and code of conduct - a familiar world to me since I have been a Buddhist practitioner for several years.
Meals are an integral part of mindfulness practice. The first half of every meal is taken in silence. Since food is a major part of my mother's life, she quickly forgot the meal rules and started eating before the first Mindfulness bell indicating the beginning of the meal, and started talking to retreatants seating next to her. Her attention span is very short and she already had forgotten the rules.
I immediately tensed-up, like a parents watching a child doing something forbidden. Anger arose in me and I quickly reminded her of the rules and the reasons behind these rules. A new world for her. That night, as we were going to bed, she confided to me that the place felt a bit like a jail! I was able to lovingly say to her that such a place is called a monastery!
For the first couple of days, there were several other tense moments, such as when, during the walking meditation led by Thigh Nath Hanh, my mother began walking twice faster than the group's pace, passing everyone until she found herself right behind the leader, and got right into his foot steps. It was both hilarious and unnerving but there was really nothing I could do. I had to let go, begin releasing my judgments and trust that the community would take care of her. I began to relax.
Other events triggered feelings of embarrassment, anger, impatience and shame. Each one became an opportunity to watch all of the invisible ties that link me to my mother. Each time I saw that it was time to give her and I our freedom.
People in the village quickly embraced my mother, admiring her for the fact that she came to {Plum Village with no prior meditation experience. The village soon became a mother to my mother, and I could be free of the responsibilities that I dreaded. I began to breath and enjoy my retreat, and so did my mother!
I watched her doing her walking mediation early in the morning. She joined a Christmas choir rehearsal. She attended all the Dharma talks and even asked questions. She befriended a Tibetan nun, and a Belgian woman who regularly comes on retreat.
People were touched by my mother's realness, curiosity and innocence. They could also feel her tremendous pain. They responded compassionately to her, enjoying her company, sharing laughter's and always demonstrating patience, kindness and joy.
Another striking memory was during a tea ceremony. Cookies and tea were being passed around. Everyone was waiting for everyone to be served and for the bell to be rang. I heard crunchy noises behind me, and as I turned around, realized that it was my mother eating her chocolate cookie, oblivious to the outside world. I looked at her with disapproval in my eyes. As I turned back, a seven-year-old girl across the room was also absorbed in eating her treat. Noticing her, I smiled and quickly had a powerful insight. My mother and the child were doing the same thing. Why was I smiling at the child and frowning at my Mum? My mother is like the seven-year-old girl, totally pure and innocent. She is not doing this to piss me off. As I contemplated these thoughts, a wave of love rushed through my heart.
From that moment on, my time with my mother took a different color. I had so much more space for her. She received a lot of attention from many of the nuns and long term retreatants. She got more love than she probably ever got in her life.
As with most older folks, the fear of the "sect" thing was probably in her mind before she went to Plum Village. To her great surprise, she found people extremely tolerant, compassionate and kind. As we left a week later, the whole Village sang her a beautiful song. She cried, and everyone came to hug her.
I can't say enough about how it's probably touched her life and gave her hope about humanity's ability to love. She now talks about healing with great enthusiasm. That short stay helped her see things in a different light and she made new friends.
Without my friend's suggestion, I would have probably never dared sharing such an experience with my mother. I would have been afraid of being judged for my spiritual views, or not wanting to be burdened by her presence during a retreat.
We now have a new topic of conversation and a much stronger and loving connection. I will certainly go back with her. She was a great teacher for me.
(1999 after the WTO events, Seattle)
I kind of believe in angels but I never thought I would meet so many in just a few days.
And everyone had a face of his and her own.
There was one woman with white hair and white cotton clothes. Her eye had been punched and she was smiling.
There was a 8 year-old black kid who had been gassed on Capitol Hill, along with his parents. He was sitting in a cardboard box and people were signing their name on it.
There was a suburban woman who drove from Issaquah with a minivan load of food for the protesters at the King County jail.
There were young punks helping the soup kitchen at the jail rally.
There was an older activist and poet who was rapping with some kids.
There was a woman physicist from India telling about farmer in her country committing suicide.
There were the naked student women from Santa Cruz dancing with the Steel Union workers.
There was the police officer who asked me if he could buy my afro wig.
There was the baker in Pioneer Square who gave me cinnamon rolls for the police officers.
There were the five young women in black dancing at 6th and Pike, surrounded by police in riot gear.
There was an older homeless native American woman dancing and chanting “freedom”.
There were Teamsters serving coffee for the protesters in front of the Hilton.
There were girls with pierced lips and noses
Guys with tattoos and funny hairdos
Organic people, lawyers and city councilmen and women.
Church leaders, 60’s activists and Vietnam vets.
They all came down from heaven for a big party in Seattle.
Everybody was dressed in funny costumes, even the police!
They threw fire crackers and funny gases.
They made a lot of noise and got their pictures in the paper.
They came from all over the world and distant planets.
They are the children of the revolution and they changed me forever.
For many years, I sat at the foot of spiritual teachers, listening to ancient esoteric teachings. I was drawn to finding a spiritual practice that would further my development and help me alleviate the suffering inherent to my human condition.
I studied with Tibetan, Native American, Sufi and Zen teachers, as well as with various indigenous shamans from Africa and South America. All the teachings seemed to point to the same thing-life is a sort of a dream and there are ways to approach death with joy.
My sitting was often in the back of the room, as I struggle to assimilate the prayers, songs and sequences of the rituals. I knew my aspirations were genuine yet I felt little progress on the path. I reassured myself that the teachings and blessings of the teachers would be lodged deep within my consciousness to reemerge later in a future existence.
My mind was often very distracted as some of the practices, like in Buddhist Tantra, are done in group. My passion and desire often engulfed my whole mind as I attempted to hold the deity’s visualizations. I resisted doing all of the purification practices such as prostrations or recitations.
Many other newer students would excel and receive advance teachings while I kept a low profile in the back of the room. My Tibetan teachers often intimidated me even though they always displayed amazing patience and kindness with me. I felt so inadequate that I could not even ask any specific questions on the basic mediation practices.
I found solace in taking charge of the logistics of large rituals that literally required turning buildings into temples. Without my feeling useful in that capacity, I probably would have left the teachings much earlier.
That resistance went on for the better part of eight years while I studied with the late Chagdud Tulku Rinpoche, a renowned Tibetan meditation master and physician, and Lama Padma Gyatso, one of his main students, translator and ritual master.
In the meantime, I always danced. I attended every possible Pagan parade, Middle Eastern or African festival, and weekly community dances, as I always felt amazingly vibrant and happy while dancing amongst large crowds on the beat of live drums. I made it my “job” to always show up in wild garbs and delight the old and young alike with my antics.
Now that I have left the mediation hall and entered the dance hall, I realize that my quest for spirit never left me. I had to leave the teacher to encounter the teachings.
As I began to organize the Gypsie Nation dances and was traveling daily around the Big island of Hawai’i where I was facilitating six dances a week, the notions of spiritual practice and devotion came back to reveal their true meaning.
Before each dance, I was reminded, as if my teacher was inside, to reflect on my intentions for my dance-or practice. Chagdud Tulku Rinpoche always gave a dissertation on motivation before each and every of his teachings and empowerments.
At the beginning of my Gypsie Nation adventure, I was grief stricken by a separation from my partner and the sudden death of my Mother. I was dancing to pray for my Mother’s auspicious rebirth, as well as to heal myself.
Everything from sweeping the floor, building the altar, picking flowers, buying food for an offering, or putting special clothes on for the dance took on a new meaning. I had entered spiritual practice through the intensity of my emotions. My life, and the liberation of my Mother, seemed to depend on my concentration and quality of intentions, as if I was approaching death (as taught in many, if not all ancient traditions).
Every dance became an opportunity to bring all of my “stuff” to the practice, and stuff I had! My anger, grief, sadness, disappointment, bitterness, resentment, abandonment and lust gave my dance the octane that fueled my practice.
Day after day, I re-entered the dance hall with humility and devotion-to myself, my Mother, the Earth and the community where the dance was taking place.
In that new spiritual practice, the dance became a radiant mirror to observe my mind, transform my emotions and generate bliss that I could dedicate for my Mother’s liberation.
That new practice had no teacher in human form to intimidate me. There was no right way to do it. I could not possibly mess-up. I could bring everything to the heart of the ritual and dissolve myself over and over again. In each of these mini deaths, I would tap into the abundance of energy and love that seem to permeate the whole Universe and dedicate these treasures to my Mother.
In these times of abundance in spiritual teachings and teachers, I believe that new hybrid environments need to be explored and tended to, so as to offer a joyous entry level for those seeking a connection with their soul. Places that again we can call temples, where the village and travelers come to celebrate the glory of life, and practice in devotion to the spirit of community.
I was recently asked at a dance what it was like to be truly with the trance effect of the African drums. I have been exploring intuitively this phenomenon for some time now but never had to explain what I felt to anyone. After a while I told her that it was like " leaning against a heavy door that all of a sudden gives way." The momentum of the resistance to surrendering to the magic of the music, once unleashed, can propel you into unbelievable seconds of freedom and ecstasy.
I have absolutely no training in dance, be it classical, modern or ethnic. Over the years I have always enjoyed dancing, with several periods of two or three years where my emotional states blocked me from enjoying music and free movement. I have gone to many African celebrations where I observed and marveled at the agility of dancers: young, old, fat and skinny alike. Not only did they obviously have a ball, but they seemed to be effortlessly flying through the air, as if carried by invisible threads obviously linked to the music. The master drummers appear to be puppeteers that could entice and hold the dancers in a magical and invisible (to me) web of rhythm. "Wow, if only I could do that! Well, they've been dancing since they were kids! It's in their genes!" My western conditioning would not give me license to enjoy my body the same way or to share the same communal unity that they did. No way!
Imagine my surprise when one day, quite unexpectedly, I found myself, for a fraction of a second, in apparently the same space of absolute surrender and sheer ecstasy! What was I willing to let go of, in order to shift, even for that brief a moment, into perfect harmony with the music? What in the music induced that state? It is obviously well known to indigenous cultures all around the world, and it is somewhat explained by scientists as a trance rhythm.
Our bodies, however minutely described by medical science, are still very mysterious. In my exploration of movement and life in general, more and more I tend to consider my purpose to be the process of remembering my true self, removing the obscurations of my mind and hopefully unveiling the magnificence of a divine being. So with that approach, I already know. I know that I have just forgotten what I already know, despite being told that I need more technique or knowledge!
My experience, often to my great surprise, has shown me time and time again, that everything is in our bones and cells. With enough trust and patience, I think we can have a great time remembering a lot of things that we think we do not know, that no one can teach us, or that we do not feel capable of learning.
How does all this relate to body movement? Well, from that premise, one's desire to discover and surrender to the magic of music can yield great results. We need to learn how to skillfully navigate around and heal our self-judgments and conditioning. From this point on I will refer to these obstacles as "the wall", to avoid redundancies!
My heart often feels for those stuck behind the wall, like watching some homeless people window shopping at Christmas time, with no hope of ever being able to afford such splendid clothes or gadgets. I also often feel that the wall that we communally create hinders my journey into trance. It would explain why indigenous tribal rituals are so effective in propelling participants into altered states, when people's intentions are geared towards creating windows through that wall that seems inherent to our human condition.
So from our western "state", how can we gradually recognize and familiarize ourselves with what makes up the wall and support each other in voyaging to the other side and bringing back to our people the gifts that the journey seems to contain: gifts of joy, timelessness and many other un-namable mysteries. How do we re-teach ourselves what we already know but have just temporarily forgotten, amidst the distractions and glitter of the industrial era? How do we empower ourselves to release the fears and negative thoughts that deprive us from playing, making fools out of ourselves and truly experiencing a more alive and vibrant self?
I would dare to answer these ambitious questions by inviting you to release all expectations that this society breeds, with its fixation on perfection. There is no "right way" to do it. Forget about style and techniques to begin with. Just venture to meet the music with your body -- all of it! Dare to go where spirited music is played, preferably live. Let your spirit do the driving. Let your intuition take you to where spirit is. Go with friends, with a commitment to explore, support each other lovingly, share your fears and apprehensions. Be patient and kind with yourself. Just like in meditation, watch the dance of your mind with all its convulsions and reasons. Amuse yourself by observing your judgments of yourself and others. See their effects on your movements and those of others. Always reaffirm your commitment to cut loose and truly experience bliss in your body-- it's your birthright! Your intent will slowly help you get closer to the wall; feel the gooeyness of its content, and soon it will give way.
Approaching the exploration of movement in that way will surely be very revealing with respect to your emotional baggage. It will be great therapy. You may agonize over the thickness of your wall. You may find yourself dancing an angry dance or a very sensual one. Let yourself be surprised and amazed by the expression of your inner world. Let it all be, it's all part of the journey, just as healing often reveals our many demons. Same job! Befriend them all, one after another. Feel their insubstantiality and ridicule. Invite them onto the dance floor. Because when you truly let go, they come with you, but instead of holding you back, they cheer you-up!
By being willing, committed and curious, I become more and more familiar with the texture of my wall. It also changes, revealing new layers in unpredictable ways. I try to be ready to accept what ever comes up and look it square in the eyes. I often monitor how my commitment to "looking good" hinders the freedom of my movements. At the same time I dare to show-off, stepping out of line and breaking from the unspoken collective agreement. I dance in that paradox. I avoid repetitions and patterns. Spirit does not await me behind an orderly arrangement of "Saturday Night Fever" moves. It lurks in the mist of the most disjointed, ridiculous and unexpected steps. It nips my butt when I truly say "yes" to going for it, with no holding back, even if it is just for a fraction of a second. I know then. The quality of sensations is beyond my normal range. My sense of connectedness and balance surprise me. It delights and scares me at the same time. Again, I am in that paradox.
Once inside that space of trance, or ecstasy or whatever you call it, I find it very difficult to stay for more than a second or two. When the (master) drummers are truly knowledgeable and aware of my connectedness with their magic rhythms, I may manage to sustain myself (or non-self) in that space for ten or twenty seconds at a time. It becomes an in-and-out thing, a play between the known and the unknown, a dissolving and reassembling of my perception. One remarkable thing is that it is invigorating rather than tiring. The efforts are only necessary to overcome the resistance to letting go. In the space of trance, something takes over and dances me. I feel weightless and my range of movement is extraordinarily amplified, along with my space perception and balance. There is no effort on the other side of the wall, just sheer fire, joy and life!
The fear that I experience pulls me back into the known, my conditioned assemblage, my zone of comfort. It's like a rubber band effect. I have noticed that in certain environments, such as night rituals, out in nature, with many people dancing freely and few people watching, my ability to sustain the trance increases. So choose your environments properly: hide in dark corners where no one sees you, disguise yourself so no one recognizes you, go out of town, be a fool away from home! Trick and stalk yourself to penetrate that wall. Be imaginative beyond reason. Give yourself permission to be outrageous and ridiculous. Believe me, you'll get used to it.
So I just went through that wall: the "writer's wall", similar to the one I have been describing all along. I do not know how to write or what to write. I am terrified to expose my words and thoughts to others for fear of being judged. I bear the scars of my school years. It took me a long time to come to the table and paper. I had all kinds of reasons and excuses and rationale to avoid writing. Once I finally surrendered to it, there too, something bigger than me took over. It was effortless and nourishing. In many ways I do not care if anyone will want to publish it or whether it will be shredded or praised. I surrendered to the impulse, the spirit, and I let it do its task. So, I'm happy, I did my job. I'm fulfilled.
Oh, I almost forgot. Take your shoes off as often as possible; I think it's one of the secrets!