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ast night I had a classic dream: I was attending a wedding and was sitting with a fellow guest when I felt myself crunch down on something unpleasant, like glass (though it didn't cut me). From that point on I kept spitting out pieces of metal and slivers of tooth. At one point I spit into a basket, and all manner of things came out, like soda can tabs and teeth and other bits of metal all mixed together. Finally I found a dentist who was also a guest and showed him the damage, and I could feel whole sections of my mouth where teeth were missing or broken off.

The traditional interpretations are concern with appearance, feeling unheard, or even a need to employ caution with words. All three have some relevance, but I don't like to interpret my dreams too literally. Instead I'll just file this one away, like a piece of code I think might be useful later, but isn't important to dissect just now.

Posted by Satya at 9:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

y copy of Mastery arrived in the mail yesterday, and I'm looking forward to digging in. Also arriving in the mail yesterday was my first matching bra and panty set in I can't remember how long. The art of wearing matching bras and panties is indeed something I am trying to master, so I'm off to a good start. (Don't scoff, gentlemen - it's much more difficult than it seems.)

What I'm most in need of mastering, though, is my tendency to procrastinate. I'm normally pretty good at turning work around on time, but lately I've been putting it off and making myself miserable with the stress. I'm getting tense and worried over deadlines, yet I seem to not be able to resist finding out why Axl Rose was jailed in Stockholm. Okay, that story was kind of worth it, but still.

Sometimes I feel that whether or not I sit down to work is beyond my control. I can check in with myself and observe the level of readiness to get down to business, and I can feel it coming on when I'm about to be productive. Unfortunately until that feeling becomes strong enough to act, I don't know what to do but procrastinate in the meantime. I'd like to discover the ability to turn on the feeling of productivity at will, so that it doesn't feel like I'm disciplining a little kid when I need to start working, but that I'm ready to bring my full attention to a task willingly, as a mature adult. I'll let you know how it goes.

Posted by Satya at 11:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

o I asked M. what he thought about the hotness issue. His reply was somewhat long and involved a donkey, a gourd, and a couple other characters, but I think I got the gist of it. Essentially he works it out by striving to be cool not for the benefit of his own ego, but because he has a higher ideal of cool that cannot really exist, or rather, its existence is beside the point. I know, it's confusing, but suffice it to say it was enough of an answer to give me more to think about. With any such question, I always have intuitive knowledge of the answer, but it takes some nudging and exploring before the answer bubbles up to my consciousness enough for me to articulate it.

Anyway, yesterday I attended a memorial service in Golden Gate Park for someone I didn't know. I met him once but never really got a sense of him, but he was in my peripheral community and M. knew him, so we went. It's interesting to get to know someone by what people say about them when they're dead, and by who shows up. Afterwards M. and I talked about what we would want at our own funeral services. I had thought about it before because we studied death in Suluk earlier this year and did several exercises in preparation for death.

I don't have too much preference for my funeral except I want it to be very normal and not at all cheezy. I do not want people to share their feelings - just a couple statements from my family and my best friend, and some nice flowers (a current favorite is alstroemeria), and I know what I want to be wearing. Then I want to be cremated and I think it would be nice to hang out on a mantle somewhere in a little pot, still a part of someone's family life, to be dusted weekly or as needed.

Isn't it strange to think of death as something each of us will experience? It's scary for a multitude of reasons, but I think the worst part in thinking about it is that I always get anxious when I do something for the first time, and it's not an easy thing to practice (though not impossible, according to the Sufis). I suppose that's why getting used to the idea is important.

Posted by Satya at 8:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

oing on the premise that Sufism is all-consuming and one never has a moment that has no relationship with God, I have a conundrum from time to time when something feels particularly unholy. Even more so when that feeling is pleasurable.

For example: the desire to be desired. I'm twenty-eight and I don't like the idea of succumbing to a future of being shapeless and sexless. This was most apparent when we did an exercise last year trying on a number of different qualities, with "sexy" being one of them. As we discussed our experience in small groups, the word "sexy" rang out again and again through the room, as everyone honed in on it. Most of the people in Suluk are older than I am (there are a few of us under 35) and it seemed to the next generation up that "sexy" was quite a revelation.

I don't want it to be a revelation. Lord, I don't want to wear baggy elastic-waist pants. I want to send out a tiny waft of French perfume when someone leans in close. I want to look good coming and I want to look good going. And hey, a catcall once in awhile isn't necessarily unwelcome. Though for the record, I do have a boyfriend.

So how is this spiritual? I have no idea. Wanting to be desirable seems like the complete antithesis of training the ego to be so small and humble that eventually it dissolves into oneness with God. Where is the oneness in having a secret fantasy of strutting into the club like Madonna and busting a move with some shirtless young thang? (Maybe I should ask her - I hear she's into Kabbalah.) Sure, one can make weak attestments to the divine qualities of beauty, but is there a divine quality of hotness? If anyone has any ideas, I'm all ears.

Posted by Satya at 8:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

orning is my favorite time. My window overlooks a schoolyard, and each weekday the children are dropped off, awkwardly slinging their packs and chattering as one chorus. In the morning they haven't yet received the bad grade, or been disappointed by a friend.

And as for me, I haven't yet left obligations unfulfilled, or wasted (too much) time, or failed to vacuum the crumbs in the living room yet again. By afternoon these things begin to become apparent, and as darkness surrounds my apartment and I fix something from the freezer for dinner because I have yet again not done the shopping, it is harder and harder to make amends and easier and easier to leave it for the next morning.

The good news is that there always is one. And I will wake and shower and pour a fresh cup of coffee with renewed optimism, every time. Today will be the day I get all my work done, and tonight I will look around with amazement at all I have accomplished and revel in the luxurious moments of not having to do anything or be anywhere, just enjoy a long stretch of freedom from obligations. Today will be the day. Maybe.

Posted by Satya at 9:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

y family is really close. I have an older brother, Afsal, with whom I live, and our parents live across the Bay about thirty minutes away. Yesterday we all got together for Father's Day at their house. When we hang out together we do really domestic things: read the paper, take the dog for a walk, eat dinner. It feels good.

After dinner we watched a bit of this documentary called Sunseed, which Afsal had procured recently at Suluk (he's also in the program, in the class that started a year after mine). It was made in I believe the early seventies, and contains interviews and clips with a number of spiritual leaders at the time, from gurus in India to our own Pir Vilayat. We got to see some of the people we know well now at the time when they were our age, full of idealism and...well...grooviness.

My parents scoff a bit now at their fanaticism and naivete, and I can see that, but at the same time it's heartwarming to see a group of twentysomethings throw themselves wholeheartedly into their beliefs with no cynicism or disillusionment, just pure good intent. I'm not sure that could ever happen again, nor am I sure I would want that, but it's something. Perhaps it was their very idealism that caused them pain later on when inevitably the challenges of maintaining a spiritual organization conflicted with their spiritual ideal. And perhaps my generation has learned this lesson too well, guarding our faith and optimism carefully, afraid of disappointment.

Over dinner we had been talking about what it was like for my parents to give birth and raise children in the midst of a bustling Sufi commune. My mother shrugged and said, "We sincerely believed that as long as we were spiritual, everything would be okay."

My father added, "And it was."

Posted by Satya at 8:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

astery is a theme that we'll be working with a lot in our class. Hazrat Inayat Khan (also known as Murshid) wrote a volume on the topic that's assigned reading over the summer, and though I've looked through it before, I'm looking forward to reading it in depth. I really really like the concept of mastery. I also love the feeling of being productive, which mastery and its associated tasks provides.

One of the biggest barriers to mastery for me has been my perfectionism. I often give up on something I've endeavored to master because I feel frustrated with my own inadequacy. For example, I've been trying to memorize a text for some time now and have started over about six or seven times in the course of one year. I keep losing the momentum and forgetting what I've done so far, and it's annoying and somewhat painful to keep coming up against my imperfection. It makes it hard to remember that the reason I want to master certain things is because I love them.

It helps me to look around and see who the modern-day masters are, for inspiration. And one of my favorites is a jovial midwestern woman who calls herself Flylady. Sure, she'll try to sell you a feather duster and a calendar, but you can also join her email list for free and get loving reminders such as, "Where is your laundry?" and "What's for dinner?". She is a master of the household, which is no easy thing, but moreover, she is anti-perfectionism.

No matter how filthy your domain, she tells you to jump right in and clean for fifteen minutes. That's it. No excuses, no perfectionism, just fifteen minutes. One can also babystep one's way into her cleaning routine, or explore the nuances of a shiny kitchen sink. But those fifteen minutes beyond judgement are the key. It gets me over the hump of never being good enough and into the realm of action, and I'm able to joyfully hack away at my task, imperfect though I may be, because doing something badly is better than wallowing in the thought that I'll never do it well enough.

I'll have more to say about mastery, I'm sure, but in the meantime I'm curious: what is it that you want to master?

Posted by Satya at 11:11 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

oday is the second Urs of Pir Vilayat Inayat Khan, who led the Sufi Order International for many years and is dearly beloved by our community. There's a formal service, but I prefer to stay home and remember him in my own way. An Urs, by the way, is a kind of celebration on the day someone has died, to symbolize their union with the Beloved. It's not like, "yay, they're dead" but more an appreciation of their life - I think there is always some sadness if you knew or loved the person, but also recognition that their soul has continued on from this place to a greater (and more mysterious) existence. In India, where Pir Vilayat is buried, they will probably do a procession of the cloth (chaddar) covering his tomb from his father's tomb (dargah) to his, and say some prayers, and perhaps have some music and food.

I didn't know Pir Vilayat well personally, but he has always been a large figure in my life. He formed the spiritual community where I was born (and where Suluk is held) and was my parents' spiritual teacher, and mine as well up to a certain point. He named me (there's a funny story about that). He also initiated me into the Sufi Order when I was ready, and I attended many of his seminars and classes.

One of my favorite teachings of his that has really helped me over the years is about the past. He used to talk about riding on top of the train in India, and how that train is like our concept of time - that as it moves forward, one can never go back. Yet if you're on top of that train and you're looking down the track at where you've been, life continues on behind you. People move about. An elephant may cross the track. And similarly, one can reach back to the past to heal an old wound, or resurrect a lost friendship. Our concept of time doesn't need to limit us to feeling like nothing can be done, that it's too late. I always thought that was so beautiful.

If you'd like to read more about Pir Vilayat, here is a piece that his son and successor, Pir Zia Inayat-Khan, wrote on the occasion of his first Urs one year ago.

Posted by Satya at 10:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

reat shoes are very me. I like high heels in particular, though not when they're impractical. But in the right setting, a wedge, a stiletto, a pump are all highly satisfying. I'm tall, and with heels, I don't mind being even taller. I like sashaying down the street. I like not having to look up so much.

At the Abode, where Suluk is held, and at the homes of Sufi friends or those with Buddhist or even hippie tendencies, I often find myself at the mercy of a strictly no-shoe policy. What is the idea, really? To not track dirt in? To put us all on the same level? To show respect for a holy place?

I don't mind, really, but I seldom feel satisfied when I take my shoes off at a door. I don't feel like it makes me any more pious. I feel like it makes me less me. When I remove my shoes out of love, such as at a dargah (Sufi tomb/shrine), it's a very different feeling than removing them out of obligation (crunchy dinner party). Because with the latter, the part of myself that loves my shoes and is proud to wear them still exists when the shoes are off, and I feel incomplete without them. It's only with the former that I can freely feel flat-footed.

So when you come to my house, I want you to be you. Remove your shoes if you wish, but if you don't, bring me in some dirt and sand and mud. Bring me in some things from this earth. I want to see you fully outfitted, raised up as high as you want to be.

Posted by Satya at 10:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

meditate almost every day. There is one practice I do every day come hell or high water, but on the hell and high water days it's done hurriedly and half-assedly. The rest of my practices fall to the wayside on those days. To me there's the ideal and then there's the reality. Ideally my practices should be done after ablution, on some sort of rug, probably early in the morning before distractions start filtering in. But today my room looks like someone projectile-vomited dirty laundry everywhere, and I'm sitting there thinking about how cute my dog is.

I say, "Enh." It doesn't bother me. I've got some kind of ember that keeps burning no matter what practice I do, because that ember is the reason I do all this in the first place. Do practices help? Sure, in their subtle way, but they're part of a bigger picture. They're practice. And as one of my favorite masters, Flylady, says, "Housework done badly still blesses your family." Amen.

Posted by Satya at 9:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

've been inspired recently to change my look. I've been needing an aesthetic direction for awhile and have been highly encouraged in this endeavor by M., who himself is a master of carefully chosen apparel and accessories. Where did this impulse come from?

One of the most rewarding things we've done at Suluk is forming a relationship with a matron/patron master, saint, or prophet that inspires us and who we feel connected to (we affectionately call them MSPs). We did this in the first year and have continued to nourish that connection through attuning to our MSP with various meditation practices. My main MSP is still very strong in my life, but recently a new one has come in (I'll write about her later).

One very Sufi idea is that by concentrating on your ideal in the form of a person who represents that, you can become that ideal gradually by inviting that person more and more into your life and getting into their consciousness, lifting you out of your limited perspective. I think it's usually done with dead people, but I'm not sure on that point.

Anyway, I recently saw a photo of my new MSP and was very struck by it. Something shone out from her picture that was so appealing and attractive, in both personality and appearance. I've been thinking about her life constantly lately and dreaming about her sometimes. What would it be like to have her conviction, her courage, and her sensitivity? Furthermore, what would it be like to be aesthetically influenced by a person I actually honor and admire, rather than Jennifer Aniston and In Style magazine?

I don't know, but in a fit of hallelujah-style decluttering I went through my closet and pulled out everything I couldn't imagine her wearing, which was a lot that wasn't really me anyway. Maybe her courage and conviction will come, but in the meantime I'll take her hair, her eyebrows, and her language.

Posted by Satya at 11:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

am sitting in my best friend's living room right now, in a near-perfect quiet. It looks out over a big field that's green from the recent rain. It's been stormy all week. It's overcast right now and there's a cold wind blowing. An ill wind, I feel, though I felt that more yesterday. Yesterday I had an intuition or premonition or something. It was pretty strong and left residual feelings of unease. I don't know what to do with that - probably nothing. These things happen after ten days of meditation here together, introducing all kinds of new practices. Last year I was so ready for the session to be over and to go back home, just kind of worn out and not ready to feel anything else, yet I ended up having a total breakdown over loving God juxtaposed with loving a person, right there in front of everybody at the very end of the session. You don't know me yet but I'm pretty rational, so that kind of thing isn't a normal occurrence. But the practices we do and the intensity of the sessions stir the pot, so to speak.

We're flying back to California this afternoon and it's always strange transitioning from here to there. Suluk is held four times a year at a community in the Berkshire mountains, near the New York/Massachusetts border. It's in a small town and can feel very isolated, which is good for meditation because it fosters an atmosphere of retreat away from the world - there isn't even any cell phone reception and only two public phones. But it can also drive me crazy when I'm tired of all the healthy food and need a hamburger and some normal social interaction. So it's weird to come from this crazy place and suddenly be in an airport with tons of strangers and on a plane with cranky travellers. I wonder about who they are and what their lives are like.

And then I'm home with my boyfriend and my dog and my cozy bed, and gradually my busy life takes over and whatever worlds were open close back up. That can be a good thing sometimes. I think with meditation that eventually there is less distinction between inner states and the outer world, but I'm only ready for so much at a time.

Posted by Satya at 11:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

everal years ago I kept an online journal on this site, from about 1996-2003. I took it down around the same time I began a four-year program of spiritual and esoteric study within my tradition, the Sufi Order International (more on this to come). The program was brand new and none of us knew how it might affect us, but in its subtle and not-so-subtle ways it has been a major force in the life of everyone who undertakes it. At the beginning of my experience with the program, called the Suluk Academy, I found myself being able to write less and less on my life, because I wanted to protect my new inner experiences that were beginning to touch almost everything I did.

As of this writing I have just completed my third year, and one of the themes for the fourth and final year of study is realization - how to integrate what we have learned into our daily lives, and how to be spiritually awake in real, gritty life: on the train, at work, in traffic, at the grocery store, etc. So it seems like good timing, and I was inspired during one of the last sessions to do this, and felt ready to write about my life again - specifically about what it's like to try to integrate spiritual practice into the world.

Naturally I still have nagging fears about exposure, but we all do, don't we? Especially about truths that are meaningful. I'd like to invite you to comment on my entries if you like - if you want to remain anonymous send them by email and I'll post them for you if you wish.

Posted by Satya at 10:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)