« June 2006 | Main | August 2006 »

tripping things away is slowly becoming a new joy in my life. Sending away old clothes. Cutting away my old hair. In the medicine cabinet, only the things I need and use. Don't get me wrong, this apartment has a long way to go overall. But instead of worrying about future hypothetical needs for objects or fretting about wasted money (money is a thing one can't help but waste in one way or another), I have a vision of being surrounded only by the things I love and use. No more. The rest can be released into the world, and it doesn't matter to me a bit what happens to them.

It's amazing that in my spiritual environment that encourages turning away from the material world, decluttering is not better supported and encouraged. (Though Murshid does write on purifying one's environment.) In my own family there's a lot of unspoken guilt, especially concerning items given to us by each other. And in the homes of my friends and associates in the spiritual community, one finds far more cluttered alters of dusty pictures, feathers, and rocks than the simplicity that suggests an ascetic bent.

There's something much more powerful about a clean and bare table.

So I'm working on it. Don't take me for a decluttered saint - I'm a major offender myself. But the more objects I disassociate myself from and release into the world, the better I feel. I'm seeking that feeling of being rid of my physical burdens. I don't want to be responsible for all these things.

Posted by Satya at 8:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

s Hazrat Inayat Khan says, there are five aspects of prayer, but the one that has attracted my attention the most lately is number three: telling God one's troubles, and asking God for what one wants and needs. It's tricky for me because when I focus on my inner power and potential, I feel more at one with God, more tapped into a giant resource of which I am a part. But when I ask an external God for help, it's an acknowledgement of limitation and separation. I suppose these two qualities have their benefits of humility and such, but it's hard for me to reconcile them sometimes with a deep intuitive sense of connectedness with God that I've had ever since I can remember.

I know that was a lot for one paragraph, but bear with me. The other problem is that I've always been an extremely independent person, reluctant to ask anyone for help. Are my humble needs worthy of God's attention? Or should I just ask God for everything? Because if that's the case, there's an adorable handbag down at Nordstrom that I've had my eye on for awhile. In other words, how do I know that what I ask for is really what I need?

There have been two occasions when what's best or meant to be or need have flown out the window, and I've thrown caution to the wind and asked, no, begged, or rather, insisted that God provide for me. And God did. So I also feel like I've somehow gotten in good with the big guy, and that I shouldn't abuse my privileges. Ultimately I compromise by tempering my requests with "...if it's meant to be" and by trying to accept what is. But maybe that's a cop-out.

There's something scary and magical about standing there as a limited, flawed human being and recognizing that we all need a little help sometimes. There's something scary about putting myself out there and asking for all things great and small. Because no one likes to be rejected. And because it puts faith into play when things don't go right that there is a reason behind it and it's not because you're not worthy (though of course with faith's cousin, doubt, that's always a possibility). It's much harder to ask God, be denied, and move on than to never fully ask in the first place. It's hard to put my needs in someone else's hands. But as Murshid says, who else deserves this trust but God?

Posted by Satya at 11:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

ine and a half years in this apartment. Five and a half years in this relationship. I think I've earned the right to say I'm a patient person. But now that M. and I are planning to move in together and actively looking for a place, my desire and readiness to move forward are making it a huge struggle to take it a day at a time. Of course I can't will a house into existence, so I'm stuck with good old faith that it will happen....sometime.

The thing about faith is that it wouldn't be faith if it didn't go hand in hand with doubt. In our case, shortly after we started looking we found a house through friends that wasn't even on the market. Sure, it was a little rough around the edges, but basically it was perfect, and the way it came to us seemed like it was meant to be. But of course we went through the whole bidding process only to find in the end that the owners weren't quite ready to let it go, and it fell through, and we haven't seen anything remotely as good since.

Is God so cruel that he would tantalize us with the perfect house, only to snatch it away when we were emotionally attached? Is this some divine statement on the appropriateness of our premarital cohabitation? No, of course not. For me faith isn't entirely about giving up and flinging the deck of cards into the air, letting them land where they may. It's about trudging through house after house of bad carpet, warped kitchen counters, and dry rot, with nary a price tag under half a million dollars, just hoping for another gem, because what else can we do?

Essentially, faith isn't a feel-good type of thing. It's a dark, gritty, persevering kind of thing. It's a thing you sometimes don't have on purpose, but must cultivate because you have no other option. And it's only much later, when the paint has dried and the garden has been planted and you clink glasses with your sweetie and sigh contentedly that you realize it all did happen, just the way it was supposed to. At least that's what I hope happens.

Posted by Satya at 10:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

ately I've been dealing with a new issue concerning my morning meditation practices: timing. Flylady often states the importance of routine, and Hazrat Inayat Khan's teachings on rhythm convey the same sentiment. When you have a routine, things flow along with much less effort. Children naturally blossom under the safety of routine, and as a grownup I don't feel much differently about it. I can't stand it when my routines are off and my life is in chaos.

So in the morning for some time now I've woken up at a particular time, showered, dressed, put the coffee on, and done my practices. By the time I was done with them the pot was brewed and waiting, and I would take a cup in to my office and drink it while checking my email and such.

The problem is that since the last Suluk session I've been given two new practices, which take anywhere from an extra twenty to thirty-five minutes, depending on how much I feel like doing. By this time the coffee has lost a bit of its fresh luster, and I am beginning to get anxious about starting my work.

Yes, I could always get up earlier, but I don't know how much of my life I'm willing to trade in for meditation, even with full awareness of the benefits it provides. I always come up against this wall at some point, because one of my favorite sentiments of Hazrat Inayat Khan is that mysticism may be practiced in everyday life, without running off to the hills to become an ascetic. And my routine was really working for me, so I'm sad that now it's somehow lacking.

Maybe I could get up a bit earlier and also brew a bigger pot of coffee. Maybe I can carve out a small piece of the afternoon, just stop my work entirely and unplug the phone and try not to worry about clients. That would be a challenge. I don't think I could possibly work in extra time to my before bed routine, what with my long parade of facial products and missed prayer catch-ups that are already difficult to juggle with a man and a dog all tumbling into bed pawing at the covers and tossing pillows about.

And I guess the ultimate sentiment is that I don't feel like extra meditation time could possibly increase the presence of God in my life any more than it already exists, so what exactly am I practicing for?

Posted by Satya at 10:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

y conscientious self: Do not spare yourself in the work which you must accomplish." Or so states one of the Iron Rules of Hazrat Inayat Khan (there are also copper, silver, and gold). We went through the Iron Rules earlier this year in Suluk, and Pir Zia gave an inspirational talk on each one. I really like rules and laws, not necessarily to follow blindly, but to weigh and wonder and ponder over.

I especially like rules or even hadith that come from someone who had a spiritual or religious focus in mind, as opposed to laws that arise out of a democratic process. Because as any active voter in San Francisco can tell you, deciphering twenty-odd bizarre propositions each election can be a twisted take on the glue that holds our society together.

But spiritual law is another matter, because for good or for bad, the law-maker had their God ideal in mind, not necessarily their people ideal. So it stands to reason that the people, not being able to clearly see the same vision for the law as its creator, might have to take some things on faith and decide whether to follow the law blindly. (Incidentally, this is why I no longer eat the pig, though its delectable taste was a big fat factor in my decision.)

As for the Do Not Spare Yourself... rule, it isn't that I can't see any benefit and follow blindly, because there is obvious benefit. But Murshid's rules start out as one thing and then become deeper and deeper. And sometimes I feel like I can only get to the deep dark meaning through the action of applying it, as much and as often as possible, as best I understand it, through all sorts of inconveniences.

So with Do Not Spare Yourself..., I start with my literal work, and procrastination. Really it has to do with mastery, but then everything in my life has to do with mastery these days. In the effort to Not Spare Myself, I employ all sorts of tricks: the 15-minute timer; the bribe; the verbal or written stated goal; the awful self-condemnation. But at the end of the day, it still boils down to a mysterious factor that I call the Fog. Some days the fog is upon me, and I might get an exhausting hour or two in, but my rhythm never catches on and I still feel lousy, and I never seem to catch up. Then, like yesterday, I felt the fog lift a little and so I did all those Sunday afternoon things like grocery shopping and cleaning and cooking, and voila - today I put in my first full productive day in weeks.

This fog is my main opponent of the moment. I despise the fog. But the fog seems to have no concern for my self-imposed rules and regulations, and it doesn't care about my deep desire for right living. What is it, and what causes it? Why does it clear one day and descend the next? I don't know, but so far I haven't discovered any helpful answers. All I can do is just wait it out, and hope for it to lift.

Posted by Satya at 6:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

his morning I was standing at my kitchen window, which overlooks our neighbor's beautiful garden, musing on nothing in particular while I enjoyed the warmth of the sun and my second mug of coffee. The garden is an urban paradise, just a small lot of the sort everyone has in the city, but filled to the brim with roses and lemon trees and ferns and white stones.

As I stood there a small motion caught my eye, and I looked down at it and spotted a huge rat sauntering through the garden. It was so incongruous it struck my funny bone. I realized that my idea of beauty might be a bit exclusive, as if repulsion has no part in it, yet those lines are completely made up by my imagination and preconceived notions, without any real consideration on my part.

Maybe the things that are truly beautiful can stand on their own, immune to corruption, no matter how many rats pass by. In fact, I think in this world outside of Eden, beauty might need an extra amount of fortitude to withstand the wearing effects of life. Like it or not, we live in a messy place, with rats and roses all mixed in together. It can be pleasantly surprising.

Posted by Satya at 9:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

aaahhh, there's nothing like the peace of the country for a long silent meditation, especially when you're staying in a cabin with a beautiful view from the deck, miles from civilization. That is, until your dog decides it's play time and barks so loudly at your determinedly peaceful self that his bark echoes across the canyon, and is returned by a fellow canine, only to cause a long doggy dialogue with miles of valley between the participants. I think you can imagine the effect on my concentration, but that is something we're supposed to work on anyway.

I tried again the next day, but in a cabin situated in such a quiet peaceful setting one can't help but overhear the bustlings of the other inhabitants, struggling with their very worldly problems: a toilet that wouldn't flush, a hilariously mislaid piece of compost, a forgotten machete. I wouldn't think it, but it's true that I do my best meditating in the middle of the city, when I'm alone in the apartment. The dog is still asleep and I nestle in on my thick comforter in my small room away from the street, wrapped in sort of a muffled quiet of white pillows and blankets. The coffee is on and as it brews its scent is otherwordly.

But although at the cabin there are unexpected distractions, the distractions are caused by my family, whom I love. And they are all accomplished meditators themselves, so they understand my predicament, but cannot all pause their lives while I take a few breaths. And no, I cannot awaken earlier than my mother, whose very name refers to her propensity for beating the sunrise every time.

So at times like these I want to just give in to life, and open my eyes and help with the toilet and laugh at the squished lemon and offer an opinion on how to return the machete to its rightful owner. Doesn't that seem more natural, and more kind, than enacting the separation of silence, even though it's only temporary?

Posted by Satya at 7:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)