Coming Home Part II

What have 16 years of the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival given me?

Bodily Safety
I wrote about the feeling of bodily safety on my first post. This is one of the more obvious gifts of the Festival. Speaking of a different kind of bodily safety, I cannot quantify the effect of seeing real women's bodies, naked, in the showers (or out) every day for a week for sixteen years. Even women who would be considered conventionally beautiful; to see even those bodies and their curves and creases and stretch marks and imperfections -- it was surprising -- to be so surprised that is. I mean, I knew that real women do not really look like the women we see in media, but it was still a shock to see this full range of bodies, and none of them looking like any of the "bodies" I had seen in media. All of them beautiful. I had no other opportunity to experience this reality in my childhood nor my adult life. Not that I have it all together about that, but

I. Have. Come. A. Long. Way, Baby.

I have been given the experience of bodily safety from within. Internalized. I am so grateful.

Sisters
I didn't get to grow up with a biological sister. I was not a girly-girl. I started fighting against dresses at about age 3 or 4. It was clear to me that being one of the guys was a waaaay better deal. I loved softball through grade school, and junior high, but then the human gyroscope of puberty hit.

My aforementioned porn-addicted boyfriend in college had a wandering eye. It drove me batshit crazy, and because I didn't have what I needed at the time to kick him to the curb, I projected a bunch of the resulting insecurity and crap onto the other women he was attracted to. *sigh* It was a rough time. Untenable for long though, and the stars aligned for me to finally say enough! Just a couple years later, I heard on Day Stage THE song that summed this up completely, "As Cool As I Am" by Dar Williams (I am the others! oh do please listen):

And I must say here, that there is nothing -- nothing -- in this world like the feeling of standing with thousands of my sisters to the yearly anthem at Opening Ceremonies, "Amazon Womyn Rise"

Love
In 1997 I fell madly in love at Festival. Seriously. Madly. It was the kind of thing about which I had absolutely no choice. It was a knee-weakening, all-consuming, dizzy-making collision that had an impact on me from the very first moment like a speeding U-Haul truck. It would have involved a U-Haul truck, except that she was from another country, and had all of her belongings in a backpack, so there was no need. It was passionate and sweet and lovely until, for a variety of reasons some years later, it wasn't, and it ended. In my story with all the hindsight, there are no villains, and I would readily do it all over again; maybe just a few teeny changes there towards the end. Sometimes these chapters in our lives just write themselves. Those are the ones we learn the most from, I think.

And just for fun, here's a great FAQ sheet to address the annoyingly persistent myths about bisexuality: Enjoy.

Spirit
"She changes everything she touches, and everything she touches changes."

Ah, Puritans. In my DNA seems to live the presumption that the flesh is completely corrupt, especially female flesh, and the only hope of Grace resides in a distant and moody male God, and that Grace comes only from faith, which is invisible and uncertain in us flawed humans. According to Max Weber, the Protestant Work Ethic developed in this absence of reassurance from the (Catholic) church authorities of Grace from "good works"; so its only visible expression got channeled into the zealous pursuit of a worldly "calling" (work) and the only evidence for Grace would be worldly success. The Puritan asceticism, deep mistrust of any form of pleasure, and belief that "idle hands are the devil's workshop" all congealed in an anxious spiritual backdrop that I could never do enough to be okay. And I'm probably not working hard enough.

So...abandoning the disconnected body and spirit patriarchal white-guy-in-the-sky stuff was only possible because I was able to find an expression of spirit I could see, hear, smell, touch, and taste in the patterns of nature and my very own body.

The snake became a potent symbol for me -- the reclamation of the snake -- from the embodiment of evil and temptation to a potent symbol of wisdom symbolized in the shedding of skin, the natural cycles of death and rebirth. I found comfort in the seasons of nature, the inevitability and connection of death to life, the seasons of a woman's life, the appreciation of the four elements: fire, air, earth, water, (five if you count spirit), every aspect of this Earth and the acceptance that large natural forces exist internally in the form of emotions, and that these are just as pure and whole as a volcano or a gentle rainshower.

Without a local group of women to practice with, my yearly trek to Festival allowed me to be in community with others practicing in this way. I did workshops with Vicki Noble and Z Budapest. I got to experience raising a "cone of power" by toning with maybe 30 women and usually a singing or chanting workshop in the beautiful moss-covered oak grove of the Meditation Circle. It was incredible. And so healing. There is no hierarchy in a nature-based spirituality, but there is an ethical guideline, blessedly simple, "And it harm none, do what ye will." All this was so refreshing.

Magical Moments

There have been so many thousands of magical moments. This is really the biggest gift of Festival, these ordinary and extraordinary moments. Here's a random few:

• Walking past the African Dance workshop in the Community Center tent, feeling the heat and power and joy emanating from it.
  
• In workerville, after getting off my shift a little early and catching much of the Indigo Girls' show, then showering alone under a full moon during their encore and hearing "Closer to Fine" live.
• Unbelieveable thunderstorms at night, wondering if the tent would leak, enjoying the chorus of appreciation throughout the woods after every lightening strike and thunderclap.
• Seeing the amazing womyn who cook the food in enormous iron vats over a firepit in the heat of summer in their heavy gloves, jeans and longsleeved shirts, hats and hankerchiefs covering their faces.
• Tarot readings with clearer significance after a week of quieting down.
• The damp, wooded, shady fern-embraced path from Waterworks Way to Tubman Trail. My favorite walk in the whole Festival.
  
• Every single show with sign language interpreters, sometimes more amazing than the performers themselves.
• Walking all the way to the parking lot after night stage performances were over to use the phones at night. Only slightly intoxicated, calling my sweetie, and then lying down in the meadow watching shooting stars streak through the clear sky.
  

Obviously there are too many to mention. I could think of a thousand more. Multiply that by the thousands of womyn who attend. That's a lot of magic.

Michfest 1995

Coming Home Part I

It's August, 1993:

This is actually maybe 1991. Body image issues? Yep, totally sick with it.

I'm 21 years old. I just graduated in May with my Bachelor's in Social Work, and spent the past year interning at a domestic violence shelter. After graduation I got a summer job at the shelter doing whatever they needed: Overnight shifts listening to harrowing stories of how the residents got there or nearly didn't, pregnancy testing, accompanying victims to court, picking up donated leftover food from the hospital where the woman in charge of the kitchen flirts with me, working in the children's program with some of the most traumatized kids the coordinator had ever seen, organizing rallies for choice, and getting ready to start my new job at the Rape Crisis Center as a counselor...

It has been two years since the movie Thelma and Louise revealed some major fault lines polarizing American culture around the question of sexism and feminism, violence and women's anger. I was right in the middle of this discussion because I have been actively exploring this thing called feminism for a couple years now. In fact, my supervisor and mentor at the shelter wears a T-shirt with a logo for the Thelma and Louise Finishing School for Women.

I was surprised and relieved and gratified to discover that Feminism is completely relevant to my life. Feminism turned out to be so much more than just a word my mom rolled her eyes about. I discovered that Feminism is about more than just women; it's about everybody.

My parents have reluctantly accepted that I will probably never return to my political conservative Republican roots, and they blame the liberal Ivory Tower for this. It has been two years since I started taking Women's Studies and African American Studies, and allowing them to sink deeply into my bones. My parents may be onto something. I read Backlash right after it came into paperback, underlining whole paragraphs and writing notes in the margins with lots of exclamation points!!!

Less than a year ago, I jettisoned a crappy, porn-addicted boyfriend. The rage that fueled that long-overdue breakup is also fueled by P.J Harvey's song, "Dress" (seriously do click that link) pounding from my Honda Civic's cassette tape deck and my fists pounding the steering wheel. I learned about so many reasons to be so very angry; for myself and my newly-discovered world of sisters. I have a cute new SNAG* boyfriend at a University an hour and a half away. His name is Patrick, and I met him through a mutual friend when we all decided to read Simone de Beauvoir's The Second Sex. He is one of the three men on his campus in their men's anti-sexism group.

I read the Feminine Face of God, and The Spiral Dance, and emphatically turned away from my Christian roots. I sculpted a Venus of Willendorf out of clay and fired her into stone. I declared myself and all women Goddess and Sheela-na-Gig my own. I have started paying attention to the seasons, the equinoxes and the solstices and celebrating them. I have started paying attention to the moon and how her cycles mirror my own. I am learing about the snake as a symbol of women's spirituality, how women and snakes have both been demonized in patriarchal religious culture. I look to the snake and her continual shedding skin for reassurance that there is nothing but change, and that this can be embraced. And yes, I stopped shaving.

Venus

A few months ago, my roommate Melissa's girlfriend Margaret, who was visiting from Chicago, asked me why I hadn't been to the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival yet. She described this amazing place of shirtless Amazons, sacred oak groves -- a land in the woods built by women -- womyn only, and attended by womyn only. She described a place of bodily safety.

My very first article of Festie-wear!

I knew immediately that I would stop at nothing to be there. The Festival is for all womyn-born-womyn, and is an opportunity to experience a place where Lesbians are not the minority. Margaret gave me a pin, designating me officially an "Honorary Lesbian" and we arranged to go. Melissa and I lived near enough for a day's drive to Chicago, stay with her girlfriend one night, and drive the rest of the way up.

I watched Margaret as we got closer to "the Land" as she kept calling it. She looked like a placid and contented statue of the Buddha, if the Buddha had been a forty-year-old Lesbian with spiky gray hair. Driving along the dirt roads approaching the Land, we were surrounded by pine and oak trees above, with dense green ferns below, and miles of cars full of joyful womyn in front of us and behind us. I had never seen so many feminist bumperstickers.

We emerged from the shady road into the bright sun, and onto a huge mowed field through the gate where inordinately happy Lesbians of all ages, shapes, and sizes said to us with all sincerity, "Welcome Home." We were greeted with the discovery that Melissa and I were "Festie Virgins", and this was usually accompanied by lascivious squeals, and even a ringing bell somewhere at the orientation tent. I made sure not to let anybody know it was my first Festival after that.

Though I think it took about five minutes for me to take my shirt off.

I entered the Festival like a shirtless duck to water. Ironically, Melissa was terribly uncomfortable. She kept her shirt on pretty much the whole week, and seemed kind of creeped out from time to time by the various sights and experiences that only the Michigan Festival can provide. The Honorary Lesbian, however, finds herself totally in love with the whole shebang:

Quiet forest paths with soft woodchips for my Birkenstocks to walk upon, fearlessly roaming bands of girl-children with their faces painted and their craft projects streaming behind them, a woman walking completely buck naked except for the beanie hat with a propeller on top, impromptu drum circles around warm firepits, an actual bearded woman in a Goodwill prom dress driving the tractor shuttle, a continuous stream of amazing professional music performances on three stages all day and all evening, Laura Love on Day Stage!, a huge craft area (essentially a feminist mall), live comedy, movies under the stars, amazing outdoor showers where I could see actual womyn's bodies in all their incredible uniqueness, and see my own within this context, beautiful vegetarian food, workshops on everything from astrology, to fomenting feminist revolution, to vermicomposting, and yes indeed, bodily safety.

I had to keep reminding myself about this bodily safety thing: I could actually walk anywhere anytime, and not worry about anyone attacking me or hurting me. I could walk buck naked with a propeller beanie on my head at 3am or 3pm, and the most likely thing to happen to me would be someone saying, "Nice hat." In fact, every single person I passed on the paths smiled and said hi. If I got lost (which I did a few times), all I had to do was ask anyone, and they'd stop whatever they were doing to be of assistance.

Not only was my body safe, but my stuff was safe too: I had gotten a beautiful ceramic mug at the crafts area (gorgeous large mug with raku designs and a snake for the handle), and set it aside with my jacket somewhere, got distracted and forgot about it. I remembered it several hours later, and was sad that it would probably be stolen. Nope. Still there, safe as a kitten.

Before departure, I rented a green pup tent from the university rec center's "Base Camp" and a sleeping bag with a few little holes I suspect might have been from stray burning pot seeds. I nearly froze the first night, because I had no idea I needed a ground cover under my tent, and I didn't even have a sleeping mat. The women I camped with gave me a plastic tarp to put under my tent, and I slept in total comfort right on rugged Mother Gaia the rest of the week. The womyn I camped with shared all their food and their systems for navigating the Festival --like getting their blankets and tarps in a great spot for sitting at night stage, or making sure I had a good volunteer workshift to do. I walked around in stunned awe a lot of the time.

The Meditation Circle was the most amazing place. There was the sacred oak grove, with a veritable carpet of soft moss in the middle. At one end was an overturned tree stump, her roots exposed and weathered, creating an elaborate altar space and focus for the grove. Womyn had come along making beautiful offerings of shells, beads, poems, candles, flowers... you name it. It was absolutely by and for the Goddess, and it was beautiful.

Meditation Circle, Michfest 1993

Indeed, I had come home. I had come home to the Land, to my sisters, to myself.

It's May, 2009.

I'm 37 years old. I have made that pilgrimage every single August for sixteen consecutive years. I have traveled by car, train, airplane, and even hitching a ride home from Fest (that was an adventure). I did five or six years as a Worker -- mainly because I wanted to stay longer than a week, and being on the short crew to help staff the thing allowed me to extend my experience into two weeks each year. What have sixteen years of the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival given me? It is impossible to calculate and maybe impossible to communicate, but I will write about this in my next installment.

*Sensitive New Age Guy

May All Beings Be At Ease

Gensho, one of the members of the Sangha decided to act upon an idea he has had for some time. He calls it:

"Lovingkindness to the MAX".

This is simply boarding the light rail ("MAX") within the mall / downtown area known as "Fareless Square," riding downtown, milling about, then riding back. All while subtly doing Lovingkindness, or Metta meditation practice for any or all that we might encounter on the trip. A very casual event, we would not need to appear to be meditating, or offer any identification about what we were up to. He likened it to a "zen flash mob" stealthily spreading Lovingkindness around the city. He put out an open invitation on the Sangha listserv to meet at 11am yesterday and be done by noon. I went.

It was fun to observe myself in preparation for this mission. I recited the Lovingkindness phrases to myself for myself:

May I be free from fear and anxiety.
May I be at ease.
May I be happy.

I was filling up my reservoir of lovingkindness so that there would be plenty to share.

I chanted the Metta Sutta on the way there:

This is what should be done
 By one who is skilled in goodness,
And who knows the path of peace:
 Let them be able and upright,
Straightforward and gentle in speech,
 Humble and not conceited,
Contented and easily satisfied,
 Unburdened with duties and frugal in their ways.
Peaceful and calm and wise and skillful,
 Not proud or demanding in nature.
Let them not do the slightest thing
 That the wise would later reprove.
Wishing: In gladness and in safety,
 May all beings be at ease.
Whatever living beings there may be;
 Whether they are weak or strong, omitting none,
The great or the mighty, medium, short or small,
 The seen and the unseen,
Those living near and far away,
 Those born and to-be-born — 
May all beings be at ease!

Let none deceive another,
 Or despise any being in any state.
Let none through anger or ill-will
 Wish harm upon another.
Even as a mother protects with her life
 Her child, her only child,
So with a boundless heart
 Should one cherish all living beings;
Radiating kindness over the entire world:
 Spreading upwards to the skies,
And downwards to the depths;
 Outwards and unbounded,
Freed from hatred and ill-will.
 Whether standing or walking, seated or lying down
Free from drowsiness,
 One should sustain this recollection.
This is said to be the sublime abiding.
 By not holding to fixed views,
The pure-hearted one, having clarity of vision,
 Being freed from all sense desires,
Is not born again into this world.

And once we got started, I enjoyed doing one of the loveliest practices I learned from the Lovingkindness Sesshin: To visualize a light of Lovingkindness emanating from the heart, getting larger, brighter, covering 360 degrees, "spreading upwards to the skies and downwards to the depths," and basically creating a field of Metta. I found this to be more available once I got rolling with the phrases for a while, and could actually start to feel an opening and an outflowing of energy from my chest area.

So there we are, on the MAX, with no other agenda than to be wishing all beings we encountered to be well. To be free. To be happy. And the need was so clear: The harried families with small children. The homeless folks. The older folks. The people in obvious pain. The people so tired they were falling asleep on the ride. The middle class tourists clutching their purses...

My mind wanted to make up stories about each person. My mind wanted to think it knew who was more in need. My mind wanted to pick and choose. Especially when I saw the people driving a Hummer. Right then I was able to recall the line from the Sutra about "omitting none".

We got to Pioneer Square and thought we might sit for 10 minutes when we heard the unmistakable shouting of a protest rally going on. Gensho: "They sound like they might need some lovingkindness." So we went up to the sidewalk, and saw that they were Burmese protesting for democracy. Just a few days prior, the Burmese representative for democracy was jailed. This is what prompted the rally.

Our Sangha has in the past two years been supporting two Burmese refugee families in their relocation to Portland. So it felt like a lovely synchronicity for us to sit for ten minutes and quietly offer them Lovingkindness, and just be present with open hearts in the middle of the city. Then we got on the train to return.

Sitting in a noisy city or on a moving train with an array of people moving all around was very different than the quiet incense-filled Zendo-sitting I am used to. It seems to be quite important to be able to generalize this skill into a whole different context.

As I sat repeating the phrases, I particularly appreciated the one about wishing all beings to be "at ease." The meaning of this was described in the Sesshin as being in a state of acceptance. Of being in accord with the world as it is, even if it is painful or difficult. Not struggling against things as they are, but being at ease with things as they are.

I actually can't imagine a more valuable gift, or anything better to wish for others. Given that the world is constantly changing, everything we cling to is destined to disappear, that old age, sickness, and death are inevitable, to be able to face these, to experience this life, even the painful parts, with willingness... this is my understanding of being at ease. Wishing myself and others to just feel and experience this life with willingness and openness, and participation -- I felt lightened by allowing myself this intention for a whole hour.



And here is a cool little chant with good descriptions of Metta. Enjoy!

Worldly Matters

Spring morning on the lake:
the wind merges with the rain,
Worldly matters are like flowers that fall
only to bloom again.
I retire to contemplate behind closed doors,
a place of true joy,
While the floating clouds come and go
the whole day long.

~Zhengjue
12th Century Chinese Buddhist Nun

from the book, Daughters of Emptiness: Poems of Chinese Buddhist Nuns, by Beata Grant

What is the Foundation of This Life?

Chronic tailbone pain has been my companion for about a year now. It began creeping up gradually, which is apparently very unusual for coccyx pain. Most people join this club by:

1. Falling on it or


2. Having a baby.

I do not specifically recall either one happening to me, though I may have fallen while on a skiing adventure January 2008 with my dear friend Stacey, who is an excellent skier, and sees only her friends' potential greatness.

I am not an excellent skier. I am a midwesterner. Stacey and I accidentally took a wrong turn and ended up on a blue-double-diamond run: Steep and impossible to go back. I went down on my bum for a lot of the way. I also cried for a good portion of it. It never helps when there are six-year-olds passing you in these moments.

Anyway, I recall needing to sit on my inflatable air zafu, on a long plane ride a year ago. The pain became more and more noticeable. Last summer I was carrying around a U-shaped neck pillow everywhere to sit on. By fall, I could not even sit on an air zafu for any length of time. Whatever I sat on had to allow my tailbone to hang with no weight on it whatsoever.

Dealing with sitting pain became a bit of a way of life, as chronic pain just does.*See bottom of post for lots of stuff I did to accommodate it.

I hoped it would just go away for months. ** See bottom of post for adventures with chiropractor and osteopath.

I wondered if there was some psycho-spiritual meaning? The first chakra is located exactly at the tailbone. It is all about survival. Feeling enough. Feeling grounded. And here I am, about to abandon my job to go on a voluntary and unpaid Sabbatical at the dawn of an economic crisis. Scared much? Now on some level, I know I am fortunate to have a partner who can be as much of a safety net as a person can have in a situation like this. I am as safe as a person can be. Indeed.

Tell it to my First Chakra.

First Chakra Muladhara originally uploaded by virtualworld360

I'm wary of those folks who believe that all illness is just a manifestation of some psychological thing. If you hold that stance too rigidly, then there's just too short a distance between that and people being responsible for "creating" cancer, MS, schizophrenia, etc. And it, well, pathologizes old age, sickness and death. What could be more normal than these?

That said, the mind-body connection is also undeniable. My friend Rebecca helped me come to some insight -- that sure felt accurate -- about what this tailbone pain might mean in reference to my taking a Sabbatical. It's been stressful just to make the decision to take off, mainly because of the beliefs I have inherited about the importance of work: Working hard. Working all the time. My identity wrapped up in work. My worth as a person because of my work. And the very idea of not working?!

Of sitting on my ass?

Unacceptable. Not okay.

~ ~ ~

Recently I attended a workshop on Compassion Fatigue. I have been to these professional workshops throughout my career, and about 2/3 of them have found me leaving some hotel conference room, blinking in the 4:00 sunlight thinking, "I have just wasted 8 hours of my one wild and precious life."

But at this workshop, by 11am, I felt I got my money's worth. I won't go into all the details, but basically, the fella who put this together has devoted his life to being a helper's helper. A Bodhisattva's Bodhisattva.

He has applied the light of his consciousness, and the energy of his life towards caregivers; how we go haywire, and how we can remain healthy amidst the suffering we willingly dive into every day.

I was surprised to learn that most of it is about living in a relaxed body. I was even more surprised to learn that how to go about living in a relaxed body means a focus on relaxing the various muscles between the sit bones and the top of the pelvis.

No clenching.

Seriously. It really was this simple. But like anything simple: Not easy. Since that workshop, it seems I can now perceive the constant anxiety and stress and clenching and holding that goes on in this body all the time. No wonder I get so tired! I took my new found anatomical knowledge, and recalled how doing one hip-opening yoga move some months ago released a flood of pissed-off for about 48 hours, and I wondered what else was stored in this area.

Breathe Root originally uploaded by plastictaxi

So, living with pain, and accommodating with my assortment of pillows, I went to a hip-opening yoga workshop a few weeks before the Lovingkindness (Metta) Sesshin. And I incorporated the pigeon pose into my morning routine. I have since learned what is obvious to anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of anatomy -- those hip flexors and all those pelvic muscles are intimately related to the coccyx and its situation.

I felt really spacey after the yoga workshop, and was confused about that response. One suggestion was that things might be getting re-organized deeply inside... maybe there's a big process of change happening.

~ ~ ~

At Sesshin, we began with primary focus on filling our reservoir of lovingkindness by giving lovingkindness only to ourselves for a few days. We did a lying down meditation for a period, in which we combined a body-scan meditation with Metta, offering lovingkindness to each and every part of our bodies.

I lay down with the front of the zabuton supporting my sacrum, and my coccyx hanging off, and a nice rolled up blanket supporting my neck. "May these feet be free from illness. May these feet be at ease. May these feet be happy & healthy...May these ankles be free from illness..." all the way up the whole body. For 25 minutes. I've done body scan meditation, and I've done Metta, but not together before. It was lovely.

I remember standing up from this to start walking mediation, and feeling a distinct ache radiating from the spot around my lower back where osteopathic adjustments had been, and also in the hip area as I stepped forward -- with kind of like a catching or snagging feeling. Something was up. Something was moving. Nothing changed in terms of the pain and limitation, but something was up.

I kept relaxing, and then the second to last day, I did another lying down body scan. After the period was over, I stood up, took a couple steps with that catching and ache, and then, felt:

*click *click *click*

at my tailbone. Did it pop itself back into place? I didn't dare sit on it. I was so scared it was just my imagination. It took me half the day to even dare to sit flat on my bed without the U-pillow. And when I did, it didn't hurt. Much. I must've looked pretty funny kind of tentatively bouncing up and down on the side of the bed with a scared-hopeful-shocked face. There was some residual inflammation, but I then tested myself on an air zafu. I could sit without pain. It had just about resolved.

I wanted to start singing about it, but I didn't want to treat the Metta Sesshin like some kind of a healing tent revival. My initial thought was that on retreat, I finally relaxed sufficiently for my muscles and ligaments to just let go.

I think the combination of everything had everything to do with the improvement. I have since learned a few other things that may have contributed:

Whale 'Tailbone' Sculpture originally uploaded by jmv

There's a website called coccyx.org which is a clearinghouse for all things coccydynia (coccyx pain). There is a section for personal experiences where people can share information, their attempts at solutions, and report on successes or failures. A woman reported that after 30 years of sacral, pelvic bone, and coccyx pain, that she found a little $30 product called... (the name is wonderful)... the Sacrowedgy.

I looked it up. The Sacrowedgy was developed by an osteopathic physician, and now marketed by his daughter. It is a hand-sized piece of plastic that mimics the kind of adjustment her dad used to do for people with tailbone pain. The patients would lie on their backs on the table, where he'd support their sacrum with this hand, allowing the tailbone to hang, and the body to relax -- for 20 minutes. Here's a video demonstration.

I was struck in watching the video that her dad would say that within that 20 minutes, he could feel "a war zone" under his hand with all the muscles and ligaments moving and resisting and releasing.

This is essentially what I did during the lying down meditations! Miracle cure or not, this experience has caused me to reflect on First Chakra issues.

What is the foundation of this life?

During Sesshin, after the Sacred Fool got in on my formal tea service, I observed my mind doing its reacting thing: Replaying the incident over and over, and rehearsing what I would be saying about it after Sesshin was over.

I observed this while taking a shower. Rehearse, replay, rehearse, replay. Past, future, past, future. I watched this boring ping pong game, and realized... maybe for the millionth time, maybe for the first time, maybe with my body, but really realized that None of it, NONE of it was real. I was completely missing the shower. In that moment, only my experience was what was real.

And now THIS moment of typing on a keyboard is real. This moment is the foundation of my life. Which is an ever-changing foundation that cannot be grasped. Not rooted in my job. Not rooted in my husband. Not rooted in money. Groundless.

Can I allow myself to rest here?

*Pillows all over everything I sit on throughout my house, in the car, etc. I would use the U-shaped neck pillow to sleep on, because just lying down on my back would cause the coccyx to ache. I have become masterful at sitting on one cheek. ( It made me wonder if William F. Buckley Jr. had this ailment, as he always sat way sideways in his chair, which I always thought was an effort to appear erudite. I found myself in this posture at times, completely inadvertently, and feeling anything but erudite). I acquired an orthopedic wedge cushion with a little hole in the back for my coccyx to hang out at work, and I am sure my clients think I have hemorrhoids. No zafus to meditate on anymore -- just a bench, and the narrower the better. I even had to stop wearing jeans. The thick fabric just put too much pressure on my coccyx. Unfortunately another way my body has compensated for this pain is to lean forward several extra degrees when I am sitting. While this takes weight off the tailbone, it has wreaked havoc on my neck.

**Maybe I could just be snapped in line. He's a good guy, very into kinesthesiology and I have lots of colleages who love him. He took X-rays to rule out the really scary stuff. He admitted after some months that he was completely flummoxed. He had all manner of theories for my woes. Dural torque (twisting of the membranes covering the central nervous system) was one of them that I recall. He could really crack my spine and neck. But it really did nothing for the pain. Plan B for chiropractic would be a referral for an internal adjustment of the coccyx. Think latex gloves. No, thank you.

Then I realized in a routine yearly exam that my primary care doc is a D.O. (Doctor of Osteopathy). She offered to do some osteopathic adjustments. My parents and grandparents have always sworn by osteopaths. I had never had an adjustment before.

It was very much gentler than a chiropractic adjustment. While I lay on my stomach, she kept one hand the exact zingy-est spot of the coccyx, then with her other hand and much of her weight placed on my sacrum, she would find the spot that made that pain subside. Once found, she would then apply quite a bit of pressure for 90 seconds. The theory being, that the ligaments in the sacrum area were pulling the coccyx to the side. The left side, in my case. The applied pressure was giving it slack again, allowing the coccyx to move back towards its normal position, and lo and behold, providing some temporary relief. The hope would be that with repeated adjustment, the body would remember where the coccyx was supposed to be.

Tangent:
I learned in the course of this journey into healthcare that chiropractors and osteopaths have a hillbilly grudge against each other. This ever since the osteopaths went along with the American Medical Association in the mid-1800's. The chiropractors didn't, so the AMA started calling chiropractors "quacks" until the Supreme Court made them stop in the 1970's.

Nothing against the chiropractors, but the relief was accumulating just a little bit after a few weeks of osteopathic manipulation. My D.O. taught me how to teach my husband how to do this adjustment, and insisted it was not magic. Though I still needed all my pillows everywhere, I at least felt a bit empowered to do something. Plan B for the osteopath was a series of saline solution injections called prolotherapy. No, thank you.

Taking Refuge in the Sangha Part II

The ways Sesshin has touched me continue to unfold. I notice a significant amount of anxiety dissolved (at least for now). I also notice myself allowing the Sangha to be my "supreme support". Which came first? I don't know.

I rode to Sesshin thinking about the work practice and service positions I was sure I did NOT want. Which is hilarious, because it sometimes seems like an unusual superpower of the monastery to psychically detect these kinds of aversions and then stick you with them. This week was no different. I was assigned to be the "H.O.T." or Head of Tea for the week. The H.O.T. is in charge of each evening's formal tea service that occurs right before bed, or yaza*, depending upon your individual preference.

Ceremonial Tea
Originally uploaded by Hyougushi

Formal tea is a lovely way to transition to nighttime on retreat. We keep a little cup and plate by our cushion, and bring it out for the ceremony. Then four tea servers go through the rows with trays of cookies, trying to make sure those with special needs get their special cookies, then they go through again and fill the teacups one by one. All of these interactions are punctuated by bows at the waist before and after. It's lovely, but can be a little nerve-racking for the servers, maneuvering trays and teapots with bows and getting up and down from one knee to serve, and try to do it with some grace and formality.

Even the Buddha gets served a cookie.

The H.O.T. is in charge of making sure the four tea servers have what they need to serve the people in the Zendo their tea and cookie. The H.O.T. has to leave the Zendo at the beginning of the second-to-last sitting period, during kinhin (walking meditation) to start the water boiling in the kitchen, then return to the Zendo, only to leave again at the "wiggle bell" which indicates the start of the very last period of the evening to go and make the tea, fill the kettles, and bring all of it on a cart -- the kettles and cookie trays-- to the hallway outside the Zendo. The cart may squeak or the kettles may rattle a little, and let me tell you, when you've been meditating all day long, you are seriously listening for that cart at the end of the night.

I have been a tea server, but never the H.O.T. One of the residents was assigned as a tea server, and he was able to help me get a sense of what the preparations entailed, and help the servers get ready, instructing them in bows, and the order of things.

Zen Clown
Originally uploaded by AlongtheTrailPhoto

I have mentioned before that Sesshin is a lot like the movie Groundhog Day. It is the same schedule every day, so if you mess up somewhere, don't worry: You'll have a chance to do it all over again tomorrow. In this way, I tend to have a sense of being refined through the week.

So somewhere in the middle of the week, we had an odd period towards the end of the night. I had started the water boiling in the kitchen, and returned, sitting in a very lethargic and dreamy way, struggling mightily with drowsiness. Chozen then suggested we lie down and do Mu chanting**. So we did. And I was so relieved. My body and mind were so tired, and I love Mu chanting.

So there I am, Mu-ing my heart out, then the period is over, and I am off to make the tea. Then I notice my servers alongside me going towards the kitchen.

pure of heart
Originally uploaded by blishlet

"What are you doing here?" I whispered.

"It's formal tea."

"DT didn't say 'Formal tea,' did he?"

"Yeah. 'Formal tea'."

Oh, no. I had mu'ed through the last period, when I should have been making tea and delivering the cart to the hallway! We are supposed to be serving right now!

I would love to say that this was a time when I responded with the equanimity and the fruit of practice. Not quite. I was actually a bit panicky: As Head of Tea, I actually forgot to make the tea. We at least had boiling water, and thank goodness I had already arranged the cookies on the trays. One of my tea servers, Mia, cut right through it all and said, "Let's just make tea!" So we did. We made some weak tea on the stove, poured it into the kettles, and all four of my servers very quickly delivered some part of it to the hallway.

We arrived in time to hear Chozen telling the assembly one of her best reminders: "There is no waiting in Zen." I was later told that when she realized what was going on, and we were in the kitchen, she instructed the Zendo to send all of us Metta; that we might be free from anxiety.

And I think to some degree it was effective. Time was, this would have taken me out. I would have cried, and had difficulty recovering. Instead, I sheepishly served Buddha his cookie, the tea was served through the Zendo, and the humor of the situation was actually not lost on me.

The Sacred Fool strikes again.

Kwan-yin
Originally uploaded by Lonefay

To my credit, I found out later that the wiggle bell had not actually been rung, so I didn't have my usual cue. But the point, really, was that in that silly situation of tripping up and falling down, I was caught and held in at least eight of the thousand arms of Avalokiteshvara as embodied by my tea servers, and the rest of the arms of the sesshin participants, for whom this situation certainly did not loom as large as it did for me. The Sangha was, of course, understanding, mildly bemused, patient, and sweet.

"Yaza" just means late night sitting. It's completely optional. But many people find that there is a lot of energy available at Sesshin, and a need for a lot less sleep than before. The first time I experienced that, I actually wondered if I was having a manic episode. Even though I am not a person with bipolar disorder. Because I am usually such an early-to-bed girl, and I usually really need my eight hours. To have been up at 3:50am for a few mornings, a busy day all day every day, bedtime at about 9:30pm if not later, and then finding myself sitting in bed staring at ceiling tiles, humming with energy and just feeling the sheer lightness of being??? Well that was new. I like to say that in the world we are battery-operated, and at Sesshin we run down our charge, then plug into the wall. It's just a larger, more stable energy source. Chozen says when we are finding it hard to sleep at Sesshin like that, we should just get up and sit. That's "yaza".

**"Mu chanting" is what it sounds like. If you've ever been to a yoga class, it's like when everybody sounds the syllable "om." The whole room engages in this toning exercise for quite some time, and collectively creates an amazing sound. It is helpful with getting good, deep breath, and very energizing. Mu means "nothing" and is central to a famous Zen koan.

Taking Refuge in the Sangha Part I

My intention has been to be motivated by love and not fear.

I don't know for sure, but I suspect that Zen practice is slowly dissolving the anxiety that has been the glue holding my life together. I have called upon the Sacred Fool archetype to help me relax into this life, take things a bit less seriously. To open to play and love and this moment. I am trying to juggle, and naturally 'dropping the ball' quite a lot lately.

Now, even though I was the one who invited the Sacred Fool into my life to help me cultivate this fearlessness, he/she has plopped down and decided to stay a while. I guess I am not sure what I thought it would be like, but I have forgotten, or missed, or rescheduled quite a few events and responsibilities of late. I have been feeling... "spacey". And that's not a common experience for me. Me, who likes to have as much of her shit together as possible, Miss Five-Minutes-Early-for Everything... well, it's not so fun sometimes.

Slight tangent:

I especially felt spacey after I went to an intensive hip-opening yoga workshop a few weeks ago. Which was weird. I have in the past felt angry the day after some hip-opening poses. At least that made sense to me; that it is likely where anger goes when it gets stuffed down. So I had to check the papers that the teacher gave us to take home after the workshop. One was a list of emotional reactions we might have during or after the workshop. And sure enough, spacey was the last one. Weird. I can't figure that one out. It's just so not how my ego cares to define itself. Hip-openers are supposed to be all grounding, right? First Chakra energy and all that. Did I happen to mention I've had chronic tailbone pain for about a year? First Chakra indeed. More on that in a future post.
Anyway, the spaciness hadn't reached the point of a discernible pattern, though. Or at least nothing major had been dropped until right before Sesshin, I got a call from a very dear Dharma-sister, who wondered why my letter of recommendation for her scholarship application had not been submitted in time for the deadline, and therefore her entire application for the scholarship would be thrown out.

It was like a sharp and aching pain, a heaviness and a burning that I could only just hold and accept responsibility for and write the letter and submit it anyway pleading with the people for leniency in their policy, which I knew they could not change, and continue to hold the feelings even though it made my body want to writhe around on the floor.

Then a few hours later, I went to her birthday party.

I think this qualifies as exposure therapy. I did not want to go. I did not feel worthy of going. But the relationship is very important to me, so I went (we talked about it on the phone prior, and she did say I still should come), and it was ok. Then we drove up to Sesshin together. We talked about it a little on the way, I was able to talk about how I truly thought the deadline was Wednesday not Saturday, the truth of my intentions, and how mistakes can have small or large consequences. We agreed it was just hard, that we both really care about each other, and there were still some feelings of disappointment, anger, regret, etc, along with the love and everything else. And then we were seated right next to each other in the Zendo for the whole retreat. And we also dormed together. In silence. All week.
Zen is not about avoidance.

Every morning the day begins with the 3:50 am wake up bell, and then we are in the Zendo by 4:30 am joining each other in brisk walking meditation. Then, from the Korean Zen tradition, we do 36 bows -- full body prostrations -- to the Bodhisattva of Compassion, very loudly saying "Kwanzeon Bo Sa!" at each bow.
This very physical act works up heat enough to keep me warm in a chilly Zendo for about two sitting periods before I need a blanket or anything. It is invigorating and enlivening, and I treasure this practice, having experienced previous Sesshin without it, in which I would totter into the Zendo and immediately begin to sit melting into the cushion, still in the night's dreams and certain there's been a big mistake: We were all really supposed to be back in bed.

On the first morning, Chozen suggested we use the bows as an opportunity to express atonement for things we may have done to inadvertently harm someone. I felt like just turning myself 90 degrees to do my bows, because there she was, that someone. I was very grateful for the opportunity to at least be able to do something. And so I made an offering of 108 bows. That felt right. Because I knew it would be overkill to dwell on it for the whole retreat.
The Sesshin was about Metta, or LovingKindness.
And the first days we spent focusing Metta only on ourselves.

May I be free from fear and anxiety.
May I be at ease.
May I be happy.

Perfect. Because my Inner Critic would have loved to take this error and bludgeon me with it for the rest of my life. In the container of retreat, and an intense field of Metta, I was able to examine that sacred middle ground between shaming and deflecting. Even on the drive to Sesshin, we talked about how humbling this has been, and how it opens up such compassion for all who make mistakes -- something I would tend not to like to look at in myself, and so how could I have much room for it in others?

It's one thing to talk about it, and yet another to really just sit with it.

My dear friend Rebecca wisely pointed out to me on the phone after retreat that mistakes allow us to experience love and connection and relationship with others that is not predicated on what we do, but just who we are. That we can forget people's birthday, and yep, they still love us anyway.

Mistakes plunge us into the pool with the rest of humanity.

Mistakes allow us to let others help us and offer compassion to us.

The Sacred Fool loves mistakes.