She ran towards me naked, wearing a big smile and her crocks. Why not barefoot on the grass I thought? Maybe to make sure her feet don’t get dirty or that she doesn’t step on anything? There was a sense of freedom in her movement. She was liberated and joyful. I heard my name come out of her sweet perfectly created lips. I love the feel of the earth under my feet. Connecting with the energy of the earth, I stepped into the Jacuzzi and she followed, barely making it over, even though she is relatively tall for a three year old.
I recently attended a Baptism class. For the fist time in my life I am honored with the title Godfather. It is not so common in Israel, but since my Goddaughter is Catholic and lives in the bay area, it’s a different story.
“It is with this water that we wash away the original sin’”, explained the priest. He started with describing the temptation of the fruit that was forbidden, and how that led to the awareness of the man and the woman of their being naked.
“God called for man and woman, ‘where are you?’
‘We are hiding’, they replied.
‘And why are you hiding?’ asked God
‘Because we are naked’
‘And how do you know you are naked? Ahh, you must have eaten from the tree’”.
The priest gave us the story in a very easy to understand way. We sat there on simple chairs, a few parents with their babies and a few Godparents to be.
“By washing their original sin, they will be able to go up straight to heaven.”
Oops I thought. Not good being Jewish, I still am wearing that original sin, yet I feel very comfortable naked and love bathing at the Esalen hot springs with only my skin on.
After seeing my niece running so freely naked, completely careless of needing to hide anything, I wonder. Who is it that brings on us the original sin? When is it that Maya will realize that she needs to cover up?
Are we able to relieve ourselves from some of the conditioning we carry and find the liberty of life?
Monday, October 25, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Becoming a citizen
I am officially a member of a political group titled the United States of America.
Just the title: Unites States makes me think…
And the United we stand…
All this unity is a unity of us vs. them. Not a complete unity of all there is.
For years I was waiting to feel welcomed in this country. I moved from a status of a tourist to a status of an extraordinary talent. That title did not keep me from being interrogated every time I passed passport control. Becoming a permanent resident was a huge deal, mostly in forgetting the past. Once I had the green card there was a sense of calmness that came with it, even security. At least I was not going to be thrown away. But now I am IN, I am officially an American; I can choose to say Nationality Israeli or American. Depending on where I am, and which of the two is more disliked. A Canadian passport would probably be more welcomed in some countries. Now when will I be able to walk around with my World Human passport; the passport that declares me as a human being, without any further group belonging, separation of me vs. others, A passport that contains only important info regarding the safety of the country I visit.
The Naturalization ceremony took place in a huge theater. There were hundreds of people listening to some encouraging words, allowing us to feel welcomed and connected to the club. I felt like joining the army. I am here to serve, to protect, and to give up my loyalty to any other nation. Patriotism always scared me. “It’s a good day to die for our country”, said one famous Israeli fighter. And I think it’s a great day to live. Period. Not for a country or for anyone, but just live. When time to die comes, it would be a fine day as well, but not for any country, dying for a country most likely means dying fighting against others.
Then came the moment where a name of country was announced and those from that nationality (or ex nationality) would stand up. So many countries, so many people, now I felt my stomach moving, this is the union, the connection of so many people together. “China” was called, and a huge group came to stand, small countries from Africa, Ethiopia was called, India, and again another huge group comes to stand, Israel, I stand up, I saw another young man stand, tears came to my eyes, not even sure why, but I started feeling the “united we stand”, of how I wish we were all doing this to become members of the universe, a place where all are welcomed to join as long as their intention to be good to themselves and others were sincere.
I now hold an American passport, and for the first time in my life wrote “American’ on the entry document to Mexico. Am I different, has my identity changed? Does it change who I am?
I am grateful to have freedom in this country and wish all humans to have freedom wherever they are, inner freedom as well as freedom related to their society.
Just the title: Unites States makes me think…
And the United we stand…
All this unity is a unity of us vs. them. Not a complete unity of all there is.
For years I was waiting to feel welcomed in this country. I moved from a status of a tourist to a status of an extraordinary talent. That title did not keep me from being interrogated every time I passed passport control. Becoming a permanent resident was a huge deal, mostly in forgetting the past. Once I had the green card there was a sense of calmness that came with it, even security. At least I was not going to be thrown away. But now I am IN, I am officially an American; I can choose to say Nationality Israeli or American. Depending on where I am, and which of the two is more disliked. A Canadian passport would probably be more welcomed in some countries. Now when will I be able to walk around with my World Human passport; the passport that declares me as a human being, without any further group belonging, separation of me vs. others, A passport that contains only important info regarding the safety of the country I visit.
The Naturalization ceremony took place in a huge theater. There were hundreds of people listening to some encouraging words, allowing us to feel welcomed and connected to the club. I felt like joining the army. I am here to serve, to protect, and to give up my loyalty to any other nation. Patriotism always scared me. “It’s a good day to die for our country”, said one famous Israeli fighter. And I think it’s a great day to live. Period. Not for a country or for anyone, but just live. When time to die comes, it would be a fine day as well, but not for any country, dying for a country most likely means dying fighting against others.
Then came the moment where a name of country was announced and those from that nationality (or ex nationality) would stand up. So many countries, so many people, now I felt my stomach moving, this is the union, the connection of so many people together. “China” was called, and a huge group came to stand, small countries from Africa, Ethiopia was called, India, and again another huge group comes to stand, Israel, I stand up, I saw another young man stand, tears came to my eyes, not even sure why, but I started feeling the “united we stand”, of how I wish we were all doing this to become members of the universe, a place where all are welcomed to join as long as their intention to be good to themselves and others were sincere.
I now hold an American passport, and for the first time in my life wrote “American’ on the entry document to Mexico. Am I different, has my identity changed? Does it change who I am?
I am grateful to have freedom in this country and wish all humans to have freedom wherever they are, inner freedom as well as freedom related to their society.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Haramara Mexico Retreat - The Road to Freedom
Walking out of the airport the heat and humidity shower over me, greeting me with some tropical love of last days of the rainy season.
An hour to pass while we wait for a fellow yogini to arrive, what could be better that getting some local flavor. The fish taco place is right across the peeling yellow paint of the metal bridge. The place is like a garage with doors fully open and a wide open welcoming, accompanied by some friendly waiters.
The restaurant is dark even though there are no doors, the old paint on the walls covered with lots of black and white photos of proud fishermen with swordfish as their prize, a TV showing a soccer match with all the waiters looking up at the little figures running around on a semi green grass, after the black and white ball. Time is slower here, and no one seems to be in a rush, but neither are we, so we enjoy the new atmosphere. The waiters were very aware of whatever need we might have, which later, we would find more of, at Haramara. I had a feeling that they really cared, took their position of being in service with utmost respect. When teaching a yoga class I always enter with the same intention. Like an eagle from above, seeing who might need help, what verbal cue may I offer to hint the person in the back to adjust slightly, what gentle touch can I offer to better the experience of the student.
Wiping off constant sweat, I finish the last bite of the finely grilled fish in its wonderful subtle spice sauce.
Returning to the airport, yogini girl’s flight is delayed another hour or so, so we head to the bar to get our first cerveza in Mexico. Well, in reality it was the only one I had, but more than anything it gave a feeling of celebration. At times it is not about what I do, but the intention and how often I do it that springs a sense of celebration. Even the most amazing thing done all the time, over and over again, can lose its charm. Here comes the practice of celebrating the mundane, the every day life, as if anything we do is sacred, a ceremony, as if every time is the first time.
The mini van that took us an hour drive north to Haramara was an American SUV with powerful air conditioning and a mighty driver. It will be a whole week till we step again into the space of controlled weather. Traffic slows down as the bridge we need to cross has collapsed into the river, surrendering to the power of the heavy rains coming down just shortly before our arrival. We shared lanes with the newer bridge, and felt what it was like in the days when there was only one bridge. It is amazing how hard it is to go backwards, to lose comforts that are already gained. If I never had running water, and all I knew was going to the well outside to fetch it, than that would be my life, but if for some months I have the luxury of a tap in my home, then returning to what I had for a much longer time frame would be a total hardship. Same with having a better freeway, and then having it collapse. Nothing lasts forever.
The adventurous driver took us through the shoulders, around road barriers and an inch from a bus, testing the conditioning we have of what proper driving might be. The last bit of road was where the SUV needed to prove itself over mud and some very uneven terrain. When leaving Haramara we would not even recognize the road, as it will be so dry and smooth.
Haramara is built in such a way that that the jungle still gets to rule. Casitas (little bungalows or huts) are planted here in there within the jungle. Since they have large open facades, they are placed away from each other allowing for privacy.
The Jungle at the end of the rainy season intensifies the experience of nature; thousands of colorful crabs would run off the trails as we passed by, flying creators that looked like they came right out of Star Wars would hover in front of me, sending me telepathic messages, neon green grasshoppers resting by my mat, amazing butterflies accompanying me through my walks, and the sounds of fantastic singing birds filling the air as we meditated.
Haramara is built on the mountain slope with the yoga pavilion sitting high up overlooking the jungle and ocean, the beach, dramatic and powerful, with beautiful rocks, and expressive waves.
We started every morning at 7am, dark outside with a weaning moon. Candles lit the pavilion as meditated. During our practice the rising light began to shine and reveal the beauty of the jungle and ocean. Do the trees care if it is dark outside?
Longer yoga practices on retreats are such a delight. I find the 100 minute classes work so much better for me that 90. I could even be greedy and ask for 105.
I surrendered some of my control to Lauren that taught some classes and Kristen that offered us luscious Thai Yoga Massage sessions. It felt good to be a student while a teacher.
The dining room like all the structures combined natural elements with a clean design and a local feel. A large palm leaf roof covered the dining area; a wooden and marble floor support the tables made of wood and leather. Kerosene lamps lit everywhere as the sun was setting between the palm trees over the ocean.
Specialty tortilla chips and jicama juliennes were tools to lift amazing dips. Every night a different bright color would arrive. At first I heard ketchup and mustard from some guests, but soon we found out that it was beets and carrots. The food was creative and delicious, and the best part of it all was getting to know the people. It is such a unique way to learn about different people, their life and heritage, their views and stories. Before long we have created our own stories and toward the end of the week we have had our own past and inside jokes.
The week went by very quickly, leaving a paradise behind, a feeling of love and bliss from the practices and new found friends, bringing a better us to share with the world.
An hour to pass while we wait for a fellow yogini to arrive, what could be better that getting some local flavor. The fish taco place is right across the peeling yellow paint of the metal bridge. The place is like a garage with doors fully open and a wide open welcoming, accompanied by some friendly waiters.
The restaurant is dark even though there are no doors, the old paint on the walls covered with lots of black and white photos of proud fishermen with swordfish as their prize, a TV showing a soccer match with all the waiters looking up at the little figures running around on a semi green grass, after the black and white ball. Time is slower here, and no one seems to be in a rush, but neither are we, so we enjoy the new atmosphere. The waiters were very aware of whatever need we might have, which later, we would find more of, at Haramara. I had a feeling that they really cared, took their position of being in service with utmost respect. When teaching a yoga class I always enter with the same intention. Like an eagle from above, seeing who might need help, what verbal cue may I offer to hint the person in the back to adjust slightly, what gentle touch can I offer to better the experience of the student.
Wiping off constant sweat, I finish the last bite of the finely grilled fish in its wonderful subtle spice sauce.
Returning to the airport, yogini girl’s flight is delayed another hour or so, so we head to the bar to get our first cerveza in Mexico. Well, in reality it was the only one I had, but more than anything it gave a feeling of celebration. At times it is not about what I do, but the intention and how often I do it that springs a sense of celebration. Even the most amazing thing done all the time, over and over again, can lose its charm. Here comes the practice of celebrating the mundane, the every day life, as if anything we do is sacred, a ceremony, as if every time is the first time.
The mini van that took us an hour drive north to Haramara was an American SUV with powerful air conditioning and a mighty driver. It will be a whole week till we step again into the space of controlled weather. Traffic slows down as the bridge we need to cross has collapsed into the river, surrendering to the power of the heavy rains coming down just shortly before our arrival. We shared lanes with the newer bridge, and felt what it was like in the days when there was only one bridge. It is amazing how hard it is to go backwards, to lose comforts that are already gained. If I never had running water, and all I knew was going to the well outside to fetch it, than that would be my life, but if for some months I have the luxury of a tap in my home, then returning to what I had for a much longer time frame would be a total hardship. Same with having a better freeway, and then having it collapse. Nothing lasts forever.
The adventurous driver took us through the shoulders, around road barriers and an inch from a bus, testing the conditioning we have of what proper driving might be. The last bit of road was where the SUV needed to prove itself over mud and some very uneven terrain. When leaving Haramara we would not even recognize the road, as it will be so dry and smooth.
Haramara is built in such a way that that the jungle still gets to rule. Casitas (little bungalows or huts) are planted here in there within the jungle. Since they have large open facades, they are placed away from each other allowing for privacy.
The Jungle at the end of the rainy season intensifies the experience of nature; thousands of colorful crabs would run off the trails as we passed by, flying creators that looked like they came right out of Star Wars would hover in front of me, sending me telepathic messages, neon green grasshoppers resting by my mat, amazing butterflies accompanying me through my walks, and the sounds of fantastic singing birds filling the air as we meditated.
Haramara is built on the mountain slope with the yoga pavilion sitting high up overlooking the jungle and ocean, the beach, dramatic and powerful, with beautiful rocks, and expressive waves.
We started every morning at 7am, dark outside with a weaning moon. Candles lit the pavilion as meditated. During our practice the rising light began to shine and reveal the beauty of the jungle and ocean. Do the trees care if it is dark outside?
Longer yoga practices on retreats are such a delight. I find the 100 minute classes work so much better for me that 90. I could even be greedy and ask for 105.
I surrendered some of my control to Lauren that taught some classes and Kristen that offered us luscious Thai Yoga Massage sessions. It felt good to be a student while a teacher.
The dining room like all the structures combined natural elements with a clean design and a local feel. A large palm leaf roof covered the dining area; a wooden and marble floor support the tables made of wood and leather. Kerosene lamps lit everywhere as the sun was setting between the palm trees over the ocean.
Specialty tortilla chips and jicama juliennes were tools to lift amazing dips. Every night a different bright color would arrive. At first I heard ketchup and mustard from some guests, but soon we found out that it was beets and carrots. The food was creative and delicious, and the best part of it all was getting to know the people. It is such a unique way to learn about different people, their life and heritage, their views and stories. Before long we have created our own stories and toward the end of the week we have had our own past and inside jokes.
The week went by very quickly, leaving a paradise behind, a feeling of love and bliss from the practices and new found friends, bringing a better us to share with the world.
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