Eclipsed, Raining & Dark

Sunlight is occasionally blocked by the Moon, blanketed by clouds, or hidden by the daily spin of the Earth. But it is still there. It is always there, persistent and waiting. Occasionally our light is blocked from our consciousness by an unsual occurence that takes us by surprise. Often it is blanketed by the mundane grit that constitutes much of the time in our lives. And access to the light comes and goes in regular waves as the rhythym of our days and weeks grants to us time to work and time to reflect. But like the Sun, our light is always there, waiting for the impediments that we have created to pass, disperse and turn.

Packed Between "This and That", "Here and There"

This was inspired by a yoga instructor, Jen, who yesterday discussed finding room for creativity and the need to unpack the mind of cluttering thoughts -- to find that silent space in between thinking and feeling, from which something new can emerge. This made me think...

Sometimes things get packed in, where there is little room to move, and where the perspective is limited. It is often necessary for this to occur. For example, when we go on a trip, we take clothes from our closet and our toiletries and pack them into a bag. We neatly place our belongings into the suitcase, all folded, with anticipation of how they may be used and of what situations may arise. We hope that we will have brought the perfect item for each situation -- perhaps changes in weather or the need for something special to wear for a certain social setting. It could even be as mundane as, "Don't forget to floss your teeth..." In any event, we put our things into this container and away we go.

While on our way our things are patiently waiting in the luggage. There is nothing now for those things to do. There is nowhere for them to go. There is no room to move, shift, and there is no light with which they could observe their surroundings. There is only the sense of cashmere against denim, leather shows poking at the dinner jacket, sneakers filled with socks. The things have no idea where they are headed. We could be simply heading off on a two day business trip, or maybe to visit with family, or maybe it is one of those fun trips to some far off and exotic place. But as far as my belongings go, they don't know where the flow of life is taking them. They are simply packed in waiting for their next instruction.

Another example is, when we go to a theater, everyone takes a seat, and waits for the show to begin. Now we are the packed in item. Not sure what comes next. The lights dim. We anticipate the performance. A hush falls over the otherwise chatting crowd. There is little room to move. And if we were to move around a great deal, we would be disturbing the people around us. Our role in this setting is simply to be one of the things packed in. And to then observe the show from within the theater. Unlike the suitcase, the theater provides light, and from the light we see a show. But we still don't know how it will impact us, what insights it will provide, and who we will be when we emerge. But we know that we will experience this on an emotional level. We will empathize with this character or that. We will relate to the scenery or set. We will place ourselves in the story. But we certainly will have no control over the trip we are about to take in the theater. We are not the actors, only the audience for the acts. So for this brief time, while in transit, we are not in control. We are neither here nor there. We are not the actors, but we are not our usual selves either. We have stopped thinking, stopped our actions, we are just taking in the show and awaiting our next set of instructions.

And then there is our head. What Jen spoke of yesterday and for which I am thankful - thankful for the spark she gave to me. I know that I cram all sorts of things into my head: some of it useful for this occasion or that like a sweater for a cold night, some of it necessary like my dental floss, and some of it packed out of habit good or bad. And then there is that emotional side where I experience the movement of my perspective on life. When something brushes up against ideas that are packed into my head, ideas of who I am and what life should be, this gives rise to some reaction in the form of emotion. Sometimes I find myself often so packed up with information that there is little room for something new, and thus my emotional reaction can produce a significant swing in my mood. One little piece of information can interrupt my train of thought in such a way that produces loss in the desire to do something good for myself, like finishing what I was doing, or going to a Yoga class, for a run, meditating, or spending time engaged with others. How is that so? How does a small piece of information do that to me?

This is where what Jen said has its impact. There is a space in between the thought and the emotion. A choice I can make to be silent. I can step outside the container. I can stop thinking (and stop taking in more information) and I can choose not swing to an emotional response. I don't need not emote - "move out." The information in my head can wait, like the packed clothing. And I can just observe the story, as I would from the audience in a theater. I need not move; and the new information need not move me. Its time is not now. It will have its moment.

Reflections on my visit in Israel

I began to see Israel this time not from the eyes of a tourist, but to a small extent, through the eyes of those who live there and have made Israel their home. From our meeting with Yosi and Dina Haim, who invited us into their home for Shabbat dinner... to my conversations (in my broken Hebrew) with many cab drivers... to an afternoon exploring the Carmel market and old parts of Tel Aviv with Mira Korn... to lunch with Adam Griesman in lev shel Tel Aviv at the Ben Ami coffee shop... each of these experiences deepened and broadened my love of this land and my understanding of her contradictions.

I find this country to be one where the natural contradictions of life are played out more vividly. Where "yes" and "no" go on in a tension tighter than any place else I have encountered. Old and new of the cities intertwined, ancient and modern culture in contrast, Hebrew spoken as a native tongue and yet also for some reserved only for prayer, the frenetic pace at which every one lives - just watch out when you cross the street if you doubt this -- and yet it all comes to a stop on Shabbat only to burst forth again the next evening, the pulse of life so palpable, the colorful landscapes with every shade of cream and bronze and gold and purple and faded shades of green... and yet from up close it is just muted and dusty and gritty and dry and sand. Rich and poor is Tel Aviv with the beautiful shades of blue of the Mediterranean, lined with new high rise apartments and condominiums overlooking it, yet the city is often dirty and looks like a run down Miami beach.

People from all lands... who consider themselves to be returning home. And yet others who also wish to claim this land, as if they are the only refuges from this place that has known nothing but to cast those who lived there off to other places time and time again. To whom does such a place really belong? Perhaps only to the strong, to the righteous?

A home land. A place from where I am sure once my ancestors came and to which many have returned. A full circle? Or more like a hurricane, with Jerusalem at the eye of the storm, casting outward... all who enter inward.

A land so fragile and at risk. Where the water is as scarce as the patience. Yet a people strong and determined to make the best of their lot, to make life in a land promised long ago. A country divided left and right, yet united by the desire to remain.

Wave, Particle

I read Michelle's post from July 4 and it made me think, "Is the material world continuous and in flow, or is it a series of static states that are connected."

Like a movie, is life made up of frames, where we can observe each one if we choose? Is there a silence available to us in between each state? Even in a rushing and raging river? Even in the roar of the wind? Even in the dance of a flame? Are they continuous, leaving no room for stillness and silence within their movement?

In a movie, as it is played, we seem to see a continuous flow of movement and events. But in reality, our mind is simply filling in the gaps -- chattering away, interpreting, trying to make sense of what it has seen, and offering up its interpretation. But when we slow that movie down, when we bring it to a stop, we appreciate the trickery of our mind. That what we thought was non-stop and continuous was actually a series of freeze frame images, with a small gap or crease between each image. Our mind wants to believe that it is continuous, and tells us so... but it is not. In between each frame is an opportunity to be quiet and to observe that silence.

The movie is easy, but could I say the same for a river? It flows down toward the ocean. Perhaps it is the mighty Mississippi. Capable of discharging, as it did in August 1993, at a rate of 485 million gallons per minute or 1,080,000 cubic feet per second—a rate sufficient to fill Busch Stadium about every 65 seconds. But isn't that rush of water still only a series of frozen frames in time, observable each, each with a pause in between. Each frozen moment offering a built in opportunity to take a breath and just watch. I think so.

The question is not a new one. And the debate is not settled by science. Light has been observed to have dual qualities of wave and particle. "In physics and chemistry, wave–particle duality is the concept that all matter and energy exhibits both wave-like and particle-like properties. A central concept of quantum mechanics, duality addresses the inadequacy of classical concepts like "particle" and "wave" in fully describing the behaviour of small-scale objects. Various interpretations of quantum mechanics attempt to explain this ostensible paradox." (See Wikipedia for Wave–particle duality).

Perhaps our hearts are the continuity. Our soul, our observation, carries us between the frozen frames. The material world needs observers. Observe - watch over. Those who will keep things safe from above. We can remain out of the fray and revel in the gaps and folds of time standing still.

Another Friday Night is on the Way

Another week is coming to its conclusion, and I can sense the peace of Sabbath approaching. I am giddy with anticipation and I am feeling at peace. It is interesting when I can hold those two emotions togther, producing a settling, centering, and quieting affect. Thoughts turn to Friday night and then Saturday's rest from work, which produces good feelings that move me towards leading a better life.

The Sabbath and Yoga practice have a lot in common. And I would guess I am not the first person to discuss this. (Although this is the first time this has occurred to me.) The word "Shabbat" is built from the Hebrew root "שבת" (shin-bet-tov) which means "sit". And in Yoga, we practice "Asana" (आस) which comes from the Sanscrit word meaning "to sit down."

For me, both the practice of Asana and of Shabbat are paths to the same end. Each asks that we sit, quiet ourselves, and center ourselves. They allow us to take measure, observe, and be present. They prepare us and cause us to turn inwards to find what is divine within, and from there, we can shine back out and brighten the world around us. From this inner point of peace, we can engage ourselves in the material world and lift it up towards its source, helping the world reconnect with its original divinity, eternity, & infinity.

The Glass is half full, and I'm burning the candle at both ends, but my cup runneth over,

I am learning to see myself as a cup running over...

We can each imagine ourselves as a candle, a glass or cup? What fills us up, what make us bright, what causes us to bubble over with enthusiasm? And how do we avoid allowing our wellspring of inspiration to run dry? How do we burn bright without burning out? The candle burns from both ends might burn brighter, but at what cost. So the saying the candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long. But what if one could have all of that brightness for more than half of the time? For most of the time? Where would the endurance come from?

My father used to describe to me how he thought it was best to stay at 5-6 on a scale of 1-10. He thought it best not to get too high, nor too low on our success, failures, ourselves and our lives. He would say, "let it rain... and just stay under the umbrella." Call it denial, but he could weather most any storm by simply not engaging it. It is how he could be happy or satisfied having found something he was reasonably good at and to which he was willing to grind away in order to make it shine. I think he felt it was the best way to have enough endurance to stay at something long enough to make it work. His gold was always at the bottom of the barrel and he was willing to dig at it long enough to make it happen.

I on the other hand tended (still tend) to operate closer to a 1 or 10. I am often either fully engaged or unplugged. Not that I want to live that way, but it has/had become my nature, and something that I am working on improving. Maybe now I am better able to recognize sooner rather than later when I am headed for a 1... which usually happens right after I was striving for operating at 10. For Dad, living at a 5-6 was a solution to his problem. For me, being unplugged was the trough that followed each peak.

Where I might take a stick of dynamite to blow up an obstacle, his approach was more like using drops of water to work away at obstacles until they were diminished. I learned from him that most "problems" are not real, and will go away if you can just ignore them or leave them alone.

Rabbi Sigal Brier once told me, "You don't have to feel like you are drinking your well dry. Think rather of the Kiddish cup running over with wine. So much there that all you need to do is sip off the excess." I like that thought and I return to it often... hopefully before I reach a point where I feel depleted. And sometimes before I drink too much from my well...

For me, I am seeking to be a Kiddish cup, running over, always enough, always plenty, always more to sip at and to taste the joy that life can be... especially on Friday nights.

Deamons!

I can run & hide, but tire & run out of places to hide. I can stand and fight, but that tires too. So, I invite you in to be observed.