6:45pm Sundown in 19 minutes, the start of the Sabbath. Two weeks since I ended my fast. Two weeks of exploring new terrain. I have been going very slowly with respect to figuring out how to eat. Mostly, I've kept a pot of kitchari handy. The only non-plant based food I've eaten is eggs, and not very many of them.
Three things stand out for me.
Number 1. I have missed writing this blog — missed reflecting on the days as they passed. Through this blog, a web of support formed around me — something that made the whole endeavor possible, something I would wish we all could have all the time. Yesterday a dear friend and teacher who had been following the blog, wrote me to say she missed it and suggested I write an entry to catch folks up. She presumed that if she missed it, others might too; others might want to know what has been happening for me in these two weeks. I'd been missing it too but felt that I couldn't yet deliver the postscript I'd promised on Day 40. I'd imagined it would be a deeply thought out essay where I would have thoroughly analyzed everything that had happened along the way and I would be able to say, unequivocally, the ways in which I was transformed by the experience. That notion, conceived within the safety and spaciousness of the fast, was swallowed up by a maelstrom of busyness that descended as soon as I stepped outside of its comfortable confines. Which leads me to...
Number 2. The 40 day fast which I had envisioned for myself was like nothing I'd ever experienced before. It was a framework which determined everything else about my life: where I went, who I engaged with, how I spent my time and money, what I thought about. I was living a daily spiritual practice and reaping its rewards in the form of love, companionship, tangible support, deepened intuitive abilities, greatly improved self-esteem. I slept better, smiled more, knew what needed to happen next. I became proficient in the kitchen in ways I'd never been nor ever cared to be. I was interested in the qualities of the foods that went into the kitchari. I blessed each bowl I ate, I gave away as much of each pot as I myself consumed. People felt immediately nourished by it, as did I. When the 40 days ended I was shocked at how all that changed. Not once in 40 days did I burn the bottom of the pot. Not even one time — and that's saying something. Once the 40 days were over, all of a sudden I kept forgetting I was cooking until I smelled it catching! Or I'd forget some key ingredient, which I hadn't done before. Even though I'd said I'd go another ten days, it just didn't carry the same fire, the same juice, the same sanctity that the 4o days did. AND, I began to feel depleted. The fear that I was becoming deficient in some key nutrient returned. I knew that down this road is the path to the dreaded American Diet which has been so wrong for me. What I have been grappling with is how to hang on to a key learning that has come from these 40 days. The Learning: I have reached a stage in my life where I am the expert when it comes to what I need to sustain me. The key is to listen with great care; to call on Spirit and then listen as the answers form inside me. This is a radical act, entirely counter culture. How do I stand firm in this truth without the safety net of the fast? What is it about the 40 days that allowed me to be the person I want to be all the time. How can I re-create that outside the fast? And last, but hardly least...
Number 3. It's as if I've shed the fat suit I was shlepping around for the last many years. In 40 days, I dropped nearly 25 pounds. To be sure, I'm no slip of a thing, but I feel so much better, so much more like myself. This is pure bonus, though it's certainly welcome and it's a very visible effect of the fast. Any nutritionist would wag a finger at how quickly I've lost this weight. But, I felt better than I had in a very long time all the way through. The depletion came after the 40 days ended and I was in a quandary about what and how to eat. I let myself get dehydrated, I didn't eat enough, I fasted on Yom Kippur, was an officiant at not one but TWO fire rituals in this period. In fact, yesterday was the first day I started feeling better. I've been taking care to hydrate more, and I've been feeling more confidant around food. I'm not so worried any more that I will suddenly, accidentally, eat a bag of chips.
I am still captivated by what I've learned about my sacred activism and how it's through the care and feeding of this body that I'm coming to know the truth of what started me on this practice in the first place: when I was preparing to do a Ceremony to Heal the Waters of the Gulf of Mexico, I began to think about how I have treated my body with the same disregard as humanity treats the EarthSeaMother. This awareness grew into a commitment to pay more than just lip service to my commitment to Tikkun Olam. I think of Bernice Johnson Reagon, in an interview with Bill Moyers explaining the beauty and power of Black Gospel music in how personal it is. She uses as an example: "This little light of mine I'm gonna let it shine...."
I take a stand for the healing of the planet through the healing of my body.
YES! Let it begin with me!
Friday, October 1, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
40 days and 40 nights — DAY 40!!!!
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!
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!
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.
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