6:52pm Wow! I did it. Sunset in 8 minutes from now. 40 days of kitchari and I've lived to tell about it. I will fast for Yom Kippur, beginning tonight at sunset, as I'd planned from Day 1. My counting error which made today be the last day, rather than tomorrow, feels like the right thing now – though I will always regret having not directly linked the Ramadan fast to the Yom Kippur fast. Oh well. Next year in Jerusalem. Perhaps, if the two fasts fall on the calendar in the right way, I'll try again. I've had my last bowl of kitchari of this 40 day practice and am moving into something new which will unfold.
Tonight I must make my final preparations for the Fall Equinox/Yom Kippur Forgiveness Ritual taking place tomorrow. In the coming days and weeks, I'm looking forward to writing about the extraordinary journey I've been on, the learnings, the surprises, the openings, the letting go's. During that time, more will emerge. I will post that exploration as a postscript. For now, 40 days and 40 nights — The Blog, has come to a close.
Thank you, my dear friends, those who have joined me along the way in eating kitchari, those who have witnessed silently, and those who have cheered me on. I have been held in a powerful field of love and support that I will carry with me always.
Mitakuye Oyasin, All My Relations, Tikkun Olam!
Friday, September 17, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
40 days and 40 nights — Day 38
7:47am Including today, three more days. As of today, I've decided to have a meal of curried vegetables with lamb to break my fast on Yom Kippur and then, starting Sunday, begin 10 more days eating kitchari. These 10 days are to give me time to live outside the safe haven of the 40 days and take a deep look at everything I've learned, time to be with what's changed in me without overwhelming my system — and by that I mean my whole system.
A question that I need to answer for myself: How do I retain the simplicity that has entered my life as a result of how much attention I've had to put on the act of keeping myself fed? Formulating that question as I write this, at least at the level I'm able to look at the issue in this moment, helps. A lot. The fast has brought great simplicity to my life. My days have systems in place that support the primacy and sanctity of the fast. Shouldn't it be possible to bring this intentionality into everyday life? What IS everyday life anyway? Maybe that's the larger question. What do I mean by "everyday life?!" I think what it's meant to me has been the stuff that's forgettable, that's unimportant, that's boring, hard, or doesn't make for a good story when you talk about it to your friends. Today, it doesn't feel right to relegate any part of life to the category of forgettable. These days, I find everything, at the very least, interesting. Usually it's more than that. What was once hard is now an adventure. What was once tedious is now an opportunity to practice a kind of discipline. I think a lot about The Karate Kid these days with Mr. Miyage saying "Wax on, wax off." That's a practice, one that builds patience, strength, skill and gets you a nice shiny car.
There's a practice that I sometimes do called "Soul Collage" in which you allow the alchemical process of selecting images and putting them together in a collage on a 5x7 piece of cardboard to work it's magic. As we move toward the Fall Equinox, I'm remembering that back at the Winter Solstice, I got together with my spirit sister Grace and did some Soul Collage. The card I ended up making I titled "Everyday Practice." It speaks to me about the power of everyday practice — something I'd aspired to but never really achieved. An everyday altar practice, prayer practice, self-care practice. All these energies right there in this card that I've had in my field of vision on and off since then. I've had it out for the entire period of the fast. Part of the Soul Collage process is to have the person sitting opposite you hold the card so you can see it from a bit of a distance. And then you speak sentences that begin with the words: I am the one who....
I am the one who now has an Everyday Practice — a practice that acknowledges the Oneness of all things, where washing the celentro is as sacred an act as standing at my altar offering prayers of healing for all beings and for the planet. I am the one who lives an intentional life and for whom the path of consciousness is unfolding. I offer the fruits of my practice to the healing of the planet. Mitakuye Oyasin, All My Relations, Tikkun Olam
A question that I need to answer for myself: How do I retain the simplicity that has entered my life as a result of how much attention I've had to put on the act of keeping myself fed? Formulating that question as I write this, at least at the level I'm able to look at the issue in this moment, helps. A lot. The fast has brought great simplicity to my life. My days have systems in place that support the primacy and sanctity of the fast. Shouldn't it be possible to bring this intentionality into everyday life? What IS everyday life anyway? Maybe that's the larger question. What do I mean by "everyday life?!" I think what it's meant to me has been the stuff that's forgettable, that's unimportant, that's boring, hard, or doesn't make for a good story when you talk about it to your friends. Today, it doesn't feel right to relegate any part of life to the category of forgettable. These days, I find everything, at the very least, interesting. Usually it's more than that. What was once hard is now an adventure. What was once tedious is now an opportunity to practice a kind of discipline. I think a lot about The Karate Kid these days with Mr. Miyage saying "Wax on, wax off." That's a practice, one that builds patience, strength, skill and gets you a nice shiny car.
There's a practice that I sometimes do called "Soul Collage" in which you allow the alchemical process of selecting images and putting them together in a collage on a 5x7 piece of cardboard to work it's magic. As we move toward the Fall Equinox, I'm remembering that back at the Winter Solstice, I got together with my spirit sister Grace and did some Soul Collage. The card I ended up making I titled "Everyday Practice." It speaks to me about the power of everyday practice — something I'd aspired to but never really achieved. An everyday altar practice, prayer practice, self-care practice. All these energies right there in this card that I've had in my field of vision on and off since then. I've had it out for the entire period of the fast. Part of the Soul Collage process is to have the person sitting opposite you hold the card so you can see it from a bit of a distance. And then you speak sentences that begin with the words: I am the one who....
I am the one who now has an Everyday Practice — a practice that acknowledges the Oneness of all things, where washing the celentro is as sacred an act as standing at my altar offering prayers of healing for all beings and for the planet. I am the one who lives an intentional life and for whom the path of consciousness is unfolding. I offer the fruits of my practice to the healing of the planet. Mitakuye Oyasin, All My Relations, Tikkun Olam
Saturday, September 11, 2010
40 days and 40 nights — Day 34
7:44pm As importantly as today being Day 34 of my kitchari* fast is that it's September 11th. Endings and beginnings. On this day, commemorating a terror act that slaughtered thousands, brought down an icon of corporate America, and continues — 9 years later — to terrorize us, my beloved spiritual home at One Spirit Interfaith Seminary, opened its doors in a brand new, beautifully appointed space, to a brand new crop of first year students. I, about to begin my second year — my ordination year — was privileged to be a greeter, to welcome the newcomers into a process that is nothing short miraculous. I certainly would not have embarked on a 40 day practice of any kind if not for One Spirit.
Today is also the day my mother stopped knowing who I am. Because of the fast, because of this blog, because it's September 11, 2010, I will forever know when that day came.
My mother and I had spent the day together, from noon on, because her weekend aide had to fly to Jamaica due to a death in the family. I split the day with my daughter so that I could get down to One Spirit in the morning. Driving down from a brief visit to the country house where she'd spent 36 summers with my father — dead now these past 5 and a half years, the house she'd given to me several years ago, she turned and asked, looking around at the back seat, "Where's my husband." It was so sudden. I was caught off-guard. I said, foolishly, "Are you talking about my father?" She was silent for a time and the said, "Are you my child?" We'd been talking the whole way down about things that referenced the family, there was no question that we were connected in the way that I was accustomed. She'd dozed off and it was after she woke up that things started to get wonky. I didn't realize at first, when she'd awakened, that she really didn't know in whose car she was and who I was. She complemented my driving, which she has done before. My father had been a terrible driver. She went into great detail about all the ways my driving was good. They were all the ways my father's driving was appallingly bad. I said something to that effect. And that's when she all of a sudden switched and asked where her husband was. She absolutely knew she had a daughter named Riva, but she didn't believe that I was her. She was completely baffled at how much I knew about her family. I was completely baffled that I was trying to reach her in this way, given that I knew this day was coming. I reminded her about her grandchildren, who she completely remembered. I said that I was their mother. She said "Do they know that." I was flummoxed by that response. Once the car was parked and we got upstairs, I began to fully lose my emotional equilibrium. She seemed to understand that there was something wrong — she seemed to get that I knew too much to not be Riva. She tried deciding to accept it, but I could absolutely feel that she was looking at a perfect stranger. As often as I'd heard about this happening with Alzheimers, it was devastating. I txted my beloved who reminded me to call in Spirit Help and promised to do so on my behalf. I felt better almost immediately and I began to feel into the energy of the situation. I became unafraid, unreactive and introduced myself as Riva, the person taking care of her this evening. I was aware that she had a daughter named Riva and wasn't that a coincidence. She asked what had caused me to know that she'd even need care today, and I responded that I'm the person who sees to her getting the care she needs. She was interested to know that. I could feel the energy unjamming, I kept it going, the energy flow. Back and forth, sending her expansion, acceptance, building a field of trust. Before too long, I could feel her shift back into seeing me as her daughter. Until the next time — which could be tomorrow, when I will again be sending the afternoon with her. The day will come when I won't be able to retrieve her.
What I know is that this access to the kind of energy work I did today is something else I have a much greater conscious awareness of, faith in, and ability to work with as a result of the increasingly clear field engendered by the kitchari fast.
Tomorrow's another day. Please send prayers for her, for me.
______________
*For those of you who are sensitive to issues of consistency of usage and spelling, I want to acknowledge that I have not landed anywhere on how I think kitchari (kitcheree) should be spelled. This is the case because I've been told on good authority that kitchari, with the accent on the second syllable is absolutely the right way to spell and say it (this from 1. my beloved, who spent several years following a macrobiotic diet and 2. a Guyanese friend) and I have been told on equally good authority that kitcheree (accent on the first syllable and a decided roll of the tongue on the "r" is the absolutely correct way to spell and say it (this from a friend married to an Indian man). I trust and love all three sources and so sometimes it comes out one way, sometimes another.
Today is also the day my mother stopped knowing who I am. Because of the fast, because of this blog, because it's September 11, 2010, I will forever know when that day came.
My mother and I had spent the day together, from noon on, because her weekend aide had to fly to Jamaica due to a death in the family. I split the day with my daughter so that I could get down to One Spirit in the morning. Driving down from a brief visit to the country house where she'd spent 36 summers with my father — dead now these past 5 and a half years, the house she'd given to me several years ago, she turned and asked, looking around at the back seat, "Where's my husband." It was so sudden. I was caught off-guard. I said, foolishly, "Are you talking about my father?" She was silent for a time and the said, "Are you my child?" We'd been talking the whole way down about things that referenced the family, there was no question that we were connected in the way that I was accustomed. She'd dozed off and it was after she woke up that things started to get wonky. I didn't realize at first, when she'd awakened, that she really didn't know in whose car she was and who I was. She complemented my driving, which she has done before. My father had been a terrible driver. She went into great detail about all the ways my driving was good. They were all the ways my father's driving was appallingly bad. I said something to that effect. And that's when she all of a sudden switched and asked where her husband was. She absolutely knew she had a daughter named Riva, but she didn't believe that I was her. She was completely baffled at how much I knew about her family. I was completely baffled that I was trying to reach her in this way, given that I knew this day was coming. I reminded her about her grandchildren, who she completely remembered. I said that I was their mother. She said "Do they know that." I was flummoxed by that response. Once the car was parked and we got upstairs, I began to fully lose my emotional equilibrium. She seemed to understand that there was something wrong — she seemed to get that I knew too much to not be Riva. She tried deciding to accept it, but I could absolutely feel that she was looking at a perfect stranger. As often as I'd heard about this happening with Alzheimers, it was devastating. I txted my beloved who reminded me to call in Spirit Help and promised to do so on my behalf. I felt better almost immediately and I began to feel into the energy of the situation. I became unafraid, unreactive and introduced myself as Riva, the person taking care of her this evening. I was aware that she had a daughter named Riva and wasn't that a coincidence. She asked what had caused me to know that she'd even need care today, and I responded that I'm the person who sees to her getting the care she needs. She was interested to know that. I could feel the energy unjamming, I kept it going, the energy flow. Back and forth, sending her expansion, acceptance, building a field of trust. Before too long, I could feel her shift back into seeing me as her daughter. Until the next time — which could be tomorrow, when I will again be sending the afternoon with her. The day will come when I won't be able to retrieve her.
What I know is that this access to the kind of energy work I did today is something else I have a much greater conscious awareness of, faith in, and ability to work with as a result of the increasingly clear field engendered by the kitchari fast.
Tomorrow's another day. Please send prayers for her, for me.
______________
*For those of you who are sensitive to issues of consistency of usage and spelling, I want to acknowledge that I have not landed anywhere on how I think kitchari (kitcheree) should be spelled. This is the case because I've been told on good authority that kitchari, with the accent on the second syllable is absolutely the right way to spell and say it (this from 1. my beloved, who spent several years following a macrobiotic diet and 2. a Guyanese friend) and I have been told on equally good authority that kitcheree (accent on the first syllable and a decided roll of the tongue on the "r" is the absolutely correct way to spell and say it (this from a friend married to an Indian man). I trust and love all three sources and so sometimes it comes out one way, sometimes another.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
40 days and 40 nights — Day 32
3:59pm What a day. "Emotional rollar-coaster" doesn't actually cover it. I mean I'm fine, but as I move through the day I'm hit with wave upon wave of intense emotion. Today is Rosh HaShanah. I am acutely aware that today is a High Holy Day, acutely aware of how little personal experience I have of celebrating it from a spiritual perspective (as opposed to a culinary one), and how my spiritual community, rich and deep as it is, caring and careful to wish me a Happy New Year, has me once again in grief over my disaffection from organized religious practice, including and perhaps especially the religion of my ancestors. I had felt that so much had gotten healed vis a vis my relationship to my Judaism during the first year of my seminary training. But in the space and clarity of this fast, so much is coming up yet to be healed. Today, after hearing the story of a dear friend and spirit sister's awakening to her own internalized race hatred, I wonder if I've got that going on myself — if at the root of this disaffection, perhaps even antipathy, is a long-buried case of antisemetism. That would be a real kick in the head! I, who have been quite an in-your-face secular Jew, eager to use a yiddish bon mot whenever possible, proud to have a fairly good working knowledge of Yiddish and a very nearly perfect Eastern European accent... this is something to contemplate. It makes it easy to remain disaffected with the political situation in Israel which has me at odds with family that lives there. Anyway, I find this and other strong, hard, uncomfortable feelings coming up today, as I move through day 32.
It struck me that with 8 days left, I am now able to have wave on wave of difficult feelings without using food to medicate them way. I've developed a new way of being with feelings and, as I once again contemplate the approaching end of this 40 day container, I'm thinking of keeping it going. We'll see what unfolds.
It struck me that with 8 days left, I am now able to have wave on wave of difficult feelings without using food to medicate them way. I've developed a new way of being with feelings and, as I once again contemplate the approaching end of this 40 day container, I'm thinking of keeping it going. We'll see what unfolds.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
40 days and 40 nights — Day 30
8:47pm I've never been very good with numbers, with counting, with arithmetic. Geometry was the only mathematical thing that I excelled at and I'm sure it's because it was about pictures. What calls this to mind? Well, for the past several days I've had the awful feeling that I'd counted wrong and Yom Kippur, the putative 40th day of my kitchari fast was going to turn out to either be day 39 or day 41. I didn't have the heart to double check until today. And wouldn't you know it, I started my fast a day early. Yom Kippur is indeed the 41st day. If it weren't such a classic Riva move, I'd be really upset with myself. I'm trying to find the deeper meaning to it than that I simply messed up. What comes to mind is one of the first talmudic laws I learned from my brand new father-in-law, back in 1969. The law was "eyn marbim simkhe b'simkhe" which means: don't mix one holiday with another. So, if you get together for someone's birthday, and another person at the gathering happens to have a birthday the very next day, you can't celebrate both at the same gathering. Similarly, if you happen to be at the cemetery for a funeral, it's wrong to go visit the graves of others. I always found this an interesting interpretation of "simkhe" (holiday), but Jewish humor is always on the darker side. Anyway, perhaps my messing up has to do with it being wrong to celebrate the end of my fast on the most sacred day of the Jewish calendar. Or maybe it's just that I'm not so good at counting. Doing a practice that connected Ramadan and Yom Kippur... I'm unwilling to let that go. I will rest in the righteousness of my intention and notice how through the millenia, getting Ishmael and Isaac to sit at the same table has been something of a challenge. Oh how I wish I'd begun on August 10th!! Perhaps the deeper meaning will emerge as whatever transformation(s) emerge after the 40 days are over. Perhaps something occurs to you who are reading this.
I'd love to stop here for today, but something else happened that I want to record. Today, I made a conscious decision to wait until tonight to cook up the next batch of kitchari. This meant that I'd be without a "stash" for several hours. I had to be out for a while today. During that time, I got to a place of extreme hunger about which I could do nothing until I got home. I had just about a thimbleful of kitchari left at home. I deliberately took care of all the things on my to do list, drinking lots of water to try to manage the stomach hunger, grateful that "taking the edge off" with some snacky thing was not an option, successfully staying present to the hunger, and standing in solidarity with the millions (billions?) of people so hungry for so long they don't even have hunger pangs. I finally got home, had the thimbleful, did some work, and then made the new batch — slowly, carefully. It's now in it's final 20 minutes or so of cooking. May I remember this time when I'm out and about and notice myself getting hungry. As I noted early on in these posts — I have been much afraid of hunger. How could this NOT be ancestral?
Ok. NOW I'm done for today. Blessings on you, my dear friends. May we all know sufficiency!
I'd love to stop here for today, but something else happened that I want to record. Today, I made a conscious decision to wait until tonight to cook up the next batch of kitchari. This meant that I'd be without a "stash" for several hours. I had to be out for a while today. During that time, I got to a place of extreme hunger about which I could do nothing until I got home. I had just about a thimbleful of kitchari left at home. I deliberately took care of all the things on my to do list, drinking lots of water to try to manage the stomach hunger, grateful that "taking the edge off" with some snacky thing was not an option, successfully staying present to the hunger, and standing in solidarity with the millions (billions?) of people so hungry for so long they don't even have hunger pangs. I finally got home, had the thimbleful, did some work, and then made the new batch — slowly, carefully. It's now in it's final 20 minutes or so of cooking. May I remember this time when I'm out and about and notice myself getting hungry. As I noted early on in these posts — I have been much afraid of hunger. How could this NOT be ancestral?
Ok. NOW I'm done for today. Blessings on you, my dear friends. May we all know sufficiency!
Sunday, September 5, 2010
40 days and 40 nights — Day 28
10:02am I have been up since early, in a bit of a state over this being Day 28. Only 12 days left. I put up a fresh batch of kitchari, noticing how much I have come to love the preparation, the decisions I make from one batch to the next — a little more of this, less of that, things chopped coarser of finer, wondering the difference it will make to the finished food. And in the background of that, a hint of something that feels remarkably like the anticipated grief over this extraordinary time of having stepped outside my regular routines coming to an end. I'm pretty sure I've touched on this in earlier blog posts, but it's coming up as more than a thought. It's here as a feeling with texture and tone and with physical manifestations: tears and an ache in my solar plexus and chest — the kind that comes with sadness.
And so, how to negotiate this terrain. First and foremost, be aware. Stay conscious. Don't get swept away. This is what's here today. Day 28. If these were years, this would be the start of my 1st Saturn Return, a time of heaviness, constriction and potential suffering (what many young people think of as "the specter of turning 30). For the moment, today, I am carrying these very energies. What I know also is that it's only Day 28. It would be an unfortunate case of arrogance to think I have a clue as to how I will feel on Day 40 — much less on Day 40 + 1! I don't believe the Transformation is for me to know today — what happens when I return from the desert, when I get to Canaan, when the rain stops. Perhaps my challenge for these last 12 days is to stay out of anticipation, out of second-guessing, out of my addiction to the need to know.
There is a process I learned from my former teacher which she called The "get out of your own way" process. It addresses issues of "heart addictions:" addiction to intensity; addiction to the need to know; addiction to perfection; and fixation on what's not working. Each addiction correlates to a chamber of the heart, which correlates to the medicine wheel and the four directions. It's a gorgeous practice that I think it's called for at this time. Once again, much gratitude to my teacher and to all I've learned from her.
Into the day, which will include journeying to prepare for several rituals coming up later this month — among them, the Forgiveness Ritual on Yom Kippur, the last day of my fast. It will also include several bowls of delicious, nutritious, healing, hearty kitchari.
And so, how to negotiate this terrain. First and foremost, be aware. Stay conscious. Don't get swept away. This is what's here today. Day 28. If these were years, this would be the start of my 1st Saturn Return, a time of heaviness, constriction and potential suffering (what many young people think of as "the specter of turning 30). For the moment, today, I am carrying these very energies. What I know also is that it's only Day 28. It would be an unfortunate case of arrogance to think I have a clue as to how I will feel on Day 40 — much less on Day 40 + 1! I don't believe the Transformation is for me to know today — what happens when I return from the desert, when I get to Canaan, when the rain stops. Perhaps my challenge for these last 12 days is to stay out of anticipation, out of second-guessing, out of my addiction to the need to know.
There is a process I learned from my former teacher which she called The "get out of your own way" process. It addresses issues of "heart addictions:" addiction to intensity; addiction to the need to know; addiction to perfection; and fixation on what's not working. Each addiction correlates to a chamber of the heart, which correlates to the medicine wheel and the four directions. It's a gorgeous practice that I think it's called for at this time. Once again, much gratitude to my teacher and to all I've learned from her.
Into the day, which will include journeying to prepare for several rituals coming up later this month — among them, the Forgiveness Ritual on Yom Kippur, the last day of my fast. It will also include several bowls of delicious, nutritious, healing, hearty kitchari.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
40 days and 40 nights — Day 25
2:28pm Here it is! September. What a wild ride through the summer months. Not that it's over — the temp is somewhere near 90 and the humidity... oy. It's definitely impacting my mood. I think. Something is impacting my mood. I know that one can't be living in the Expansion all the time. Look at the economy, for crissakes! What expands must contract (except perhaps for the Universe?). At least I've found this to be true for me and all the people I know. There are the big, fullhearted, life-is-great, (or at least the-challenges-of life-are-interesting) times and the constricted, shut down, life-sucks-and-who-needs-these-challenges-anyway times. Without going through all the blog posts, I don't believe that in the last 24 days, I've had a full-on, protracted, grouch attack, like the one I'm having today.
This morning at 7am, I made my usual getting-my-92-year-old-mother-with-Alzheimer's-oriented-to-the-day phonecall. As has been happening increasingly, she didn't pick up the phone. I called several more times as I finished getting dressed. She lives around the corner from me and when she doesn't answer the phone, I take a walk over to see what's what. Today, she'd finished her morning routine and decided that though it was before 7am and though her aide would not be arriving for another two hours, she should head out to the senior center for lunch. I no longer panic when she's not home. She still knows how to put together a snappy outfit. She still remembers her keys and to lock the door. She still remembers where the senior center is and I know she'll be sitting on the little white brick wall in front of the synagogue which houses it. She is, so far, lost in time, not in space. Each time I arrive at the center, she seems entirely mystifyed as to why she can't remember what 7am signifies with respect to the decisions she's making. We talk about her Alzheimer's. We talk about how she has always been a creature of habit and someone who always needed to know what the next thing on the agenda was. And going to the center is the next thing, because the 2.5 hours of down time in between getting dressed and leaving for lunch is not a "to do." It's the same talk each time. I remain calm, patient, deeply knowing she has no idea this is a conversation we have several times a week. I get her back upstairs, make sure she's hydrated and clear that the aide will be there in less than an hour. Today, the cleaning lady will be there, too. A big day!
With my mother installed in her recliner in her air-conditioned bedroom for a much-needed snooze, I return home where I find myself in a funk that has remained. The kitcheree elixir has not removed the tightness in my chest, the knot in my solar plexus. I can feel my face frowning. It would be easy to conclude from this post that my funk is due to this morning's unscheduled walk up to senior center. Or maybe it's the 3 month wait since the application for Medicaid was filed and the possibility of getting my mother the 24 hour care she needs can be explored. Or the fact that she's out of money and I'm about to be out of money — including my retirement fund which, like the rest of Americans in their 60s who don't plan to retire, is going to the care of their nonagenarian parents. These things pull me away from the expanded place I've been in, from the healing work I prefer to be engaged in on behalf of the planet. I can't fix the healthcare and social services system. I can't go head to head with the Corporatocracy. But I can pray for the healing of the Gulf, for the healing of the planet, for the healing of hate and greed — the greed that keeps the healthcare system broken.
And I can't fix the woundings that caused my mother to become the person she became and who is now stuck with the habits of a lifetime. I can be compassionate and patient and pray that she gets a ticket out before she loses all function and becomes a being that she expressly stated when she was in her 70s she never wanted to be.
7:29pm I'm feeling a little better. I've been asked to read in a poetry reading tomorrow evening and I was looking for what I wanted to read. I've reconnected with some Magic Spells I'd written in 2002-2003 and reading them completely turned my mood around. I came upon one I had no memory writing. It as completely on target for this moment. A friend from seminary called me today and asked if I'd join her in a prayer practice that we'd do for each other to call in prosperity. There had to be divine intervention involved in my coming upon this Spell. I offer it here for all.
A Spell to Transform Obstacles to
Abundance and Prosperity into Stepping Stones
I've lived my life expecting
there will never be enough —
It makes achieving Joy and Bliss
entirely too tough.
The second-guessing, doubt and fear,
Ignoring things I hold most dear,
Rejecting Angels who appear —
All stand as Obstacles to Wealth,
Abundant Living, Vibrant Health.
Prosperity is out of reach,
No time for Standing on a Beach with
Trousers Rolled and Perfect Peach.
These obstacles brought from before
Have been as steps to this next door.
With burning sage and sandalwood
(And always for the greatest good)
We ask The Goddess if She could
Please change the things that bar our way
to Stepping Stones so that we may
Arrive at True Properity:
We ask with all humility
Transform these things—
So Make It Be!
Love, light, prosperity, and blessings to all who are with me on this journey.
This morning at 7am, I made my usual getting-my-92-year-old-mother-with-Alzheimer's-oriented-to-the-day phonecall. As has been happening increasingly, she didn't pick up the phone. I called several more times as I finished getting dressed. She lives around the corner from me and when she doesn't answer the phone, I take a walk over to see what's what. Today, she'd finished her morning routine and decided that though it was before 7am and though her aide would not be arriving for another two hours, she should head out to the senior center for lunch. I no longer panic when she's not home. She still knows how to put together a snappy outfit. She still remembers her keys and to lock the door. She still remembers where the senior center is and I know she'll be sitting on the little white brick wall in front of the synagogue which houses it. She is, so far, lost in time, not in space. Each time I arrive at the center, she seems entirely mystifyed as to why she can't remember what 7am signifies with respect to the decisions she's making. We talk about her Alzheimer's. We talk about how she has always been a creature of habit and someone who always needed to know what the next thing on the agenda was. And going to the center is the next thing, because the 2.5 hours of down time in between getting dressed and leaving for lunch is not a "to do." It's the same talk each time. I remain calm, patient, deeply knowing she has no idea this is a conversation we have several times a week. I get her back upstairs, make sure she's hydrated and clear that the aide will be there in less than an hour. Today, the cleaning lady will be there, too. A big day!
With my mother installed in her recliner in her air-conditioned bedroom for a much-needed snooze, I return home where I find myself in a funk that has remained. The kitcheree elixir has not removed the tightness in my chest, the knot in my solar plexus. I can feel my face frowning. It would be easy to conclude from this post that my funk is due to this morning's unscheduled walk up to senior center. Or maybe it's the 3 month wait since the application for Medicaid was filed and the possibility of getting my mother the 24 hour care she needs can be explored. Or the fact that she's out of money and I'm about to be out of money — including my retirement fund which, like the rest of Americans in their 60s who don't plan to retire, is going to the care of their nonagenarian parents. These things pull me away from the expanded place I've been in, from the healing work I prefer to be engaged in on behalf of the planet. I can't fix the healthcare and social services system. I can't go head to head with the Corporatocracy. But I can pray for the healing of the Gulf, for the healing of the planet, for the healing of hate and greed — the greed that keeps the healthcare system broken.
And I can't fix the woundings that caused my mother to become the person she became and who is now stuck with the habits of a lifetime. I can be compassionate and patient and pray that she gets a ticket out before she loses all function and becomes a being that she expressly stated when she was in her 70s she never wanted to be.
7:29pm I'm feeling a little better. I've been asked to read in a poetry reading tomorrow evening and I was looking for what I wanted to read. I've reconnected with some Magic Spells I'd written in 2002-2003 and reading them completely turned my mood around. I came upon one I had no memory writing. It as completely on target for this moment. A friend from seminary called me today and asked if I'd join her in a prayer practice that we'd do for each other to call in prosperity. There had to be divine intervention involved in my coming upon this Spell. I offer it here for all.
A Spell to Transform Obstacles to
Abundance and Prosperity into Stepping Stones
I've lived my life expecting
there will never be enough —
It makes achieving Joy and Bliss
entirely too tough.
The second-guessing, doubt and fear,
Ignoring things I hold most dear,
Rejecting Angels who appear —
All stand as Obstacles to Wealth,
Abundant Living, Vibrant Health.
Prosperity is out of reach,
No time for Standing on a Beach with
Trousers Rolled and Perfect Peach.
These obstacles brought from before
Have been as steps to this next door.
With burning sage and sandalwood
(And always for the greatest good)
We ask The Goddess if She could
Please change the things that bar our way
to Stepping Stones so that we may
Arrive at True Properity:
We ask with all humility
Transform these things—
So Make It Be!
Love, light, prosperity, and blessings to all who are with me on this journey.
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