Awakening Again

I made a new friend on my walk today. We’ve met with mutual suspicion six times a week for a few weeks now. He lowers his head, looks at me surreptitiously, and keeps his distance. I keep my eye on him as I pass on the other side of the path. But today was different.

I walk for about an hour every day except Thursday, usually alone. It’s a peaceful time. I listen to a talk for part of the time, and to music the rest of the time, except for Saturday morning. Saturday is Shabbat and my time off from electronics. My Saturday walk is a little less quiet – all that noise in my head. That’s okay, too, though. My curiosity gets a kick out of all those thoughts. “What? THAT one again?”

I started this walking thing – or I should say I got back to it after a very long break – about 2 months ago. It seemed an easily accessible habit, useful for changing the sedentary lifestyle that crept up on me when I began having hip pain from my Nordic machine.

Research shows that it takes 28 days to create a habit. That seems true for my walking regime. It’s become a habit. I check the weather & my schedule to decide the best time to get out there. The time arrives and I lace up my sneakers. I connect my earbuds, choose the talk I want, slip the phone into a back pocket, and I’m out the door.

Today’s walk started out the same. Aside from a sore throat and a little cough, nothing warned of a difference in today’s walk. After almost a full day of rain yesterday – with just enough delay to allow for a walk under threatening skies – the sun warmed the crisp mid-winter air just enough to allow me to shed my down jacket after fifteen minutes.

The talk I chose was good. They always are. The winding road up the hill was pleasant – not too easy and not too challenging. It always is.

The difference came from inside, I guess. One of those awakenings that come upon us all of a sudden. Or it seems to be all of a sudden, but I’m betting it’s the culmination of lots of stuff. For some reason, today, after about forty similar walks, I felt how strong my legs have become and how easy my breath comes on the incline now. I was aware of my sure-footedness coming downhill on loose gravel. I realized that I was enjoying the walk for its own sake. I had a glimmer of why hikers love to hike. Today it wasn’t about being healthier or exercising my knee or my hip. Today was pure pleasure.

When I got near the top of the penultimate hill I saw the same dog I’d seen in the very same place on every walk, but this time I didn’t pass him warily. This time I approached him with my hand extended. He didn’t move. He, too, had created a habit. But he let me rest my hand on his head and, after a few seconds, his tail started wagging as I massaged his neck. It was only a moment in time. Then he went his way and I went mine.

Later, on a secluded, wooded path, I danced to “Fallin’ All in You” before resuming a sedate demeanor more suitable to a 66-year-old woman on a bright noon somewhere in January.

(please click on the photo)

Hours later I can’t stop the feelings of gratitude. Thankful for my body’s vitality (with all its aches and pains of aging, coughs and sniffles of winter) – the muscles in my legs, my lungs, my heart. Thankful for the undeveloped countryside right near my home. Thankful for the resources and the freedom to wander. Thankful for my many teachers – official & unofficial – who imbue me with the ability to see the half-full glass (and the occasional moments when I realize that it’s full).

Maybe I’ll meet my friend again tomorrow.

Characters Write Their Own Story

Writing Yoga for Detectives: First Lesson https://www.amazon.com/Yoga-Detectives-Lesson-Prero/dp/1512109371 was the kind of experience you’ve all had where it grabs you by the heart and you trip over your own feet, laughing, trying to keep up.

running joyfully

It was joyous and fun and refreshing.

I met Jaya, Arielle, Tal, Ansui, Rose, and all the others, along with my readers.

Friends of mine asked me if I had modeled Jaya after myself but, really, there’s some of me in all the characters. Sure, on some days I feel like Jaya. But on others I’m much more Ansui. At times I’m Tal, while at others I’m more Yitz. Sometimes 82 year old Rose and sometimes 9 year old Arielle. They’re all inside  me.

Mostly, they took on personalities of their own. Words flew out of their mouths via my fingers on the keyboard, not the other way around. When I tried to create their conversations through my fingers, they most often didn’t ring true and I had to wait patiently for my fingers to let go and surrender to the characters.

The story line tumbled out day by day. I was never quite sure where it would all end up.

writing                          writing two

These are all the kinds of realities that can be frustrating for would-be authors to hear.

What does it even MEAN? That the characters are in control of their actions and words in a book, and not the author? That the story tells itself, instead of the author making all the decisions?

I remember a Hebrew teacher telling my class, when asked how we know whether the plural of a word is the feminine ending “oht” or the masculine ending “eem”, that it just rings true or not. “How in the world does anything ring true to someone only just now learning the language?” I thought, in frustration.

gilda radner

Frustrating or not, it’s true of language and it’s true of writing.

I fell in love with the characters of my first book. And that’s what’s complicating my second.

The story is taking me to some dark and dangerous places this time. It’s not clear to me yet, as I begin writing Chapter 28, if all my beloved characters are going to survive. The plot is twisty and following an ominous path and there are some days when I’m too fearful for my characters to continue.

couchSeveral of my characters have begun to show less attractive traits, alongside the wonderful traits with which I originally fell in love. And that’s hard. In some ways, oddly, I’m finding it harder to expose their faults than it is to expose my own. (Someone has suggested that, perhaps, their faults ARE my own.)

We’re traveling to parts of India and Spain  where I’ve never physically been. How peculiar that after reading about these places, seeing photographs of them and writing about them, I feel that my characters have taken me there and shown me around, through their eyes.

Writing. Not an experience for the faint of heart.

As if self-discipline weren’t challenging enough, there you are, meeting yourself on the path over and over, in the most unanticipated places with the most unexpected feelings. Not all pleasant.

This time my characters and their story are sometimes dragging me forward reluctantly instead of grabbing my heart joyfully.

Noooo

But I’m all in for the journey.

meditating woman

 

The Writing Experience is one of Muditta

There’s a book on one of my book shelves that has my name on the cover.

Yoga_for_Detectives_Cover_for_Kindle Yep, that’s me. A.E. Prero. And that’s a book I wrote and published.

http://www.amazon.com/Yoga-Detectives-Lesson-A-E-Prero/dp/1512109371

It took me about 8 months to write it and another month to format the darn thing to turn it into a paperback book and, after my own feeble attempts, $50 to pay someone to format it for Kindle. And now, here it is, sitting on my shelf and the shelves of at least 25 other people, according to the Amazon stats.

Hand on heart, how many of you truly think you, too, have a book in you, if you could only find the time to sit down and write it? And maybe you’ll even do it someday. I’m here to tell you that it’s well worth the effort, even if that book inside you never makes it into a physical reality on your bookshelf.

Don’t get me wrong. I love having actual books in people’s hands which are the product of my imagination, time and self-discipline. Yay!

snoopy dancing

But, believe it or not, there are many other gratifying results from plowing through the entire process of writing a book.

Beginning to end.

Concept to character development to plot to consistency to description:conversation ratio to word usage to editing, proofreading and formatting….and maybe even marketing, though I haven’t begun the serious lifting where that’s concerned.

I’ve read some great books about how to write. Writing down the Bones is probably the best.Writing Down the Bones

But Natalie Goldberg has others out there, and some different authors have offered some helpful ideas, too.

reading

When I actually sat down to write, I realized that while much of what those people suggested had registered in my brain, it all became a  mutant version once the spices of my own personality and imagination were added to the soup…and that was okay, even good.

I learned what I, as a reader, liked.

I pondered what made me pull out one book from a bookstore bookshelf and not another. I asked myself what it was about one first chapter that pulled me into reading a book as opposed to putting down another. I went so far as to correspond with one author whose first paragraphs in her many books never fail to hook me and ask if I could use her formula.

NO way Wow! Now, THAT was a surprise.

After a few months, I could finally sit down to write even if I hadn’t:

  • Washed the dishes,
  • done the laundry,
  • watered the plants,
  • made dinner,
  • cleaned out the studio,
  • answered emails, phone calls and text messages,
  • updated Facebook, or
  • had coffee with every neighbor within walking distance.

mess

No, that’s not really my house but there were days when it felt like that…and I wrote anyway.

The further along I got with my book, the more I grew to appreciate the beautiful turn of a phrase or use of a word in the books I was reading. “Wow! How does she do that?”

The more I grimaced at a much over-used adjective or descriptive tool.  ouch

The more I became enchanted with how one character became someone I cared about while another was just plain irritating.

You might think that the magic of the well-written, well thought-out book  would be lost once the smoke cleared and the mirrors were revealed. But the opposite has been true for me.

Sure, there are some books I can’t look at anymore. I can’t easily fill time with just any old thing I find around the house, on my friends’ shelves or on the table at the doctor’s office. But I’ve developed a full hearted, deep, experiential response to other books.

I feel the author behind the words. And they become my friends as much as do the characters they skillfully develop. I’m happy for them for their work well done. Reading has become a double pleasure. Pleasure in the book and pleasure for the author’s success in having written a book which brings pleasure.

Natalie GoldbergRoland Merullo    Natalie Goldberg

                                                                                                                                   Roland Merullo

     Scott Pratt   Scott Pratt          Anna Quindlen     Anna Quindlen

Gay Hendricks                       Tinker Lindsay

       Gay Hendricks                    and                   Tinker Lindsay

And, isn’t that the real meaning of Muditta? Empathetic joy.

The happiness we feel when others succeed and are happy?

Writing has opened a whole new vista of Muditta in my life.

Vegan Experience Brings Gratitude in Unlikely Places

I went to a wonderful one-day yoga retreat about seven months ago. It almost looked like there wouldn’t be enough people registered for the retreat to take place, and then, at the last moment, there were.

We were hosted by an interesting, lovely woman in her amazing house, with beautiful gardens. The weather was perfect. The yoga teacher, my original teacher who created that spark in me with which began my love affair with yoga, was wonderful. (thank you, Rachel!)

Displaying 2014-06-06 15.13.33.jpg                                                            Displaying 2014-06-06 11.30.42.jpg

As an additional treat, a vegan chef prepared our meals, taught us about the vegan lifestyle and how to prepare several of the gorgeous foods she prepared.

Displaying 2014-06-05 19.46.03.jpg                                               Displaying 2014-06-06 12.42.52.jpg

She became vegan for all the health benefits about which she spoke and also because of her deep commitment to respecting the lives of all living things.

animals

Hmmm. Sounded good to me. I’m not all that against eating animals, truth be told. I don’t get teary-eyed when contemplating a steak on my plate or a little Cornish hen that even looks like she could get up and waddle away. But I’m not against refraining from eating them either. And lowering my cholesterol while, perhaps, losing a big of weight, might finally get my levels to a more comfortable place in the middle of that pesky graph.

And, not only that, but I could be COOL.

All the coolest people are vegan these days, right?

I could be IN.

Yay!

Cool Kids

Gershon put up lots of shelves in our pantry for all the containers with nuts, grains, dried soy chunks, coconut oil, beans and lentils. I bought a little  extra refrigerator for that pantry to put all the leafy green things and the overflow of vegetables in.

He was supportive and I was…

INTO     IT!

Vegan pyramind

I was careful not to preach to anyone else. (how obnoxious is it when people do that, right?) I cooked all the usual victims for Gershon and he didn’t roll his eyes even once at the odd side dishes on his plate (my main course).

cholesterol

My cholesterol went down 20 points.

proud of myself

 

 

 

All was going just spiffy there for a minute until…wait!

WHAT THE HECK IS THIS???

Diarrhea  D I A R R H E A!!

I don’t mean the kind where you have to go an extra time or two a day. Or the kind where there’s a slight change in texture or color. Okay, this is getting a bit graphic for the weak of heart but you get the picture.

I’m talking BIG TIME and 4 months.

So, I googled the heck out of the subject from every which way. I went to my family physician. We did tests. Blood tests and stool specimens. All normal. I took soy products out of my diet and started peeling vegetables and fruits. No change.

Finally, I picked up the phone and sent out a few emails to people I know who were vegans for years and either became simple vegetarians or, as one friend put it, now eat a paleolithic diet (yeah, I had to look it up, too)

carnivore

And guess what? Every single last one of them said that they changed their diet because THEY WERE SICK…

FOR MONTHS!

Ha Ha Ha! Joke’s on me. Eating healthy was making me sick. And not only that but all that healthy eating makes lots of those COOL people sick.

So you guys all know I’m a yoga and meditation instructor, right? At least 6 times a week I tell my students that they should incorporate body and mind awareness into everything they do; not just yoga. If they find themselves doing something that doesn’t feel good they should ask themselves why the Sam Hill they’re doing it. And if the answer is, among other things, to be COOL, well, they need to cut it to heck out.

If you’re gossiping to entertain your friends; you might want to find new material (or different friends).

If you’re wearing high heels to attract men; you might want to find a good podiatrist (or a different kind of man).

And if you’re eating in a way that gives you diarrhea for four months; you might want to find a different way of eating!

And, so, I decided on Monday that I would start eating eggs and chicken and even add a few milk products into my life and kick all those beans and whole grains out. I unceremoniously (or maybe a bit ceremoniously actually, if that’s a word) and literally threw out everything that had a whiff of soy in it.

Lo! and behold. Immediate relief. And I mean immediate.

By Tuesday my digestive system switched back from Mr. Hyde to Dr. Jekyll. And, a bonus, I had more energy. I thought I was feeling a bit lethargic because of it being winter but, it turns out, it was all that healthy eating. In case you think this might be my imagination, one of those ex-vegan friends said that giving up grains upped her energy level like 5 cups of coffee for breakfast.

jump for joy 2

And here comes the gratitude part for those of you who get annoyed when the title has no distinguishable connection with the book or, in this case, blog.

Grateful to be energetically out of the bathroom, yes. But also grateful for my friends and relations who didn’t feel the need to warn me about the connection between veganism and feeling crappy (only a little sorry for the pun). Why, you might ask, would I be grateful for that?

There’s nothing like learning for oneself through experience (as long as it’s not lethal). That’s first off.

Would I have listened to them? Maybe, but then I might’ve always wondered.

I wonder

And then there are all the lessons that I’ve internalized.

  • the one about not giving advice where none has been solicited
  • the one about being forthcoming and honest when it has
  • the one about examining goals with clarity (and throwing out the ones that are unskillfully motivated)
  • the one about APPRECIATING the glorious natural functioning of my body (recovering from 4 months of diarrhea is a super teacher for this one)

So, thank you, friends and relatives. Thank you, body. Thank you, Gershon. (a friend AND a relative but his support is distinctly different from anyone else’s) Thank you, eggs. Thank you, chicken.

And now I have to go eat some chorizo.  See ya’

Listen to your body

 

Gratitude in the Challenging Situations

Have you ever been struck to discover that all that reading you’ve done over recent years has actually made an integral change in your life…just like “they” say it can?

For the past 5 years or so, I’ve been  reading a lot of the research coming out of the Laboratory for Affective Neuroscience, The Waisman Center for Brain Imaging and Behavior (Richard Davidson), the Massachusetts Neuropsychological Society and The Center for Mindfulness in Medicine, Health Care and Society at UM/Boston (Jon Kabat-Ziin).

In fact, I get a weekly email from Rick Hanson (http://www.rickhanson.net/writings/just-one-thing/) which is often based on Richard Davidson’s work. Nice, succinct and almost always useful.

For awhile I kept up a Gratitude Journal

gratitude journal

Writing 3 things that happened during the course of a day (even a crappy day) toward which I could nod a quick “thank you” before going to sleep.

Research shows that writing down 3-5 things to be grateful for each night develops and then strengthens new neuro-passages in the brain, eventually creating a default there.

That particular outlook on life and life’s daily events strengthens the part of the brain anatomically associated with happiness, satisfaction and positive self-image which, in turn, have been shown in other research to be associated with physical health, healthy relationships and, perhaps surprisingly, task completion.

brain neuronsWho knew?

Well, it turns out quite a few people knew. It just took time for “real” scientists, respected in the “real” sciences, to prove it with the amazing tools, developed over the last decade or so, which map the brain.

Many of us, Jews, begin our day everyday with a one-sentence prayer, thanking God for compassionately returning our soul to us.  Personal confession: I grew up doing this but have only returned to it over the past couple of years after more than a few years of rolling out of bed, headed for my toothbrush, with nary a thought as to how that happened , or that it happened at all. wake up

And, really, isn’t it a great idea to be grateful for opening our eyes to a new day, full of potential, just waiting for us to make choices – again – about what we do and how we do it?

So  maybe we don’t all think there’s a God who gave us this gift again this morning. But can most of us agree that, if we made it, we might want to say a word of gratitude for the opportunity, regardless of how it happened?

Here’s the rub. And many of you may have thought of this instantly when you read the last sentence of the paragraph before this one.

For some of us, our reality seems more like this –

Suffering

Maybe not everyday. But maybe a lot of them.

Maybe our health is dicey. Maybe we’ve lost people, jobs, capabilities, relationships, opportunities that were really REALLY important to us.

Maybe our goals, our path, our very existence has gotten a little fuzzy, out of focus or just plain LOST.

Life has a way of knocking us around, off balance.

Remember those neuro-passages we can develop and strengthen? The downside is that the people and situations that insult, hurt and humiliate us, the tasks, improvements, and goals we don’t accomplish, the aches and pains (psychic and physical) that pop up (and the ones that stick around) – these all build and strengthen neuro-passages, too.

Sometimes we feel like Sisyphus with the proverbial rock, trying to stave off impending doom and disaster in our lives – day after day after day.

sysiphus

 

And are we really grateful for the opportunity to do THAT – again?

 

Well, here’s the deal, guys. Feeling gratitude for the small, maybe tiny and flickering, lights of goodness in our lives will help break up that huge boulder into more manageable rocks and then, maybe someday, stones and, maybe, if we’re really lucky, pebbles.

Those little specks of goodness can be so tiny that our frontal cortex has trouble overriding the medulla oblongata, which controls our fight, flight or freeze response. That’s the part of the brain that insured our survival back in the days when our major threat was the lion that might be lurking behind the trees waiting to pounce on his dinner (us). lion 2

 

We should be grateful for this part of our brain, too.

 

But our threats today, for the most part, are more psychological than physical. Even our physical threats are influenced by our psychological responses to them it seems.

Yesterday I had an appointment with a doctor I’d waited almost 3 months to see. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten to tell his office (or computer scheduler) that he would be on vacation last week when I (and lots of other folks) had my appointment scheduled.

The office ended up scheduling in all the people whose appoinwaitingtments had to be re-scheduled into this week’s schedule in between other clients.

Yay!

Not so much.

 

Naturally, there were the people who forget (or never learned) that a public place isn’t their personal space. Lots of cell phones ringing, loud conversations (on the phone or with their companions), and those people who “only have a quick question”.

In short, what could’ve been a 20 minute event in my day ended up being a 3-hour event.

There was a time when I would’ve been in alert, tense mode (fight) to prevent people from cutting in front of me with their “quick questions”, or just because my medulla oblongata was being activated way before I even got there. Maybe even when I got the original phone call telling me of the re-scheduling. meditating woman

Not to say that I was calmly in touch with  my inner peace for 3 hours. Oh no!

There were certainly moments of consciously going into meditative Ujai breathing…right after that inner voice shouted “SERIOUSLY? Talking on the phone – in my ear – again, dude?!?) and “Who the hell has a Barbra Streisand ringtone…and then let’s it ring 10 damn times…EVERY time?!”

But, aside from Ujai, I had my gratefulness practice, and all those articles and emails, to steer me into the very objective reality of being grateful for (basically) FREE MEDICAL CARE! How amazing is that in this day and age where (here’s a shocker) 45,000 Americans die annually from inadequate or inaccessible health care? And that’s not the Third World where who-the-Sam-Hill knows how many people lack health care.  doctor appt

Yep, folks, we, in Israel, get it for free.

And it’s great health care for the most part. Up to date tests and treatments. Excellent doctors.

So the price we pay is waiting for certain kinds of specialists and being patient with our fellow patients-in-waiting by cultivating some patience-in-waiting skills.

Wow! Small price to pay, right? Feeling grateful yet?

Waiting for the doctor pales in comparisons to many of the Sisyphus-ian boulders in many people’s lives but it’s a practice.

And, really, how many of our boulders are our  medulla oblongata seeing a mountain where there’s a proverbial molehill?

So – lots of compassion for those whose mountains are mountains and also compassion for those of us whose mountains are molehills but still mountains for us in our mind’s eye and in our hearts. mountain out of molehill

 

 

No judgment. Just a suggestion.

 

Set aside 30-60 seconds every night before you roll over to go to sleep to think of 3 things for which, in spite of all, you can, in all honesty, be grateful.

food

 

 

Even if it’s as basic as the food on your table.

 

deep breath

 

 

 

Or the ability to breathe.

 

 

 

                                            I make one promise:  ONLY GOOD THINGS CAN HAPPEN.

The Down Side of an Open Heart

I once read that the children of dysfunctional children come in three varieties:

Gumby  PLAY DOUGH – you know the type. This one bends with the wind. She licks her finger, sticks it up in front of her and turns to take advantage of the extra push. Any direction will do. Don’t get too used to her in any given form because she’s a slippery one, this one; sort of a shape shifter

                 CRYSTAL GLASS – Oops! Watch out belooowwww!

crystal

Or just watch out in general. Wrap this one in cotton and take care of her well. And don’t go leaning on her! She shatters far too easily. 

And then there’s – TA DA – IRON WOMAN

iron woman

  She’s one tough cookie. Throw anything at her. She can take it! Bounces off her like…well, iron.

How does a kid become one or the other? Born that way? Gets assigned? “This is your mission should you decide to accept it.”?

Well, that’s for another blog and another day. The deal is that I was Iron Woman from age 6 to age 56. That’s probably not exact but it sounds good. Poetic license. Six is about right, though. How could that be? Shucks, I dunno.

Dunno

But there you have it.

And then, after decades and decades or taking care of, well, just about everyone and everything, something happened. A bunch of something. And something kept happening. And year after year, something developed into something and that developed into something and, then, yep!, that developed into something, too. 

I didn’t hear anything but…

heart opening

one day I realized that my heart had cracked open and…

Pandora's Box

all sorts of things flew out and flew in.

Feelings. Pleasant and less pleasant. Comfortable and less comfortable. Happy and not so much

But the thing is – IT WAS ALL GOOD!

Because it was real. There was a real me in there all along. And to think I’d almost given up on there BEING a real me. I had just about decided that a dysfunctional family and crappy childhood are like Chinese water torture or the unrelenting erosion of a windy mountainside. That I was doomed to be Iron Woman forevermore. But, nope!!

                      fierce warriorGil Fronsdalmeditation pose  

                                  Yoga.             Gil Fonsdal (and others).       Meditation

And then, the cherry on the whipped cream…

Rosen

(Thank you, Rachel!)

So now, doesn’t this just sound idyllic and wonderful and like a happily-ever-after ending? And it is, really.

But life isn’t a fairy tale after all, in case you thought it was. Even idyllic, wonderful, happy developments in life have their down side.

An open heart is a vulnerable heart. Without that iron armor, all sorts of painful particles can come flying in. It’s not all hugs and smiles. Laughter and song.

It’s my youngest son, supportive husband, incredible father, smart, funny, handsome and charming, commanding a tank facing Hamas terrorists. It’s waking up to the background noise of inner disquiet, knowing he’s in harm’s way. Knowing the kind of man he is – one who sees Arabs (really sees them) as people and feels their pain but sees the enemy and believes in his obligation to protect his country. I’m proud of him even though I sometimes can’t catch my breath out of anxiety for his welfare.

worried

It’s my youngest daughter, loving wife, amazing mother, beloved high school counselor, beautiful, thoughtful, generous to a fault, sitting in her daughters’ bedroom which is a special room built to withstand the armed rockets raining down on her city. It’s going to bed every night praying for her safety and feeling a rumbling of fear for her. (She may be a mother of two, but she’s still my little girl)

hugging

And, yes, it’s a heart open wide enough to feel compassion and sorrow for Arab residents of Gaza even as I curse Hamas for the cynical use of them as human shields, protecting rocket launchers and Hamas’ upper echelons of terrorists. 

A heart that understands and feels the tragedy of being poor, of being born into a culture that condones honor killings, of being taken advantage of by all sides and discriminated against, feared and fearful, of feeling hopeless, hateful and hated.

My heart feels anger at and frustration with their leaders and educators who have herded them into their dead end existence. Who keep them there. And who celebrate the misdirected explosions of violence that result.

All that, my friends – the down side of an open heart.

I fear for our children and grandchildren running for their lives with 15 to 90 seconds to find cover.

I weep for the Arab civilians who respond to Hamas’ orders to climb up to the roof of the buildings sheltering Hamas leaders instead of the IDF orders to evacuate.

I pray for our world and all of those who try to observe the commandment which exists in every religion…do no harm.

May we be safe.

lotus flower

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“It is better to give than to receive.” Seriously?

I live in a community that’s right out of “Little House on the Prairie”, complete with neighbors who care deeply about each other and that fussbudget at the County Store.  Little House on the Prairie

For good or for bad, we tend to know more about each other’s business than we might like. Definitely not as much as when we were a community of 60 families since today we’re closer to 800 families, but a whole lot more than your average Tel Avivit knows about her neighbor across the hall.

The upside has always been that if someone was sick or had just given birth or was having financial trouble, the community could be counted on to come through with meals, clean laundry and even a no interest loan. The downside, of course, is the fussbudget at the County Store syndrome. After all, we all know what’s best for the wayward teenager of our neighbor who was seen in a sleeveless blouse downtown or the wife of the husband who never helps with the household chores.  teenage girl

But even my community has not been left in its bubble of the ’50s in the USA with all the “progress” of the late 20th and early 21st centuries…whether it be the isolation made possible by wonderful new technologies or the frantic pace of business as usual with two breadwinners in the family.

Long gone are those lazy afternoons when mothers sat in the parks chatting with other mothers while their children happily played for hours. Those moms are rushing home from work to pick up their children at the after care center at 4 or 5.

Gone, too, are the hours spent sitting on the steps outside picking lice out of our children’s hair and chatting amiably. Nit picking Well, I guess that’s best gone and forgotten. But, truth be told, I have fond memories of those shared hours with my neighbors.

And as my generation – the pioneers and founding folks of the community – has mellowed into our 60’s and our children have married and begun to raise their own families, we’ve also found interests outside the community and left for the afternoons and evenings, shutting our doors, eyes and ears, behind us.

Part and parcel, I believe, of this natural process has been an adoption of that old adage, “It is better to give than to receive.”

lots of presents

When I gave birth to my fifth child, Rafael, who’s now 31 and awaiting his 2nd child’s birth as I write, I had a medical occurrence which resulted in a month’s stay in the hospital and 3 months of very limited activity once I finally arrived home.

We had only moved to our community the previous year and didn’t know all that many people all that well. By the time I came home from the hospital the community had a roster for people to make sure we had dinner delivered every day, to be available for shopping, childcare and household maintenance chores. The community nurse came every week to give me an injection I required, even though she was technically employed by a national health insurance plan other than ours.

Everything was done cheerfully and matter-of-factly. To this day I feel bonded with many of those people, even though we have not gone on to become actual friends, or even had occasion to meet very often. Bonding

My neighbor has cancer. I don’t know what kind. She divorced from her 2nd husband after less than 2 years of marriage while I was on vacation recently. I don’t know why. I only know that she’s refused help of any kind.

I have a good friend who, over the course of our 30 year close relationship, has had her ups and downs like we all do. She refuses to acknowledge any difficulties…ever…and always refuses help.

Somehow, “It is better to give than to receive” has infiltrated our hearts, minds, lives, deep into our innermost belief system. Never mind that it makes no logical sense—to give requires someone to receive, so for someone it must be better to receive.  But who knows who that person might be. The other guy, I guess.

For the past few decades, we’ve practiced giving religiously; even while sometimes really REALLY needing to receive.  We could be counted on not only to give charity, but also to give our time, support, and skills. And then, in a rare blue moon, we just might be sad for a nanosecond for feeling unappreciated, all the while still giving.

If we ever knew, we seem to have forgotten how to receive. A compliment, countering any comment with insight about our faults or a deflection of the significance of what’s being complimented.No big deal

A gift? We immediately feel the need to giveBigger Gift something in return, preferably bigger.

A kindness; we wave people away from helping us in a grocery line, no matter that we’re dropping bread as we speak.

Don't Need Help

How can we have gone through so much life and acquired so little experience with such a fundamental act as the ability to receive?

Maybe because we see receiving as involving vulnerability. When we give, we feel in charge.  When we receive, we feel less so.

Give feels like an action word; receive feels like something passive. Yet this is so mistaken! Giving and receiving are yin and yang, the equivalent of the infinity symbol—looping back and forth, neither side larger than the other, both integral to the larger whole.

Receiving creates a bond. A closeness. A trust. It allows for giving in return at some other juncture in life’s path.

I used to be the Queen of Giving and the Queen of Never Receiving in Return. But it got seriously old about a decade and a half ago and I’ve been learning to practice this shift into comfortable receiving ever since – slowly, one baby step at a time.thanks

I receive a compliment with a simple thank you , no matter that inside I might be discounting the words.

It’s a learned skill. We can all learn this. We can let the words of a compliment sink in and fill an empty space. We can accept a gift with a thank you and let that be enough, even if we have to sit on our hands to keep from jumping up to return the favor.

We can let others help us with grace and the profound gratitude that someone wants to be of service.

We can let others havSnoopy dancinge the fun of giving.

And ultimately, this is how we can give in a more genuine way and from a healthier place, by learning to refill our needs through receiving.

Giving to quench our own need will never be enough.

When we give, not from a full heart, but from an empty space that needs recognition, it’s exhausting.  Giving from our own need leads to resentment, victimhood, and even financial distress.  Yet I’ve learned that giving from a full heart is replenishing and sustaining. It brings joy into my own life.

And how wonderful when someone helps fill my heart with her giving so that I can bring joy into my own life through receiving…and then giving.

Here are  5 reminders another blogger recommended to help learn this new skill.

1. To begin, I must accept the basic premise that I am enough.

That before I give a thing, before I receive anything, I am enough just standing here. The act of giving or receiving doesn’t change this at all.

2.  I am becoming more discerning with giving.

I’m learning to examine my needs as well as the needs of others. To see when my gift is truly given from love and when it comes with expectations. To see when the expectations are self-imposed and when they come from others.

3. I am making room in my life for receiving.

This includes being aware of all the ways I can receive, whether it is accepting kind words, a stranger’s smile, or being let into the stream of traffic. I know that as I receive, I am becoming more comfortable with the art of receiving. I am staying conscious of how my receiving empowers those who are giving to me.

4. I am relaxing into the feeling of receiving…

…becoming okay with the feeling of openness that is necessary to truly receive. I allow this open space to be available to receive.

5. I remind myself that this is fun and joyful.

There’s no reason not to join in the fun!

How do you  open up to receiving?

A Good Heart

I was sitting with my husband and some friends yesterday studying a Jewish book called “The Sayings of the Fathers”. It’s a book of homilies. Seemingly simple stuff.

I used to study it sometimes with my father on the rare occasions that he would have the time and patience for or interest in that kind of thing.

It always seemed to lack the seriousness and depth of the heavier Jewish tractates. Maybe my father chose it as appropriate keeping in mind that one of the homilies advises men not to spend too much time talking to women so as not to engage in nonsensical conversation…or worse.

women chatting

Climbing out of the time machine back into the present, there we were studying this book of homilies and we came to 5 student rabbis and their teacher (the Big Rebbe) sitting around trying to determine what one needs most in order to lead a worthy life. (the first branch of yoga – the yamas)

One student claimed “A good eye”. The second said “a good friend”. Another said “a good neighbor”. The fourth offered, “the ability to foresee what is to come.” The final student countered with “a good heart.” Their teacher agreed with the last student saying that having a good heart incorporates all the other answers.

chassidim studying

Then the teacher asked his students what evil should one most shun in order to live a worthy life.  (the second branch of yoga – the niyamas).

One student said “an evil eye”. The second said “an evil associate”. Another said “an evil neighbor”. The fourth offered, “borrowing and not repaying”. The final student countered with “an evil heart”. Their teacher agreed with the last student saying that having an evil heart incorporates all the other answers.

In the Jewish tradition of learning (called pilpul; that sing-songy kind of debating) the conversation between us went on as to whether or not the students referred to being a good friend, being a good neighbor or having a good friend and a good neighbor; and what is a “worthy” life anyway? much less a “good heart” or an “evil heart”.

dizzy

But, really, we all knew what the book meant.

So I listened to the conversation with one ear (these are people I love after all) but found myself drifting peacefully inward like a fallen leaf floating gently downstream on a sunny autumn day when there’s very little wind.

stream

Years of listening to podcasts, reading books, meditating and leading meditation.

Lovingkindness meditations. Gratitude meditations.

Compassion. Equanimity. Non-violence. Impermanence.

Inter-connectiveness.

Beginner’s mind.

Letting go.

And it all comes down to a good heart, doesn’t it?

Thich Nhat Hanh calls it “love” and so does Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz.

Thich Nhat Hanh            ALL YOU NEED IS LOVEAdin Steinsaltz

A heart filled with love allows us to feel compassion for that crazy Israeli driver who zig-zags his way down the highway endangering himself…and all of us.

A heart filled with love allows us to keep our partner’s goodness in mind when some not so good things happen.

A heart filled with love helps us to meet our lives with an inner smile, with gratitude for the very breath that supports us in every moment, even the moments of sadness, illness and disappointment.

And, yes, a heart filled with love creates in us a good eye which creates in us a good friend and neighbor who sees the goodness in others a big heart and even the ability to foresee what is to come, because we are open to whatever it may be.

I’ve often told my children when they have a falling out one with the other or with me or their father that if we keep in mind that the foundation of our relationship is that we love each other and wish each other well – all can be forgiven as a misunderstanding or misstep. We need not suspect a hidden intended hurt or bad intention. Nor need we don our barbed, protective clothing after brushing our teeth in the morning.

And isn’t that what it means to have a good heart?

And isn’t that what leads to a worthy life?

Simple stuff? Maybe not so much.

As my husband says, we all may seem fine from the front but we each carry around a “peckelach” on our back carrying a heavy load

from life’s journey so far. The result of things not turning out quite as we planned. The odd hurtful comment here and whispered gossip behind our back there. The random betrayals and losses.

We may not have to protect ourselves (or at least not very often) from the animal predator pouncing on us from where it lies in wait but we’ve learned we have to protect ourselves from the hurts that human predators can inflict, some as poignant as that lion’s snarl and often even unintentional.

Not so easy to open our hearts.

It’s a journey of tikun, or mending.

Tikun of the soul.

Tikun of the heart.

Not always, but often, I recognize how far I’ve traveled down that path and feel mightily blessed.

And most days, even the recognition of how far I still must journey is no longer daunting.

SAMSUNG

 

Perspectives on Rain

Quick! First thing that comes to your mind when you think about a rainy winter day.

rain splashed

boy in the rain

Maybe this?

  

 

rain romantic

rain reading by the fire

 

Or this?                  

 

Or maybe something else altogether? Like me.

I used to think rain was a bother.

I’d look out and see that overcast, steely grey sky that meant rain and start to grumble.  Especially if I wasn’t home and had forgotten to bring an umbrella with  me (almost always) or rain boots (always). Certainly if it meant windy rain of the nasty, wintry cold variety. Ugh.  But, truth is, even that warm summer variety we had in Texas.

Traffic. Bad hair. Wet clothes. Cancelled sports activities. No cabs.

rain anger

ARGH!!!!

And then I moved to Israel.

Once upon a time, not that long ago, one of the main topics of conversation in Israel from October to April was rainfall and the level of the water in Lake Kinneret. In a bad rainfall year, the level would go down and the national mood would go right down with it.

And with a few bad years in a row, it would get dangerously low.

I remember once showering at the gym and an old woman (she was probably the age I am now) getting angry with me for leaving the water on in the shower while I soaped up. I didn’t get it at first. Then I realized that, a long-time Jerusalem resident, this woman was used to taking “ship showers” all her life to conserve water.

didn't know

I mean, SERIOUSLY?!?

(How could anyone brought up in North America in the 60’s possibly know that?)

Bad rain year followed bad rain year and I noticed that my ears started to perk up when people talked about rain and the level of the Kinneret and before I knew it I was talking about it, too.

There were years we couldn’t water our gardens…

                   

So rock gardens started springing up everywhere.

The price of water in our homes went up. Families were allotted a certain number of cubic feet of water at a reasonable price, according to the size of the family, and above that amount the price was astronomical. Families with teenagers who were always in the shower? Look out!

                                      Well, not quite.

I learned to appreciate those rain days. Wait for them expectantly. Smile at the steely grey sky and the sound of rain drops.

Then salinization happened. Israel made agreements with other countries, like Turkey, to buy up lots and lots of salinized water. Guaranteed an amount and a price for many years to come. No longer would we have to rely on rainfall to water our gardens or take our showers or irrigate our crops. Yay!

And then the rains came.

rain fall

And came

   and came.

And the level of the Kinneret rose and rose and reached a safe level.

So now we’re “stuck” paying for all that salinized water even though we don’t “need” it. You’d think I’d start to grumble on rain days again.

But I woke up to a steely grey sky this morning and the sound of rain by mid morning.

I smiled and grabbed an umbrella before I headed down to a friend’s house for coffee.

Cuzco Plaza de Armes

Last night the rain spoke to me slowly,

saying,  

what joy to come falling out of the brisk cloud,

to be happy again, in a new way on earth!

That’s what it said as it dropped,

smelling of iron, and vanished like a dream

into the ocean and the branches below.

Then it was over.

The sky cleared.

And I was standing under a tree.

The tree was a tree with happy leaves,

and I was myself

and there were stars in the sky.

And the stars were also themselves at the moment,

at which moment my right hand was holding my left hand,

which was holding the tree, which was full of stars,

and the soft rain –

imagine! imagine!

The long, wondrous journeys still to be ours.

Mary Oliver

― Mary Oliver

Re-learning Being in the Moment – Again and Again

Another trip to the States. Much shorter than last summer’s epic six week journey. A mere 4 days in San Antonio, three in DC and two in NYC.

It’s hard not to be greedy when it comes to spending time with the people I love but I remind myself often to be grateful that I have the opportunity to touch them and hug them and watch them living their lives for several days at a time hug – an opportunity that so many people don’t have.

For me, moving through other people’s lives, being a part of them for a flash in time, is a constant practice in being in the moment.

It would be so easy to want to grasp on to the feeling I have when I watch my grandchildren do something precious – and it happens so often when I’m with them – it makes me smile!

And it would be a cinch to be tempted into thinking of all the times it happens when I’m not there to see it.

(Yes, the tree does make noise when it falls in the forest – even when there’s no one there to hear it!)

tree falls in the forest

It would be so easy to worry about my 67 year old best friend in Texas growing old – without me there to grow older with her and be part of her support system. Even though 70 is the new 50…and certainly in her case it seems to be true.

70 is the new 50

But if I spend the time I have with my children and grandchildren being sad about the times I won’t be there to see their precious moments or spend my time with my friend worrying about her growing old without me, I won’t  really be experiencing those precious moments and I won’t  get to love every breakfast at the Twin Sisters restaurant with my friend or our mad shopping sprees,

shopping

our over-indulgent meals (we both gain at least 5 pounds every time we spend a week together) or our long conversations into the night, twin sisters

the glutting ourselves on movies and country music.

I’ve been traveling back and forth between Israel and the US for 20 years now. I have family in both countries. I have good friends in both countries. There are places and landscapes I love in both countries. There are traits, cultural aspects and values I relish in both countries. I have citizenship in both countries.

american flag heart

israeli flag heart

And I’m not the only one.

There’s a trick to it.

Not all of us are blessed to have discovered it.

Some people with an M.D. or Ph.D. after their names might call it schizophrenia. But I like to call it being in the moment – in the here and now.

When I watch Noga and Maya laughing their heads off while they run around the house together, I’m totally in that kitchen delighting in their silliness as they gallop by.

When I float down the San Antonio River on a barge, chatting with my friend as we bask in the Texas sun, thelma and louisemy skin feels a-tingle and the music of Billie’s Alabaman drawl fills my heart.

When I swing Zohar around and up in the sky like an airplane when I pick her up from pre-K in Beer Sheva, her gorgeous face and the mischievous glimmer in her eye make my heart fly. (“Again, Savta! Again!”)

When I play Scrabble with Gershon, every fiber of my concentration is on those tiles scrabble and all the possibilities.

When I settle into downward dog or the glorious stretch of  high cobra, all of my awareness is in my joints, my muscles and the miracle of breath.

Here. Now.

Jerusalem. San Antonio. Ofra. Beer Sheva. Washington D.C. Ramat Gan. New York City. Ofra. Chicago. Tel Aviv. Yogaville.

In the moment.

I envision myself someday, many years from now, when my traveling legs have long given out, content in the moment of sitting on my porch, feeling the sun and maybe a slight breeze, savoring all the collected moments of a lifetime.

baddha konasana drawing