The crowd stands in front of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” and in front of Vermer's “Kitchen Maid”. These are the most famous art pieces, so we all want to see them. I have to admit that Van Goghs’ less famous Pink Peach blossom, painted for the birth of his nephew is one of my favorites. The Japanese feel of the pink and white blossom on the pastel blue background is very soothing to me.
The Rijks museum was friendly enough with Lots of Rembrandt, a few Vermer's including the special Kitchen Maid (maid pouring the milk), and woman with Balance. So distinct is the mood, the lighting and the background of his work. I got to reflect on the difference between this and the work of Richard Avedon, the fashion and portraits, the clean backgrounds and the placement of the figure in the space.
Van Gogh museum is pretty big with a whole new modern building hosting a special show of his work by night. Reading about him and seeing his work closely I feel like I know Van Gogh personally and realize that he died at my current age…I reflect on the art work that I created over the years, the styles and periods I went through, creating a little retrospective in my mind, and to my surprise I could fill up all of the walls here and more.
After spending the day at museums, I return home for a snack and head out with a camera. I no longer have an urge to document Amsterdam or any of its sites. I enjoy the freedom of walking with no backpack. Now as the time is getting close to sunset, I wonder the streets with the Canon camera strap hanging over my neck, many layers of thin shirts on, my green jacket with the large and cool looking collar, and a feeling of being an artist again. As I look into the canal I see the reflections of the canal houses dancing, shifting shape and form. Am I seeing the canal houses, the water or a new reality of the houses?
It is like the Big Sur Ocean that I viewed every day at Esalen. Once it was completely crisp, dark and rich blue, with clear definitions, another time it was dark grey and misty with strong waves and lots of movement. Still again it appeared calm with a greener tone, lighter and by night of course it appeared more like a black canvas, like a mirror offering the reflection of the moon or a star, mostly Venus. At sunrise or in the summer it was like a new Ocean all together. Was I changing or was it the ocean. Was it the same ocean, or was it just at the same place. Knowing that I was not changing glasses daily, I accepted that what I might think I know, what I can easily place in a box called the pacific, is relative and in flux, and day by day I delight in its new face.
At home I am happy to find the story of Amsterdam revealed to me in the abstractions of the shapes of homes and windows dancing on the canal waters as I captured them in my camera.
On my last day here I went to visit the Anna Frank House. A different kind of museum, a place where it is mostly my imagination and astonishment at human kind that makes the visit worthwhile. Really there is not much about the museum, but so much more of where my mind goes when triggered by human history. When standing in a seemingly normal room, a film of what happened in this very spot runs now in faded colors, with almost no sound through my imagination super imposed on the walls and space I stand in, merging times into one, knowing that these walls witnessed it all. Could this wall be the same for me as it were for Anna Frank? Do the walls care about the stories they hold? Do the floors notice the feet of the millions of tourists standing on the same wood that German soldiers did? I walk out to a drizzle, go home and pack my stuff. Catch a tram to the central station, on my way to Dublin.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Yoga as Grace
Practicing Yoga is a path to help us become more aware, to discover bliss at all times and realize. Realize who we really are.
Embracing our selves now, for who we are with no expectations of achievement, we can practice a graceful and joyful Yoga; a union with our mind and body in a clam state and an even flow of breath and movement.
Along the path we have many opportunities to practice and express our awareness. It starts with out behavior and attitude. “How was your practice?” the ultimate question after one leaves the shala in Mysore, India. Standing out side, sipping on a coconut I heard one yogini tell the other: “Every morning the girl next to me rolls over to my mat in Dhanurasana B and it really disrupts my flow.”
Sharing mat space, the class is surely over crowded, and extra awareness is needed, to be not only in ones own practice but also to see the surroundings. Of course a just argument can be held for each practitioner; “no room, what else to do?” Or “well I don’t know, but don’t put your sweat on my mat”. In any case, practicing for the sake of practice, for the sake of cultivating awareness and a sensation of bliss, one learns to cultivate compassion and receives great benefits and joy from seeing others be happy.
As I sit and let the class get ready here at Esalen, I hear a loud sound of a mat hitting the floor. It is not uncommon to see one toss their mat down, or kick it to roll it open. Whatever method one chooses, it is of great practice to do it consciously and with respect. Finding respect and care to all things, from the mat to the clothes we wear, from the food to the toilet, all have an important roll in our life, help us and are at our service. Practicing gratitude to all things helps bring a state of bliss on a daily basis.
We can practice this awareness as we do our Asana as well.
Through our breath, our Dristi (yogic gaze) and the grace of our movement.
Once our movement becomes too harsh, out of rhythm and either rapid or sluggish, we need to stop and refocus. While in a pose we can breathe and have a sense of joy even in difficult physical positions. Moving gracefully, like in a dance, steady, smooth movement without jerking, and a flow of energy that sips out of the lips as they stretch towards the ears.
Our intention in Yoga, in creating a union for our bodies and mind, allowing a merge, surrender to what is, however it is, creates space, space where the splendid unknown can appear and bring with it bliss, the bliss of unity. When there is no two, when there is no one, there is grace, a flow, a completeness, nothing lacking.
Yoga as grace is he ultimate practice of awareness and compassion, a surrender to the forces around us that are a part of the energy within us.
May we practice with gratitude and delight.
Embracing our selves now, for who we are with no expectations of achievement, we can practice a graceful and joyful Yoga; a union with our mind and body in a clam state and an even flow of breath and movement.
Along the path we have many opportunities to practice and express our awareness. It starts with out behavior and attitude. “How was your practice?” the ultimate question after one leaves the shala in Mysore, India. Standing out side, sipping on a coconut I heard one yogini tell the other: “Every morning the girl next to me rolls over to my mat in Dhanurasana B and it really disrupts my flow.”
Sharing mat space, the class is surely over crowded, and extra awareness is needed, to be not only in ones own practice but also to see the surroundings. Of course a just argument can be held for each practitioner; “no room, what else to do?” Or “well I don’t know, but don’t put your sweat on my mat”. In any case, practicing for the sake of practice, for the sake of cultivating awareness and a sensation of bliss, one learns to cultivate compassion and receives great benefits and joy from seeing others be happy.
As I sit and let the class get ready here at Esalen, I hear a loud sound of a mat hitting the floor. It is not uncommon to see one toss their mat down, or kick it to roll it open. Whatever method one chooses, it is of great practice to do it consciously and with respect. Finding respect and care to all things, from the mat to the clothes we wear, from the food to the toilet, all have an important roll in our life, help us and are at our service. Practicing gratitude to all things helps bring a state of bliss on a daily basis.
We can practice this awareness as we do our Asana as well.
Through our breath, our Dristi (yogic gaze) and the grace of our movement.
Once our movement becomes too harsh, out of rhythm and either rapid or sluggish, we need to stop and refocus. While in a pose we can breathe and have a sense of joy even in difficult physical positions. Moving gracefully, like in a dance, steady, smooth movement without jerking, and a flow of energy that sips out of the lips as they stretch towards the ears.
Our intention in Yoga, in creating a union for our bodies and mind, allowing a merge, surrender to what is, however it is, creates space, space where the splendid unknown can appear and bring with it bliss, the bliss of unity. When there is no two, when there is no one, there is grace, a flow, a completeness, nothing lacking.
Yoga as grace is he ultimate practice of awareness and compassion, a surrender to the forces around us that are a part of the energy within us.
May we practice with gratitude and delight.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Amsterdam in March
Sitting on a perforated, silver, metal curvy chair at the airport I look out the huge windows as people rush to the airplane stairs. Nicely designed little hand luggage in their hands, some are dressed like they are going to a fancy restaurant, skipping on heals and some got their sweatpants on ready to sleep on this long flight ahead of them.
Like so many of my trips, I am sitting alone. I notice it most while in the airport.
The man in front of me stands inline as his woman fills out immigration forms, or the woman is watching the bags while the man goes to get some drinks or use the restroom.
Like so many of my trips, as I am leaving I wonder why I am doing this. My life is great and I like what I do. I feel no need to escape or even see new things. I feel like I have done and seen enough, been in movement and enjoy some stillness now.
I take a breath to find the stillness within. I pull out my book from the bag, and go into other people’s stories. The Namesake was my gamble this time. A good book is a precious companion on flights, and taking a new book holds lots of possibilities…
The first chunk of the book tells a story of Indian immigrants to the states, and how they settle in. The man has his university job and is living his dreams while his wife is still virtually living in India, her mind and longings, waiting to go back home.
That sense of home, of family strikes me and pinches in the belly as I sit in the airport. The airport is the true land of possibilities. I look at the monitors and see letters, making up words, representing huge stories, names of cities, that immediately bring up whole cultures to mind, smells, weather, food, faces, dress code…
When arriving to Amsterdam I can’t help but notice the women. Tall women were always my weakness, and women in boots even more. Just to be clear, we are talking about stylish boots, some heal, nice black tights, and maybe a skirt. Some wearing tight jeans nicely tucked in the boots with shapely tops, a nice coat, not too long, still reveling the healthy slender body. Almost no comfy Uggs boots around, not the perfect breathe through, wind proof or other super new sporty stuff. Seems like those are tucked in the closet somewhere for their next trip away…Functional elegance is what it seems, with a strong feminine sense, of a capable woman. And the fact that most of them were riding a bicycle was even more charming. Again, no one had ultra sporty new 67 gear bikes, but mostly casual, regular old fashioned looking bicycle. Not even the Santa Cruz bike cruisers, just plain old bicycles, some still with backspin breaks.
When on Sunday night we went to he comedy club, we rode our bikes. Wearing nice outfits and sexy shoes, we pedaled through the rain, tied our bikes to one of the endless bike posts around town and entered the club to warm ourselves with a Gin Tonic.
Since my arrival here in Amsterdam, Hannif was a fantastic host, better than any guide to hosting can offer. Well, my diet and drinking habits have shifted a bit, but being a flexitarian helps, obeying the rules of being a good guest, or: in Amsterdam, be a Britt (Hannif is from England). Passport control was smooth and quick, very different than my Irish experience a few hours earlier in Dublin. Dublin airport reminded me of what the Tel Aviv airport used to be like 10 years ago before it was renovated. Well, guess Israel is not doing so badly after all.
Hannif waited just where all the families come to greet their returning loved ones. He was a bit hidden to the side with no big sign or flowers, just Hannif, being his sweet self, ready to go. It has been a while since I last saw him, and yet it felt like yesterday. Observing the beautiful airport, the design and space were first. Then came the girls. Hannif was with me on the same track. I was warned that the girls are not as friendly as I think they are. I noticed that most the Dutch people I met so far were travelers or living in a foreign country, where they naturally spoke English and were welcoming other foreigners, as they were aliens as well.
Last night Hannif hosted some friends over for Champagne tasting. That of course came along with some delicious mango covered chocolates and orange filled chocolates from a specialty little store down the road. I am so happy to see so many moms and pap’s shops, so few big chains, so many charming houses and so few big over the top buildings. Amsterdam appears to me as a quaint town that expands around its canals. The canals that add such a sweet touch. From the window of the living room where I sleep I stand and see only the water of the canal. Some ducks come by to say hello. Hannif and I practice Frisbee bread tossing to the canal to feed them.
The canals in the red light district had beautiful swans floating in them. Hannif was surprised that they choose to live in those canals. The red light district walk that we took was a show on its own. With all different woman posing at the window, teasing us to go in, some truly beautiful standing in big windows, with a bed peeking behind, like a mini hotel room, perfectly functional for a 15-minute gig. When looking into one of the girl’s eyes, seeing through, to what felt an intimate and real person, I had the Zoro need to go in and rescue her, to take her away, and be with her, to offer her something else. I know that this is probably a classic male respond, and I also am aware that what she is doing might be what she wants to do. Who am I to be a savior? Hey at time, I even thought that there was something alluring in being a kind of performer and having unlimited sex. Yes… I know that reality is different…Thank you…we finished with a nightcap at the Rembrandt square, seeing the trendy nightlife of Amsterdam.
Like so many of my trips, I am sitting alone. I notice it most while in the airport.
The man in front of me stands inline as his woman fills out immigration forms, or the woman is watching the bags while the man goes to get some drinks or use the restroom.
Like so many of my trips, as I am leaving I wonder why I am doing this. My life is great and I like what I do. I feel no need to escape or even see new things. I feel like I have done and seen enough, been in movement and enjoy some stillness now.
I take a breath to find the stillness within. I pull out my book from the bag, and go into other people’s stories. The Namesake was my gamble this time. A good book is a precious companion on flights, and taking a new book holds lots of possibilities…
The first chunk of the book tells a story of Indian immigrants to the states, and how they settle in. The man has his university job and is living his dreams while his wife is still virtually living in India, her mind and longings, waiting to go back home.
That sense of home, of family strikes me and pinches in the belly as I sit in the airport. The airport is the true land of possibilities. I look at the monitors and see letters, making up words, representing huge stories, names of cities, that immediately bring up whole cultures to mind, smells, weather, food, faces, dress code…
When arriving to Amsterdam I can’t help but notice the women. Tall women were always my weakness, and women in boots even more. Just to be clear, we are talking about stylish boots, some heal, nice black tights, and maybe a skirt. Some wearing tight jeans nicely tucked in the boots with shapely tops, a nice coat, not too long, still reveling the healthy slender body. Almost no comfy Uggs boots around, not the perfect breathe through, wind proof or other super new sporty stuff. Seems like those are tucked in the closet somewhere for their next trip away…Functional elegance is what it seems, with a strong feminine sense, of a capable woman. And the fact that most of them were riding a bicycle was even more charming. Again, no one had ultra sporty new 67 gear bikes, but mostly casual, regular old fashioned looking bicycle. Not even the Santa Cruz bike cruisers, just plain old bicycles, some still with backspin breaks.
When on Sunday night we went to he comedy club, we rode our bikes. Wearing nice outfits and sexy shoes, we pedaled through the rain, tied our bikes to one of the endless bike posts around town and entered the club to warm ourselves with a Gin Tonic.
Since my arrival here in Amsterdam, Hannif was a fantastic host, better than any guide to hosting can offer. Well, my diet and drinking habits have shifted a bit, but being a flexitarian helps, obeying the rules of being a good guest, or: in Amsterdam, be a Britt (Hannif is from England). Passport control was smooth and quick, very different than my Irish experience a few hours earlier in Dublin. Dublin airport reminded me of what the Tel Aviv airport used to be like 10 years ago before it was renovated. Well, guess Israel is not doing so badly after all.
Hannif waited just where all the families come to greet their returning loved ones. He was a bit hidden to the side with no big sign or flowers, just Hannif, being his sweet self, ready to go. It has been a while since I last saw him, and yet it felt like yesterday. Observing the beautiful airport, the design and space were first. Then came the girls. Hannif was with me on the same track. I was warned that the girls are not as friendly as I think they are. I noticed that most the Dutch people I met so far were travelers or living in a foreign country, where they naturally spoke English and were welcoming other foreigners, as they were aliens as well.
Last night Hannif hosted some friends over for Champagne tasting. That of course came along with some delicious mango covered chocolates and orange filled chocolates from a specialty little store down the road. I am so happy to see so many moms and pap’s shops, so few big chains, so many charming houses and so few big over the top buildings. Amsterdam appears to me as a quaint town that expands around its canals. The canals that add such a sweet touch. From the window of the living room where I sleep I stand and see only the water of the canal. Some ducks come by to say hello. Hannif and I practice Frisbee bread tossing to the canal to feed them.
The canals in the red light district had beautiful swans floating in them. Hannif was surprised that they choose to live in those canals. The red light district walk that we took was a show on its own. With all different woman posing at the window, teasing us to go in, some truly beautiful standing in big windows, with a bed peeking behind, like a mini hotel room, perfectly functional for a 15-minute gig. When looking into one of the girl’s eyes, seeing through, to what felt an intimate and real person, I had the Zoro need to go in and rescue her, to take her away, and be with her, to offer her something else. I know that this is probably a classic male respond, and I also am aware that what she is doing might be what she wants to do. Who am I to be a savior? Hey at time, I even thought that there was something alluring in being a kind of performer and having unlimited sex. Yes… I know that reality is different…Thank you…we finished with a nightcap at the Rembrandt square, seeing the trendy nightlife of Amsterdam.
Friday, February 27, 2009
My last week at Esalen
Like any good thing it comes and goes.
Friday, the sun is out, last emails and print outs for the Blissful Living workshop I lead this weekend. I am so grateful to finish my time at Esalen with a weekend of teaching. Through the group, the service and the practice I enter a weekend of Bliss and joy.
Thursday afternoon, March 5th will be my last physical day at Esalen. Before I leave I shall hang a show of my work here at Esalen that will remain after I am gone.
Friday morning I leave for Amsterdam where I will meet Hannif and even get to spend a day with Solo. On the 12th I shall land in Dublin to celebrate Fiona and Tony’s Birthdays, with a road trip and St. Patrick's day as a bonus.
I return on March 20th, and will go to Palo Alto where I will teach the Ashtanga Mysore program for the next three months.
Adarsh and Heleen will be away, teaching, and I shall cover their shifts as well as stay at their place. I am very much happy for the opportunity to teach, and having a smooth transition back into the world of money, media signs, and cooking my own food.
It is a big transition. Food shopping, unfamiliar faces, and being in control of all parts of my life. It is the way I always had it, yet had a sweet time in having a schedule, process groups, and a dining hall where I knew there will always be a familiar face.
I am setting an intention to keep studying and teaching, and hope to find constant gratitude to every blade of grass that comes my way.
Friday, the sun is out, last emails and print outs for the Blissful Living workshop I lead this weekend. I am so grateful to finish my time at Esalen with a weekend of teaching. Through the group, the service and the practice I enter a weekend of Bliss and joy.
Thursday afternoon, March 5th will be my last physical day at Esalen. Before I leave I shall hang a show of my work here at Esalen that will remain after I am gone.
Friday morning I leave for Amsterdam where I will meet Hannif and even get to spend a day with Solo. On the 12th I shall land in Dublin to celebrate Fiona and Tony’s Birthdays, with a road trip and St. Patrick's day as a bonus.
I return on March 20th, and will go to Palo Alto where I will teach the Ashtanga Mysore program for the next three months.
Adarsh and Heleen will be away, teaching, and I shall cover their shifts as well as stay at their place. I am very much happy for the opportunity to teach, and having a smooth transition back into the world of money, media signs, and cooking my own food.
It is a big transition. Food shopping, unfamiliar faces, and being in control of all parts of my life. It is the way I always had it, yet had a sweet time in having a schedule, process groups, and a dining hall where I knew there will always be a familiar face.
I am setting an intention to keep studying and teaching, and hope to find constant gratitude to every blade of grass that comes my way.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
There is nothing ordinary about a blade of grass
Being used to constant stimulation, needing constant food for the mind, peace is missing.
Sometimes I see just what is. When not trying to get somewhere, to achieve, then the present, the simple, the mundane is as fascinating, as holy as the great event.
Accepting that it might not be an interesting experience to share with others. That it is so simple, that there is nothing to tell. Yet, it is not boredom. It is simply being here, now, being present, without labeling, without personalizing. A dot is boundless. A blade of grass.
Have an Extra ordinary day.
Sometimes I see just what is. When not trying to get somewhere, to achieve, then the present, the simple, the mundane is as fascinating, as holy as the great event.
Accepting that it might not be an interesting experience to share with others. That it is so simple, that there is nothing to tell. Yet, it is not boredom. It is simply being here, now, being present, without labeling, without personalizing. A dot is boundless. A blade of grass.
Have an Extra ordinary day.
In residence
“I have always wondered what it is like for those that are in residence? How do you move when you are stationary (by choice) as the revolving door of connections, come and go? Where does it take you? Does time have a different meaning?”
This is part of a greater email sent to me by a friend in response to “love beyond identities”. Her question refers to me being a staff resident at Esalen Institute (esalen.org), or any other “centers”, but I can only answer of my experience here.
Sometimes I wonder if we are not all residents somewhere, within a community we create for ourselves. At a place like Esalen it is more transparent and intense from my experience.
Since I eat my meals at the lodge with a great number of people in transit, people that come for a weekend, a week or a month, I get to meet new people constantly.
It is like backpacking while staying in the same place. The cultures, the people and the new experiences come to me, if I am open to receive them.
It is really up to the resident to decide if they would like to take their meal in a box, and eat at home, or participate in the game of new connections, of explorations and of being an anchor as guests come and go.
So many of the guests here are healing or just finding something different than what they have at home. Many want to know about the place or the experience here, others about my life. Indeed the stories might get repetitive for me unless I find a fresh aspect, a relevance to the person I talk to. These are not my stories but rather moments of connections with another, an opportunity to present a gift to another.
It is harder to develop long-term relationships as guests move on while I stay. Many new encounters, but few that can develop in depth. It is with those that come for a month or a year, or permanent staff that the deeper relationships can evolve. Even though since it is such a small permanent community, it also tends to be like a fish bowl, and at times there is fear of getting to close, since there is no hiding from others or from ourselves if things do not work out.
The movement happens in a smaller space, which is only relative. I find myself in so many places through the people I meet. The journey of participating in workshops here takes me on other journeys. Each connection becomes a new time unit, and time is relative to that connection. At times speedy Gonzales and at Times it comes to a halt.
I could imagine that a teller in a bank has some similar experience, but maybe not as in depth; the constant new faces, and the not knowing who will appear next.
Today is Sunday Change Over, a big day, not only do the seminarians leave and new ones arrive, but also work scholars, those that have spent a month here are now departing. Some of the Yearly leave too, as our months at Esalen rotate around the Work scholar month.
So Monday is full of possibilities, of fresh energies, excitement of new beginnings. Will the love of my life enter to be a work scholar in the kitchen? Will it be a group of great working people? Will there be some yummy conversations or will it be a time to go inside?
Being the constant face, the greeting eyes, the open ears, and the storyteller, the one that shares ideas about life and practices, all this can be rejuvenating or very draining, depends on the day, the moon, the person…
This is part of a greater email sent to me by a friend in response to “love beyond identities”. Her question refers to me being a staff resident at Esalen Institute (esalen.org), or any other “centers”, but I can only answer of my experience here.
Sometimes I wonder if we are not all residents somewhere, within a community we create for ourselves. At a place like Esalen it is more transparent and intense from my experience.
Since I eat my meals at the lodge with a great number of people in transit, people that come for a weekend, a week or a month, I get to meet new people constantly.
It is like backpacking while staying in the same place. The cultures, the people and the new experiences come to me, if I am open to receive them.
It is really up to the resident to decide if they would like to take their meal in a box, and eat at home, or participate in the game of new connections, of explorations and of being an anchor as guests come and go.
So many of the guests here are healing or just finding something different than what they have at home. Many want to know about the place or the experience here, others about my life. Indeed the stories might get repetitive for me unless I find a fresh aspect, a relevance to the person I talk to. These are not my stories but rather moments of connections with another, an opportunity to present a gift to another.
It is harder to develop long-term relationships as guests move on while I stay. Many new encounters, but few that can develop in depth. It is with those that come for a month or a year, or permanent staff that the deeper relationships can evolve. Even though since it is such a small permanent community, it also tends to be like a fish bowl, and at times there is fear of getting to close, since there is no hiding from others or from ourselves if things do not work out.
The movement happens in a smaller space, which is only relative. I find myself in so many places through the people I meet. The journey of participating in workshops here takes me on other journeys. Each connection becomes a new time unit, and time is relative to that connection. At times speedy Gonzales and at Times it comes to a halt.
I could imagine that a teller in a bank has some similar experience, but maybe not as in depth; the constant new faces, and the not knowing who will appear next.
Today is Sunday Change Over, a big day, not only do the seminarians leave and new ones arrive, but also work scholars, those that have spent a month here are now departing. Some of the Yearly leave too, as our months at Esalen rotate around the Work scholar month.
So Monday is full of possibilities, of fresh energies, excitement of new beginnings. Will the love of my life enter to be a work scholar in the kitchen? Will it be a group of great working people? Will there be some yummy conversations or will it be a time to go inside?
Being the constant face, the greeting eyes, the open ears, and the storyteller, the one that shares ideas about life and practices, all this can be rejuvenating or very draining, depends on the day, the moon, the person…
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Love beyond identities
(Names have been modified, and some details too. The basis is true…)
“Marhaba to the wonderful guest of my dreams.
Believe it or not every day you visit my dreams.
I must tell you something that maybe you don’t know it - Doron you made me change a lot. You empowered me, you made me be my self and made me braver more appreciate my self, and you empowered my self-confidence also....”
Two weeks earlier I was sitting at the lodge having a nice dinner with a friend.
“OK, so I’m just going to do it, I told my friend. I am not sure what is appropriate, but I’ll ask.” At the same table in the Esalen Lodge sat a Muslim woman with a scarf around her head. I knew she was part of the Arab and Israeli Women group here, but so far I only had the opportunity to speak with the Druze and Israelis.
I realized that even though I grew up in Israel, surrounded by Arabs and Muslims, I never really had a close conversation with a religious Muslim Woman, and so was not even sure of the correct manners in such a situation.
“Do you mind if I sit?” I asked her. She raised her head towards me. She was young, maybe late 20’s, dressed in a contemporary western style, including jeans and a long sweater, no make up and her hair was completely hidden.
We followed with a quick introduction of names and such…“Are you enjoying the conference?” “Not really, with the whole situation at home, it is very difficult for me. I have a lot of anger about the situation.”
We spoke of where she is from and what brought her here. … Why America and why this group. We immediately switched to Hebrew, as we both were more fluent in it than English. ”I would love to learn Arabic. I always feel weird when I meet an Arab and we talk in Hebrew.” “Why would you want to learn Arabic?” “I always feel that I know more of the other culture if I can speak their language. It also makes the other feel more at home. Speaking Arabic would be a bridge for communication.”
The next day at the lodge, as I was having my lunch, she sat across from me. Are you ready for your first lesson?” I sipped my tea and realized that we barely have two weeks. “Maybe just some info about where to study in Israel? I asked.
“You seem like an intelligent man; lets see what you pick up. I would just want to tell you one agreement I need from you. You cannot touch me. I know there is a lot of touching and hugging here at Esalen and you always seem to be surrounded by people hugging you.”
“I understand and respect that” I said looking straight into her dark brown eyes.
So we started with greetings and simple sentences.
Some of the important things I learned right at the first lesson were greetings, How are you? What do you do? And are you married? Next was how old are you?
She taught me many ways of replying; I am sad, not so great, I feel angry. I had to ask for some more ways of responding with a positive answer.
“ What are important questions you need to know when you meet a girl” she asked me, so after marriage and age we moved to astrological sign and favorite color.
During the meals I found myself one man amongst many woman, women of all ages, very warm and friendly. It was great to join them for meals. It was where it was happening; laughter, excitement, and sometimes even dancing on the table to Arabic tunes. I was their native in a foreign land. I was remembered of my own culture and the immediate intimacy as many of them were trying to set me up with their daughters, sisters or other relatives. It was like a mission for some of them, the questions and inquiries, a lot of warmth.
I kept meeting with her for Arabic lessons. Really after the second lesson, it started drifting to talks about life and values, personally rather than theoretically. The hot spring baths came up, as it is such a dominant part of Esalen. “Why do you have o go naked? Can’t you wear a swimsuit?” “ It is legit to wear a swimsuit” I responded, “Yet why would I? I don’t wear one in the shower at home. I am in a bath, then I shower and when I leave the area I do get dressed. It feels natural and since everyone is naked in the baths it does not become a big deal”.
It is not that she was going to give it a try, especially if she might be seeing a man naked, but it seems like it made some sense to her. “OK, so lets say that the bath is for self cleaning, why go naked in the swimming pool? “ I have not seemed to convince her as much here, and the only request she had was that I not go there naked while she is at Esalen, since she might see me. (The pool is vision distance from the lodge where people mostly meet).
We sat on the bench overlooking the ocean at sunset. After speaking of Islam and the creator, of praying and religious laws, I told her that I do not believe in God. I was amazed to see that she kept listening, that the questions I proposed went deep, and she considered them. Indeed a life long of believes in one-way are not about to change in a moment, and it was also not my intention. Only to share with her my perspective as learn about hers, accepting it as is.
We stared at the ocean, silence, a butterfly passed by and the colors of sky and ocean just kept getting more intense after the sun was no longer visible. “This is it!” I told her, just what we see now. No explanation for where it is from, why and how, just this glorious moment.
She inhaled deeply.
Another day we found ourselves in the community house, reviewing our Arabic so far. I was having some basic conversation with her. She really is a fantastic teacher. First we start with a review, I am never allowed to look at my notebook, then we add some new words and then we drift to other subjects and speak in Hebrew.
“I have something for you. I made it myself.” It was a beautiful beaded piece, with a clip on one end and three threads beaded with beautiful fashion, creating a symbolic peace ornament. The beads were of earthy and creamy tones, very much like her. “These are my favorite colors,” she said while smiling shyly as she handed it to me. Our hands barely touch as I accept her gift. She then went on to talk about her personal feelings. The man she would like to find, her family relationship, the power of her older brother on her life since her dad passed away, the role she plays as an educated woman in her family and the tradition that is still so alive back home.
Realizing how much power her older brother has on her life, just cause he is the man, she tells me of all her wise and sophisticated techniques to still get what she wants. To me it seemed like such a huge effort to achieve what is most mundane in other cultures. It is either following the tradition or risking loosing the family she so loves. There was a feeling of intimacy, of great trust and reveal. As I held the beads in my hand like a mala, they were caressing her hand underneath. It was getting darker“.
I need to talk,” she said one eve. “It was an intense night for me last night. In the group I was encouraged to speak up, to say what I am going through.” She was the more timid one from what I understood. Strong feelings she learned to tame.
“I spoke my truth, and it came out strong. I was given a tennis racket to hit the pillows symbolically, there was crying in the group, it was strong. I had so much anger towards your people. After that I did not want to see anyone. Only you. I wanted to talk to you. I knew you were in the kitchen, but didn’t want to disturb. I passed by the door a few times. I really needed a hug.”
I swallowed, as touch or a hug always seemed to be such a big no no for her.
I was completely honored that she managed to see me for who I am, let go of any identity I was given, realize that I am not Israel or the Jewish religion, but just me. This was one of the most delightful moments of my life.
On the day before her departure, we went on a motorcycle ride. She asked for it a bunch of times, but was concerned if she can be on it without touching me. “ I am wearing a big Jacket that is fully padded,” I said with a teasing smile.
She had such a wild passion caged in her, a readiness to explore, a will to feel completely, and every time something came up, her mind jumped in and told her what was right or wrong to do. It was fascinating to see what seemed to me, the inner struggle between what her instinct was calling her to do and what her logic, or conditioned mind was telling her. I always tried to stay neutral, to allow her to come to the decisions on her own. I would only present my way of doing things, never suggesting that it is the way for anyone else.
When we returned from the ride, we had dinner and then went outside under the stars to say farewell. “I want to thank you for allowing me to be with my self, with my body and emotions. To realize that there is more than what I think and that it’s ok to listen to it sometimes. Thank you for noticing all the little things in me, for caring and letting me feel safe… I have something for you”. She presented me with a large book. It was her final university project about Muslim women in Israeli education system. “It was meant for someone else, but you are the one that deserves this”.
I knew the journey has only begun. That under different circumstances things might be different. We spoke of soul connections, of Love, of intimacy; possibilities.
This was a powerful moment for me. Really managing to meet a person of the most opposite beliefs and ideas (on the surface at least), and to find a human meeting point, a similar place beyond societies’ identities. Seeing clearly through the fog of conditioning, we have created a bridge, a seed for peace. I feel great gratitude to her for the openness, willingness and love shared. May this understanding keep passing on to all those that share conflict.
“Marhaba to the wonderful guest of my dreams.
Believe it or not every day you visit my dreams.
I must tell you something that maybe you don’t know it - Doron you made me change a lot. You empowered me, you made me be my self and made me braver more appreciate my self, and you empowered my self-confidence also....”
Two weeks earlier I was sitting at the lodge having a nice dinner with a friend.
“OK, so I’m just going to do it, I told my friend. I am not sure what is appropriate, but I’ll ask.” At the same table in the Esalen Lodge sat a Muslim woman with a scarf around her head. I knew she was part of the Arab and Israeli Women group here, but so far I only had the opportunity to speak with the Druze and Israelis.
I realized that even though I grew up in Israel, surrounded by Arabs and Muslims, I never really had a close conversation with a religious Muslim Woman, and so was not even sure of the correct manners in such a situation.
“Do you mind if I sit?” I asked her. She raised her head towards me. She was young, maybe late 20’s, dressed in a contemporary western style, including jeans and a long sweater, no make up and her hair was completely hidden.
We followed with a quick introduction of names and such…“Are you enjoying the conference?” “Not really, with the whole situation at home, it is very difficult for me. I have a lot of anger about the situation.”
We spoke of where she is from and what brought her here. … Why America and why this group. We immediately switched to Hebrew, as we both were more fluent in it than English. ”I would love to learn Arabic. I always feel weird when I meet an Arab and we talk in Hebrew.” “Why would you want to learn Arabic?” “I always feel that I know more of the other culture if I can speak their language. It also makes the other feel more at home. Speaking Arabic would be a bridge for communication.”
The next day at the lodge, as I was having my lunch, she sat across from me. Are you ready for your first lesson?” I sipped my tea and realized that we barely have two weeks. “Maybe just some info about where to study in Israel? I asked.
“You seem like an intelligent man; lets see what you pick up. I would just want to tell you one agreement I need from you. You cannot touch me. I know there is a lot of touching and hugging here at Esalen and you always seem to be surrounded by people hugging you.”
“I understand and respect that” I said looking straight into her dark brown eyes.
So we started with greetings and simple sentences.
Some of the important things I learned right at the first lesson were greetings, How are you? What do you do? And are you married? Next was how old are you?
She taught me many ways of replying; I am sad, not so great, I feel angry. I had to ask for some more ways of responding with a positive answer.
“ What are important questions you need to know when you meet a girl” she asked me, so after marriage and age we moved to astrological sign and favorite color.
During the meals I found myself one man amongst many woman, women of all ages, very warm and friendly. It was great to join them for meals. It was where it was happening; laughter, excitement, and sometimes even dancing on the table to Arabic tunes. I was their native in a foreign land. I was remembered of my own culture and the immediate intimacy as many of them were trying to set me up with their daughters, sisters or other relatives. It was like a mission for some of them, the questions and inquiries, a lot of warmth.
I kept meeting with her for Arabic lessons. Really after the second lesson, it started drifting to talks about life and values, personally rather than theoretically. The hot spring baths came up, as it is such a dominant part of Esalen. “Why do you have o go naked? Can’t you wear a swimsuit?” “ It is legit to wear a swimsuit” I responded, “Yet why would I? I don’t wear one in the shower at home. I am in a bath, then I shower and when I leave the area I do get dressed. It feels natural and since everyone is naked in the baths it does not become a big deal”.
It is not that she was going to give it a try, especially if she might be seeing a man naked, but it seems like it made some sense to her. “OK, so lets say that the bath is for self cleaning, why go naked in the swimming pool? “ I have not seemed to convince her as much here, and the only request she had was that I not go there naked while she is at Esalen, since she might see me. (The pool is vision distance from the lodge where people mostly meet).
We sat on the bench overlooking the ocean at sunset. After speaking of Islam and the creator, of praying and religious laws, I told her that I do not believe in God. I was amazed to see that she kept listening, that the questions I proposed went deep, and she considered them. Indeed a life long of believes in one-way are not about to change in a moment, and it was also not my intention. Only to share with her my perspective as learn about hers, accepting it as is.
We stared at the ocean, silence, a butterfly passed by and the colors of sky and ocean just kept getting more intense after the sun was no longer visible. “This is it!” I told her, just what we see now. No explanation for where it is from, why and how, just this glorious moment.
She inhaled deeply.
Another day we found ourselves in the community house, reviewing our Arabic so far. I was having some basic conversation with her. She really is a fantastic teacher. First we start with a review, I am never allowed to look at my notebook, then we add some new words and then we drift to other subjects and speak in Hebrew.
“I have something for you. I made it myself.” It was a beautiful beaded piece, with a clip on one end and three threads beaded with beautiful fashion, creating a symbolic peace ornament. The beads were of earthy and creamy tones, very much like her. “These are my favorite colors,” she said while smiling shyly as she handed it to me. Our hands barely touch as I accept her gift. She then went on to talk about her personal feelings. The man she would like to find, her family relationship, the power of her older brother on her life since her dad passed away, the role she plays as an educated woman in her family and the tradition that is still so alive back home.
Realizing how much power her older brother has on her life, just cause he is the man, she tells me of all her wise and sophisticated techniques to still get what she wants. To me it seemed like such a huge effort to achieve what is most mundane in other cultures. It is either following the tradition or risking loosing the family she so loves. There was a feeling of intimacy, of great trust and reveal. As I held the beads in my hand like a mala, they were caressing her hand underneath. It was getting darker“.
I need to talk,” she said one eve. “It was an intense night for me last night. In the group I was encouraged to speak up, to say what I am going through.” She was the more timid one from what I understood. Strong feelings she learned to tame.
“I spoke my truth, and it came out strong. I was given a tennis racket to hit the pillows symbolically, there was crying in the group, it was strong. I had so much anger towards your people. After that I did not want to see anyone. Only you. I wanted to talk to you. I knew you were in the kitchen, but didn’t want to disturb. I passed by the door a few times. I really needed a hug.”
I swallowed, as touch or a hug always seemed to be such a big no no for her.
I was completely honored that she managed to see me for who I am, let go of any identity I was given, realize that I am not Israel or the Jewish religion, but just me. This was one of the most delightful moments of my life.
On the day before her departure, we went on a motorcycle ride. She asked for it a bunch of times, but was concerned if she can be on it without touching me. “ I am wearing a big Jacket that is fully padded,” I said with a teasing smile.
She had such a wild passion caged in her, a readiness to explore, a will to feel completely, and every time something came up, her mind jumped in and told her what was right or wrong to do. It was fascinating to see what seemed to me, the inner struggle between what her instinct was calling her to do and what her logic, or conditioned mind was telling her. I always tried to stay neutral, to allow her to come to the decisions on her own. I would only present my way of doing things, never suggesting that it is the way for anyone else.
When we returned from the ride, we had dinner and then went outside under the stars to say farewell. “I want to thank you for allowing me to be with my self, with my body and emotions. To realize that there is more than what I think and that it’s ok to listen to it sometimes. Thank you for noticing all the little things in me, for caring and letting me feel safe… I have something for you”. She presented me with a large book. It was her final university project about Muslim women in Israeli education system. “It was meant for someone else, but you are the one that deserves this”.
I knew the journey has only begun. That under different circumstances things might be different. We spoke of soul connections, of Love, of intimacy; possibilities.
This was a powerful moment for me. Really managing to meet a person of the most opposite beliefs and ideas (on the surface at least), and to find a human meeting point, a similar place beyond societies’ identities. Seeing clearly through the fog of conditioning, we have created a bridge, a seed for peace. I feel great gratitude to her for the openness, willingness and love shared. May this understanding keep passing on to all those that share conflict.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Standing on the shoulders of our Teachers
“An artist’s early works are nearly always five-finger exercises that teach him the principles of the style of an older generation of artists, until he himself is mature enough to formulate a style of his own.”
Giorgio Morandi
This principle of practice in art is true for anything. One first studies, receives teachings and the more one practiced them, lives them, breathes them, one begins to be these teachings, to have a specific set of spices for his own recipe.
“ Practice and all is coming”, claims Patabhi Jois. It is not by talking about Yoga that one becomes a Yogi. Indeed, reading and discussing are also important, but it is the practice in every day life that helps the embodiment and manifestation of an artist, a teacher or a master in their every moment life and their sharing with others.
“Standing on the shoulders of our teachers” writes Ganga White. What does that mean to you?
An artist, a Yoga teacher, a musician or even a philosopher all start with studying masters of the past.
Practicing yoga, and studying with great masters is of great value. At a certain point, after substantial practice and time, one might start having this knowledge ingrained within themselves. Once this knowledge is there, the student learns to explore what works for them. Truly we are our own masters. We have all the answers; just don’t always see them clearly. The tradition, the teachers of past and present are guides, are shepherds presenting the grass. Once we can see the grass, we can try and eat it, we can see what it taste like. Maybe we need another field another shepherd, and eventually either we find a grass that is delicious for us, we make our own special blend of grasses or we find a new field altogether.
The Teachers that I respect the most are those that empowered me, not controlled me, those that were sharing all they had without holding back, that were willing to show me all there is, and accept me for who I am.
My joy, my Zen, my understandings cannot be taken away from me, as they are my own experiences, not my teachers or masters. I have learned a great deal from my teachers and masters, but it is through my own practice, my own experience and my own realizations that I have come to be what I am.
I am grateful for the past, for teachers and traditions, and I am grateful for life offering me direct experiences to know what is truly right for me, for my body for being a joyful human in service.
Giorgio Morandi
This principle of practice in art is true for anything. One first studies, receives teachings and the more one practiced them, lives them, breathes them, one begins to be these teachings, to have a specific set of spices for his own recipe.
“ Practice and all is coming”, claims Patabhi Jois. It is not by talking about Yoga that one becomes a Yogi. Indeed, reading and discussing are also important, but it is the practice in every day life that helps the embodiment and manifestation of an artist, a teacher or a master in their every moment life and their sharing with others.
“Standing on the shoulders of our teachers” writes Ganga White. What does that mean to you?
An artist, a Yoga teacher, a musician or even a philosopher all start with studying masters of the past.
Practicing yoga, and studying with great masters is of great value. At a certain point, after substantial practice and time, one might start having this knowledge ingrained within themselves. Once this knowledge is there, the student learns to explore what works for them. Truly we are our own masters. We have all the answers; just don’t always see them clearly. The tradition, the teachers of past and present are guides, are shepherds presenting the grass. Once we can see the grass, we can try and eat it, we can see what it taste like. Maybe we need another field another shepherd, and eventually either we find a grass that is delicious for us, we make our own special blend of grasses or we find a new field altogether.
The Teachers that I respect the most are those that empowered me, not controlled me, those that were sharing all they had without holding back, that were willing to show me all there is, and accept me for who I am.
My joy, my Zen, my understandings cannot be taken away from me, as they are my own experiences, not my teachers or masters. I have learned a great deal from my teachers and masters, but it is through my own practice, my own experience and my own realizations that I have come to be what I am.
I am grateful for the past, for teachers and traditions, and I am grateful for life offering me direct experiences to know what is truly right for me, for my body for being a joyful human in service.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Renouncing
I renounce Judaism, renounce my Israeli title, Renounce great material things and renounce poverty.
I am not anti Judaism, nor anti Israel. I am not, pro Israel, nor am I pro Palestine.
I am, not because I think, not because I work, see or smell. I am.
Choosing a side is choosing violence. Seeing whole and allowing freedom, understanding the conditioning of all, the projections and the fear, being whole with one self, one becomes free and freedom expands from there on.
Knowing this and yet understanding that in daily life actions are happening, arms are fired, weapons are used. There are immediate reactions, anger arises, and especially when close family is danger or even hurt. What to do?
There is conflict. “Conflict arises from self-centered concern” (J. Krishnamurti. The fragmentation, the dividing of you and me, of them and us, create fragmented unions of groups, societies, and nations.
Creating outer changes, trying to look for solutions from the outside, may come from a place of not being capable of change within. The outer change, at times guided by teachers, parents, society, priests or any other authority, is mostly a change based on belief. Instead of believing, lets try to experience. We can listen to guidance, try it out on ourselves and see what holds true for us. Once experiencing is there, we no longer try, just be. There is an understanding, a manifestation of what is.
A message from my insurance company gives tips on how to deal with the anxiety and stress coming from the situation around the globe. Life is changing every moment. One day we have more and another less, one day our neighbors are nice to me and another I perceive them as hostile. Can I accept these changes? Notice if they arise from within my mind, am I adding value to events that are passing by, It is not about putting a band-aid, instead lets find the root cause, understand who am I?
My Dad used to say “Better be smart than right ”. True, he was talking about driving. I remember when I just got my license, and as I was driving our white Audi 80, coming into our street, another car, a red small one, tried to sneak in from the side and go ahead of us.
Knowing that I had the right, and the car needed to wait as it had a yield sign, I downshifted gear and stormed ahead. It was close but I won. 20 years later, I understand what my dad meant. What would I rather, be right and get into a possible accident or let the car go, stay calm and smile with compassion.
This is not a political statement. This is just an observation, just what comes to me now as I head to bed.
I am not anti Judaism, nor anti Israel. I am not, pro Israel, nor am I pro Palestine.
I am, not because I think, not because I work, see or smell. I am.
Choosing a side is choosing violence. Seeing whole and allowing freedom, understanding the conditioning of all, the projections and the fear, being whole with one self, one becomes free and freedom expands from there on.
Knowing this and yet understanding that in daily life actions are happening, arms are fired, weapons are used. There are immediate reactions, anger arises, and especially when close family is danger or even hurt. What to do?
There is conflict. “Conflict arises from self-centered concern” (J. Krishnamurti. The fragmentation, the dividing of you and me, of them and us, create fragmented unions of groups, societies, and nations.
Creating outer changes, trying to look for solutions from the outside, may come from a place of not being capable of change within. The outer change, at times guided by teachers, parents, society, priests or any other authority, is mostly a change based on belief. Instead of believing, lets try to experience. We can listen to guidance, try it out on ourselves and see what holds true for us. Once experiencing is there, we no longer try, just be. There is an understanding, a manifestation of what is.
A message from my insurance company gives tips on how to deal with the anxiety and stress coming from the situation around the globe. Life is changing every moment. One day we have more and another less, one day our neighbors are nice to me and another I perceive them as hostile. Can I accept these changes? Notice if they arise from within my mind, am I adding value to events that are passing by, It is not about putting a band-aid, instead lets find the root cause, understand who am I?
My Dad used to say “Better be smart than right ”. True, he was talking about driving. I remember when I just got my license, and as I was driving our white Audi 80, coming into our street, another car, a red small one, tried to sneak in from the side and go ahead of us.
Knowing that I had the right, and the car needed to wait as it had a yield sign, I downshifted gear and stormed ahead. It was close but I won. 20 years later, I understand what my dad meant. What would I rather, be right and get into a possible accident or let the car go, stay calm and smile with compassion.
This is not a political statement. This is just an observation, just what comes to me now as I head to bed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)