Rumi: What Was Said to the Rose

What was said to the rose to make it open. Rumi

Remember, the entrance door to the sanctuary is inside you.
-- Rumi

What was said to the rose that made it open

was said to me here in my chest.

8/17/2017 -- Rumi's words this morning drew me into creating this image and contemplating the unending beauty that flows through the universe. It's an easy thing to forget in these days of turbulence.

Today's guidance from The Rumi Card Book:

Reward Card -- Eat on and on, you lovers, at Eternity's table; its feast is forever; and spread out for you.  Prosperity of all kinds is now open to you.

Category explanation from the book: The divine Love that urges our journey ever onward also constantly and lavishly rewards us for every sacrifice we make and every action of true generosity that we undertake.  When the eyes of Love really open in us, we see that life is an unbroken stream of ordinary miracles and that just to be alive is a matchless reward.

8/8/2018 -- What an interesting world. Eryk Hanut, author of The Rumi Card Book, and I have become friends on Facebook, where I learned what an absolutely amazing person he is. His Rumi deck is so important to me that it's one of the few things I brought to México with me.

It is available at amazon.com.





What Was Said to the Rose

What was said to the rose that made it open
was said to me here in my chest.

What was told the Cypress that made it strong
and straight, what was

whispered the jasmine so it is what it is, whatever made
sugarcane sweet, whatever

was said to the inhabitants of the town of Chigil in
Turkestan that makes them

so handsome, whatever lets the pomegranate flower blush
like a human face, that is

being said to me now. I blush. Whatever put eloquence in
language, that's happening here.

The great warehouse doors open; I fill with gratitude,
chewing a piece of sugarcane,

in love with the one to whom every that belongs!

Poem by Jalaluddin Rumi

More about Coleman Barks:   


translation ©2005 — Coleman Barks

Love letters to my life #1: A new venture

Tree of Life

This is the first in, hopefully, a long series of love letters to my life, to be written on the 17th day of each month remaining to me. The thought that I might not be here to write the next one, prompts me to express my appreciation for every tiny moment, all the joyous occasions, and each heart-wrenching setback that has landed me in this particular moment of birdsong and unfolding new directions.

I am one of the lucky ones. Here in this moment, in the early days of my eighth decade, I am free, healthy, engaged with beauty and expression, rich in friendships and community,  exploring a new culture, learning a new language, watching, sometimes with astonishment, as each new page turns, revealing bits and pieces of the world and myself that I never knew existed.

Understanding the infinite immensity of all that surrounds me, I rest in the awareness that revelation will continue as long as I breathe. After that, who knows?

Neill James, photo and article

Today, I thank all the forces that brought me to a new landscape ... Mexico … and invited me into the unique culture of Ajijic, a small village guarded by two distinct feminine spirits … Teomichicihualli, goddess, fish-princess of Lake Chapala, and Neill James, an adventuress, travel-writer from the United States, who settled in Ajijic in 1943 and proceeded to do the work that called her … perhaps as an incarnation of Teomichicihualli herself. (For more about these spirits, read here.)

Artist: Jesús López Vega

Each of us writes, and lives, a story about our lives. It’s
never a true story, but it’s a handy one that provides a lot of justification for the choices we make and explanations for what befalls us. My story was simple … I was an only child, separate and alone, childless and unmothered, rolling through life free and independent. I could make all the details of my life fit that story. It was a story that didn’t allow space for community as I rolled from one place to the next, even though I frequently proclaimed my desire to find connection and community.

When the rolling stone of my life plopped me down beside the largest lake in Mexico, something changed. Life took me out of my rolling, 60 mph life and said: Walk! And, while walking through the streets and along the shores of the lake, community sneaked up on me. I fell in love with this odd blend of immigrants and indigenous, Spanish and English, wealth and poverty, raucous noise and generous souls. It’s like I have been touched by both Teomichicihualli and Neill James.

Many years ago, in the throes of an entrepreneurial moment, a friend and I started a small gallery of art and crafts. It was a joyous adventure and we created a luminous, creative offering for the community. It lasted three months and, when it failed, it broke my heart … and the friendship. I swore I’d never take a risk like that again. 

Never say never.

Tiny gallery to be on Colón

A new friend and I just signed a lease for a new gallery here in Ajijic … Galería del Futuro.  Steve and I are both digital artists and had been talking about finding a place to show our work. When the right place at the right price showed up, we started talking seriously about the possibility. Shadows from the old venture wafted through the air and I outlined all the reasons I didn’t want to be part of it. I didn’t want to be tied down to a retail store; no one was going to buy our work anyway, it would be a waste of money … amazingly negative talk from someone who believes in positive thinking and benevolent self-talk. 

What it might look like after painting.

However, as we continued to discuss the possibility, a new thread appeared … we could help young, local artists by showing their work also. Suddenly, passion was ignited as the whole project took on a different aspect. We both recognized our deep interest in supporting young artists … a kind of support we had never experienced ourselves. This possibility also linked us to a project some established artists here were working on to try to support promising young, local artists in their artistic development. We began to see this new gallery possibility not as just a commercial venture that might succeed or fail, but as a connection to the community, an investment in the future, a legacy.

As always when a new venture begins, we do not know whether it will succeed or fail. However, I do know that this is now part of my journey, a new piece of me being opened to life and the connection of everything. 

I am so grateful for my life and all the wonderful experiences coming my way.

When preconceived notions explode

I confess. For thirty-some-odd years, I loved traveling in Mexico, which I would have described as a beautiful, colorful, happy country. However, it was always the backdrop to the vacations or workshops that were the main focus of my attention. I loved the food, the music, the laid-back, anything-goes feeling. The people I met during these trips were mainly waiters, hotel workers, or kind strangers who dug us out of deep sand, rescued our lost selves, or rebuilt broken car parts seemingly out of spit and sawdust. I "loved Mexico.” And, Mexicans.

It’s hard to admit how deeply into the “happy, carefree Mexican” stereotype I was. I knew Mexico's history was traumatic and that poverty was widespread, but I didn’t have an inkling of how narrow my understanding was until a few years ago when I was in San Cristóbal de las Casas. It was September, 2014, and I was walking through the Cathedral plaza, loud speakers blaring words I didn’t understand and a gathering crowd of a thousand or more. I had no idea what was going on. However, as I moved through the crowds, I was suddenly hit with a feeling of overwhelming sadness.

The feeling was so strong I started looking around, trying to figure out what was happening. I noticed large photos of young men on the ground, arranged like a quilt. Children were placing flowers and candles on the photos. Something was terribly wrong. I finally found a woman who could explain that 43 students had recently been kidnapped and no one knew if they were dead or alive.*

Over the next few months, I wound up in several demonstrations about “the 43,” talked about it as much as possible with the Mexican husband of a friend, and read all I could. Mexico's history … and it’s present … opened up a sliver of understanding about this incredible country, traumatized for at least 400 years, and the complex culture of generosity in the face of poverty, kindness to strangers while trusting only family, open skepticism of government, and defiant celebration of life and joy in a world that mainly offered pain, suffering and death.

Where moments of life and joy are restricted,

Music, dance, food and festivals enhance those precious moments.

Slowly, it becomes more clear why family is everything in Mexico. For centuries, family has been the heart of the culture while trauma, abuse and death have been constant external forces. It is no wonder why music, dancing, food and festivals are such a huge part of this culture. My view on this is that the Mexican people have never been able to take life or joy for granted, so they celebrate as often as possible.

Gradually, as I explore the country, less as a vacationer and more as someone trying to understand this intriguing and confusing culture, I keep running into the deep vein of abuse of wealth over poverty. Mexico is a rich country and from the first days of the early 1500’s, Spain exploited the wealth of Mexico, stripping gold and silver from its hills and life from the miners who brought it up from the depth.

Zacatecas Cathedral

Concentrated wealth 

is generated 

by widespread poverty.

The Zacatecas Cathedral (Cathedral of Our Lady of the Assumption of Zacatecas) is one of the most beautiful in the world The ornately carved, Baroque style is termed Churrigueresque, named for its architect and sculptor Jose Benito de Churriguera (1650-1725). 

This style is kindly called “lavish” and not-so-kindly described as "over-the-top.” Many references state that the building of the Cathedral was funded by and built as a temple worthy of the "aristocrats of silver."

Model of mine worker

After touring Mina El Eden where we learned that miners never saw the light of day as they worked 16 hours a day for barely enough to eat, went to work when they were 8, and died at the rate of 9 or 10 a day, it is clear that it was the miners and their families who built that cathedral. I have seen no sign that their contribution to it is honored.

Slowly, it becomes more clear why family is everything in Mexico. For centuries, family has been the heart of the culture while trauma, abuse and death have been constant external forces. It is no wonder why music, dancing, food and festivals are such a huge part of this culture. My view on this is that they’ve never been able to take life or joy for granted so they celebrate as often as possible.

My stereotypes go even deeper

However, my stereotypical view of Mexicans went even deeper than not understanding their relationship to authority, both church and state, and their culture of celebration which results in loud, exuberant music, startling rockets and firecrackers, and a deep acceptance of middle-of-the-night crowing roosters and barking dogs. My view of their art has always focused on Frida Kahlo, the muralists Rivera, Orozco, and Siqueiros, and the vibrantly exciting street art and murals found in many of the cities I’ve visited.

Pedro Coronel - Wikipedia

That preconception was blown apart by visiting Pedro Coronel’s museum in Zacatecas. Housed in a Jesuit convent built in the early 1600s, it was used as a college, hospital, barracks, and prison before being converted in 1983 to a museum to exhibit the art collection of painter and sculptor, Pedro Coronel, who apparently bartered his own paintings to build his extensive collection and said, "Pedro Coronel said: "Little by little I was acquiring the pieces that had the most meaning for me and I formed my own idea of beauty.”

Walking through the mind of a genius.

I’ve visited many great art museums but this one knocked me sidewise because it was like walking through the mind of a genius. One man with an artistic scope that ranged from ancient Mexico, Japan, Greece, and Africa to dozens of modern artists such as Goya, Miro, Picasso, Chagall, Giacometti and dozens of others. 

Standing posters share his thoughts about art, beauty, psychology. As I walked deeper and deeper into this tangible brain, I felt my perceptions sputtering like sparklers at the end of their lives. I had expected so little and was being flooded by so much. Suddenly I recognized that my perceptions of Mexican art and artists had been blown to bits. 

Whoever Pedro Coronel was, his vision, curiosity, and talent were immense. I wanted to know more and immediately made arrangements to come back in a month for permitted study, which will allow me to take pictures and document more of Pedro Coronel’s art and thoughts. 

More of his paintings here.

* Postscript: The story of "the 43" that slowly came out was that a woman with connections to a cartel and political ambitions had had the students kidnapped because they threatened to disrupt a political speech she was planning to make. The government investigation released a report that did not jive with the investigations of others.

On June 5, 2018, The New York Times reported: A federal court in Mexico ordered the government on Monday to investigate the 2014 disappearances of 43 college students again, but this time under the supervision of a truth commission to be led by the nation’s top human rights body and parents of the victims.

When the Universe weaves threads together and makes us wonder.

Huichol Art from Museo Zacatecano

This incredible piece of art stopped me in my tracks while touring the extensive Huichol exhibit at the Museo Zacatecano. It stopped me, not only because it is stunning, but because I had seen it before ... not only had I seen it, I had bought it ... for my couch ... and my new yoga bag.

When I first moved to Ajijic, I lived in a lovely small apartment that had recently been remodeled and was basically colorless. The couch was solid gray so I went to Alejandra, a local woman who makes amazing things, to see if I could get my couch cushions recovered. When I walked into her tienda, I was immediately captivated by a colorful, surrealistic material and wound up with this couch.

When I moved, I couldn't take the cushions with me because they belonged to the couch which wasn't mine. Those cushions were one of the few things I missed from that apartment, so I went back to Alejandra and had her make me a yoga bag from that material!

Things like this make me smile. It's obvious that I have a connection to this colorful material, but I had no idea it was anything other than a colorful design. Now I feel a call to find out more about this piece of art and delve deeper into the Huichol culture.

Into the Mystery of a New Language

Desafortunadamente. Eight syllables … des a for tu nad a men te. It’s like champagne bubbles on your tongue … all fizzing together to mean unfortunately.

Words like desafortunadamente thrill me … even when they make me feel like I’m reciting the Gettysburg Address in a normal conversation. Will the listener pay attention long enough for me to get to the finish line of this one word? Plus, that marathon word drains all the thoughts that were supposed to follow it. Unfortunately, … uh … what? Oops, it’s gone.

Studying Spanish is fun, frustrating, exciting, rewarding, humbling, exhausting and exhilarating all at the same time. Interestingly, I’m also learning more about English … and forgetting how to spell … especially all those words with double letters since Spanish seldom uses them … except for “ll” which used to be considered a separate letter, now it's just a letter combination pronounced like  “y."

Sun and Moon

There are many words in Spanish that are beautiful … to my ear and my tongue. Here are just a few ... the accents are important and marked with ( ) and (i) is pronounced as a long (e) … 

al (men) dra … almond 

seren (i) dad … serenity

(jun) tos … together ... j sounds like h ... (hun) tos

fan ta (sí) a … doesn’t that sound much more alluring than “fantasy”

o ja (lá) … hopefully or “God willing!”

man da (ri) na … mandarin orange

zan a hor (i) a … isn’t that better than carrot?

(al) ma … soul

Mi alma shouts ojalá when I have a fantasía about eating una mandarina with almendras. Try it. It’s like face yoga. 

Learning a different language seems to be changing the way I think. The difference between “I like to read” and “Me gusta leer” is subtle but intriguing. “I like to read” is a closed statement, a fact, a period. If there is a follow up question, it would probably be, “What do you like to read?"

“Me gusta leer" means that reading is pleasing to me. It’s more of an open statement, with a comma, inviting a different conversation … “Why does it please you?”

Me gusta esta nueva idioma. I like learning this new language for many reasons … I like the sounds, I like the feeling of having my brain tangled as I search for words and phrases, I like seeing the veil thin between me and the thoughts and words of others. 

 

house

 

 

Me gusta la sensación de ser una principiante. I like the feeling of being a beginner, of having beginner’s mind. Especially at this stage of life when so much is already done, known, or experienced, learning a new language opens up nooks and crannies in my mind that I didn’t know existed. 

 

It's the "thin thighs in thirty days" thing.

 

Ojalá, tengo sufficiente tiempo y energía para continuar.  I hope I have enough time and energy to continue. When I began this language journey, I had a goal. Somewhat like “thin thighs in thirty days,” I wanted to “be fluent as soon as possible.” 

I now know I will never be fluent in the sense of being a native Spanish speaker. However, I intend to become functional. I want to be able to have conversations in Spanish. I long to be able to hear stories from people who have lived completely different lives and who see the world in ways I’ve never experienced. 

Desafortunadamente, I started late on this journey.

Fortunadamente, all the time I have is mine to spend as I wish. 

 

What a gift! 

¡Qué un regalo!

 

 

Who says you can't be a TEN?

Egret Couple

A few months ago, a friend and I were talking about life and she shared her journey with depression. The past several years have sent many losses her way and she was finding herself sinking deeper into depression. Being the inspired, creative person she is, she created a mood chart and began to monitor her moods with the idea of seeing what she could do to raise her spirits. 

She created a 1 to 10 chart, with 1 being suicidal and 10 being euphoric. She explained how monitoring the chart had helped her recognize several actions that could raise her mood at least twenty percent, but that she was still seldom able to rise above a 7 until a doctor helped her find a prescription that made it easier for her to function at a higher level. 

The "privilege" of disposition

I was shocked by her story. She is one of the most positive, upbeat, creative women I’ve met recently and I had no sense of her struggle. It made me realize one form of privilege we seldom recognize could be labeled “positivity.” I have no doubt my optimistic, positive disposition is as much genetic as it is learned, perhaps more so. My husband, who dealt with depression his entire life, once told me on a good day, he was normally a 7. For me, 7 is a so-so day.

Since everyone has ups and downs, I decided I wanted to monitor my moods and needed to create a chart that more closely matched my fluctuations. While my lows would never be deemed suicidal, I have noticed more “blah” days in the past few years. Moving into this third stage of life where the normal expectations of careers, success, responsibilities, and so on, have been altered if not altogether suspended, it seems critical to re-calibrate our lives. I want to make sure I know what tools I have for operating at a maximal level of joy and appreciation.  

The upper end of my scale represented "perfection" ... magnetic, ecstatic, powerful. In other words: hubris, tempting the gods, too good to be true, unattainable.

NOTE: If you decide to try this action, you’ll most likely want to create your own chart and action list. If you want to see mine, send me an email or a  PM on Facebook.

This morning’s “Aha!” ... Fetters and Tens

LA133 in San Antonio Tlayacapan

The past two days have been relatively low energy … for reasons I haven’t completely identified yet. I didn’t sleep well last night (one lonely, very expressive dog wanted someone to talk to), so I woke up a bit out of sorts, just wanting to hug my bed. Definitely in the 7 range.

However, today was also housecleaning day and Marie would show up at nine so I had to tidy up and get stuff out of her way … and then go out for three hours. On my bah-humbug way out the door, I decided to at least take my camera, my journal, and my Spanish workbook. And, treat myself to a favorite breakfast with a shady tree offering me a cozy place for food and my journal. 

The past several months have blasted a hole in one of my firmly held beliefs. I am a computer person and almost can’t write long hand anymore. As much as I’ve read dozens of writers extolling the virtues of writing long hand, I refused to accept their recommendations. I’m still writing everything in Evernote. However, I started a manual journal a few months ago (thanks to the inspiration of the friend mentioned above.) 

That journal has given me two lessons so far … both of which I learned several years ago but for some reason let slip away. First, the power of printing, which I think comes from the fact that it slows me down, eliminates excess words, and remains readable later. 

And second, mind mapping … duh! It is now 28 years since my book Mindmapping was published! I used to mindmap everything. Then, something happened. I started using computer mindmapping tools and loved them so much, I seldom mindmapped on paper with colored pens. 😢 Something got lost along the way.

When I started using an antiquated journal again (read paper, pencil, glue, scissors, etc.), I felt something shift in my thinking. It’s hard to describe, but because I once wrote about this process at length, I recognize that it is opening my “right brain,” where concepts play with each other in a less rational, logical manner. 

Now, as I sit with a fresh mindmap in front of me, sometimes there is just a void, a waiting, an acceptance of whatever wants to show up. And, because I’ve walked through this territory before, I know something will show up and my job will be to just play with it and allow it to attract whatever playmates it wants. 

Unfettered by Joyce Wycoff

This morning was typical. I’ve been thinking about the word “unfettered,” stimulated by the image above, and started to map it. 

First the definition and rational thinking ... what I used to call “cliche thinking” ... showed up as it almost always does. However, as I sat in that quiet, shady place with nothing in front of me except paper, pen … and a very good breakfast … other thoughts slowly climbed onto the page. When the words “no more fetters” showed up, it made me smile and started a small avalanche of thoughts.

By the time breakfast was finished, I knew I had been taken on a journey that would not have occurred had I stayed in my house, on my computer, doing what I thought I was supposed to do today. I don't know how much further this thought process will take me, but I expect to have things continue to show up.

After breakfast, I went to explore more of my new neighborhood and heard an odd, somewhat harsh, repetitive bird sound. I finally saw several egrets in a tall tree and found the source of the sound … a pair, apparently in mating mode. The opening picture shows the two egrets and a bit of the lime color that shows up on their faces during mating season. I hope I can continue to monitor the process of this couple.

And, finally, I wound up at the only air-conditioned coffee shop near me and studied my Spanish. I think I made a breakthrough on direct and indirect pronouns. Sounds pretty basic … and it is … but it has been giving me fits.

On the way home, I was thinking about what a great day this has turned out to be and wondered what rating I would give it. I was playing with 9.5 because, obviously, nothing is perfect, so it couldn’t be a 10.

All of a sudden, I was almost slapped in the face by a mass of yellow flowers as I walked under a small tree. It was almost like the Universe said, “Oh, yeah? Well try this on for perfect!” 

I had to admit it was one of the most spectacularly beautiful small trees I’ve ever seen.** Which made me think, “Of course this moment can be a 10! Who says it’s not perfect?”

So, I continued on my way, collecting beauty, feeling absolutely, totally perfect. 

** Thanks to a friend, this tree was identified as: Golden-chain tree is a stunning, small tree noted for its long, pendulous clusters of flowers.

The dance of grief and joy

What a complex journey life is. This week I lost one of my life’s companions. Ours was a karmically  complicated relationship that stretched from infancy to just a few years ago when it stalled. However, it had stalled and restarted often as our paths wove in and out of each other’s lives. 

There was always Gary. The thought that he’s gone leaves a hole that can’t be filled and me trying to deal with grief, sadness, frustration and anger.

After a sleepless night and a depleted day, I headed for the lake. It was one of those subdued sunsets, dark clouds blocking the gaudier colors allowing only hints of pinks to play across the blue water. Most of the snowbirds are gone leaving only a few locals walking to the lakeside soundtrack of Zumba dancers, tidbits of cell phone conversations, and wheels grinding through the curves of the dips and walls of the skateboard park. 

 

Life continuing.

A splash caught my attention as a dog swam toward a tossed stick, proudly carrying it back and rolling on it to make it his. As I watched the dog and the shifting colors and patterns in the water and clouds, a feeling of incredible joy swept over me. 

I was alive, walking in the natural beauty of this moment in time. Capturing flashes of it with my camera. I am overwhelmingly grateful for the ability to feel joy and blessed to have so much of it in my life. 

As this wave of joy crested, the heavy feeling in my chest began to return. Joy was something I seldom saw in Gary’s life. Somehow wounded early in life, he resisted the people who cared about him, apparently feeling unworthy of their love. I feel sad and angry because he missed so much of what was set before him. And then I have to wonder how much I, too, resist.

Gary died in his sleep a month before his 73rd birthday, alone by choice. I want to scream at him, shake him into waking up to what the world offered him. And, then I just have to remind myself to open up to and share the joy and love the world offers me. 

Maybe that’s his last gift to me. I may not hear his voice again, but I will look at every sunset and feel joy for both of us. 

Rest in peace, Gary.