how to leave Hialeah

My review of How to Leave Hialeah, by Miami-born writer Jennine Capó Crucet, is posted at the Feminist Review. I highly recommend this debut story collection.

handmade jewelry

Coco’s Greenhouse sells handmade jewelry inspired by nature. This month the Feminist Review is hosting a giveaway for a self-selected piece of jewelry. My favorites include pieces with dragonflies and swallows. For earrings, I am torn between dainty dragonflies and boho birds.
Enter by 25 November.

autumn eats

I enjoy reading food blogs and always aspire to try more recipes.  In my lazy version, sadly, there are no colorful, mouth-watering photos—at least not today.  Here is what I have been eating for the past week, since my spouse pulled the potatoes from our soil.

Potato Soup

A yellow-fleshed potato such as a yukon gold works very well here.  Use what you have as long as it is not a baking potato.  Forgive the lack of measurements.  I’m assuming you’ll use a lot of onion if you like a lot, and base the proportions on the amount of vegetables you have on hand.

onion, celery, garlic.  sauté these in olive oil.  subtract celery if you must.

stir in herbes de provence blend.  this is a mixture of marjoram, thyme, savory, basil, rosemary, sage, lavender, fennel.  (fennel-haters, don’t be scared.  you barely notice the fennel in the blend.  really.)  if you don’t have this blend on hand, add the herbs you like.  rosemary with potatoes is especially tasty.   or an Italian seasoning blend is nice.

add carrots, diced potatoes, broth.  (I only use vegetable broth).  bring to a boil.  if you are making a big batch, feel free to use half broth and half water, as the herbs and vegetables will give it plenty of flavor.  when potatoes are just tender, turn heat low to let the flavors develop.  if you have a bay leaf, drop it in the pot.

when you serve, stir in your favorite greens if you have any on hand.  kale and chard hold up very well, but spinach works, too.

the soup is very flexible.  I have added Italian seasoning, some garbanzos, and pintos (in lieu of kidney beans) for a minestrone variation.  Another day I added curry powder in place of herbs and sweet potatoes instead of carrots.

Improvise and enjoy!

Ursula Franklin review

Ursula Franklin is a Canadian feminist, physicist, educator, and Quaker.  My review of her essay collection, The Ursula Franklin Reader: Pacifism as a Map (with introductory essay by Michelle Swenarchuk) can be found at the Feminist Review.

art aplenty

My recent visit to NYC refreshed my need for creative stimulation.  On my farm, caring for my young daughter, I often remind myself that art can be in the details:  in my food preparation, in my efforts to put pen to paper, and, especially, in appreciation of my daughter’s prolific creative output.  We take walks in the neighboring town and peep in the windows of the glassblowing studio, and, with my love of street art, I glow by the murals.  However, I needed this walk through the East Village for the variety and the quality of surprise.

In Union Square we came across benches made of thick slabs of ice. Towels were available so you could sit on the ice without getting drenched.  After being in the subway, a seat on a block of ice is incredibly refreshing.  Someone with more entrepreneurial impulse than I could start a booming business selling blocks of ice like this.  (maybe someone already does so?) This installation, Burning ICE, was created by Taiwanese artist Chih Chih Yang.  Detailed coverage can be found here.

As we approached 9th Street I gave my daughter a little history lesson—”P.S. 122 is a very important place.  lots of fun art and performance happens here.”—and stopped abruptly when I saw a guerrilla knitting project along the fence.  As we continued around the corner, my daughter gleeful chirped, “There’s more!  There’s more!”, and ran her fingers over her favorites.  There are photos of the 9th Street fence at the P.S. 122 blog.

Friends of mine had the pleasure of encountering a bus covered in knitting in Mexico City.  These guerrilla knitting projects thrill me and warm my heart.  Maybe soon there will be such a project in my town?  hmm….

nostalgia

In the garden of gentle sanity, may you be bombarded by coconuts of wakefulness.—Chogyam Trungpa

Crossing Tompkins Square Park, I walked a tightrope between the beauty of the present moment and the pain of nostalgia. I watched my daughter play in the sprinklers, share a snack with the pigeons, and bark at the dogs in their park.  My daughter befriended strangers, smiled at babies, and negotiated for the right to cover her entire body in sand. (To my great relief, I won that argument.) Together we followed the music, and tapped our feet to the rhythm of the congas.

Even as I enjoyed our visit, my mind wandered into the land of craving: why couldn’t we live there, play in the park each week? Was our private family garden in PA a fair trade for a share in a community garden, where neighbors mingle and connect?

It hurt to be a visitor where I once was a resident, but on the heels of the hurt I had a reality check. Nostalgia is a funny thing, coming as it does with blindfolds and warping of the memory. After all, Loisaida is not all music and community gardens. I had lived in an oven-hot apartment where the only window was in my roommate’s bedroom. One memorable evening I had a conversation with the NYPD that went something like, “Well, if you don’t want to be burglarized, don’t live on the first floor.”

Why is this sense of longing such a big deal? Why is it worthwhile to write on this hunger for what is not there? Experiencing craving in this way gets in the way of enjoying the present moment. When I can be aware and see these feelings arise, I am grateful for the tools I have learned through meditation and yoga. These tools have to be used in regular practice, and I do not have as much discipline as I need. However, on the meditation cushion and on the mat I have experienced staying present with what arises, seeing it clearly and with gentleness.  This helps immensely, because joy and gratitude become the focus.  The mind feels more spacious when it is not clouded with hunger and confusion.

While in the park, mentally wandering away from the present, I was able to catch myself and to say, “Stay here now. Life is now, in this moment.” There still was an underlayer of craving, but I knew it was happening and it could not run away with me. I refused to get stuck and allow nostalgia to ruin my day.

Buddhist teacher Pema Chodron describes my experience concisely. She writes, “All of us derive security and comfort from the imaginary world of memories and fantasies and plans. We really don’t want to stay with the nakedness of our present experience. It goes against the grain to stay present. There are the times when only gentleness and a sense of humor can give us the strength to settle down.”

In the park, when I said to my companion, “I really miss this place,” her response was, “The smell of dog urine? Body odor on the subway? Do you miss those, too?” Sometimes, as Ani Pema alludes, it takes humor to wakes us up.

grounded in gratitude

I highly recommend this article by Frank Jude Boccio, on the benefits of mindfulness and the daily practice of gratitude:

Yoga Journal – Yoga Meditation – Grounded in Gratitude

Posted using ShareThis

The article talks about interbeing, our connection to everything in the universe.  The author took the words out of my mouth when he wrote about being grateful for the sun, rain, soil, and laborers when you eat; that is how I try to say grace at meals.

He ends with a wonderful quote from 13th-century mystic Meister Eckhart:  “If the only prayer you said in your whole life was ‘thank you,’ that would suffice.”

mythmaking

“Before the beginning of time, the moon and sun got married.  One tiny star was at the wedding.  There was nothing else yet.  Soon after the wedding, Earth was born.”

This story is from my five-year-old daughter.  She has been telling stories about celestial bodies since she was three.  At some point my daughter’s stories will appear in my book about spirituality and parenting (or, perhaps, in books that she also illustrates).  For now, they are deeply nourishing food for reflection.

When she learned that Pluto once had been classified as a planet, but now is considered a dwarf planet, she began telling this story:  “The Sun is very sad because her son Pluto is sick; he has a bad sickness and won’t ever get better.”

I think that since the beginning of human life we must have had the desire to tell stories about our universe, to puzzle over the origins of the universe, and to figure out our own place in the world.  The diversity of creation stories told throughout the world astonishes and inspires me.

When my daughter was a bit more than a year old, she had a sippy cup of milk in her little hand as she climbed onto one of our deep windowsills.  She looked out the living room window and saw a giant, creamy moon in the sky. With both hands she lifted her cup toward the moon.  In that moment I had a glimpse back through time, and I could see people visiting temples to make offerings to Artemis, Diana, Coyolxauhqui, Sina, Chandra, and the many other moon goddesses the Earth’s peoples have known.  Of course, my daughter turned the traditional on its head: in her cosmology, the moon is male, while the sun is female.

From that evening onward, whenever she saw the moon she would let out a squeal of delight.  I don’t think I’ll ever forget the first time she noticed the moon in the daytime.  She was incredibly excited that the moon and sun were out together.

It delights me to see my daughter’s stories fluidly entering her playtime.  After all, her play is her work, her way of making meaning out of the various ingredients of her world.  Together we read creation stories from world cultures, and occasionally a particular element will leap out at her, eventually becoming incorporated into her own mythic tales.  If you want to explore these stories, here is a book to start with:  Creation by Gerald McDermott, a richly illustrated re-telling of Genesis 1:1—2:3 of the Hebrew Bible.

affirming ahimsa

Let there never be harm to anyone on account of me.
—Santideva, Bodhicharyavatara 3.14

In yoga, the yamas refer to practices of self-discipline which one should culivate.  Classical yoga, and in particular the text of the Yoga Sutra by Patanjali, describes the yamas as the first step on the eightfold path.  That is, the yamas should be explored before beginning asana (postures) pranayama (breath exercises) or dhyana (meditation).  In this tradition, the yamas lay the ground for spiritual growth.  The foundational yama is ahimsa—nonharming.  Ahimsa applies both to how we treat ourselves and how we relate to others.

When I first encountered the word ahimsa, it was as the title of a vegetarian publication.  However, ahimsa does not only mean not killing.  It asks us to not cause harm in thought, word, or deed.  Ahimsa requires that we begin by not doing things (or cultivating habits) that cause harm to ourselves.

During the physical practice of yoga asana we might practice nonharming by honoring where we are in that particular moment.  For example, I might wish to practice a certain posture, but my body might not be ready.  Daily practice of asana give us a place to practice ahimsa toward ourselves by refraining from self-criticism or other thought patterns that prevent us from being in the present moment.

Practicing mindfulness during asana can help us immensely in life off of the mat.  When we learn to watch our breath, to observe our passing thoughts, it can help us refrain from causing harm to other with harsh speech or quick-tempered responses.

As we examine our practice of ahimsa, we might discover habits that get in the way of reaching our goals.  For example, we might want to eat more healthful foods, yet find ourselves reaching for empty foods that deplete our energies.  Taking time to reflect on ahimsa and how it fits into our lives can guide us toward making wiser choices.

Some would argue that if we can do something of benefit, and we choose not to do it, that also causes harm.  We might take to heart the advice of Kyabje Dudjom Rinpoche:  “Never neglect even the slightest positive deed.  Just do it….Strive with a good heart to do everything that benefits others.” (Counsels from My Heart)

grief

Yesterday morning I received news of my Nana’s death.  I  spent the morning in a bit of a fog, alternately focusing on chores and reflecting on my last visit with Nana.  In the early afternoon, I realized what I needed:  meditation.  I am very lucky to have woods where I live, and I set out for a walk, focusing on my exhale, noticing the songs of the many birds in residence.  I walked half way across the creek and sat on the bridge, dangling my legs over the side, and sat for some time enjoying sitting meditation while the creek gurgled under me.

orioles dancing above
leaves flutter
golden boats float
downstream beyond sight

Part of the time I was led to tonglen practice—sending and taking.  In this practice, you breathe in the emotion that is creating pain or difficulty for you; you breathe out healing and spaciousness.  It is a way to cultivate compassion, because you connect with the reality of human experience.  Breathing in my feeling of sorrow over losing Nana, I am reminded of the sorrow of all others who have lost a grandmother.  Breathing out healing toward myself and others, I can connect with the sense that all wounds can heal, and remind myself of happy memories as well.

You might think to yourself, what is the point of this?  Breathing in someone’s sorrow is not really going to change anything.  However, what happens is the heart begins to crack open, and one doing tonglen can have a sense of being part of something bigger.  Also, the aspiration for healing is an important practice.  Bodhisattva vows are, fundamentally, an ongoing commitment to aspiration for the end of everyone’s suffering.  If I did not have the option of aspiration, I would feel endlessly discouraged.  I would feel helpless.

I sit with the reality of loss—of  my loss, my family’s loss.  Through this personal practice, I can connect with the experience of other humans on this earth.  Perhaps my heart can expand.  Perhaps I can truly continue to practice until all beings everywhere are free of suffering.