Step 3: Things I Don't Know

Last night I was settling back in to my New York apartment while the wind whistled through my windows. It was so loud at one point that I couldn't sleep so I flipped on the TV to CNN. Chistiane Amanpour was reporting about Muslim radical extremists in the U.K. Though I watch the news regularly and read several newspapers, there are some topics that still confuse me. The complex network of Muslim radical extremist groups is one of them. I know all the vocabulary though I don't know how it all hangs together. And this bothers me.

I started thinking about all of the things that I know just a little about, and how much it bothers me to have holes in my knowledge. I don't like the phrase "I know enough just to be dangerous." I'd much prefer to know enough so as not be dangerous but be able to speak intelligently on a topic.

In this new year, there are a few topics that I'd really like to dig into and understand in depth. Here are a few of them:

1.) WHAT - I know little to nothing about Islam and its many factions. I'd like to take a small step toward piecing together the popular vocabulary that surrounds this religion. It's influence is growing in leaps and bounds, dominating our news waves. I should understand it more clearly if I'm to have a greater understanding of our own foreign policy.

HOW - My friend, Amy, is very well-versed in the topic so I'm going to ask her to give me a little crash course during one of our catch-ups. I'll also ask her for some primer books, blogs, and news services that would be a good reference for me.

2.) WHAT - I've been practicing yoga for a decade though have not read some of the sacred texts that serve as its base. I also don't know the Sanskrit names for all of the asanas (poses).

HOW - At the end of February I am going to begin a very intense yoga teacher training program to master this material. Every other weekend, I'll be practicing 9 hours on Saturday and 9 hours on Sunday, for 14 weeks. In addition, the program also requires meeting 3 times per week after work, independent reading and writing assignments, and class attendance at the studio once per week. It is a rigorous program that will require a great deal of focus, though my passion for the art and science of yoga will make the rigor a welcome circumstance.

3.) WHAT - The news stories I love most are those that showcase the Power of One. I'd love to read more of these stories in 2010 to understand the psychology of this personality type, and there are a few people that particularly intrigue me. There are several sources that catalog the journeys of these kind of people. Two I particularly like are NBC's Making a Difference segment and Dafna Michaelson's 50 in 52 Journey.

HOW - I've ordered a few books that share the stories of Geoffrey Canada, the Founder of Harlem Children's Zone, and William Kamkwamba, the 14 year old in Malawi who built a windmill for his family armed only with a local library book. These are incredible stories of people who saw a need in their communities and set to work to meet that need with little or no resources except their own ingenuity and passion. Could anything be more inspiring?

The Journal of Cultural Conversation - Lessons in Spirituality and Why I Hugged a Tree Yesterday

This is a post by my writing pal, Laura, on her latest adventure in Peru. Enjoy!

I grew up in a very Catholic household. Before my super cool mom married my equally remarkable dad, she was a nun. I won’t elaborate – that should explain most of it.

For the full post, click here.

My Year of Hopefulness - Holy Water

In the center of Cartago there is a church known as La Basilica de la Virgen de los Angeles. In 1635, it is told that a statue of the Virgin was found in the forest by an Indian girl. She took it home and put it in a box. When she returned to the forest the next day, she found the statue again in the same place. When she went home, the statue was gone from the box. This same sequence of events happened to her several more times. She told her priest about the miracle and he took the statue from the forest and locked it in a box in his church. The statue performed the same miracle, and so it was decreed that the Virgin must have wanted a church built over that very spot in the forest.

On August 2nd every year, Costa Ricans come to La Basilica as a pilgrimage, some walking for days across the country and crawling on their knees from the start of the aisle up to the altar. Several of us went to the church yesterday and today to witness the extreme devotion that Costa Ricans feel for this church and for the Virgin Mary. They come here to ask for help and healing and peace and luck, something we can all use a little more of. There is a river that flows under the church and there is a small spring where people collect the holy water in bottle, wash their faces in it, and drink it as an elixir of all things in their lives that they wish to come true, things that they wish to change.

I am not a religious person, and haven't been for a long time, though I do find religion to be a compelling area of study and I do believe fervently in a higher purpose and power. I do believe we are all connected; my religion is simply kindness. Hearing the miracles that the church has performed for people in Costa Rica, I felt compelled to pay my respects, to ask the Universe for help me now at this time in my life as I make big changes to transform it into the life I want to live, and I did wash my face in the holy water.

Sometimes, we must accept that there are things that do not make sense to us, things that happen and sources of power that we cannot see nor explain. I don't know if the Virgin appeared in the forest and I don't know that a church needed to be built on that site in Cartago. I do know that faith is a very powerful feeling, that it is capable of accomplishing that which we cannot possibly accomplish without it. I do believe in our ability to change, and every once in a while I believe that miracles really do happen. Today, was one of those days.

I left the church and I did feel a little bit more brave as I headed back to the house. Perhaps bravery and our ability to change that which we do not like in our lives is a miracle in and of itself.

My Year of Hopefulness - Trinity Churchyard

A happy side effect of losing close family members at a young age is that I never feel uncomfortable with the concept of death. I often talk to my relatives who have crossed-over. I think about them all of the time; I find reminders of them everywhere; I feel their presence in my daily life. On and off in my life I've done volunteer work in nursing homes, with hospice, and in critical care facilities in hospitals. It's something I'm considering doing again - there's so much to be learned about life from the dying.

Because of my comfort with death and dying, I find comfort in places like cemeteries. They're such peaceful places. On my lunch break yesterday, I went to do an errand and went past Trinity Churchyard, this tiny plot of land that sits at the corner of Wall Street and Broadway. It's a small green haven among the concrete and constant construction in the area. It is the final resting place for a number of famous New Yorkers, Alexander Hamilton being the most iconic figure there. I couldn't resist stepping inside for a moment. Once I crossed through the gate, the noise of the city seemed to dissipate. I don't know how that happened. The sunshine seemed a little brighter, the air felt a little sweeter. It actually felt homey.

Much to my relief, many other people were seated on the benches that are dotted along the cemetery paths. People enjoying their lunch, talking with friends, sitting quietly, thinking. It was a sweet thing to see the living and the dead co-exist in such an easy harmony. It's exactly what a final resting place should be.

I felt drawn to take a look into Trinity Church as well. I felt like I was peeking into someone's home. It's a fairly small church when compared to the likes of St. Pat's or St. John the Divine, but it feels warmer, like a place where you could take your problems and worries and ask for help. In the main hall, I felt like I was so close to something holy, a kind and empathic ear.

In the back of the church there is a small chapel meant for quiet contemplation and prayer. There was a man at the front weeping, softly. He must be going through a very hard time. I lit one of the candles just outside the chapel and took a seat in the back. I thanked God for helping me through these last few weeks, offered up my immense gratitude for my wonderful friends and family who have been so supportive and helpful.

Just before I left, I found myself saying a little prayer for the man at the front of the chapel. I don't know him, will probably never know him. I don't know what he's going through but it must be something very difficult. I prayed that the same strength I've found in the past few weeks will touch him as well, that somehow the strength and positive outlook that's been such a gift to me will find its way to him also. With all of the abundant blessings in my own life, I felt that it was the least I could do.

My Year of Hopefulness - Is Human Connection More Powerful than Prayer?

"The way is not in the sky. The way is in the heart." ~ Buddha

How often do we raise our eyes to the sky and ask for help? I find myself doing that from time to time. Today I got word from a partner of mine on one of my projects that we are facing some critical obstacles. I asked if there was anything I could do to help. "Pray," she said. "Lots."

Now, I know she's doing much more than praying. She's actually working her tail off, jumping through dozens of hoops to keep us moving forward. I find that with any trying circumstance, the default solution is to pray. But what are we really doing when we pray? What am I doing as I go to my yoga mat in times of distress? What am I asking for and who am I asking it of?

Maybe prayer is better directed not up towards the sky, out of our reach. Perhaps it's much more powerful if we turn in and not out. When I go to my yoga mat and create an intention for my practice, I'm asking for help and guidance and assurance. I'm tapping into my creative well. I'm actually searching for my soul and its wisdom. It's an overwhelming idea if I think about it too long. Can we actually tap into the energy and light around us, all around us, by looking in?

My experience has demonstrated than the answer to this question is a resounding 'yes'. Yoga and Buddhism have some basic tenants that I try to keep at the forefront of my mind, especially during difficult times: 1) the world will provide us the exact learning that we need at the exact moment that we need it and 2) to tap into the energy around us we must recognize that while we live in this world, we are not of it. Our souls are old. They have been through many trials. They are the ties that bind us to one another. They have knowledge far beyond what we carry within our minds and our own limited experiences. Meditation, yoga, or any other contemplative practice bring that soul knowledge to our consciousness.

While in Virginia, I used to teach yoga classes at my business school. They were my small way of making the stress that all of us felt in our studies a bit more manageable. (This Winter I'll begin my 500 hours certification process. It will be a long road, though one I have wanted to be on for some time now.) I would close each class with a simple statement to my students that a teacher of mine used to use: "the light that is in me, honors that the light that is in you." I've found that connecting with people, one heart to one heart right here on the ground, has brought me more lasting joy and peace than raising my eyes and prayers to the sky. I have more faith in us and what we can do together, here and now, than I do in anything else.

The image above can be found here.

My Year of Hopefulness - One tiny step toward faith

"For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I in the midst of them." ~ Matthew 18:20

I stopped going to church a long time ago. I felt let down by organized religion, constrained and burdened by being called a sinner no matter how good I was. I found faith on my yoga mat, in nature, in people - no church-going required. Lately, I've felt the need to find a place where I can go to be only with my spirituality, to feel that I am close to something divine, a place big enough to store my troubles while I sort them out.

Tonight, I stopped by the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine because it's beautiful and I like the way the choir sounds. I went to the 4:00 Evensong. They didn't sound quite as good as they did during their rehearsal last week, though I still felt some kind of comfort being there with other people who were also there to listen to the music. I was able to pray and ask for help and strength for the coming week, and felt lighter when I left than when I entered.

Just outside the cathedral, the white peacock that lives on the grounds was strutting around the church green. I had previously only seen him from a distance. He's beautiful, with a long, flowing tail, and a crown of slight feathers. I whistled a very soft whistle, and to my surprise he came running toward me.

A woman next to me, looking at the peacock, asked, "?Como se dice en ingles?"

I speak a tiny bit of Spanish and replied, "peacock."

"!cómo extraño! En español, decimos pavo." (How weird. In Spanish, we say "pavo".)

I nodded, not knowing what else to say and a little embarrassed by my very limited Spanish vocabulary (which ironically I was working on just a few hours prior to my visit to the Cathedral.)

She continued, "Que la iglesia no es hermosa? Es como en el cielo existe." (Isn't the church beautiful? It's like Heaven in there.)

I agreed with her, "Sí. Es como el cielo."

I wondered how she knew what Heaven looked like. She seemed a little kooky and I was reminded of that show Touched by an Angel that I used to watch with my mom when I was a kid. The woman smiled and left me alone with the peacock.

I don't know if this is the start of a new chapter of faith for me. I do know that it was nice to be in the presence of something larger than my own existence for a while, a place that gave me a small glimpse of what Heaven might be like.

My Year of Hopefulness - Cathedral of Saint John the Divine

Yesterday, I found myself leaving the emergency room of St. Luke's Hospital. I had developed a "subconjunctival hemorrhage" and a slight amount of "petechiae". This is a fancy way of saying a very small blood vessel popped in my left eye and I had a few tiny red freckles around both of my eyes. I was panicked that I was experiencing the beginning of a very serious medical condition. Turns out that all of my blood work and diagnostic tests came back completely normal. I'll just look a little weird for a week or so.

I called my mom to update her and let her know that nothing was seriously wrong with me. I wandered down the street, into the children's sculpture garden of the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine. As I was explaining to my mom that I was just fine, I found myself tearing up. Maybe they were tears of relief, or fear, or maybe it was frustration with the week I had just finished. Over the past few days I have discovered many more of my friends have lost their jobs. I'm beginning to wonder how I've been so fortunate to escape that situation in this economy. I work very hard, though not any harder than my friends who have been let go from their positions. I'm beginning to think that luck has a lot to do with it.

I sat in that sculpture garden for about 20 minutes and had a good cry. The sun had come out, the wind was blowing, and I felt lost. I'm worried about the uncertainty we're all facing, despite the fact that I have managed uncertainty so many times before. I feel like the ground is shifting beneath our economy, and there is no sign of it settling down any time soon. I was angry for my friends who have been let go from their jobs - hard working, talented people who were seen as a line item on a company's excel spreadsheet, an expense rather than a resource and an investment. I felt shaken.

I had never really looked at that giant sculpture next to Saint John the Divine. It's a collaborative piece of work based on Noah's Ark and the triumph of good over evil. The Cathedral has been closed for some time for renovations and recently re-opened. I was weary from my hospital visit though felt drawn into that incredible cathedral. I wandered in and it was nearly empty. The choir was practicing and I felt drawn to sit in the center of the space, letting that beautiful music wrap around me like a warm hug. Though I am not a religious person, I felt that God was very close to me at that moment, that he knew what I was going through, and wanted to help.

I let my eyes tear up again, I was cemented to that seat, transfixed by the music. After a little while I got up and walked around the edge of the cathedral, stopping to look at each of the small chapels. The light shone through them so brilliantly. I had never seen stained glass that colorful and perfect. By the time the choir stopped, I got to The Poet's Corner, a small area that pays tributes to literary greats such as Mark Twain, Herman Melville, and Gertrude Stein. They each had their names and birth date engraved into a stone, along with a quote they famously wrote.

One quote particularly caught my attention. Theodore Roethke said, "I learn by going where I have to go." I thought about this quote all the way home. It reminded me that I have places I need to be, where I've committed to be, and there are things for me to learn there and to take somewhere else. Today, I just need to do what I have to do. The acts of hope and faith are a daily process. Just keep showing up.

The image above can be found here.

My Year of Hopefulness - A Little Bit of the Divine

This morning I was on the Metro-North train to visit my family for Easter. Two little boys, twins, got on the train with their mom, who looked exhausted and worn out, with a couple of new toys. Another woman walked by – she was one of those classic old New York women who you know from her tone of voice have lived in this big city for the better part of their lives. I am sure she talks to everyone she meets as if she’s known them forever, and given all she’s lived through, she’s entitled to state any and all of her opinions as fact. These women also exactly what to say and when to say – their timing and level of appropriateness is impeccable.

“Where’d you get those toys?” she asked the two children. “Mom or the Easter Bunny?”

“The Easter Bunny.”

“Huh. You know Moms are much better than the Easter Bunny. You can’t trust a rabbit but you can always trust you mother.”

The mother smiled, grateful and confused. The boys looked at her with surprise.

“What if I know the rabbit?” one of the boys asked.

“And if I can’t trust a rabbit, can I trust my cat?” the other boy asked.

“Well cats are tricky, too. Even mine. And I guess you can trust a rabbit if you know him, but my money’s on your mother.”

And with that very simple statement, she was gone. When I overhear conversations like this, I sometimes wonder if I’m witnessing a divine moment. Maybe that woman is some angel who showed up right when this mother needed her most. It’s possible that I watched too many episodes of Touched by an Angel with my own mom when I was little. It’s also possible that I so much want to believe in the divine in some form that I’m willing to tell myself these elaborate stories as if they are proof.

Springtime does this to us. I’m having a hard time remembering the last winter that lasted this long and seemed this cold and unrelenting. And I like cold weather and snow, thick sweaters and boots. But this Easter, I’m really ready to wish it a fond farewell, hoping it doesn’t rear its head until December.

I’m ready to see some new life sprout up from the Earth. I’m ready for New York to transform itself with flowering trees and sidewalk cafes. I’m ready for a little bit of the divine, or even seemingly divine, to touch our lives again and bring us some hope that we are moving forward and evolving, and the most powerful vehicle for that kind of message is in watching nature take on different hues and textures. I’d like to see all this hard work we’ve been doing during this cold winter come to fruition through a rebirth of heart and mind and spirit.

The Bible Salesman by Clyde Edgerton

If you're looking for a quirky, off-beat adventure, Clyde Edgerton's new book, The Bible Salesman, is for you. My contacts over at Hachette Book Group sent me an advance copy to read through and at first I was skeptical. I'm not a religious person so I had a hard time imagining that I'd enjoy a book about a Bible salesman. However, I trust the insight and taste of Hachette so I gave it a shot. 

To be fair, the book gets going a bit slowly, despite the fact that it is a slim 238 pages. For much of that start we are inside the mind of Henry Dampier, the Bible salesman. It isn't until we begin to see him interacting with the outside world that we understand how intelligent, though endearingly gullible he is. And then all of a sudden rather than trying to figure out why in the world this man appears so odd to us, we are routing for him as he gets more deeply involved with a ring of dangerous people. 

Edgerton does a wonderful job of weaving classic literature themes - good versus evil, love, danger, the combined hero desire and opportunity to take a life on the ride from ordinary to extraordinary - in a wholly new and entertaining way. The other piece of Edgerton's writing that I find so brilliant in this piece is that he asks his readers to consider religion and its role in raising children by revealing how one life, the life of Henry, was forever molded and influenced by a fundamentalist upbringing. 

He doesn't preach to us and he doesn't tell us that a fundamentalist upbringing to harmful or helpful. He lays out a plot, explains Henry's decision process and view of the world, and reveals how this character's back story builds the main narrative of the book. With every page turn that we are uncovering a little bit more about this man who seems so simple on the surface and yet lives an enormous life underneath that sweet veneer. 

Grace (Eventually)

Anne Lamott is one of my favorite authors - secretly I'd love to have her as a dear friend because I love her combination of wit, cynicism, and hopefulness. An ecclectic mixture with various aspects shining through depending upon the situation at hand. Most recently, I read her first book on the discovery and development of her faith, Grace (Eventually), partly because I'd read anything she writes and partly because I am in the midst of a similar journey. 

As a general rule, I am afraid of organized religion. When people ask me my religion I tell them I am a recovering Catholic. My mother, lovely though she is, still gives me grief about the fact that I purposely avoided the Pope's recent visit to NYC, turning down her numerous attempts to get me a ticket. She still hasn't fully come to grips with my lack of Christianity. I understand - I imagine it's hard to have a child who blatantly refuses to follow the path you raised her on. 

For years, my faith as been based in my belief in goodness, found in the beauty of nature, and considered while on my yoga mat and in my daily meditation. I haven't been able to bring myself to committing to a community, a church of any kind, even though I think the public announcement of faith can be very beneficial. 

I've flirted with the idea of joining a church several times. Most recently when I was living in D.C., I did go to a Catholic Church that I loved, even though I reject most ideas of the Catholic Church. I was lonely and sad and so unhappy with my job that I began to have panic attacks on Sunday nights. So I went to church because it calmed me down and gave me some strength for the coming week. Plus, I thought the priest was cute. Sorry. 

My friends Matthew and Alex attend a Unitarian Church in D.C. and on a recent visit I accepted their invitation to go with them. The sermon was about grace and its meaning and importance. I love that Unitarians accept everyone wherever they are whatever they believe. That kind of organized religion I can live with. Lamott's book reflects that same kind of acceptance of people and their circumstances. And she spends a lot of time explaining that we can all find grace (eventually) on our own terms. It's hard won but worth the effort. And she's accepting of the fact that she's not perfect in her faith and that she occasionally has a bad attitude. Her idea of faith is that it understands that we all make mistakes, we all veer off the path every once in a while, and the only requirement is that we commit to be gentle and patient with ourselves and with the world around us. The only thing we really must do is love, ourselves and others. 

For the first time in a long time, I feel unafraid to at least consider the idea of organized religion in my life again. And I have Matthew, Alex, and Lamott to thank for that. Maybe my grace is on the way.