my Bali dream ...

Oh my, my Bali adventure ... where do I begin?  

It is my first morning back home and I am not sure how to move back into my life. I know my dreams last night were full of Bali's colors, memories, sights and smells. I feel a bit like Dorothy waking up in Kansas, back in a world of black and white after a long sojourn in full-tilt technicolor, surround sound and smell-o-vision. I am aware of the absence of the heat, the colors, the smells (frangipani mixed with incense) and the sounds of Bali.  But also I am aware of something tender and new within myself; a seedling sprouted and new roots making their way deep within my spirit and soul. 

Bali ahhhhhhh. How do I explain?  

I am remembering my last night at our retreat. Even though Kristina and I would be staying on for two additional nights, the sense of an ending was making me restless. It had been a full day with hiking down and then up some incredibly steep stairs to a series of holy springs. Factoring in the heat and humidity of Bali, I should have felt physically exhausted, but instead I was strangely rested and refreshed. It was the last night I would sleep in my queen's bed, in our private joglo compound. Suddenly, I realized I hadn't had a skinny dip in the pool! Knowing I would always regret missing the opportunity to swim serenaded by the geckos and frogs, I slipped out of bed. 

All was quiet as I made my way along the path to the main compound. I figured I  would sneak in and out of the water, my own private and final baptism in Bali. Then I saw someone from the group sitting at the main dining table. I was relieved to see it was a new and dear friend, my Aussie Sister and soul-friend. She too could not sleep. "It's my last night in Bali, why would I want to sleep?" She was beading at the 24/7 bead bar. Without looking up she asked "Want to take a swim?" Giddy with the realization that she too wanted a skinny dip, I also marveled at how - yet again - in Bali the translation of inner longing to manifested reality is swift and certain. 

Already spiritually cleansed by our holy spring experience, we entered the warm water as newborns, sharing heart-truths and promises - to ourselves and to each other - under the blanket of the night sky. After Bali, there is no going back to life as usual.

For Bali is Eat, Pray, Love all rolled up into one. While it is a feast for the senses, all that juicy beauty, celebration and joy pools into and nourishes the heart.  

 

 

A friend has asked "Can you trust that your path is being prepared for you?"  Yes, I can. My path lead me to Bali. Every pivotal transition in my life has come about via a flash of an idea and saying yes quickly before the questions or doubts arise. Studying abroad. Yoga teacher training. Adoption. And then Soulful Escape to Bali.

This is not to say doubts and obstacles don't arise. As I prepared for the 24-plus hour journey, I was filled with fear and dread. I am not normally squeamish about traveling, but venturing half way around the world from my girl, that bothers me. I had made it to the West Coast when I learned that our trans-Pacific flight was delayed due to a typhoon pummeling our first stop, Taipei.

A typhoon?!

I spent the night in San Francisco and we departed 12 hours later with no idea when or if our connecting flight to Bali would happen. Waiting in line at China Airlines customer service at 12:30 AM in the Taipei airport we were groggy and foggy from the 12 hour flight, but trusting and hopeful. Miraculous, the airline agent turned to the counter behind him, picked up our connecting flight tickets and informed us that flight would be leaving in less than 2 hours.

When you say yes and move forward with an open heart, all manner of miracles happen. This is one of the lessons Bali taught me.

We arrived in Bali the next morning, giddy with relief. The humidity hit us while still inside the airport. Exhausted from travel, we staggered towards immigration where we were greeted by the first of countless palm leaf baskets - Canang sari -  containing a daily offering expressing gratitude and prayers to the gods. Bali is a Hindu country and everywhere you find these colorful expressions of thankfulness and celebration. The trick is not to find them, but rather not to step on or squash them!

If there is a single concept that describes the landscape and the culture of Bali, it is Beauty. Not simple, surface beauty - or glamour as John O'Donohue explains in his work on Beauty - but richly layered, complex, multifaceted Beauty. The beauty of dismantled sidewalks decorated by offerings; the beauty of crumbling buildings watched over by festooned statues of Ganesh, the elephant-head god who is the remover of obstacles, whose round belly holds past, present and future while also representing generosity and the fullness of life. Everywhere there is color and music and horns honking and incense burning and a pervasive attitude of gratitude, playfulness and joy.

 

Over and over we encountered the beauty of the Balinese people, expressed through heart-felt welcomes and wide smiles. In Bali, one feels seen and received. As our retreat leaders, Nicole and Em, would say over and over, Bali is a heart-centered culture. It is impossible not to be touched by the generosity of the people, never mind the lush beauty of the landscape. 

The retreat itself was an amazing opportunity to learn about the crafts and culture of Bali. Just like our morning breakfast, our days were overflowing with inviting activities: traditional batik process, indigo dying, silver jewelry making at a silversmith's shop, sewing prayer flags, and making numerous beaded bracelets from recycled glass beads. 

our batik classroom with Pung who taught us about natural dyes and traditional batik process

Nofel, a.k.a. The Blue Man of Ubud

indigo dyeing and shibori

We also took trips into the countryside to see rice fields, and were invited into the home of an old friend of Nicole's to learn about traditional dance, music and how to make (well, maybe!) the beautiful palm leaf baskets that figure so prominently in the daily offerings. We were surrounded by family who laughed gently at our jerking attempts at Balinese dance and cheered our musical efforts. 

  

Nicole & Em's beautiful friend, Seni, who welcomed us so warmly and generously into her home

We also were invited - through Nicole's endless contacts -  to attend a wedding celebration which we learned was truly a royal wedding. Even though we had not packed appropriate attire, we were graciously told to come "as is", Nicole explaining that the Balinese people are both incredibly generous and tolerant. We didn't know, so no worries!

The first night of the retreat our group gathered in a circle. We took a moment in silence to breath and arrive fully in this moment. The dream of Bali was now a reality. Thinking of all the people who made this trip possible, our hearts were already swelling open. Each of us was asked to offer a word, our intention, for this trip.

I had said Yes to Bali almost a year ago. I said yes right after the death of my mother. I knew then that this trip would be my way of honoring her and marking the year anniversary of her passing. My mother had loved to travel and she passed on to me her passion for learning about other people, other cultures. I wanted to celebrate her life and the many gifts - of spirit, of thinking, of loving - that she had passed on to me.

So I shared my word - celebrate - as I added my flowers to the growing mandala the group created. 

What I did not share - what I did not fully grasp myself - was that this trip would be equally about release and letting go. Clearing my heart of sorrow and sadness so that I could make room for full, heart-open living and joy.

I have close to 700 photographs from my trip! Taking the time to look through them and process my experience through writing is helping me seal in the medicine and fully integrate the gifts of this experience. There is much to share and I hope you don't mind if I take my time parceling the juicy bits out over the coming weeks.

broken promise ... fulfilled dream

It is the day after Thanksgiving and I am electing to enjoy a welcome quiet along with a return to Autumn's gentle warmth and sunshine. The Husband and Cowgirl are out raking leaves. The bulk of the holiday's accoutrements - the good china, silverware, serving dishes -  have been cleaned and put away.  I finished clearing out my mother's apartment over a week ago and there is little that demands my immediate attention. 

Except for the ironing. 

And that, I believe, is the only promise my mother ever made to me and broke.

Last year we hosted the big family Thanksgiving. Surveying the damage to my grandmother's table linens - cranberry sauce, red wine, coffee and gravy stains evidence of a good and rich meal - I decided to utilize the services of a professional cleaners.  After picking up the cleaned goods, I called my mother immediately from my car. Such was my shock at the cost of an elite cleaning service.  She too was stunned by the price (more than a dinner out at a nice restaurant, slightly less than the cost of my cowboy boots from the Tractor Supply Store) and she told me then "Next time I will wash and iron them for you."

So today I faced a new pile of dirty table linens and I knew This now is mine. 

I have to admit, there is something soothing about ironing. Growing up, the iron board was always at the ready in our basement.  As a child, my chore was ironing pillow cases and dish cloths.  I tried to enlist Cowgirl's assistance."This was my job when I was a little girl." She just laughed at me and then tried the logic "I could burn my fingers" before running off to join her father in the leaf raking.

And that is how I came to spent an hour and a half engaged in the domestic form of meditation known as ironing. 

The tablecloth was the hardest, it being so big and unwieldy to novice hands. I could hear my mother's voice "I'm sorry Lisa."  She took her promises seriously. Yet ironing was the perfect task for me now that so many tasks have been completed.  It gave me the time for my head to synch up with my heart.

What I am discovering in this process of grieving my mother is opportunity to grieve - which really is the flip side to celebrating - the many women who have mothered me throughout my life.  For my mother was not only a very good mother, she was also a really good friend. 

As I sift through old photographs, I am remembering all my aunties: my godmother (self-proclaimed fairy godmother, and she was), the older neighbor who was a mentor to my mother, and all the friends whose homes were second homes to myself and my family. One of the hardest tasks has been to contact the surviving friends of my mother - there are only a handful left - to inform them of her death. After the stunned silence, stories follow about what fun they had together and how my mother was always there for them.

 Her friends all commented upon my mother's beautiful singing voice. If she had a secret dream, I would guess it would have been to be a professional singer.  My mother loved to sing and she knew the words to all the old songs. 

But I cannot remember my mother ever expressing an unfulfilled ambition or dream.  Rather than dwelling upon what she hadn't done, she focused upon what she had accomplished.  "I've lived a good life," she shared with me on what was her last day.  "I did pretty good for a kid who only had one pair of shoes."  And she did.  She traveled the world, she read any book she could get her hands upon, she loved history, art, movies and music. She shared and nurtured that love with me.

My mother did not have a career outside the home.  She was not a professional; she was not an entrepreneur or a ground-shaker; she was independent but she was not interested in changing the world so much as experiencing it. If anything, my  mother was an artist.  Her talent was with a needle and thread, although she excelled at creative cookery honed through years of scrimping and saving. She poured her love and attention into her family and her friends. I cannot imagine a more noble accomplishment: good friend, good mother. She was both to me. 

Just today I read "Grief is love turned inside out."  For me, there is this experience of all that I've known and loved being shaken out of me, spread out and visible with new insights and deep truths revealed. As I reflect upon all the angst and anxiety I've generated in my search for meaning "What do I want to be when I grow up?" and "What purpose am I meant to serve?" I see clearly what my mother's gift was and has always been: be present, be love. 

So today as I finish the ironing, I sing out the names of all my aunties who loved my mother and by extension, loved me.  I am grateful for the nurturing circle of women my mother gathered around me and I am grateful for the continuing spiral of friends who are my extended family.  I know my mother's love lives on as long as I stand in that circle, adding and receiving love to that flow. 

If there was one thing my mother would have been happy I shared, it would be the photos from her glamor days.

My mom was beautiful inside ... and out. She fulfilled the important promises, the ones worth keeping. 

i've got your back

On Thanksgiving day Cowgirl received a bead kit from her uncle (he needed some beads for his fly fishing lures and passed on the remainders to us.)  There is a back story to bead kits in my family: years ago I sent one of my nieces what I thought was the deluxe-delight kit of multicolored beads.  Possibilities abounded in that box, but what I hadn't factored in was the probability of an equally massive bead mess.  My curmudgeonly brother called me up just days after that holiday with a "Thanks for the bead set ... may a pox fall upon you and your house."  Or something to that effect.

I actually was unaware Cowgirl had received the kit and had been too distracted to consider the reason she was staying confined to her room.  Any long weekend when she isn't begging to spend "just a little time" on the computer should have me seeking out the thermometer.

It wasn't until late Sunday afternoon that I learned she had the kit and had been absorbed by sorting all the beads by color and size. (The Husband calls it the Montessori Effect.)  Pleased by my child's commitment to such focused attention and detail, I was merrily engaged with a project of my own.

And then the wailing began.

It shouldn't be too surprising to reveal that shortly after sorting all the beads, Cowgirl bumped the tray and yes ... all the beads pooled together in a multicolor pile in the tray and on her floor (which is covered by a shaggy carpet that swallows any and everything short of dirty laundry that falls upon it.) 

I confess, I heard the cries and I sat frozen at the kitchen island.  I suppose I hoped The Husband was tending to this disaster (hope springs eternal) but if I am honest, I just wasn't sure I was up for the task of talking her off that ledge.  

She of course, came down to find me.  She flumped herself into the chair ( I know of no other way to describe the gesture of flouncing, bumping, dumping oneself into a pile of anger and irritation rolled in a crusty covering of frustration and despair), crossing her arms and dropping her chin she issued a sort of growling whining cry.  "I worked ALL DAY and now I've wasted my time!"  (Oh, little sister ... how well I know this lament!)

My usual tactic would be to rush in to comfort, but I've learned (slowly and painfully) to let her unspool her feelings.  I issued the appropriate "I can imagine!" and "Of course you would feel that way!"  until her fury was spent.  Then I suggested she bring the kit downstairs ("But it is too late now!") and together we could sort the beads.

What started out as a disaster turned into girls' time.  Soon we were laughing over those sneaky beads that bounce away, coming up with new strategies for separating small beads and more stable methods for holding sorted piles.  When she slipped out of her chair and came over to hug and thank me, I knew I had earned a parenting merit badge.

Just a few weeks ago there was an incident at school with a classmate and Cowgirl and I discussed how she wanted to handle it.  I listened to her ideas and I gave her my opinion on what I thought needed to happen.  In all of this I wanted her to understand that she is supported and that she has the right and the means to take action and find a solution.  I was bullied as a child, so I am super sensitive to this issue.  I never said anything to my parents and I was unaware until years later that my mother knew what had happened and had talked with my school principal.  My experience was one of feeling alone, frightened and powerless to do anything - except hide.  (I went out of my way to walk a circuitous route to and from school, avoiding as best I could my tormentors.)  I did not want this to be Cowgirl's experience.

I have been learning for myself that there is so much support out there, it's just a matter of asking for it and then believing I am capable of joining my resources with that assistance to find solutions. Sometimes it requires me being clear with myself and others as to my needs.  I know it is a sign of strength, not weakness, to truthfully acknowledge when I am overwhelmed and in need of guidance.  It is also an act of great trust to share my vulnerabilities with another and even more so, to be so honest with myself. 

I keep hearing the Rolling Stones song "Well we all need someone we can lean on ..."

I've been subbing at Cowgirl's school in the preschool class and I want to wrap up this verbal wandering with a story about the Zipper club.  In an effort to encourage the kids to put on and zip up their coats, the teacher implemented a Zipper Club.  I was there the first day of the club and the kids were buzzing with excitement.  Of course, there were the few who still needed help and the other aides were so loving and gentle in explaining to the kids that some of us just need a little more practice.  

The following week I was in and it was time for recess when one boy came over to me to ask for my help.  He still hadn't mastered his zipper yet, so I tried to encourage him to give it a go first.  The lining of his jacket zipped into the coat, so there was a confusion over which zipper where ... I got the zippers sorted and then dropped my hands.  "Okay, you try" I told him.  He got the zipper set and I tell you, it was like Edmund Hilary on the cusp of summiting Everest.  The other kids were leaving for recess and this boy started to become anxious, looking over his shoulder and whining.  

I morphed into football coach mode and began barking at him "Where is your brain?  Get you brain in the game!  Zipper!  Look at your zipper!  Pay attention!"  He turned back to me and the zipper, fumbling to pull it up, attention drifting back to the doorway and his departing classmates.  I almost lost him, he was teetering on the edge of meltdown, but I think I shocked him when I barked "Focus on your zipper!" and up the zipper went.

He looked at me stunned and uncertain.  What had happened?  I said to him "Look at what you just did!"  Saucer big eyes blinked, looked down, then back up at me as he hurled himself into my arms.

Yeah we all need someone we can lean on ... someone to remind us to believe ... someone who knows what we need to know ... that yes, we can ... we can do IT, whatever IT might be.  We just need to know when to seek support and guidance and when to listen to the voices cheering us on.  
 

 In gratitude for all who have so lovingly supported and encouraged me ... just so you know, I've always got your back and am thankful you are watching out for mine. ♥    

 

transitions

While I was away on vacation, others back home were moving through their own changes and transitions ...

Only one week had passed, but I left my baby-girl and came home to this young colt of a girl child

 

Such wonderful support and words for my last post ... truly, it helps to be witnessed and to have one's experience affirmed and supported.  To know that many of you understand the discomfort of transitions and the confusion of re-entry is healing balm to my soul.

I've often joked after any retreat "re-entry will be hard."  It isn't a joke, although it helps me to stay light about my experience or rather be light and gentle with myself.

The oracle card I drew upon return speaks about tender buds, new growth and the importance of gentle but persistent care and attention to the needs of new life.  (And now I laugh realizing moving statues and outside signs of support and encouragement are always around me - it is just remembering to expand my understanding of the ways the Universe chooses to communicate with me.)

I remembered a story I once heard told by Marisa Haedike's husband Sean Hogan, an alumni of The Groundlings Improv School which really captures the truth of what I am experiencing right now. Unfortunately, the link for the podcast is gone, so my attempt to convey the story will be somewhat diluted.

The story was about the experience of hanging out in that space of not-knowing which Sean referred to (or as I remember it) "the gray space."  It is that threshold space of leaving something behind but awaiting insight to know what the next move should be.  It is about surrendering the need for total control and understanding and opening oneself up to instinct or intuition.  The example Sean uses is an exercise from improv class where the group stands in a circle and one person is handed an imaginary ball of clay.  They are to mold and play with this lump of clay until a form presents itself to them.  In other words, they are not to impose their idea upon the clay, but are to engage with the material and the act of molding until inspiration or insight presents them with a form.

Sean talked about how it is obvious when a person is engaged in the process, and it is obvious when another person begins to worry that they are taking too long with the exercise and rush themselves rather than allowing the "solution" to organically present itself.  The lesson is an awareness of our ability to stay in that awkward and often uncomfortable space of not-knowing, of waiting, the gray space where things are indeterminate and unclear.

What is the solution here?  For me, it is to lean into that gray space staying present for what comes up and just noticing my desire to rush ahead and what that means for me.  Ultimately, rushing or forcing things before the time is ripe speaks to me of lack of trust; not trusting myself and not trusting the Universe.

I am grateful to Cat for sharing with me in the comments section wise words that articulate the deeper meaning and importance behind my recent vacation/life transition and struggle in re-entry and integration.  The story of the Seal Wife recounted by Clarissa Pinkola Estés in Sealskin/Soulskin has always been a powerful and personal story for me.  I've identified with the feeling of being divided between two worlds; now I am re-reading the story for an understanding of the lesson of how I can return home to my Self.

As in the tale, if we establish a regular practice of intentional solitude, we invite a conversation between ourselves and the wild soul that comes near our shore. We do this not only just to "be near" the wild and soulful nature, but as in the mystical tradition since time out of mind, the purpose of this union is for us to ask questions, and for the soul to advise. (Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run with the Wolves)

Abiding with myself, resting in that gray space of not-knowing (yet), trusting that my aloneness at this phase of my journey is precisely what Estés explains as the goal of solitude: 

To be all one. It is the cure for the frazzled state so common to modern women .... It  [is] also used as as an oracle, as a way of listening to the inner self to solicit advice and guidance otherwise impossible to hear in the din of daily life.

I am gathering all the seeds I've collected ... gathering reminders of my travels and discoveries ... sifting and sorting and planting and playing.  Awaiting with curiosity and an open mind what will take root and grow.  Trusting this little guide who presented himself to me while In New Zealand

Kingfisher indicates a period of increased mental and spiritual activity. He will show how to manifest your destiny by listening to your intuition. Since psychic perceptions are increasing, he will instruct how to remain grounded in the earth and be comfortable in doing so. Take time for yourself in quite solitude connecting to Mother Earth. Grounding and centering is needed. Although he may be shy, he knows how to strike with determination. How are you using your "dagger-like bill"? He will teach the art of timing and when to act. Kingfisher demonstrates excellent visionary skills and will teach how track your "prey". He directs attention to feelings and what is unseen. Watch carefully what is going around you. Listen to your dreams and visions. (from Animal Totem Dictionary)

Another reminder that support and guidance is all around me, I just need to fine tune my eyes and ears to better perceive the messages.  

seeking graceland

Lest I forget (which indeed I am prone to doing in this twilight phase that is perimenopause) right off the bat I want to thank all who have passed on words of support and encouragement to me regarding my flight into freedom decision to quit my day job.  While I every fiber of my being knows it is the right choice at the right time, there still are some woefully old-fashioned gremlins of doubt and doom popping up.  I keep thinking of whack-a-mole (horrible game passing as amusement for children!) My fortune may be made in whack-a-gremlin which I am getting pretty good at these days.

I certainly floated through last week feeling stoned.  Must be the disorientation of life without frustration or apathy bearing down upon me.  Colleagues have confided in me that they too would leave - if only they could.  

If I had any doubts about my decision, that all changed on Friday when I received the shocking and unexpected news that a dear friend, a teacher, mentor and fairy godmother to Cowgirl had passed away.  She was only in her early sixties and had taught classes on nutrition, herbs, yoga, meditation and all things geared towards immaculate well-being. The loss to my community is immense; it is equivalent to hearing "Elvis has left the building."  That she passed on the evening of the full moon - THE full moon with lunar eclipse and all kinds of cosmic and personal upheavel/shifts -  makes total sense.  She would be the person to grab a seat on the bullet train into a new dimension, no question about it.

her spiritual name is Kadambari which means "Intoxicated with Love"
This was the first time Cowgirl met her fairy godmother and the love was instantaneous. My friend was not surprised "Oh, we knew each other before."  Indeed, we all had.

Her passing was a reminder not to put off doing those things that pique my curiosity and not to waste time squabbling with one's gremlins and internal nay-sayers.  I had a meeting scheduled with her to discuss ideas for classes I wanted to offer at her wellness center.  She had new programs coming up and I was thinking maybe now I would have the time to take them.  Well, there wasn't time.  


So her greatest gift to me may very well be this reminder to make time for that which matters and not squander my time and attention on matters that ultimately are inconsequential.  She could be frank and blunt at times and she often counseled "The opportunity is now and if you don't grab it, it will be gone."  This in reference to opportunities for inner work, growth, understanding and healing.  If she could say anything right now, I believe she would say "It's time to grow up."  Indeed, our planet, our societies need us all to grow up, take responsibility and take care of ourselves and each other.

I don't know if I am still in free fall or have landed on strange, new ground.  But I feel a certainty within that is rather shocking given my tendency to think and rethink and map out every little thing in an attempt to understand all the angles. As a friend said to me "You leapt, but you considered it very closely."  Indeed, I looked over that edge, calculating the distance between me and the ground for a long, long time.  

I  know in my heart that I am on my path and in addition to leaving my job, I've left behind second-guessing myself and my abilities.  That is something my sister/friend always pointed out to me: I did not understand my true light, my true gifts.  I still may not know how best to share myself, but I know what I have to offer. The breadcrumb trail is there and I have no qualms about following it to wherever it will lead me.  

Meanwhile, I am all aflutter as I finish up my last week (!) on the job and prepare for a big adventure my first day of freedom.  I am traveling to New Zealand to soak up the radiance of this wonder woman and as it now turns out, to heal and nurture my self.  For some reason, travel always provokes the desire to tie up loose ends, tackling tasks that I've blissfully ignored for months but which now seem oddly pressing.  My other travel  obsession centers upon packing; somehow it becomes imperative to bring the right shoes and jewelry and books (and coats and art supplies and knitting materials.)  Checking out my favorite linen pants to make sure they don't have butt wear (am I the only one who experiences this?  The bottoms of well-loved linen pants become a transparent gauze from what?  Butt friction?  Kundalini energy smoldering?)

As I look to support myself through all these changes, I am grateful for the tools I have gathered: painting, reiki, meditation, dear friends who I can trust to receive my words, hold space for the overflow of feelings and thoughts.  My family and the daily practices that root us - bedtime stories, cuddles, and whispers for sweet dreams. 

Music and poetry provide more voices counseling and reassuring me.   I keep hearing Paul Simon singing "Losing love is like a window on your heart ... everybody sees you're blown apart ... everybody sees the wind blow ..."


I'm bound for graceland and I promise to take pictures and share what I discover on the way.

Jai Bhagwan - victory to the light within us all. Go gently sister Moon ... we'll meet again ...  this I know with my whole heart.