chicago

Without a doubt it's got an 'it' that's its very own.

(There's a Frank Gehry tucked away in the last one.)

kindness

I say to my sister: Nobody even said thank you.
My 4 year old niece says: Thank you.
I say: You don't even know what I was saying that for. Why are you thanking me?
She says: Thank you for being kind.

Goddamn that's sweet. Just look at that sweetness.

parking garage

It's an appreciation of the extraordinary...

in the ordinary...

on mad men

Spoiler alert re: Mad Men.

Don's is a story of shame (a child of a prostitute, poor, unloved, unvalued, a deserter, a liar, a coward). He lives a life with Betty that on the surface is perfection. An unbelievably beautiful wife (January is GORgeous), a successful career, a family and home. But he is hiding himself because he thinks he has to be better than what he is, he needs to compensate for what is lacking at his core. So he is perfect to Betty. He asks her over and over - what do you want me to say? - as if saying - give me my line, tell me how/what/who to be in this act so I can maintain this image.

But of course it is unnatural to live like this. And so he cheats. He cheats because the shame in his heart is buried deep and there is no other escape valve through which to release the pressure. He needs to feel better about himself, and what's better than to be wanted. He cheats to soothe the ache or the lack of feeling (as Roger says after his mother's death - I feel nothing) or whatever he may be experiencing as a result.

He tries to FILL the hole by internalizing/consuming/acquiring women. Like the Jaguar ad: finally something beautiful you can own. By owning Megan, he is closer to pureness, optimism, goodness. Women are to him what babies are to Angelina Jolie. Through them they validate their own worth and feel a little less isolated from the world. But it is temporary. An endless supply is needed to fill this space because it is just a temporary relief. It is as effective as warming up a body in the cold - as soon as you stop rubbing you feel the bitter cold seep back in.

He is perfection. He is not perfect but is perfection - the perfect portrayal of a talented, beautiful man built on a foundation of shame. Genius.

oz

The Good Witch says to Oz: I always knew you had it in you.

Oz asks: greatness?

The Good Witch says: no, goodness.

In his quest for greatness (a cloak for his rotten core), he finds a Good Witch who knows he is a liar and a conman and a fake. And yet she loves him. When she tells him he is good, he says to her: so I fooled you. He does not allow for the possibility that he is good with his flaws, he thinks he won't penetrate the force field that allows only good hearts to pass because he believes he actually IS bad. She loves him not for the illusion of greatness but for the honest goodness inside.

The same lesson taught to us in story after story. We don't understand it until we do, then we see that everyone has been talking about it all along only we didn't understand the language.

on alice

Only a few more in this series... Bear with me.

Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her, and to wonder what was going to happen next.

It's Alice in Wonderland going down the rabbit hole.
She let go
let it happen
did not try to control it
did not try to go a certain direction
just
watched
as
she
went.

From a place of trust, of vulnerability, she opened up to what was happening in that moment. She let herself be who she was in that moment, did not hold on to who she was:

Who are you? said the Caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, 'I - I hardly know, Sir, just at present - at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'

And because she had let go, she knew there was nothing to fear. She had faced it in vulnerability and had come out unhurt. The fear that had been associated with it was no longer a concern:

After a fall such as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling down-stairs! How brave they'll all think me at home! Why, I wouldn't say anything about it, even if I fell off the top of the house!

As a result, she just moved with openness:

'Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?'
'That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,' said the Cat.
'I don't much care where -' said Alice.
'Then it doesn't matter which way you go,' said the Cat.
'- so long as I get somewhere,' Alice added as an explanation.
'Oh, you're sure to do that,' said the Cat, 'if you only walk long enough.'

From Pema's The Wisdom of No Escape:
Alice became a heroine for me because she fell into this hole and she just free-fell, she didn't grab for the edges, she wasn't terrified, trying to stop her fall; she just fell and she looked at things as she went down. Then, when she landed, she was in a new place. She didn't take refuge in anything. I used to aspire to be like that because I saw myself getting near the hole and just screaming, holding back, not wanting to go anywhere where there was no hand to hold.

up

When it feels you've seen it all, there's always another dimension.

new york in reflection

two people, the lonely ones

Munch. THE SCREAM, the scream, the scrEAm. Variations on a theme of this:



I didn't feel moved to take a picture of the pastel colored pencil version on special at the MOMA.

BUT.

I couldn't tear myself away from this:




And the title really tore into me. Two People, the Lonely Ones.

THE lonely ones? I asked myself why. Why THE lonely ones? Why is she in bright colors? Why does this hold me? Who were they? Where did they come from? Were they lonely alone or together? Did they undo each other's loneliness? And why am I still standing here?

I also learned ANGST is red. It makes sense - just something I didn't realize until I looked at the title of this piece:

cutting for stone

I'm hooked.

But it happened at page 200!! An editor's mistake, I am boldly willing to say*. Because there is no reason to introduce each character and their history and what makes them what they are all in the first 200 pages. You tell it as you need to. That's what I think. Too heavy at the beginning - it had a hard time picking up momentum with all that mass (M = mv = mass x velocity).

But then you get past it and the story starts to move.

The moment I fell in love was when he arrived in NYC (this morning, as I told my friend, because I read it on the morning commute, the events so much a part of reality I lost the distinction between time in my real world and time in the book).

Superorganism... consciousness and intelligence resided not in the individual ant but in the collective ant mind... Order and purpose must reside somewhere other than within each vehicle. That morning I heard the hum, the respiration, of the superorganism. It's a sound I believe only the new immigrant hears, but not for long... It became part of what the mind would label silence. You were now subsumed into the superorganism.

It is the beauty of being a part of the swell of the morning commute, the bike cutting in front of the car turning at the intersection as the pedestrian finds space between the taxi and the bus. It's the feeling that there's a place for everything in this place, that all of the components belong and have a role in keeping the body alive. It's like being in a dream and knowing you're in it, you're a part of it, but being a part of it nonetheless.

* When do I ever say things unboldly? My working hypothesis: if it's not worth being boldly stated, I choose to stay quiet. A self-directed filtering of anything below the threshold of BOLD.

say what?

Customer: Hi. I'd like the turkey avocado sandwich.

Server: Would you like the whole sandwich or half?

Customer: Oh, do you sell them as half sandwiches?

Server: No.

Customer: (Silence. Waiting for her to catch up.)

Server: Ok, so you'll have the whole sandwich.

(No joke.)

on shame

What is at the core of fear? What holds us back from true intimacy?

Shame.

Shame in who we are covered up in robes of different colors (those rich Buddhist monk colors) - the yogi, the intellectual, the funny one, the nice one, the dependable one, the musician, the flirt, the sexy one, the architect, the chef, the traveler, the banker, the xx, the yy one. All of our inadequacies buried under layers and layers of fabric. Because we doubt the intrinsic value of our self, we invest all our energy and love and attention into our robing and invest nothing in our true self.

We do this secretly, in hiding, because we think we are the only ones. It's the most dangerous weapon in shame's armory. It isolates us from everyone. We cannot trust even those who love us for our true selves. We can't trust them because we believe they are wrong because we KNOW we are lacking.

But if we look at a group of children, who of us thinks one is more worthy of love than another? Who could say one is more valuable, even if one is smarter or more talented or cuter? We all started there in that group, and the core did not change. Why do we think as adults there is suddenly a loss in our worth? Because we have done horrible things that hurt others? Because we have not lived up to our potential? Because there is no one there to tell us we are loved as much or as often or as selflessly as our mothers told us way back when?

But what would we say to the child in that group if they had uttered these doubts? Wouldn't we say that you are doing the best you can and it will all be ok? That you hurt that person because you didn't know how else to handle your fear or hurt or shame? Wouldn't we say, no - wouldn't we KNOW, that what they have done does not deserve the burn of shame? That they are human and forgivable and above all just as precious as ever?

Wouldn't we be kinder to them than we are to ourselves? Aren't they essentially us?

... shame is the fear of disconnection... that something we've done or failed to do, an ideal that we've not lived up to, or a goal that we've not accomplished makes us unworthy of connection... Shame is the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging.
- Daring Greatly by Brene Brown

5 broken cameras

It hurts, but it's necessary. A movie everyone should see. I have seen documentaries and I have seen the news (this is not in US news). But this is different because it's a personal story and it's a feature film.

I understand that it was a bit of preaching to the choir because the people who bought tickets were the ones who were willing to listen. But it's out there expanding public awareness, 'legitimized' by the Academy. When you've lived your life as a muffled scream in exile, every little bit counts.

It got to me that people showed up to hear the story. But what really shook me was that they clapped when it was over and they didn't leave until every last credit was run.

on fear

I recently met someone who seems to study fear the way I study vulnerability. They connect, of course - the roads merge. As long as the study of fear does not involve armor, as long as it's an acceptance of it, a softening in the face of it, then we are essentially discussing two segments of the same worm.

Because vulnerability is hindered by fear and fear is hardened in the face of vulnerability.

What is the fear behind vulnerability? The fear that someone hurt you once and can hurt you again, the fear that someone would reject you if they only knew, the fear that someone would consume you if you let down your guard. Because of the fear, we press the vulnerability like a flower, wrap it up, put it in the back of the dresser drawer, and forget about it if we're really practiced or ignore it if that's the best we can do. We live our lives with fear waiting for us, imaging in our subconscious eye a living, breathing boogey man who grows bigger and bigger and meaner and meaner with time.

But if we would just close the bedroom door, inch the dresser drawer toward us, open our eyes and take a deep breath, pull the bundle out and unfold the wrapping, we'll see it's dried up, broken apart, ashen. What we had feared all that time has lost its pungency, lost its sting, is no longer a tyrant but instead a withered old wrinkled man who chews with his gums.

It's not about overpowering fear. It's about softening. Because in your most vulnerable moments you visit with fear and find you already have the strength you need.

dial tone

From a RadioLab podcast*, a boy abused at home and at school, blind on top of it all (as if he didn't have enough to deal with) found comfort in listening to the dial tone on the phone. Something he could count on to be there. Steady.

We find things to find comfort in. Human nature. Sad but also hopeful.

* Escape, Feb 21, 2012

anthropologie

Anthropologie opening in Hoboken. Ick. Ugh. Yuck.

It marks the first chain retail (fast food excluded). It's a sad day, but no one seems to care. Where are the protestors? Where are all the Ithacans who boycotted McDonalds until it went out of business? How do we fight this?

flatiron

Was anyone else aware that the Flatiron has bay windows? It was as if I had discovered a buried treasure.

on women

Men are taught to reject their vulnerability, and women are taught to conquer it.

The women I'm thinking of are the ones who are in control. Of everything. They are successful in their high-powered career. They maintain their slim figure. They dress well. They excel. They master the variables in their life.

At their core they are strong, but they are also vulnerable.

How do I know? Because everyone I know who has read Fifty Shades of Grey has loved it. Because I see girlfriends who dress more softly when they feel safe with their partner, more aggressively when they are facing the world alone. Because the woman I most recently met who had her shit together said her friend told her she was full of fear. Because I am, perhaps, one of them.

In sculpture class, we were told to felt raw wool into a security garment. I made a security vest that comes with two hands in front like you would feel if someone were standing behind you and wrapping their arms around you, holding you tight, keeping you warm. It's out of character for me to share this, but that's exactly my point.

on love

Simple.

From Osho:
If you love a person you help that person to be alone. You don't try to fill him or her. You don't try to complete the other in some way by your presence. You help the other to be alone, to be so full out of her or his own being that you will not be needed.

on men

One of the greatest tragedies, in my opinion, is what happens to men from early on in the face of vulnerability. They get pushed around, told to reject it, to be strong. They are the little boy on the subway on the verge of tears while the father says: you aren't going to cry, are you? And the mother and grandmother look on.

It's the animal kingdom, one might say, and men attract the best mates by being fearless, dominant, 'strong'.

Does it matter that we're cerebral animals? That dominating in the world today is not about raw physical strength and animal posturing? That there are women (small minority, I'm sure) who would like to be with a man who accepts and knows and owns all of himself? That there are women who see THAT as strength? That there are women who know there is no chance of happy ever after otherwise?

From Osho:
The woman starts demanding that the man should be perfect, just because he loves her... Either he has to become superhuman or he has to become phony, false, a cheat... And when you love a  person, don't start demanding; otherwise, from the very beginning you are closing the doors. Don't expect anything. If something comes your way, feel grateful.

Yet again, Better of Ted summarizes it smartly (so few words!):

     It's been a difficult time. So, what do we do?

     We're men. We ignore your vulnerable moment.

it's not ay-rab

And, more importantly, note the description. Just FYI.

on weakness and courage

Synonym: unarmed. NOT weakness.

Unarmed means you can easily be hurt, overtaken, dominated. But what is stronger, more difficult, more courageous than walking proud head high* in your most fragile, most vulnerable state. It is easy to walk strong when you've put on layers and layers of clothing to buffer you, to cover up the fact that underneath it all you are naked and raw and sensitive, that you too were born as gentleness.

You choose. You can choose to put on a coat of armor and be shielded from it all. Or you can choose instead to stand perfectly still, to breath, to master all of your self, to hold your head high even as you stand in that tender place.

I was recently discussing how crow pose feels like a precarious balance because, when you are up, you are vulnerable (tip forward, crash head-first) and unarmed (hands can't break the fall). On the surface it may appear that you would need to muscle your way through, use your strength and power to get yourself up. But the true beauty of the pose is in finding balance - strength and courage. It is about being on the brink of tipping forward and letting yourself be there, breathing, softening, enjoying the view as you peer out over the edge of the cliff, head high.

We are all of us Katniss Everdeen (Hunger Games), we are all capable of being warriors even in our vulnerability.

You've got this.

Pema's Wisdom of No Escape :
If we understand renunciation properly, we also will serve as an inspiration for other people because of our hero quality, our warrior quality, the fact that each of us meets our challenges all the time. When somebody works with hardship in an open-hearted humorous way like a warrior, when somebody cultivates his or her bravery, everyone responds, because we know we can do that too. We know that this person wasn't born perfect but was inspired to cultivate warriorship and a gentle heart and clarity.

Brene Brown's Daring Greatly:

Vulnerability is not weakness, and the uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure we face every day are not optional. Our only choice is a question of engagement. Our willingness to own and engage with our vulnerability determines the depth of our courage and the clarity of our purpose; the level to which we protect ourselves from being vulnerable is a measure of our fear and disconnection.

When we spend our lives waiting until we're perfect or bulletproof before we walk into the arena, we ultimately sacrifice relationships and opportunities that may not be recoverable, we squander our precious time, and we turn our backs on our gifts, those contributions only we can make.

Perfect and bulletproof are seductive, but they don't exist in the human experience. We must walk into the arena, whatever it may be - a new relationship, an important meeting, our creative process, or a difficult family conversation - with courage and the willingness to engage. Rather than sitting on the sidelines and hurling judgment and advice, we must dare to show up and let ourselves be seen. This is vulnerability. This is daring greatly.

* Lined up at commencement, jaded and tired from years of working towards this PhD, disappointed by the anticlimactic ending, only a few of us graduating together and even fewer still around to attend graduation, I am inspired and filled with a sense of accomplishment and pride by the woman ushering us out with her simple, heartfelt reminder of what we had done: walk proud, head high. (We reassured each other: no matter what, they can't take it back.)

on the need for vulnerability

Synonym: exposed.

Everything comes through the same barrier. You can't filter out the bad and absorb the good*. So, you learn to handle the bad so that you can feel it all. You learn by being taught, coached, being left alone to try it out, fine tune it. You learn by talking about it, diving into it through novels and movies and art. And by softening.

Pema's The Wisdom of No Escape:
Renunciation does not have to be regarded as negative. I was taught that it has to do with letting go of holding back. What one is renouncing is closing down and shutting off from life. You could say that renunciation is the same thing as opening to the teachings of the present moment...

It's as if everyone who has ever been born has the same birthright, which is enormous potential of warm heart and clear mind. The ground of renunciation is realizing that we already have exactly what we need, that what we have already is good. Every moment of time has enormous energy in it, and we could connect with that. Letting go at the end of the out-breath, letting the thoughts go, is like moving one of those boulders away so that the water can keep flowing, so that our energy and our life force can keep evolving and going forward. We don't, out of fear of the unknown, have to put up these blocks, these dams, that basically say no to life and to feeling life.

So renunciation is seeing clearly how we hold back, how we pull away, how we shut down, how we close off, and then learning how to open. It's about saying yes to whatever is put on your plate, whatever knocks on your door, whatever calls you up on your telephone. How we actually do that has to do with coming up against our edge, which is actually the moment when we learn what renunciation means.

*If I exorcise my devils, well my angels may leave, too. And when they leave they're so hard to find.
- Tom Waits

bus stop

Eerie.

on vulnerability

My favorite topic. A hobby, really. My free time dedicated to exploring it, turning it over to look at its underside, walking in through its bellybutton (yick) so I can map it from within, watching others come up against it and either put up their dukes to fight or turn away from it close their eyes tight cover their ears and nah nah nah loudly enough that they shut everything out.

The odd thing is I'm having a hard time writing about it here even though there's a lot to say. All of its parts feed into each other, and it's hard to find the head. So, the only way to get at it is bite by bite, limb by limb.

Everything real happens there - in the endless open terrain that is vulnerability. When you are standing alone, exposed, unarmed. Every breath is significant, every interaction wholehearted, every cell engaged. The rest just prepares us for, delivers us to, that place so that living (and loving) can happen.

There. At least we've started.

arab humor

When Arabs get together, often a collection of generations, any and all are free to randomly throw out jokes. I don't know how to describe Arabic humor - except to say there's often a twist in logic - so I thought to give a couple of examples.

A man runs 26 people over with his car. The police ask him how it happened. And he says: I was driving down the road and my tire blew out. There was one person walking on one side of the road, and 25 people on the other side. I had to choose. The policeman says: Obviously you chose the one guy. The man says: Of course, but he ran across the street so I ended up hitting all 26.

There are plays on words:
A guy comes off the plane and walks down the stairs (old joke, before the days of jet bridges). His pants are falling off, and he's holding them up. His friend is waiting to meet him and asks him what the problem is. He says: The stewardess (again, old joke, pre-PC) kept saying fasten your belt, unfasten, fasten, unfasten. What was I supposed to do?

I knew my love for my Brazilian Querida was real with the following:
She's walking in front of me through the woods (where were we?), and she's letting branches snap back and hit me. When I complain, she says: Ok, you go in front, Rabibti (long story), and you do the same to me. It doesn't work, I say, because you're too short and the branches won't hit you. It's ok, Rabibti, I'll jump.

Happy birthday, Querida.

mexico's failure

Mexico is a place that scares me, and I understand it's not everywhere in the country and that it's targeted (perhaps), etc. But there is something about being in a failed state, particularly when the state itself has lost the battle and admits to its failure, that speaks to one of my greatest fears in life. It feels like you are not walking on solid ground - if you need to find stability, there is nothing to stand on, no place to go for balance. When I go to bed, I am at times overwhelmed by the luxury of safety - that I can completely let go, surrender, turn off every inner alarm system because I trust that in my place I am safe. There is always something out there, but the chances are so low or so out of anyone's control, that they don't count. 

So now there are vigilante groups in Mexico who have taken the law into their own hands. There are towns that have kicked out the police, which is frightening on two levels - they feel they are under-protected and they feel they are safer without the police's presence. They carry out justice - somehow - and the state is allowing for it - basically an admission that we can't do better for you. 

Even music could get you killed, and, in Mexico, that style even has a name: It is not unusual for drug gangs in Mexico to kill or assault musicians, especially those who play so-called narcocorridos that glorify the criminal underworld and end up offending well-armed listeners. A number of cities have banned that kind of music because of the violence that can accompany it.

Holy moly. Que horror.

chicago sun times

One of my cuties in the paper:

Chicago Sun Times

When I was there last we went ice skating, and she fell down and got right back up every other second. It was exhausting just to watch. But she never wanted off the ice. Tenacity? Drive? Competitiveness? Brain-stem level survival skill? Living up to her older sisters-ness? Trust that her leaders are pointing her in the right direction? That's the beauty of being the baby of the family - unquestioned, undoubted, unchallenged faith that everyone is looking out for you. You're always in good hands.

She's called her sisters 'my guys' since she could talk. As in - the game is in my guys' room, or my guys and I were outside, or my guys won't let me play with them. Like walking around in an embrace.

imagine

Imagine. A beautiful morning. A Saturday. Snow on the ground outside while you're safe, cozy, warm inside. Having awoken at sunrise because you were satisfied with sleep. A cup of your favorite coffee. And in the presence of beauty that no volume of pictures can ever fully capture.

A humble attempt:

commuting (cont'd)

And I mean everything. Even these two* guys. Where could they be going?

*No magician mirror involved

commuting

Every day we all get where we're going. There's room for everything in this city.

you can stuff your sorries in a bag*

Screw you, Armstrong. Admitting to doping after all that. Pathetic! Posing as a winner! An ego driven to such extremes, where lies are considered essential for survival. How sad and empty you must be inside.

*George Costanza in Seinfeld

all in

Check it out.

Metis

not alone

I recently discussed in some detail my thoughts on short books. It's not that I dislike long books (despite the fervor of my rampage) or that I'm too lazy (might I dare say 'with lassitude'?) to get through endless stories (I always, always, with the exception of 3 books, trudge through), it's that I believe in the beauty, art, superiority, amazing awesomeness of perfecting short novels (and yet I don't care much for short stories or poetry). There are many reasons for this - the clarity of mind it demonstrates, the skill it exhibits when one's tools (words) can be used so nimbly and with such control, the space for silence it offers. But mostly, the non-presumptuousness it suggests when one shares an idea one values but does so with respect and humility - without taking up too much time, without stepping on toes, without overwhelming one with unnecessary details.

A wordy (lengthy) explanation that is captured simply (shortly) in Better Off Ted:

That was French AND funny. In one syllable, which makes it smart.

Ha!

the drive

* do not attempt while driving

defenseless

Do we ever feel weaker than in that moment in which we are overwhelmed by love?

You can't be strong in that moment because, by definition, the moment exists only in utter vulnerability.

The paradox, in a sense, is that the person who makes you weak is the person you ought to be with.

armor

I have been thinking about body armor. For men, they can bulk up, puff up their chests, physically become bigger and face the world from behind their armor. What about women? Besides getting fat or loud, what armor do we have?

In All About Lulu, the dad was a body builder, and I remember some line about him deflating at the end when he'd stopped body building. A friend's therapist proposed to her that she is letting herself be overweight to feel more like the mama bear. Strength in size.

What options do women have? In the corporate world a strong suit (of armor), an expensive handbag, pointy heels. What is their real purpose? To look good or to feel more powerful? The female body armor.

These thoughts have been coalescing following conversations about equal pay, strength in femininity, strength AND femininity, appropriate dress in the corporate world, female presidents, Nancy Pelosi dressing better than Hillary Clinton, tight shoulders in yoga from lifting weights, mate selection, woman valuing big tough over vulnerable, etc.

But, again, the main issue is not one of aesthetics (those are valuable on their own), but more about what's happening behind it all. The questions around being a woman, dressing as a woman, feminine, sexy in the right context, and having that be strength. Owning all of yourself.

I wonder if things may have turned out differently if the Indian girl had gotten on that bus without her boyfriend, how she may have been punished for self-identifying as a sexual being, how in so many places and for so many cultures, being a sexual woman is expected to be done in secret, perhaps in shame, if at all.

What can I do as a 5'6" woman? How can I create an illusion that I am bigger than I am? How do I show my strength and be taken seriously while still being a woman, dressing like a woman, not denying any aspect of my womanhood? At least I have crazy hair and a deeper voice.

time for a revolution

There are certain events that trigger revolutions. The Tunisian man who set himself on fire and started the Arab Spring. The Indian girl who was raped on the bus. She died over the weekend. I'd say more if it didn't tear me up so much inside. Here's the BBC story.

life

technical difficulties

While Monsieur Blogger has an app, there are technical difficulties. Posts aren't always published upon request, so the dates do not coincide with the date the posts were written. For those who, like me, organize their lives according to the calendar, I apologize for the jumbled world I've helped create. Happy New Year!

steinbeck or hemingway

There is a book, a short novel, of a couple on a beach, alone, honeymooning perhaps, in which the girl sets a goal to be as dark as possible. She is topless or naked, I can't remember. I have no memory of what happens next or the theme of the book. It's the only thing that has stayed in my mind, and the feeling associated with it is one of romantic freedom. The intimacy, the simplicity, the nakedness of being kissed by the sun. In a small way, I have honored that.

tiaras and gum

At a kiosk in the airport, along with the things you usually see in airport kiosks, there was a tiara. Ah, Mexico.

When I opened my packet of gum, sand spilled out. Ah, Mexico.

wrapping up

The end of a remarkable year. A year of change.

To have met people who attest to the genius of Arrested Development, people who do not ask me to repeat when I say I am from Palestine, people who can talk about books for as long and as passionately - a sign of good things to come.

Friendships that had just taken flight, in mid-air we went our separate ways.

color

Day 1, pre-sun, a Mexican guy said to me - I like your color - and pointed to the skin on his arm.

And here I've been, non-stop, taking in their skin color. The browns and whites, the red undertones of the indigenous Americans. Sunset-ish.

Where are you from? Acknowledging that my skin color doesn't fit the place and that he noticed.

There's honesty in the simplicity of his statement. Why stifle that with race-censored PC-ness? In the US people would be embarrassed to bring up your skin color even in a compliment. How silly.

obama unplugged

I hadn't seen this when I wrote the previous obama blog, but there's more here. Sincerity undoubted. 

pretty sure

Mother: Do you need to go to the potty?
4 year old: No.
Mother: Are you sure?
4 year old: Pretty sure.

Potty control: so-so. Subtleties of language: 100%.

obama

He wiped the corner of his eye at the memorial service for the CT children. I've never believed a politician more. Is it possible he's the exception??

He knows the only thing that matters in this moment is to join them in their vulnerability. An amazing speech. I've never been so moved. I'm riveted.

You can watch it here.

rated R

Elmo and Mrs. Santa putting their clothes on (after?).

Cover your children's eyes. And in the subway no less.

untitled

In a previous life, I was a mermaid.

UN (again)

It seems appropriate to pick up where we left off - the UN vote to "upgrade" from entity (one step above ether) to non-member, non-voting, non-everything state. And with that little bit we are prouder.

Thank you, Mr Blogger, for finding yourself an app. You, too, can toast to your new status.

palestine

The world's support - it's an admission of the injustices, a public viewing of the wounds. It's heartbreakingly intimate - the world witnessing you (an entire people) in your most vulnerable state and holding you up.

From BBC: the link.

angles

From every angle, every view, it's love. You can never see it all - it's in a different dress each night.

hoboken post-irene

She blew us off!! (Yes, intended!)

hoboken pre-irene

backpack

Don't pretend you don't know who this is:

My niece MADE these goody bags for her little 3 year old sister's birthday!!

corner dry cleaner

I really just liked this phrasing. It made me want to be a better person.

good graffiti

I'm in a cafe with pro-Palestinian graffiti on the bathroom wall. Can anyone identify the place??

(Yes, I do believe it's the only one in the city - I'd be happy to know I'm wrong.)

new york moment(s)

Meatpacking District. Historic moment (slight delay in posting).

Olifants

Elephants. There's no living thing as majestic. I could swear I hear them - not see them out in the physical world.

They captured an elephant out in South Africa in Kruger and transported him to Mozambique to help the population that was recovering after the civil war. When they released him, he must have been so lost - terrain unknown. During the wild fires he left the park - no fences around like Kruger.

They tried to bring the elephant back. They drugged him, but he didn't make it. He died on the truck.

Forty years old.

When they buried him with a gun salute, I lost it. A burial fit for a king. An honorable death.

only in hoboken

it all just came together...

steve earle

I cradled it, I tenderly took it home, I expectantly eyed it on my bedside table for weeks, I opened it, I anticipated beautiful words spilling out of the hard covers...

but I found a story, a story with magical realism (if I've said it once I've said a thousand times - nobody should even try it - no one - after Garcia Marquez and Allende), with the following sole passage that, in all reality, only half-begged for a rereading:

Naturally it was her grandfather who had first recognized that spirits of all kinds were drawn to Graciela like moths to a flame and that she possessed the rare ability to see and hear them all. That same internal beacon attracted human attention as well, and her grandfather had told her that if she was to have any peace in this world, she had to learn how not to be noticed when she didn't wish to be. It was simply a matter, he said, of damping down that inner light.

From I'll Never Get Out of This World Alive by Steve Earle

yoga class

Quotes taken from The Wisdom of No Escape by Pema Chodron:

... renunciation is seeing clearly how we hold back, how we pull away, how we shut down, how we close off, and then learning how to open. It’s about saying yes to whatever is put on your plate, whatever knocks on your door, whatever calls you up on your telephone. How we actually do that has to do with coming up against our edge, which is actually the moment when we learn what renunciation means.

Many of us can probably relate to coming up against our edge. It may be the time that we shut down, resorting to the silent treatment, unable to say more, unable to put down the flood gates we’ve put up. Or for some of us, it may be the time that we let emotions overtake us, when we bring up all of our resentment, regardless of whether or not it has anything to do with the actual situation, when we let anger gush out to throw others off the scent of our fear and our vulnerability.

We may be aware at the time that we’ve come up against our edge. Or we may realize it after the fact. It may take us hitting the same wall again and again, reaching the same edge over and over, before we realize that we’ve come up against our edge. The realization is part of the process, and we get better and better at it if we open our awareness to it.

Whenever you realize you have met your edge - you’re scared and you’re frozen and you’re blocked - you’re able to recognize it because you open enough to see what’s happening. It’s already a sign of your aliveness and the fact that you’ve shed a lot, that you can see so clearly and so vividly. Rather than think you have made a mistake, you can acknowledge the present moment and its teaching, or so we are instructed. You can hear the message, which is simply that you’re saying “No.”

Where we regularly practice this process is in yoga. The yoga practice can be seen as us voluntarily offering ourselves up to the process of coming up against our edge. Each time we step on our mat, we move through the practice almost with the intention to reach our edge in an asana. With Ashtanga Yoga, it’s more formal - we’re instructed to stop when we reach our edge, not to move on to to the next asana until we’ve worked through that current “edge”.

Once we’ve recognized it, the question becomes “how do I move beyond that edge?” We get in that situation, either in that asana or in that personal dynamic outside, and we tighten up, we respond, we resist, we make excuses, we avoid. We can force our way through it, or we can try to work it out mentally, consciously. But it’s much simpler than all that.

The instruction isn’t then to “smash ahead and karate-chop that whole thing”; the instruction is to SOFTEN, to connect with your heart and engender a basic attitude of generosity and compassion toward yourself...

So, you SOFTEN. You don’t run away, you don’t get up and walk out the room, you don’t shut down and avoid. In our yoga practice, we reach that asana, and we already have a solution, we’re already trained - through yoga - how to SOFTEN: we breath deeply. And as we practice this on the mat, we can train ourselves how to respond off the mat when we feel ourselves tighten and our vision constrict to focus on that one hurtful thing someone said or that one painful circumstance we find ourselves in. So, as we practice today, we can be aware of this:

The whole journey of renunciation, or starting to say yes to life, is first of all realizing that you’ve come up against your edge, that everything in you is saying no, and then at that point, SOFTENING.

world trade center

It's really something being in the center of activity. Here's a scene of television vans at the World Trade Center after yesterday's news. The building at the end is new construction at Ground Zero. Nothing particularly profound to say. Just sharing the bustle.

political

It's sometimes a little tense, but I make it a point not to bring politics into other arenas, particularly work. So, how unbelievably angered and insulted to be sitting in a talk on schizophrenia and genetics in which a map of the Occupied Territories is included on a scientific slide, "to fill the empty space on the slide", according to the presenter. Political propaganda that never ends - it's passive aggression.

All I could do was shake my head, and out of frustration, I kept shaking and shaking. The person next to me was checking me out from the corner of his eye. Maybe he thought I disagreed with the results, but he probably didn't realize he had just unknowingly internalized the Zionist claims to Palestinian land.

acceptance speech

I'd like to thank my parents for believing in me and supporting me as I pursue my dreams. And I'd like to thank the Academy...

Background: In the year of the rabbit, U Conn Huskies won, and they were my pick.

The rabbit rages on.