Synchronicity

I had a lovely and reassuring episode of synchronicity that occurred at the SoulCollage Training in California, and was a lovely bridge into my 10-Day Sesshin.

The training was over a weekend, and Saturday night, after a day and a half of being completely immersed in SoulCollage, we did readings. Seena encouraged us to ask manageable questions. Not too big: What is the meaning of my life?" Not too small: "What should I wear tomorrow?" But more like, "What are the card energies (Seena uses the word "Neters") that are going to be with me in the next week, or for this next project?" Like that. So I inquired about the card energies that would be with me for my upcoming 10-day retreat. Here is who came up:

Patrick, of course. The One who vowed to support my spiritual path. The One who will hold down the fort, take care of the house, take care of the dog and the kitty while I am away. The One who understands where retreat practice fits in our lives.

3rd Chakra Companion: Tiger I am the One who lives in the belly.
I am your gut instinct. I am the one with the fire and fierceness of determination.
I am the One who says yes or no.

Robin
My Dharma sister.
I am the One who appreciates your practice.
I am the One who is with you along the path.

So my plan was to focus on some Hara, or belly breathing during the retreat, regardless of what the practice would turn out to be. Usually in the retreats, there is a theme, and a recommended practice, like listening practice, or even "tongue practice" in which for a whole week, we focused on the sensations and movements of the tongue. The theme of this retreat was "Longing for the Ancient Way." I was not sure what the practice would be to go with the theme. Maybe Koan practice?

Well it turned out that this would in fact be a 10-day retreat with a focus on breathing practice. We breathed using an anchor word, "Buddha," in haling the syllable "Bu..." and exhaling the syllable, "Daaaaahhh." And all the while focusing the breath in the Hara. What are the odds, eh?

It seems there is no real consistency with writings about the chakras. Some say the Hara is in the 3rd, some say it's in the 2nd chakra. Nevertheless, I breathed the Buddha Breath constantly, lightly, intensely, gently, and fiercely. I put my Tiger card on my nightstand, and it was a comfort and reminder about bringing awareness to the Hara, learning about the Hara, feeling the Hara, being present with the Hara. I needed the fire of determination to stay with the practice, and there it was.

I also experienced a feeling of the belly's moving breath like that of a frog's throat moving in and out. A relaxed belly goes 'plop' -- sticking itself out right before an inhale, expanding to welcome an influx of air, pulling it in like a bellows. I must credit Linda Brice, a Transformational Voice Trainer, for first teaching me this concept, and allowing me to experience my breath in this way.

I also likened each breath to a flower, gradually opening, blossoming into fullness, then equally gradually declining, and disappearing, making way for the next breath.

I experienced a lot on retreat. More may come to these pages, but right now I am going on a birthday dinner date with two of my other soul sistahs, Rebecca and Kayci.

I am glad to be back. And breathing.

Now

Actually I am everywhere BUT now. I am looking ahead to my 10-Day Retreat tomorrow (yipes) and looking back at my SoulCollage Facilitator's Training that happened over the weekend.

Hogen

I am messing around on the internets, and NOT getting ready for my retreat. I think that will "force" me to take that 1/2 day I was scheduled for tomorrow... OFF. Actually, I think I decided to do that already, which is what has allowed me to be here for a moment before I commence to the rest of it.

Because of my recent and persistent coccyx pain, I have been a bit apprehensive* about the idea of sitting about 10 hours a day for 10 days. Tuesday night, Patrick ran across a special cushion in the Zen Mountain Monastery catalog, which is a wedge, and opens in the back to allow the coccyx to be free of any weight on it.
*read "freaking out"
It could get here in time only if it was expedited for $20. The very kind and sweet monk there recommended I have it sent to the Monastery in case it gets there Friday. Which made me realize I was kind of embarrased to need or want it. What will everybody think of me??? This is sadly one of my greatest hits. One I always confront on retreat. It's getting kind of boring though.

I may not need the wedge pillow. I have been using an inflatable neck pillow with fairly good results, other than my somewhat repetitive thought that people might be thinking I have hemorrhoids (a slight variation of the same ole song). I had this idea that I "should" just deal with the pain, that by Day 5 I will be in a state of not picking and choosing, transcending pain, whatever.
Patrick talked some sense about the fact that I do happen to be under a doctor's care, have had some X-rays, that this may be temporary and solvable, or it may be chronic and the new reality, but either way, it's relatively new, and it's OKAY to deal with it. Because it's real.

Patrick

Well, I am going. And I need to put some laundry in the dryer, and take care of some things around this house, and take care of myself so I can be ready to go tomorrow. I am anxious. I am happy. I am grateful.

Gratitude

Women of the 14th Moon

I just returned from this amazing ceremony. I feel so fortunate to be connected to the women who invited me -- two women friends of mine who didn't actually know each other, but who have been attending this yearly ceremony for quite a few years.

It's a weekend in a wooded place - the location rotates, the ceremony planners and leaders rotate, but a few things are constant: The purpose is to take time and energy to celebrate and honor the elder women in our community, and to celebrate and honor women in each of three phases of life: Maiden, Matron, and Elder.

Since it was a women's ceremony, I had just assumed it would be Wiccan -- with ostensibly pre-Christian European origins. Wicca recognizes these three phases, using the terms "Maiden, Mother and Crone." I had some affinity for that path for some time, so I thought I knew what to expect.

But this ceremony was rooted in the Native American traditions. I have never been to anything like that before, and had some questions in my mind throughout the weekend about cultural appropriation. I seem to recall some controversy about that in the late 80's and early 90's, as many of these kinds of ceremonies and practices were becoming popular among New Age Caucasians looking for non-Christian spiritual connection. More on that in a moment.

So there was smudging -- cleansing with the smoke of burning sage. There was a circle with gateways representing the four directions. There was a huge drum with 6 or 7 drummers leading in song and rhythm, including some songs in Lakota and other Native American languages. There were references to animal totems. There were in fact, visitations by some animals! All the Elder women were given large wooden staffs. Some have had theirs for many years, and attached various feathers, bells, and other symbols or items of significance. There were beautiful and moving dances by three women who worked on creating a mask throughout the previous year to represent themselves as the archetypal Maiden, Matron, and Elder, and they danced to express the energies of each life phase.

Unfortunately, I don't have many photos of this actual event. Photography is not allowed during the ceremony, and the ceremony encompassed the vast majority of the weekend -- from morning to evening. There were few opportunities for this newbie to take some time to get some shots of the land. I was mostly too busy figuring out what was going on. So I've trolled my own pictures of other events and environments, as well as Flickr, and I'm sharing some photos that just seem to communicate the mood (and provide permission to share them). You can click on the photos that are not mine to find their original location on Flickr.

I am going to do my best to communicate about this experience, but I may have a few things not quite right, and I also want to be careful not to reveal too much of what was a sacred event. So what are these three phases of a woman's life?

MAIDEN: A woman who has had her first menstrual cycle, and who is 25 years old or under. Maidens all wore springtime pastel colors to ceremony. East is the direction associated with the Maidens -- the dawn of all beginnings, a breath of fresh air, springtime and new growth.

"2008-08-24 037" by rbatina

MATRON: A woman who is 26-50 years old or who is a mother. The Matrons all wore the colors of fire: Reds, oranges, yellows. South is the direction associated with the Matrons -- the fire of action, and the energy needed to get everything done.

"Dancing Queens", by zenamoonbeam

A WOMAN OF THE 14TH MOON: A woman who is at least 51 years old AND who has not had a menstrual cycle in one year and one month (14 moons). The Elders wore the colors of the sea: Blues, greens, purples, black. West is the direction associated with the Elders. The wisdom of water, the emotion and reflection.

"Ricky" by kk+

North was the direction associated with Earth, and the Ancestors. It was represented by a white gateway, decorated with bones and copies of photographs of female ancestors we all brought.

I recall a fairly recent conversation with Genko from Dharma Rain Zen Center. She is a Zen monk in training, and she revealed that she is in her late 50's. She reported from that experience, rather bemused, that she finds herself invisible a lot of the time; no longer having to put up with the constant attentions and judgments around her appearance. I imagine this can feel like a delightful secret at times.

But I also imagine that it can feel invalidating and tiresome.

What I observed this weekend was the importance of really actually seeing these women. The importance of hearing their voices, and listening to their words. Appreciating their beauty, power, and wisdom. This ceremony fills a gap in our society. A large one. We don't generally do this, and the need is achingly clear.

But then there is this question of cultural appropriation. In searching for images on the web that might communicate some aspects of the ceremony, it didn't take me long to find something like this:

It appears there are some folks out there who purport to have affiliation with tribes when they in fact do not, and who charge a hefty sum for participation in rituals or weekend workshops, and seek to profit financially from these activities. They are referred to in some websites as "Twinkies" or "Plastic Shaman".

I will say that the cost of the weekend I attended was nominal, and I believe covered just the rental space, porta-potties, breakfast foods, small gifts for each participant, etc. and did not appear to be enriching anyone in any way other than spiritually.

Additionally, I met a woman there who very recently participated in the Longest Walk 2. As I understood her description, it was a re-creation of The Longest Walk, from California to Washington DC to draw attention to legislation about freedom for Native Americans to practice their religion, which occurred in 1978. The woman at the ceremony was in her late 50's, and was one of only six people who actually walked the entire way, the other five being about half her age. She appears to be Caucasian, but I do not know her heritage. So here she is, participating in this ritual, also who took five months out of her life to stand -- and walk -- for Native American rights. Somehow to me that counts for something.

And then I recalled the Womyn of Color poetry slam at the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival last year, at which a woman of Japanese descent was talking about cultural appropriation, i.e. white people wearing chopsticks in their hair, and going to meditation retreats and such. It disturbed me a bit. She made it clear that appropriation was different than appreciation, though she wasn't clear what appreciation might look like. One of my friends said that poetry slams are generally a place for anger to be expressed rather than nuance, and not to worry about it. But I gave it thought. I wondered if you could say that Japanese Zen was appropriated from China, which was appropriated from Indian Buddhism. Though really, Buddhism was purposely delivered from India to China, and just as purposely from Japan to the United States. I don't know. Maybe it's not so clear cut.

Taizan Maizumi Roshi, founder of the Zen Center of Los Angeles

Nevertheless, the ceremony was beautiful, and even though I consider myself one who sees our elder women, I realized I needed to see even more clearly, more lovingly, more appreciatively.

And it was nice to be appreciated. The Matrons this year were gifted these medicine bags:

We each were assigned to write a brief love poem about another woman we may have just met. They were then read aloud, and were the first "medicine" we got to put in our bag. So very sweet. I sewed on some of the beads from my little name tag, and also some of the gifts given by the archetypal dancers -- a feather, a sachet... It was such a sweet weekend. So important to take time to appreciate ourselves and each other.

Going Deeper

This is one of my newest SoulCollage Cards.

Going Deeper

• I am the One who explores the depths inside.
• I am the One who feels apprehensive, but continues anyway.
• I am the One who is nervous and excited about inner discovery.
• I am the One who is courageous.

The main image, the man whose features are visible, was collected maybe a year ago at a SoulCollage workshop (Thanks, Suzie Wolfer). I felt a strong affinity with it, and it reminded me of inner psychological exploration. It still does.

While I was creating it, I thought about adding water images -- a diver or deep sea level fish -- but they didn't quite make it. The stalagtites are created with water, but I kind of wanted a more overt representation. And then I found these incredible images of a shipwreck. How perfect a representation for those shipwrecks of life that find their way to the bottom and continue to haunt our subconscious. So I cut out the ship wheel, and it went over his heart / hara.

It felt "done."

I realized that it was time for this image to come out now because I am about to go on a 10-day silent meditation retreat in September. So begins my commitment to frequent retreat practice in the fall / winter of 2008. September's retreat schedule includes even more meditation than usual every day, and I don't really see in the schedule where I will have the after-meal naps I rely on so strongly at the other retreats I have been to. I am apprehensive and excited about deepening my practice, and looking into the nature of my mind during this time. Did I mention apprehensive?

Having realized that, I nodded and worked on another card, had dinner, hung out with friends, came home, and showed Patrick my newest cards.

Now, Patrick is usually very conservative with his comments. He has a certain reverence for the cards, and tends to state what he sees, with little interpretation. Even if interpretation is encouraged, he is reluctant to do so.

So when he said, "Going deeper into Dharma practice," I was impressed that he would verbalize that intuition he had gathered from this image, and his knowledge of my process. I said as much, and then he pointed to the shipwheel, and said, "Well it was the Dharma Wheel right there. That was the first thing I noticed."

Okay, guess who was the last to know about that.

I am serious. I did not place that there consciously at all, though it certainly is perfect. The Dharma Wheel is often depicted like a ship's wheel, the eight spokes representing the Noble Eightfold Path:

1. Right Understanding
2. Right Thought
3. Right Speech
4. Right Action
5. Right Livelihood
6. Right Effort
7. Right Mindfulness
8. Right Concentration

My subconscious, when I let it work on SoulCollage cards, creates magic.

A similar thing happened with this card:

Kwan Yin

Kwan Yin is the Bodhisattva of Compassion who "hears the cries of the world." Her element is water, and she is often depicted with a bottle, holding her tears, or pouring out the waters of compassion.

While I was creating this card, I placed her by a river, with ocean in the background, and the nautilus shell all as symbols of water, of the sea. This card looked exactly as it does now, and I clearly remember thinking, "Hmmmm, now what can I include to illustrate her listening capacity?"

A few beats later, it dawned that the nautilus shell is a beautiful reflection of the inner ear's cochlea, and also a representation of the childhood ritual of listening to the ocean inside shells... I laughed at myself and thanked this higher wisdom so graciously participating with me in the creativity of cardmaking.

little altars everywhere

I'm not sure I even remember exactly when I began to consider keeping an altar as something other than a heathen and graven-image-bowing thing to do. But once I did, it became a primary spiritual practice.

This is the altar upstairs which we face for our daily meditation practice.

Protestants generally tend towards the spare, quiet, and restrained. There is usually only a cross at the front of the church. The emphasis is on faith, aligning one's deeds as closely as possible to the words of the Bible, and one's personal relationship with God; God being defined as one / all of the Holy Trinity: Father, Son, Holy Ghost. Nobody and nothing else.

The Catholic crucifixes were seen as maybe a bit showy. Jesus was supposed to be inside our hearts. And images of Mary? Well, it had been made clear to me that she was not part of the Holy Trinity, and therefore not to be specifically prayed to, let alone all the saints for whom Catholics have altars, light candles, and say specific prayers. Since I did not grow up within the Catholic Church, I did not have any such relationship with religious iconography, and in fact, had some mistrust of it.

This is our wooden statue of Mary,
acquired when we were searching for a spiritual home,
and practicing with St Andrew's Catholic Church --
a congregation fiercely focused on social justice.

Looking back, I find the root of that mistrust in the versions of the Bible that I heard from the pulpit and in our Bible stories.

Exodus 20 (King James Version)

1And God spake all these words, saying,

2I am the LORD thy God, which have brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.

3Thou shalt have no other gods before me.

4Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth.

5Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the LORD thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me;

Then specifically regarding images of gold and silver, or even carved stone altars or stairs:

23Ye shall not make with me gods of silver, neither shall ye make unto you gods of gold.

24An altar of earth thou shalt make unto me, and shalt sacrifice thereon thy burnt offerings, and thy peace offerings, thy sheep, and thine oxen: in all places where I record my name I will come unto thee, and I will bless thee.

25And if thou wilt make me an altar of stone, thou shalt not build it of hewn stone: for if thou lift up thy tool upon it, thou hast polluted it.

26Neither shalt thou go up by steps unto mine altar, that thy nakedness be not discovered thereon.

I read all this to my spouse, who grew up Catholic. He was a bit horrified, being unfamiliar with this "jealous God" I had come to know in childhood.

This is Patrick's little statue of St. Francis.
He watches over the animals' food area in the kitchen.

His transition to Buddhism was quite smooth. This makes sense to me: The similarity of the liturgy continues to be quite striking -- the smells and bells, the standing sitting and kneeling, the chanting, even down to the mala / rosary beads.

Before this would ever be possible for me, I required a feminist intervention in my 20's. I made several rounds of critical inquiry into the patriarchal underpinnings of the Christian church before I could even begin to look at different forms of spirituality. While it was painful to see the religion of my childhood from this different perspective, I was able to question many of my beliefs and assumptions. It helped me see why I was having so much difficulty in some areas, and Christianity began to prove inadequate to my spiritual needs. This questioning, as I recall, was fueled by no small amount of anger. I had had enough of the white-guy-in-the-sky. For me, it was balancing to learn about the Divine Feminine from the writings of feminist theologians like Starhawk, books like The Feminine Face of God, and The Laughter of Aphrodite.

At some point in my tumultuous twenties, I saw a photograph of the Venus of Willendorf.

Circa 20,000 - 30,000 BC

By then I had already logged no less than a decade of body image problems, and if not self-hatred, definitely self-mistrust and downright fear of fat. To see this large, round, undeniably, unapologetically womanly figure referred to as a "Goddess," and imagining a culture actually venerating this form -- even if that was just speculative -- this caused a shift so strong and powerful, and led to a sense of inner knowing. I knew deeply that the veneration of this female form was safe. Not just safe, but necessary.

Ah, my twenties. During a fiery breakup of a three-year relationship with a guy who was addicted to pornography, having reached the very end of my willingness to engage in the contortions required to fit into the iron maiden of the Beauty Myth, and having no idea what would come next but entirely willing to make that leap,

This is an actual iron maiden -- a medieval torture device.

I birthed this Venus figure of clay:

I seem to recall already having some semblance of an altar upon which to place it. I think it was was an orange crate next to my futon. Or maybe it was my paternal grandmother's coffee table. I was not unaware of the irony since she was the most pious of all the relatives I knew.

Here is a recent sample of what is on my grandmother's coffee table altar.

It was Kwan Yin who helped me make the transition from Goddess-based spirituality to Buddhism.Kwan Yin, Kannon, or Avalokiteshvara is a Bodhisattva. A Bodhisattva is kind of like the Buddhist equivalent to a Saint. One understanding of a Bodhisattva is that it is a human person who forgoes their own enlightenment, remaining to assist all other beings until they all reach nirvana.
The embodiment of compassion, Kwan Yin is known as "she who hears the cries of the world." She is usually depicted with a bottle, either holding it up, or pouring it out, which is a symbol for her tears of compassion, or pouring out the waters of compassion. As a mental health therapist, I readily identified with her. Taking inspiration from Kwan Yin in the daily work of listening compassionately has been such a source of strength and relief.

I learned of her at my first meditation retreat-- a women's Vipassana retreat at Breitenbush Hotsprings. Before even stopping at home, once I had returned to Portland, I acquired this statue of her from a store called Healing Waters and Sacred Spaces, which I happened to learn when I got there, that Kwan Yin is kind of their "patron" Bodhisattva.

Here she is on my dresser. The painting of eggs is by my mother --
it was just a simple still-life she was practicing with
when she was taking a painting class, but I love it.

Once I was able to begin the practice of keeping an altar, it became an important part of my spirituality. Altar practice, for me, is just a beautiful reminder. It is a way to infuse sacred into everyday.

This is the Buddha who lives on our living room mantel.

Patrick spontaneously created this altar
which I walk past every day on the way to my car.
He is the one who usually freshens the flower offering here.

This is in our kitchen right above the sink.

Here is Bodhidharma,
currently greeting all who come through our front door,
and hopefully not scaring people away!

I like to change the altar cloths to reflect the seasons. I like to dust the statues, and dust around them. I like to freshen the flowers. Taking an ikebana class (Japanese flower-arranging) has inspired many beautiful flower offerings. Often, the state of my altars reflects the state of my spiritual practice.

I like the fact that we maintain evidence of our spiritual journey in the various little altars around the house. I read somewhere that regarding religion and spirituality, you can't subtract; you can only add. I like the idea that perhaps the Christian God is not actually jealous -- that implies insecurity. I am working with the idea that God or the Goddess or sacredness or Buddhanature is actually in everything. Altars are just a gentle reminder of that.

Cody

Cody is 15 years old this year. I guess he is. He was found on the banks of the Ohio River one January in 1994. I estimated by his teeth that he was not quite a year old. He was unaltered, his foot pads were all mangled and his toenails were worn to nubs from living on river rip rap. But all he wanted to do was play fetch. In the river. In January.

My dad is a veterinarian (retired) and I am quite able to allow foundling dogs to come and go, to take them to the shelters without flinching. But this dog was special. I could tell. There was something about him.

We've been friends for fourteen years. He got to live the first half in Makanda, Illinois, on a farm before he began his city phase. He loves people, thinks skateboarding is a crime, goes berserk with leash aggression for other dogs, but loves all kitties.

This is Cody playing fetch on the beach in May of 2007.



He had a health crisis in April 2007 (hence the little shaved part of his front leg), and collapsed. He went to the emergency vet, and as I was preparing to have a paralyzed and incontinent dog, the next morning the vet called and said, "Guess who walked out of their kennel this morning?"

Holistic veterinary care has given him a new lease. At least another few quality years. We have gone so west coast. He gets homeopathy and acupuncture. At least we know there is no placebo effect. This stuff works!!!

Every day with Cody is a gift.

Impermanence

I apologize for these very lengthy blog entries. I do know that people don't have infinite time to sit around and read a huge entry, but... I seem to keep doing it anyway. Onward:

I got back from the Festival last night. I can't help but notice this particular Truth, the truth of impermanence, writ large on much of the experience. This time I spend with my favorite women friends in the iridescent bubble of an incredible and improbable community we all create there seems to slip by faster and faster. I know this is a cliche, and that as we age, we begin to understand this more, but most of my friends agreed, that this year went by fast. Faster than ever before. The joy that we experience at Festival is so fleeting.
These feelings of joy were punctuated by some painful events as well. Let me preface this by saying that these things are not really comparable, other than the fact that they are all evidence of impermanence. Which is kind of like comparing three very different items that exist on earth, and saying that what they have in common is that they are subject to the law of gravity. I would not want this to come off as minimizing anyone's suffering, just because I am mentioning them in the same thread. These things just happened to be painful--some more, some less-- and I noticed that remembering impermanence did reduce the suffering of that somewhat.

On Tuesday August 5th, one of the shuttles, a full van bound for the Festival from the Grand Rapids Airport, blew out a tire, crashed and rolled, killing one woman and injuring many others, some quite severely. We heard the news of this on Wednesday, mainly because one of our friends was not on that shuttle, due only to her random decision to delay her trip one more day.
There is a thread on the Festival Forum discussing this tragedy here, and someone was kind enough to find and share the woman's obituary. Her name was Lynn J. Marshall. Here is her obituary:

Lynn J. MARSHALL - Lake Tapps, WA Lynn J. Marshall beloved wife, mother and amateur Rambler mechanic died August 5, 2008 in a traffic accident on US 31 near Muskegon Michigan. She is survived by her husband Francis, her son Chet, her daughter Comedy Jane and her two sisters Kristen Mauritson, and Susan Martin. Lynn graduated from Kimball High School in Royal Oak MI. She served in the USAF between 1973-1978 at Clark AB in the Philippines as well as stateside at Cambria radar station in CA and Homestead AFB FL. She was the first woman to graduate from the USAF school of diesel mechanics and power production. She was currently employed by the Boeing Company in Seattle WA. She graduated from Seattle Central Community College's architectural photography program and enjoyed photography her entire life. Her unique love and special interest was always her old Ramblers. She was a member of both the Cascade and Rainer Rambler automobile clubs. She was also a member of the Nash car club of America. Her favorite car "Camille" will now be maintained without the love and special care Lynn provided to all who shared her life. We will all miss her zestful pursuit of life; the moon hole will be shut and the wall crank turned off. A Memorial Service will be held at 1:00 p.m., Sunday, August 17, 2008 at the Saltwater Unitarian Universalist Church, 25701 14th Place South, Des Moines, WA. 98198, (253) 839-5200.

We send our love and wishes for peace to her friends and family. We had just spoken to Lynn's sister, who is a member of the Shuttle Crew, the day before this happened. It was just a bland and friendly everyday conversation. It is shocking to see how fast life can change. Our hearts go out to Lynn, Susan, and to all of their loved ones.
Additionally, on the return trip from Festival, Amy P. got word from her partner Dusty that their home had been broken into and burglarized on Monday the 4th. Nobody was home, their cat, Maps, was fine, and nobody was hurt. This had happened early in the week, and Dusty had wisely and compassionately declined to let Amy know until after the Festival. There was nothing she could have done. He had handled everything, though understandably continues to experience the loss of a sense of security in their home. Her brand new and powerful little laptop computer was stolen. She conducted all of her business on this little computer. Thousands of dollars' worth of Dusty's recording equipment was also taken. She will return home in a day or two to take inventory of any other losses, and to find out just how recently her information had been backed up.
Oddly, Amy had shared with me on Wednesday morning, a dream she had the night before about her computer being stolen.

She found out about the break-in early in our 6-hour car ride from Festival to her mom's house in Cleveland. In observing her process through a trauma like that, for her, the physical losses were less upsetting than the sense of violation. Also living with not-knowing. Not knowing what the thief's intentions are with her computer -- to quickly erase it and sell it? To find and profit from any personal information? The mind fills in the blanks with great frightening detail.

We were grateful to have made the drive safely to Cleveland to Amy's mom's house, which has been re-named the "Festival Transitional Center." Though Amy had a much more fitful and difficult night, the other three travelers fell into welcome sleep on actual beds and couches, hot food in our bellies.
Then, yesterday morning, having been awake for about a half an hour, in a quiet house full of sleeping friends, I took the opportunity to review all my photographs from the Festival, deleting any obviously blurry or unflattering shots. I used two memory cards this year, 2GB each (I had about 350 pictures on each) and switched them about midway through the week, just to make sure not to lose any great shots due to a full memory card, and "just in case" something happened to one of the cards. This is kind of silly, because I probably had room for about 300 more shots on each card. I was looking through the features of my camera to find out if and how it could tell me much memory I had left on a card. I found the feature, and it also said something about "formatting." Not thinking very clearly, I chose "OK" instead of "Cancel" and watched helplessly as the camera began to reformat, and erased the entirety of the memory card in about three seconds.

All of my photos from about Friday afternoon until Sunday evening -- gone. I had also taken some video of some of the performances, the hundred or so photos of the parade that my friends spent hours preparing their outfits for, the topical photos I taken since we had gotten our assigned "themes" for our annual Michfest Calendar, the shots of our campsite on the last morning... gone. After a litany of swearing, and pacing around quietly groaning while holding my belly, and the repeated internal echo of this statement from one of our friends we camp near:

"I'm not really taking any pictures this year, because I know I'm getting the giant CD of pictures from Laura..."

After that flood of thoughts through my mind, I was able to also touch into the knowing that it really was okay. I mean, it was just pictures, for God's sake! And another lesson in impermanence.

I recalled an e-mail I sent to Ryushin, one of the monks at the Monastery, noticing a weeklong workshop I had been looking forward to was no longer on the Monastery calendar. Ryushin, described why it had been canceled, and then closed by saying, "Yeah, sometimes that impermanence is a stinker!" Though I have to admit, that the word "stinker" was not the word in my mind.
Dzongsar Jamyang Khyentse, in his book, What Makes You NOT a Buddhist? describes one of the four "seals" or truths of Buddhism: All compounded things are impermanent.

By "compounded," he means something that has been assembled out of other things. He describes that after a long period of contemplation, the Buddha realized that

"all form, including our flesh and bones, and all our emotions and perceptions, are assembled--they are the product of two or more things coming together. When any two components or more come together, a new phenomenon emerges -- nails and wood become a table; water and leaves become tea; fear, devotion and a savior become God. This end product doesn't have an existence independent of its parts. Believing it truly exists independently is the greatest deception. Meanwhile the parts have undergone a change. Just by meeting, their character has changed, and together, they have become something else -- they are "compounded."
He realized that this applies not only to the human experience, but to all matter, the entire world, the universe -- because everything is interdependent, everything is subject to change. Not one component in all creation exists in an autonomous, permanent, pure state. Not the book you are holding (or the computer you are looking at), not atoms, not even the gods. So long as something exists within reach of our mind, even in our imagination, such as a man with four arms, then it depends on the existence of something else. Thus, the Buddha discovered that impermanence does not mean death, as we usually think, it means change. Anything that changes in relation to another thing: even the slightest shift, is subject to the laws of impermanence.
Through these realizations, the Buddha found a way around the suffering of mortality after all. He accepted that change is inevitable and that death is just a part of this cycle. Furthermore, he realized that there was no almighty power who could reverse the path to death; therefore there was also no hope to trap him. If there is no blind hope, there is also no disappointment. If one knows that everything is impermanent, one does not grasp, and if one does not grasp, one will not think in terms of having or lacking, and therefore one lives fully."

And that, after this long-winded post, is the discovery with impermanence, again and again. It is the appreciation of this temporary visit to this life, each day, each moment. Remembering how fragile and how complex and how miraculous it all is, we can't help but live more fully and more kindly. Many of the women on the Festival Bulletin Boards were remarking about how this sad event increased their appreciation of one another this year. The break-in really underlined the power of one person's actions. One person can make so much difference in another person's life -- to harm or to heal, and we can appreciate all the loving, healing acts that happen to us all the time every day. All the digital photographs in the whole world will someday be all gone. It is simply a matter of time. Was I actually experiencing the moment I took them? The joy of being with my young and healthy friends will recede into something else.

From the entries in her guestbook, it seemed to me that Lynn Marshall appreciated this life, and lived it quite fully.

I need so much reminding! So I keep the Five Remembrances on my bathroom mirror:

I am of the nature to grow old.
There is no way to escape growing old.

I am of the nature to have ill health.
There is no way to escape ill health.

I am of the nature to die.
There is no way to escape death.

All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change.
There is no way to escape being separated from them.

My actions are my only true belongings.
I cannot escape the consequences of my actions.
My actions are the ground upon which I stand.