quoteandImeanquote!

"'The word that was lost' is a symbolical phrase of the mystics which has existed in the East and among the wise for ages. Many spiritual and mystical schools have been formed to try to understand this particular problem; but it is a fact that whoever has solved the problem says very little about it afterwards.

...The followers of various faiths and religions, those who have different opinions and different ideas...Do they dispute and differ in the realization of truth? No. All the differences and disputes are caused by the various facts that are all different from one another. There are many facts and one truth; there are many stars and one sun...The light of truth falling upon the facts makes them disappear.

...The difference between science and mysticism is very slight; it is only that one goes a certain distance, but the other goes further... It is the work of biology and other sciences to explain in detail the gradual development of creation...But in studying the whole process, the mineral, the vegetable, the animal kingdom, and man, the seer finds something that was missing but that appears as development goes on further. What is it that was missing? It is expression and perception; and it is this which the mystics have pointed out in their symbolic phrase, 'the word that was lost'.

The whole process of manifestation suggests that it is working towards one and the same object...And what is that purpose toward which every aspect of creation is working? What is it that the woods, the trees are waiting for? What moment? What object? What is it that all animals are seeking for besides food? What is it that is giving importance to every activity of man, and after the fulfillment of each activity draws him on to another? It is one object, but covered under many forms. It is the search after that word, the word that was lost.

...Although every person, every soul suffers pain to a certain degree, and every soul will describe the cause of that pain differently, yet beneath the different causes is one cause, and that cause is the captivity of the soul. In other words, that the word has been lost.

Souls at different stages of evolution try to search for this word that was lost in the way in which they are accustomed to search. Ways have been made to search for this word that have become right ways and wrong ways, sins and virtues. For this reason the wise person is tolerant towards all, for he sees that every soul has its own way of following its purpose. But in the accomplishment of all these purposes there is one purpose, and that is in the finding of the word that was lost."
-- Hazrat Inayat Khan, The Music of Life

dancing at Amma's party

It's not every day you get to be in the same room as a saint. Whatever you think about saints - and of course, I heard more than one opinion on the subject this week. My understanding of that word is just a person who is given totally (and freely) to being a channel of Love in this world. I don't know that much about the life of Amma-ji, but she seems to fit that basic description from what I've heard.

Here's another thought about saints: they don't do what they do, or be what they be, out of response to any dominant paradigm. Or to any opinion of the masses. They do it because they want to. Because they need to. Because they BE that. So in that sense, the approval of others doesn't really have a lot to do with it. Giving us all a welcome break, should we choose to accept it, from our constant attachments, labels, and evaluations.

But of course, before I can connect with any freer thoughts like these, there's the everpresent subjectivity to tangle through. La danza Azteca was invited to participate in this gathering. And I was invited to dance with them. So, all the usual protests spring up: I'm not ready. I'm not confident. (I'm not worthy...) "How can I be a part of this?", I ask my companion. "Because you are part of the circle", he answers. Well, in that case. I need to welcome those words, "you are part of this" even more than I need to protect the fragile ego by staying on safe ground. I'm not ready to dance in front of large numbers of people, but. Here we go. Here we go.

The event is at the Mariott across town. The one shaped like a giant pyramid. As one of the guys in la danza points out, it's Indians dancing for Indians, in a pyramid. Wow. And other groups are there too. To bring their offering, not just for Amma-ji but for all those who have come in the name of a broader peace. This doesn't seem to be just her occasion, but sort of a party for human beings at large. Three women perform gorgeous, exuberant Haitian dances. About 40 kids of all ages do what has to be a Bollywood dance number. And there are Sufis here. I've never met any in person, only in so many books. The one who dances, spinning effortlessly for about 20 minutes, is also - suprise - one of our number, one of la danza. When it's over, he will introduce me to a woman in that group, who will offer me kind words and suggest an email conversation on the Sufi path. This will be the second best part of the night.

But the best part, of all things, is our dance. The allotted time shrinks, at the last minute, from 30 or 40 minutes to 20. Electrifying the moment - so brief a time to share this offering. We circle on the disturbingly-patterned hotel carpet, under the glare of flourescent lights and a too-high ceiling. There are maybe a hundred people in the room. There are at least a dozen dancers in the circle. El jefe is fierce, powerful on the drum at the center, immediately pounding out a tempo that can only be kept by those willing to offer every ounce of their energy to the dance. The drumbeats and the sound of the rattles fill the conference room with their echoes. The circle seems to be in harmony, even those of us who don't know all the steps. I feel alive, even in the flourescence, even in the crowd. We seem to be flying at times - even those of us who don't usually fly, unlike my companion, who always defies the laws of gravity when he dances. The applause, at the end, is a little dissonant - this is prayer, not 'performance' - but welcome at the same time, because it says that maybe the people here have felt this prayer in some way.

As soon as we finish, we're ushered to the front of the line for hugs from Amma. I wondered, but didn't really expect this. The experience is quick (a little rushed, predictably, by her hovering crowd of earnest assistants). It is neither positive nor negative: it's just a hug. I leave curious about one thing: why they asked me whether my primary language was English or Spanish, since Amma spoke only in her own language, as she leaned her face against mine. Actually, this was the one clear impression of the moment: that what she was speaking, a murmured and steady stream of words, were part of an ongoing, preexisting conversation. Not spoken to me at all - only that I happened to be listening in, for a moment. It was alright, just fine really, that I had no idea what the conversation was about. No need to. It's enough just to be in a room full of people who are open to having this greater conversation at all. And having it not just with the mind, but with what the body and the heart can offer as well.

those other lives

Oh, those other lives out there. Those beautifully luminous, exasperatingly numinous, other possible existences. The ones we paused at the portal of, standing at that dividing of ways, and didn't take. The ones would've made of us other people altogether, with fantastically other things to give the world, or maybe to take from it, or maybe of course both. I have at least a couple of them, those lives, still glowing and embering in Portland, Oregon. The state even whose abbreviation hints at ambiguity and potential. Ursula LeGuin has a wonderful short story about a small Oregon town that unexpectedly, and inexplicably, moves itself to new locations around the state from time to time. Carrying with it its collection of inhabitants, who seem unusually capable of adapting to their strangely mutable lives and geographies. The name of the story is the name of the town: Ether, OR.

But anyway: one of those lives of mine resurfaced today with the email announcement below. The Center for Intercultural Organizing is one of my most-admired Portland nonprofit acquaintances, and one of the first that I met and volunteered with there. They were founded in 2001, as a response to the growing prejudice and all-around ignorance being fostered toward the "other": those from less-understood cultures, spiritual paths, or regions of the world (of which Portland has an amazingly diverse population). Their many excellent efforts, including town hall meetings, public dialogues and educational events, and the annual Global Portland Festival, have brought much light to the city at large, and created sharing and community among people of incredibly varied backgrounds and experiences. Recently, with the '01 ridiculousness a bit more in the past, they have turned their focus more specifically to immigrant issues.

The connection here, for me, is not just a few vibrant experiences with this group. This post is about a work I could probably be a part of now, if I had stayed there. A friend in the Portland Catholic Worker community, with whom I shared an interest in photography and communications, offered more than once to get me into an internship program, doing video production with the local indy media center where he worked. It was a hard offer to decline, and I did so only because I was thinking of returning to New Mexico. And the direct link with the immigrant community, and its advocates, was one I was also forging in the context of 4 or 5 other volunteer and learning efforts. Well, here we are in the now. There must be things to do in this life as well. I can only wish these good people all the best, in their most inspiring efforts. And send them a little contribution toward their work, as they've requested in this post. Their link is at the end, if you'd like to see more of what they're about. But here's the email:

*************
Now, the exciting news! We have two big announcements that we will be making during presentations at our party, and I wanted to make sure you also heard about them.

WE’RE OPENING A MEDIA PRODUCTION STUDIO
This summer, the Center for Intercultural Organizing will be opening a member-run media production studio. A recent $68,000 capital grant from the Mount Hood Cable Regulatory Commission (MHCRC) is enabling CIO to build an on-site media studio and post-production lab located within our 3,400 square foot cross-cultural community center. The on-site media studio will provide a mechanism for immigrants and refugees to tell their own stories and directly frame their issues. We hope you will want to get involved.

CIO WILL BE PROVIDING IMMIGRATION LEGAL SERVICES
This year, CIO was officially recognized by Board of Immigration Appeals to provide low cost immigration legal services to community members. We recognize that our decision to provide legal services represents a new, yet strategic, direction for CIO. Providing direct assistance with citizenship applications is not simply a service. We see it as an important step to building relationships that can lead to further organizing and mobilization. AND when comprehensive immigration reform happens at the federal level … CIO will be poised to help!

Again, thank you for your continuing support of CIO. We look forward to seeing you sometime in the near future.

In Solidarity,
Kayse Jama, Excecutive Director

--
Executive Director | Center for Intercultural Organizing
700 N. Killingsworth | Portland, OR 97217
(503) 287-4117 | (503) 449-3523 (cell) | www.interculturalorganizing.org
*************

overheard

This afternoon, on the Rapid Ride up Central. A man talking to a woman, somewhere in the back of the bus: "You're not as old as you think!"

(What a wonderful counter to that cliche, "you're as young as you feel", and also to the tyranny of Mind, which is not, after all, absolute...)

quote

"In the beginning of a world all the matter which will eventually form a complete whole is already in existence, but in a state of chaos. It is not that any new thing or world or being is to be created, but that there shall be a rearrangement of all the parts until the whole is complete...The difficulty is that all, from atom to human being, are continually trying to fit into a place to which they belong. The upheaval of nature, the great unrest, the world revolutions, the shedding of bodies, and the separations and divisions among men -- all these things are caused by the parts of the whole trying to stay in a place to which they do not belong. As soon as man is in his own place he has peace; until then he cannot have it."
-- Hazrat Inayat Khan, The Music of Life

good news in NM

(from the newslist of the Partnership for Earth Spirituality)

Mt. Taylor declared Traditional Cultural Property!!
Last Friday, June 5 the Traditional Cultural Property site designation for Mt. Taylor passed unanimously. The year long challenging process culminates with Mt. Taylor being listed on the State Register of Cultural Properties. The protected area is more than half the size of Rhode Island. It includes 439,000 acres, or 686 square miles, around the 11,301-foot summit of the western New Mexico mountain and five mesas surrounding it.

The designation requires consultation with those indigenous tribes who filed the TCP necessary before moving forward with projects that might impair or harm sacred sites. This is a wonderful outcome for earth, all people of New Mexico and sacred sites; one which the Partnership celebrates and congratulates all who worked toward this effort. May we continue to work addressing the care of water and concerns of uranium mining in this area.

invisible mountains

Almost didn't go (how many great stories start -- and almost end -- with that line!). Even after a week of anticipation. And after a month outside of the circle, apart from the dance. Almost lapsed into friendly talk, inertia, intellect, and late breakfast. But the bright stroke of noon said O YOU MUST DO IT and I could see that it was true. A most brilliant blue is playing outside. Enough to go around. Enough for everybody to have some. It's held up by a breeze full of bright selfconfidence, also with abundance for all. La danza will welcome me back, just as unconditionally as does this day. Sun in the eyes and green underfoot, I finally shed shoes - remembering (re-membering, let us not neglect our debt to etymology)...this is the whole hope here, of wholeness, connecting, and making some little offering to Life (all this time of no offers and no making)...and hope - dare I say it - of sort of belonging somewhere. I'm as ready to dance as I'm able to be, which is not really enough of either. But I'm here, and I'm willing, and that right there - as at any moment - is my offer.

Tying on a borrowed headband again - it's red, like all the others. Red's not a color I wear (not often strong enough to contend with its energy) but this red shows the lineage honored here. And so I am honored to wear it. It has of course a lovely name in Nahuatl -- ix- ix- ix- already I have let the word fly, with its whirring insect sound, up into the spiralling breezes. Gratitude for this graceful encircling spirit-breath-air is all I can carry for the moment.

But just as the circle forms: another surrounds me. From the outside, without premonition or thought. Invisible mountains gather, immense, silent, benevolent. On every side, all around, at my back. They are massive, oversize, not to the scale of this dimension. Except they are also remote, except so very close, and it all evens out. They are so like the mountains of North (and maybe they are!): the vast, wasted country I often visit in Dreamtime journeys. Which appears to be the home or the exile (or both?) of all those who wander, and yearn, and get lost and seek more. But these mountains are also not as grand or somber as North mountains. They raise the same gravity-defying quicksilver crags, snagging sunlight on their edges. But also they hold soft greenblue indentations where nurturing forests might live...deep comforting spots like the hollow between shoulder and collarbone...can somebody remind me of that lovely word for a natural in-curve, a glacier-made sheltering bowl on the side of an alpine slope?

This invisible ring carries all of the strength and the mystery of half of the mountains I've met in my journeys: Idaho's ramparts, unmet-as-yet challenge to three-quarters of that impassable state...always calling out, WHO GOES THERE? as I drive on past...The serene, inexorable northern Cascades, rearing their blue heads out of sea-plains, impossible, hovering horizon just before the Canadian border...And jagged southwest Colorado, neglected run wild and untouristed, whose ranges a woman one time told me stood apart from New Mexico's because "these are young mountains". Her words pulling me at once into the unearthly no most earthly sound of a hundred joyful peaks, maybe centuries into their youth and still full of their future, lofting their children-voice songs to the clouds. These mountains today are all of these mountains, and also mirage-like: they waver, then strengthen, and I can see them better with my eyes closed.

They're here to watch, to listen, and offer their presence. To stand strong at my back like they've always been there. They help me to hear in their luminous collected silence that the steps of my feet, in the dance, at their feet, are a language. Not words, but the very communication I'm seeking, trying to re/re/remember all of this long long time. This is the voice I can speak to the Earth, of love gratitude praise question deep need and ever-dependence. Voice spoken with feet, like the ground is my own drum and I am the rhythm and who knows who is playing us. Like morse code tapped out with my toes on the surface of the mystery for whatever ears are listening. Like a secret code known only to the two of us. Learning the dance so much like learning a language. Humble and stumbling in honest bare feet. It will take tries on more tries to be clear in my message. Who knows what I am saying even now, besides I am, and YOU are...But the Mother will listen, patient good-humored forgiving, and teach me to listen while I'm still learning to speak. While these invisible mountains encircle, teach patience and place, and speak silent welcome themselves: remember yourself. Remember us. Re-member.

quote

(The writer is describing her daily visualization/meditation practice, of meeting with her shadow self -- all her disowned or repressed aspects -- to talk and to listen).

"Since then my shadow has come closer. I'm listening and we're usually friends...Recently my shadow has been asking me to follow her through a rocky valley without looking back. Last week she showed me how to dance a little jig along the way. She's dressed in white in what appears to be a bridal gown. I think she wants me to wed her, the disowned half of myself, and begin to experience the unknown: the feeling of being whole."

- Susan G. Wooldridge, poemcrazy: freeing your life with words

blessingseedsong

rise up from your resting
safe underground and unknown
unfold out of nurturing confining shell
and cozy cocoon of cool earth
you were comfortable in darkness
til now but there's day that awaits you
turn and return to the surface
let us see those gifts brought to the light

infect this ground with the germ of your life
against which – yes - it does have its defenses
neglect and drought memory
abuse toxic strata and time-hardened surfaces
and all of those hungry little mouths
waiting above and below

raise up your heads between first infant leaf-wings
that one opening question essential:
is it alright to be here, and now?

some of you came to ground late
you joined this green gathering still stunted
barely able to hold your own but you'll find
the same offers of sunlight and sustenance
drink it in – it's all yours! - made for you

some were called forth and then were denied
the water and nurture that every new life has a right to
still you persist in your synthesis
Life in you speaks its own tough validation
and draws you – come out come out! –
to all beauty and growth you deserve

some of you were kept too long out of the light
you grew up thin, stretched-out pale, and reaching
bent over backwards not for others but only
trying to become your true selves
we welcome you now - come as you are! -
and plant you a little bit deeper
so you too can stand up on your own

sing your joy up to Sun who so loves you
even though he might gaze so intensely and may
strike you as somewhat over-brilliant
offer to Rain a new surface to pattern
she's coming! and she wants to dance with you
join the abundance of new old ongoing
in this unique generation of the world
unheard of, and quietly unfolding
exactly the same as the last one did
be at peace with your time and your timing
bear fruit in your season out of love
to those who will consume you
glad growing grateful
beginning the living again