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alchemy

Wednesday, July 30th, 2008

IMG_8843, originally uploaded by seekingsol.

(The problem is that my blog is a mass of congested intestines in need of its own colonic! Again, I have daily notes on the entirely of my 7-day “master clense”; a story I will type out and post just as soon as I have the chance to sit in a proper chair with a cup of coffee and do it. But for now, out of guilt for lack of live action on this site, I post another clip from an email to another beloved friend of mine. Don’t worry. I’ll try to stop this nasty habit soon.)

*****

…and I’ll end with a story and token. A real token. Maybe a trinket. But a trinket that I will transform, by the very act of alchemy (!), into a magic amulet! (That sentence is meant to be read in the ridiculous voice of a circus ring master). So I had your name on my mind like a mantra. And I happened to walk into a Tibetan shop where I met a beautiful woman covered in turquoise with a fall-colored striped smock who proceeded to pull out the contents of everything on the velvet underneath her glass case. And so my eye is pulled in the direction of one particularly unnotable and cheap looking trinket which she holds up and says…”Tibetan medicine! Made of many metals. To ward off evil spirits and inspire good healing and health. You can hold on your wrist or put under your pillow.” And so I buy it. At the exaggerated price that I allow all Tibetans to charge me. And then we sit and talk and as I proceed to tell her the story of my pilgrimage in Dolpa, she says, “I can’t believe you’ve been to Dolpa! I was there! When I was 8 years old. My father and many family were killed by Chinese and so we ran away from Tibet and crossed the mountains and reached to Dolpa. Oh. Such beautiful wild flowers like I’ve never seen! Only in Dolpa. Did you see the yellow ones? Near the rivers? You did! So beautiful! And have you seen the women there, how big their gold and turquoise earrings are? Oh, how beautiful I thought they were! I used to run down to the river, and pick those big yellow flowers by the stream, and stick them behind both my ears, and wave my head back and forth and look into the stream and pretend like those yellow flowers were big golden rings…”

As she tells me this story, she puts her hands to her head and tucks the imaginary gold flowers behind her ears, and then she closes her eyes and swings her head back and forth, laughing like an 8-year old.

And I suddenly am SO happy for the Amchi and Alchemist that has given me this amulet; for the 8-year old girl that found flowers and gold in the midst of death, danger and exile and for the same power that, in her touch of this amulet, she transpires to you. I imagine all the people that I will ask to hold and put their good energy and prayers into this for you, but I know it is her hand, and her story, that transformed this trinket, by her alchemy, into an amulet.

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Posted in letters (my craft), tibet | 1 Comment »

through my window

Tuesday, July 22nd, 2008

Internet on this island costs a much as a small island, so instead of a proper update, here’s a simple clip from a letter to a dear friend:

Hello Love!

I hope you are well, I feel father away now that I’m on an island with distanced communication and also immersed into this friendly little fasting community.

I come to you from my “fasters dorm”, which is an air-conditioned, partitioned and Zen little place with dim and sunlit lighting. I’ve been eating only raw foods the last two days and passed something called a “PH test” yesterday which cleared me for my “masters phase” 7-day fast which I started this morning by swallowing a clay and bentonite “shake” at 7am (stuff that absorbs the toxins in your body that you release during fasting so that you avoid all those nasty symptoms of detoxing like headaches, hunger, etc.)

I spent the last two days flipping through piles of pages of books on whole food health, the medicinal benefits of fasting/detoxing, the corruption of the medical industry, and learning, in detail, the geography and functions of my body: intestines, liver, colon, stomach, etc. None of this is totally new to me, which is good less I thought myself entered a cult, but it is the first time I’ve really just SAT in a hammock for hours and looked closely at the information, and it’s REALLY refreshing to see that there is solid backing and science behind a lot of things I knew intuitively or through experience, already, about my body.

It’s all women here, mostly older. And it’s nice to be surrounded by their wisdom, life stories, and support. It’s a relief for ME to be the younger one who gets the guidance, mentorship and elder advice!

The “Wellness Center” does a really good job making sure your days are TOTALLY full here, knowing well that one of the hardest parts of fasting is the boredom left in the absence of eating. So they have a pretty strict schedule that keeps you hopping from one place to another. My day starts with waking at 7am and making myself my first of three daily clay shakes. Then there’s a stop at the, “fasters bar,” for my first set of vitamins and glass of tea (with a whole ginger root in it!), then one of two daily organic coffee colonics (which, yes, does involve a tube, your butt, and 5 gallons of water cycling through your body; I’m definitely a little nervous about that). I have an hour and half session of yoga today, one hour at the spa getting a body scrub/massage and wrap, and then an hour in the steam room, which smells like cinnamon coffee cake. I like to plunge between the. “coffee cake room,” and the, “fresh river water pool” – which creates the most amazing sensation on my skin that might have ever felt. Yesterday I spent two hours simply sighing between the two.

The rest of my time I just swing in a hammock, swapping my hours between serious literature, health books, and metaphysical books. I’ve, thankfully, already read half the metaphysical books on the shelf and am happy to have finally exhausted myself, mostly, of the subject. But also happy that the my metaphysical life interest survived, and has renewed itself in something calmer, something less ambitious, something more experiential, and something…of a middle path. This must be the new phase of my life. The one that also wants to plant gardens, have a dog, and practice making really nice meals to share with my family, friends and loved ones…

Anyway. That’s probably enough from me today as I don’t want to bore you with more of my bathroom details (the subject of every table in this place), but just give you a glance into my window.

———————————————
*sol bows her “namaste” and gratitude to World Nomads Travel Insurance, ThinkHost and Merc for their ever-supporting roles in the realization of her dream.

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Posted in letters (my craft), on health, thailand | No Comments »

waking up; looking out

Friday, June 29th, 2007


(Photo courtesy of friend, co-worker and fellow travel blogger, Tim Hare.)

Hi friends.

Obviously I have been busy.

Today I walked in the door from two weeks spent in the California Sierras conducting an orientation for our 20 summer abroad programs that just departed for different developing countries around the world. It was a blissful two weeks filled with some of my best friends in the world and if you’re interested in seeing a bit of it, I did pull out my camera on occasion: Dragon’s Summer Orientation 2007.

Today, also, my life takes on a new pace. It’s the first day that I get to begin to look forward instead of down at my immediate; I’m leaving for Peru in two weeks. And for India in two months. And for Africa in 5 months — so you can probably easily imagine the relief and excitement with which I jumped out of bed with this morning.

Having not written for weeks, I’m so excited to compose, but in the meantime just wanted to post a quick happy birthday note to my boss, to whom I am ever grateful for creating an organization within which my life passions and career can walk alongside each other, hand in hand…

Dear Chris Yager,

I think everyone in this world has a dream – an inkling, a suspicion, a hint of hidden passion, an intuition – of something really great they could do with their life; of something that would be the catalyst not only for their individual evolution, but also a catalyst to ignite the catalysts of countless others towards a widespread movement and cumulative revelation.

Most people ignore this seed of personal potential: Bury it too deep in denial. Ignore it, giving precedence to matters of feigned importance. Maltreat it, in an effort to keep it contained. Plead ignorance for fear of its potential. Whatever the excuse, most people on this earth live with their true potential forever haunting their heart.

So I have to congratulate you. You are 40!

Now, I can see how such a number could inspire a little fear or regret for a person who has clocked those years into a machine, wasted them away on mindless activity, or spent them abiding the demanding voices that drowned the sound of those haunting his heart.

But for a man who has spent every day of his 40 years of life working tirelessly and passionately, despite betrayals, financial losses and at the expense of great personal sacrifices, all to care for the seed of a dream – well those years are only an amazing achievement! They are forty years of living in alliance with a mission that whispers, but speaks above all, intentions. I hope by now, that peace is creeping in. The peace of an unhaunted heart. The peace that settles in with the realization that you have made no exceptions, given into no excuses, put your complete faith in your dream, to live the only life you could have lived with no regrets and all honor.

And like every dream of right intention; yours is not only succeeding, but also setting fire to the hearts of all those touched by it. Like the best of dreams, yours is not only a goal, but a tool via which other dream seeds are dug, exposed, and held up before the noses of others who knew it was there, but couldn’t quite find or see it. Your dream teaches others how to care for theirs; how to find it, develop it, care for it, believe in it and take those first steps towards achieving it.

I’ve heard that our society is shit and, at the same, manure. And I think this is true. Perhaps our current condition is quite rotten – but at exactly the same time, it is also ripe for change and growth. And there are few people ready to accept the dirty work of tilling that land. But I do believe that’s exactly what you’ve jumped to the task of doing, and encouraged, by your example, an eager crew to do the same. Your faith is contagious. We see the dream, because it’s ours as well. But I can’t thank you enough for the dozens of years you’ve diligently put into prepping and preparing this adventure; directly facilitating the dream chasing of the dozens that work one-one-one with you, who then facilitate the same for the hundreds within their rein, and the thousands that those who have been touched, then, touch in turn.

If you haven’t already, I hope today, on you’re 40th birthday, you’ll – just for a minute – relax in the well-earned peace of an unhaunted heart, take pride in 40 years of a life fully lived, and throw your hands up in the air and feel the faith that has overwhelmed your life, being channeled through you to the (truly) countless numbers of those affected, moved, and inspired – by, within, and beyond – the seed of a dream that you fostered till it grew on its own.

Congratulations and thank you.

with love and admiration,

sol

———————————————
*sol bows her “namaste” and gratitude to World Nomads Travel Insurance, ThinkHost and Merc for their ever-supporting roles in the realization of her dream.

Posted in experiential education, letters (my craft) | No Comments »

a blessing recipe

Wednesday, November 1st, 2006

Popes, priests and prophets have their methods. Merchants, and those who buy from them, name it in terms of this or that currency. But the value and blessing upon any object, for me, cannot be determined by karat, weight, age, dollar or any element measure- or calculable. Additionally, I have a sneaking suspicion that we are only meant to keep the things we are gifted, and that we are meant to give away anything we personally purchase.

On my last day walking the Chemin de Compestella in Southern France, a mysterious man whispered into my ear tales, mirrored in the magic I’ve found along my own, of pilgrimage along the caminos and around the world. Before we separated, he left me a very powerful message; one too personally sacred for me yet to share. But to officially mark the occasion of transmission, he took the red Tao off the chain he wore around his neck, opened my hands, dropped it in mine, and cupped his hands around my own.

“No, no, no. I can’t. You received this in Santiago a year ago upon completion of one of your pilgrimages. I can’t take this from you.”

“Yes, yes, yes. I know what it means to you, and look…” He pulls up the sleeve of his shirt and showed me the goosebumps on his arm, “It’s right, you see.”

It is right.

And it is wrong to deny any honest offering, as it’s a gift to the giver that one graciously receives. So I accept.

*****

tal-is-man:?
noun, plural -mans.
1.a stone, ring, or other object, engraved with figures or characters supposed to possess occult powers and worn as an amulet or charm.
2.any amulet or charm.
3.anything whose presence exercises a remarkable or powerful influence on human feelings or actions.

*****

Now I’m in the business of secret notes. I can’t get enough of them. I’ve left them tucked under tree trunks in Spain for friends, taped behind picture frames for myself in India, and hidden for a number of other lovers and friends in corners and pockets around the world. Additionally, I’ve collected a number of such from my best friends which remain unopened inside the zip-pockets of my Kangaroo shoes; I like to fancy that these secret love notes give me magic feet. And some day, perhaps on a sad day, or perhaps on a triumphant day, I will open them. (Many such days have passed, but the right day has yet to come.) But anticipation is sweet, especially when, daily, worn on one’s feet. :)

So…

Quite natural was my evolution from secret notes to sacred talismans.

And that would all be the background behind the following, not-so-secret, note to my Parisian hostess and dear friend. In my departing-France haste, I was unable to edit and leave it under her pillow as I had originally intended. Not trusting of the Senegalese post system, instead I post it where I know she’ll eventually find it; here.

****

Dear friend,

As all mountains do, the Pyrenees hold wisdom, secrets, mysteries and magic that match only their looming size. Perhaps their proximity allows them to catch runoff from the rainfall of understanding from the heavens. Perhaps from their studious observation of all below them, they have the concluding peace of seeing the cycle of life full circle. Perhaps in their silence, they have simply heard all. I will respectfully leave this mystery so. But albeit tight-lipped, the Pyrenees do not selfishly guard this knowledge, but whisper, sing and sometimes even shout to those who, with open eyes, ears and hearts, traverse its reign.

Before I set upon my pilgrimage across the Pyrenees, I found a small silver scalloped seashell. Virginous to experience, and the energy with thus consecrated, I set upon the small task of transforming, through alchemy, this simply metal symbol into a talisman. At the bottom of the mountains, I put my ego on the ground, raised my offering to the Pyrenees and asked for their assistance in this quest, to which they graciously agreed. And thus, backpack on, talisman initiates in hand, I ascended. And as I did so, with chain wrapped around my wrist, and initiates dangling and dancing between my finger tips, I reached out and at the same time, touched and asked for the blessing of the following…

I touched the wild Rose petals, and asked for their velvet undulations of Grace. I touched the Thorny bushes and asked for their discernment on when to take defense and when to pardon those whom there is no place to tread against. I asked the Air for its Lightness and ability to at once traverse and fill all space. I asked the Sun for its ability to Warm all inhabitants, indiscriminately, around the world and I asked the Earth, underneath all, for its unconditional support. I asked the morning Sky for the awe it, daily, inspires and I asked the first Star of the setting night for the constant reminder of the unknown which behind it lies. I asked the wooded Forest for its shadowed Mystery and I asked the Dandelion for its simply Beauty. I asked the spider Web for its ingenious complexity and corner reminders of life’s Interconnectivity. I asked the Clouds for the wisdom of peaceful Presence and silent being. I moved a fallen sparrow from the road and asked that Death might always be held so respectfully, consciously and closely. I asked the falling Leaves for their ability to let go of life in a similar show of colorful Brilliancy. I climbed up sharp Rocks and asked for their Strength and Solidarity. I raised my arms up in the air, spread my fingers through the Wind, and asked for its inherent talent for touching all, but attaching to none.

And at the top of the rock, on a summit of the mountain, I sat down, closed my eyes, cupped this scallop shell in my hands and made a meditation: “Let this shell be
(only) a symbol; a portal and channel, through which its bearer may tap the fountain of the Divine and all these healing, protecting, witnessing, loving and inspiring elements.” At this, my hands began to pulsate as they were intuitively inclined, to find and beat in rhythm with the heart of All, once again — with mine — aligned. And in answer to my humble request, I took the congruent beating of this gavel in my hand, within my chest, and upon Divine’s desk, as a motion signaling a silent, but resounding, “yes.”

Dear Friend. Thank you for being a special messenger along my path. I hold the mirror of inspiration and hope for many, as magical, to cross your own. Representing my wish for all the blessings that Divine’s instruments can kiss upon your head, you will find the silver scallop shell pinned, to the pillow on your bed. May it add to the magic, guidance, grace and protection of all Earth’s elements, on this pilgrimage through the last, from this life to the next…

with undefended love,

sol

*****

So yes, Mom, and all other curious; I did successfully cross the mountains. The last four kilometers, (where I took a “wrong” path), were especially blissful as I walked through the forest’s full fall rainbow. There are new photos in the France album, but they are insulting impersonations of the reality I witnessed…

And while at the top of the Pyrenees, the Wind was a might force to reckon with, on my way down, she only chased me playfully. Watch…

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NS7TjMES2oU]

———————————————

*sol bows her “namaste” and gratitude to World Nomads Travel Insurance, ThinkHost and Merc for their ever-supporting roles in the realization of her dream.

Posted in Le Chemin de Saint Jacques, gratitude, letters (my craft), magic & alchemy, on spirituality & religion, prose & ramble | No Comments »

haunting home

Sunday, January 23rd, 2005

(the sunrise, this morning, in oregon)

*****

(A letter to two former neighbors, dear friends, and fellow divemasters, who continue to live in Taganga, in the hotel of the house where I was living in Colombia.)

Hey boys!

Haven’t forgot you at all. In fact, I gather lots of fine stares every time I pull out my rabbit book and pet the stuffed bunny face (you guys gave me) pasted onto the cover. I think it (the bunny) is lonely for the old times, when it was attached to a birthday bag and used to distribute gifts of tacky taste. But it’s found a happy home now with the other rabbits of “Watership Down”, who are all quite accustomed to a life of pilgrimage and adaptation, and I think it’ll be very content with its new burrow on the bookshelf of my 6-year old niece.

As for me and being far away from our own old shared burrow, I don’t “long” for South America, so much as I simply hold love for it. After all, there’s no need for me to dwell in a past when my present and future have managed to match in adventure and excitement (which I consider the ultimate “trick” to living in the present moment). And although my arrival back in the States was safe and without major complications, it hasn’t been without slight and expected turbulence…

On my first connection, the airline stewardess tried to put no less than six “disposable” cups on my tray table; 1 can of apple juice “double-cupped” with a plastic cup, with 1 more plastic cup full of ice, and then 1 styrofoam cup of tea, double-cupped again inside another plastic cup with 1 more empty cup for water. I handed them all (but one) back. And an hour later, when I denied her offer of three more plastic cups and asked instead for my requested refill in the exact same cup that I used the first time around, she looked at me like I was crazy.

Am I?

This I am beginning to wonder.

And, accustomed to a life of tuning IN to everything (because it’s either silent, new, or not quite understood) I suddenly feel like some one has reached over and swung the life volume knob round 360 degrees . During my layover in Miami, much like a rabbit, I scurried around the airport, hiding from the obvious and bombarding clarity of English cell phone conversations, overhead speakers and televisions. Having no tent to retreat into (as I did during my last lay-over in the Miami airport), I finally found a sunny corner in a hallway that was in the quieter process of remodel – and tuned myself out. You can probably imagine my relief, when I finally took cover in the cozy, quiet and known surroundings of my parent’s home in the hills of Portland, Oregon.

But yesterday, at the movie rental store (while coincidentally renting, “Supersize Me”), I picked up a washer-machine sized “pre-packaged, ready-to-serve” bucket of microwave popcorn (with the popcorn, butter, salt and seasonings pre-mixed in a plastic bag at the bottom of the well) and laughed out loud. I held it up (it took two hands) and showed it to my mom, “God I wish I could show this to my Colombian host mother, Diana! Wouldn’t she have a laugh at this!” And my mom cocked her head and me and asked, “Why? What’s funny about that?” And then my 2-year-former self cocked her head inside of me and said, “Yeah. Why? What’s so funny about this?”

Sometimes I’m not sure if it’s more disturbing or relieving when you come to those moments in your life where you suddenly realize, with inner-self-cocking clarity, just how much you’ve changed over a recent life course. Seems “home” — along with hugs, flannel sheets, organic tofu and 6-year old nieces — is also great for setting that life learning limbo bar.

And I can’t help but notice that my bags are still unpacked and wonder if that might be reflective of some subconscious reluctance to settle in. (Although I think I’ll give myself a break on this one in consideration of the fact that as soon as they are emptied, they will again be repacked). I feel a bit transparent; haunting my old house, dropping in and out of new and old versions of “me,” and letting my mind wander and wonder how a 10-hour flight can really define the difference between “here” and “there.” I probably sound perplexed, but truth is, I’m quite comfortable on this couch of confusion. The world is definitely spinning around me right now, but is there any better way to seek what’s straight, solid and still?

Enough of my ramble. It’s time for me to get going. The sun is about to rise, and honestly, the show here is just as impressive over the mountains and tall pines of Oregon as it is over the hills and smooth beach of Taganga. Thank god the Divine is not prejudiced or biased with where she exhibits her daily displays of brilliancy.

Please give Freddy, Diana and Mayra my hugs and love. Remind Freddy to figure out what (American) size he wears in Chacos so that I can bring him a pair the next time I come to Colombia. Let Diana know that I’m still crying in the isles with laughter at her comic levels of shock over the American pre-packaged and processed food fetish. And tell Mayra that I demonstrated her reggaeton dance routine to my niece, who in turn, tipped over in her own fit of laughter at me.

sending more warmth to your tropics,

sol

(sol’s travel photos) (about sol) (some sol stories) (LeapNow.org) (travel disclaimer) (packing list) (photogallery guestbook) (blogger profile) (World Nomads Travel Insurance)

Posted in colombia, letters (my craft), on transitions & "home" | No Comments »

sowing seeds

Tuesday, October 12th, 2004

Renee,

My time here is coming to a close and I can feel the slight pull and excited unease inside of me that comes at the end of each and every of my 3-month semesters in life learning. And before I start using that nervous energy to prepare for the next segment of my journey, I would like to properly wrap this one up. And to do that, I’d like to present you with a story and a gift.

First the story…

Once upon a time, in a small village on a beautiful lake in Guatemala, I went to a little house to have my story told to me by a Mayan shaman. I felt immediate kinship with the woman, perhaps recognizing something of my own spirit in hers. But is was not out of this sisterhood of spirit, or in anything that she told me about my life, that I received the important message she was to teach me. From a wooden shelf sitting next to us, something winked at me. I asked to see that which has shinned its silvery attention at me and she reached over, picked up the item, and dropped it into my hand.

It was the most beautiful stone I had ever held; Placed perfectly and uniquely in a set of silver in a style I had never seen before. And inside the large, oval, aqua stone was a swirl of misty white that could be interpreted by the observer according to her personal character, history and dreams.

“Oh this is incredible! I see the spotted eagle ray! Just as it is seen from the bottom of the sea looking up, with the beams of the sun backlighting and streaming through it! It’s the scene of one of the most beautiful visions I’ve witnessed in this life. And it’s all been captured right here in this stone!”

She took the necklace from me and searched the stone for my vision, but not finding it, re-placed it on the shelf behind her and informed me, “Hum. Yes. I like it too. A man came to my door one day and told me he needed money and asked me to buy a piece of his jewelry to help him out. He told me it’s supposed to bring me closer and keep me in communication with my soul mate. Anyway, are you ready to proceed with the reading?”

*****

Six months later I found myself sitting cross-legged and sipping chai in the back of a silver shop in Varanassi, India. I was taking silversmith classes from one of the most warm and wonderful men I had ever encountered on my travels; A man named Agam.

Agam taught me many things about how to use fire to blow out the shape, size and style of silver. But over our long nightly sessions (some of which we’d never even get to the silver) he’d also graced me with a glimpse of what it means to live life as an Indian through his personal experiences of arranged marriage, Hinduism, family life and work ethic.

It was during one of those nights that Agam delivered to me one of my most important lessons in life; Spreading out his arms to include the dozens of tiered shelves full of his silver work he told me, “…do not think for a minute that I do this work for money. I do nothing for money. I shape silver because I love to shape silver. Every link of every chain in this shop was made by my hand. Yes, they were made with these tools, but they were also crafted with patience, kindness, inspiration and love. Even if you forget everything I’ve taught you, please remember this; That it’s not important what you do or what you make in this life. The only thing that matters is HOW you make it, and that whatever you do, you do it with love.”

(And the gift…)

I sculpted many pieces of silver at the side of Agam. But this piece I present to you today, he sculpted at my side. I found the large, oval piece of aged Turquoise in his secret and dusty box of loose gems and stones. From the first moment I saw it, I was immediately reminded of the piece I had seen in the Shaman’s house in Guatemala. So I drew out what I remembered of the design and stone setting (of the piece that I had admired so) and then handed my sketch with the new stone to Agam. A few days later he proudly presented the crafted creation to me. When I put on the necklace, I indeed thought it absolutely lovely. And of course, more than the piece itself, I loved the love that the man who’d created it, had put into it himself.

But I noticed quite quickly over the following weeks an almost subconscious trend; Although I loved to wear the necklace, I was always also torn by the unexplainable urge to take it off. So finally one day I surrendered to this unclaimed will and gave in; “I suppose this necklace does not belong to me. To whom then does it, I wonder? I guess I’ll just wear it until I find out…”

Since that day, many people have approached me with compliments on the pretty piece of stone around my neck. And with each admirer, I tilted my head and asked myself, “Hum. Is it you?” For the important lesson that I DID learn from my interaction with the Shaman was that many things that you own, don’t belong to you — and some things that you don’t own, do.

But it wasn’t until a few weeks ago when YOU picked up the piece from my bed table that it smacked me in the head with the clarity of its obvious intention; This necklace belongs to you! And the reason I know it is so is because in the moment that you picked it up and held it, I saw in your eyes the exact same thing that the shaman saw flicker in mine; Some kind of unnamed, but certainly claimed, recognition.

So this is now your necklace. (I supposed it always was. I just got to carry it to you from India.) And how perfectly befitting! For the stone has always reminded me — in shape, color and depth — of the Earth itself, and I so dearly wanted a way to show you my gratitude for all the new worlds you’ve opened up and exposed to me. With such unending patience you have been my ever-compassionate teacher over the last few months in your introduction of me to the subjects of ecology, veganism, cooking, gardening, anarchy, activism and greenism. This last semester in life has been one of my favorites, and is always the case, it’s not the course, but the teacher that makes it.

I know that sometimes our little trees get eaten by grazing cows herded by lazy shepards. And I understand how frustrating it is that the municipal tells us something different every single time we try to figure out what public land we can and can’t plant on. And I sigh with you every time the 80-year old land-owners ask you out on a date after a restoration plan meeting. I also roll my eyes at the fact that the university students are constantly trying to sneak in and plant marijuana seeds in our greenhouse. And I know that no matter how often and early we rise, we can NEVER seem to find the compost man…

But I just want to remind you, that aside from the never ending and exhausting work you put into growing these trees, don’t ever forget the OTHER seeds that you plant in the minds and hearts of the volunteers, and in particular, those that you’ve sown (past tense of “sow”) in me; The seeds of good will, honesty, interest, consciousness, right-living, inspiration and integrity.

Agam will be delighted to learn that his piece has finally found its perfect place – on a person who is in perfect agreement with his work, life and love ethic. Thank you for planting with patience, kindness, inspiration and love.

Namaste (“recognizing the diving in you”),

sol

(sol’s travel photos) (about sol) (some sol stories) (LeapNow.org) (travel disclaimer) (packing list) (photogallery guestbook) (blogger profile)

Posted in gratitude, letters (my craft), on health, on nature | No Comments »

Fire My Spirit

Monday, July 26th, 2004

Earth my Body

Water my Blood

Air my Breath

Fire my Spirit

(From the window of the “Planet Drum” Volunteer house in Bahia de Caraquez, Ecuador.)

***********************

Dear Ev,

The day you left, I had to walk in large circles around the city for hours. Cause every time I stopped physically moving, the grief of your being gone would catch up and so overwhelm me that I’d topple over in the hunger of heartache.

Do you remember when we were walking on the beach and you asked me, “This is going to hurt isn’t it? This lesson in Love is going to be really painful.”

And I replied, “Only if you want it to be. If you seek pain, if you think pain will make it meaningful, then yes, this lesson will hurt. But Life is gentle in her lessons if we let her be. Yes, if we resist, she’ll probably resort to a sludge hammer, but if we listen attentively, consciously, she might only tickle us with a feather. And I hope I can graciously choose to decline Pain in my life just as I do guilt, shame, and anger. It’s as easy as saying, “No thank you” to redefine our reality, and our lesson in Love, as pain-free… “

I know those words are still true. The strength did not seep from them, but from me.

And I suppose it was exactly that seeping of strength from our individual paths and persons that was our feather. But we were too busy with the moonstruck motions of lovers to be bothered to notice the threat that Life was dangling over our toes with a smirk.

So we unconsciously opted for the sludge hammer didn’t we? We glided by on the bliss of the union of our being until your subconscious left you awake in the dark for a week with a case of insomnia that would leave you no option but to confront consciousness. Till after a final fight with that which you did not want to admit, you waited for me to wake and when I did, took my hand to your heart and said:

“I have to go. I love you more than anything I ever have in this world. But I have sacrificed my path to walk with you along yours. And now I’ve lost myself in my love for you. But now my Truth, MY path, calls. So urgently that it keeps me awake through the night. I have to go. And I would ask you to come with me, but I already know the strength of your pull to your path. You must continue. And I must go find my own way again. And if you love me, you’ll let me go. Because this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do and I don’t have the strength to do it on my own. I need your help. Please. Help me go by letting me go.”

And so we let each other go — in the most bitter but beloved lesson of Unattached Love.

But still the sledgehammer’s bruises mark my heart.

And the tears continue to make trails down my cheeks.

And I feel the vacancy your hand left in mine.

Yet in the center of the heartache and under the swollen eyes of overworked tear ducts – I feel strength seeping back in. For in embracing my pain, I think I have somehow embraced my humanity. And perhaps it was THIS lesson that Life needed a sledgehammer to show me; That Love humbles us.

And that there is nothing more worthy of our humility.

And so in my empty hand, I clench onto my vision of you; On the top of a mountain, at the summit of YOUR path, at eye level with the eagle and its flight of freedom that inspires you so. And in seeing you not lost in love, but in your Inspiration, I suddenly understand. I instinctively and immediately throw my arms into the air and free also the creature of flight that I hold onto. And this time, my hand does not feel empty, but full of the freedom that it has released. And I clutch my heart instead in shared joy.

Ah ha.

Letting go of my attachment.

And ALSO my desire to hold on.

So THIS is unattached love.

…..

When I made the ring for you, I wrote this into my journal knowing that at some point I would give both to you;

“Just as this silver has melted and changed from one existence unto another, so has and shall our love; Born in one form – melted into another – re-birthed into yet another new shared existence. Eternal is that, as is all, Love. Continually intertwining like the very Knot of Eternity that brought us together. Having listened to our hearts and followed our unexplainable intuitions, our souls found and walked the paths that would meet in each other. And in this manner will our essences continue to weave, intertwine and dance. And these paths will naturally stray, for the space in the Knot is just as important as the Knot itself – balancing the dance and keeping the cycles of life and loving fresh and flowing. But always will these forms curve back toward each other. For we are not individual and straight lines living out solitary and linear existences, but momentary glimpses of a divinely chaotic and united cycle of love. In the Knot, there is neither end nor beginning, just as we knew each other before we met and know each other without end. And through each other, we shall not understand only one love, but Know all love, as each and every crossing of Life has the capacity to inspire. May we continue to listen attentively to the guidance of the inner voice of Truth, so the sooner that we may follow our individual paths to reunion.”

with undefended, and unattached love,

sol

(sol’s travel photos) (about sol) (some sol stories) (LeapNow.org) (travel disclaimer) (packing list)

Posted in letters (my craft), on love, on spirituality & religion, on tears & loss | No Comments »

Letter to the Department of Education Direct Loan Payment Center

Sunday, June 13th, 2004

June 13th, 2004

U.S. Department of Education

Direct Loan Payment Center

To Anyone Inquiring or Curious as to the Status of Account 543-##-####,

Nine years ago, in 1995, I was offered a loan to assist me with paying for my college education. At the time, with the reassuring pat of all the social institutions, I was brimming with hope and faith in the benefits and pleasures that a University degree in Business would secure for my life. At the very naïve age of “barely 18,” I eagerly put my name on the dotted line and signed my life to a promise.

Unfortunately, what I did not know then, is that every promise to tomorrow is a lie.

When I completed and received my University degree, I did exactly as the social recipe for success called for. I found a job in the field of my degree and put nothing less than every drop of my passion into it. I worked 80-hour weeks, slept under my desk on weekends, became one of the highest paid employees in the company, and was never a day late in my school loan monthly re-payment checks.

But after two years of this life, I sat up from my computer one day and realized this; That I had attained the dream Society had prescribed for my happiness. I had a successful job with prestige. I had an apartment by the beach, a car, a boyfriend from a magazine ad, and an income greater than that of my parents combined. I had brand name clothing and a swimming pool and as many expensive frothy espressos as I could sip. I had everything…

And it wasn’t enough.

Or rather it WAS enough. It was TOO much. I’d had enough of it! I was grasping at the wrong dream — desperately clenching onto the airy and materialistic notions of the American dream — instead of picking myself up and pursuing my own. (Perhaps American society should also get out of the business of promises to futures?)

But where to begin? I had no idea. But on an intuitive whim, I caught a clue as to where I could to go to find MY dream.

So I put my school loans on deferral, sold everything I owned, strapped on a backpack and left the country.

In the following three and half years I traveled over six continents and through some thirty-six countries. And it was here, abroad, where I found that I can sweat out the passion of my being and soak in the joy and peace of having found MY dream — MY path.

What is unfortunate (for the reader) is that the work I do pays little or nothing in terms of monetary reimbursement. In the years that my loans have been in deferment, I have worked with the children living in the squatter community in the dumpster of Guatemala, built houses for Habitat for Humanity in Fijian villages, strolled the beaches of Costa Rica at midnight helping Leatherback turtles with birthing and keeping their eggs safe from poachers, fought off Lantana from overtaking the native plant species of Eastern Australia, given daily massages to the crippled limbs of those left at the Mother Teresa House of the Destitute, prepared the gardens for feeding an orphanage in India, and taught English to a refugee monk who escaped from Tibet.

I hope you understand that I am not asking for your recognition as a “good” person. I don’t need that. I am merely explaining why my chosen life path does not work with the dollar numbers that you are accustomed to working with. A position in the marketing department of Coca Cola, while perhaps allowing me the luxury of sending timely monthly checks to your office, would only lead me to a life of soul-ular suicide. And a living of being dead, I cannot accept.

These volunteer experiences (and my chosen life path) do not compensate me in money (although they have left me plenty rich in soul). My life loans (including, but not limited to yours) and my appreciative repayment of them, will likewise, not be in monetary form. And this path, of non-materialistic and non-monetary notions, is the only of which my “now” and “future” tread. Despite its financially disadvantaged nature, I have dedicated this life to the voluntary service and inspiration of others. I demonstrate my appreciation for the life of advantage given to me, and repay my debt to humanity, on a daily repayment schedule. And I re-make THIS promise every single day.

Now, I have looked over your deferment and repayment options and find that I do not fit in any of the clean little check mark boxes that are offered. (Seems my life does not want to fit in any clean little boxes.) I don’t need tea leaves to see that I probably don’t have any financially lucrative occupations in my future. But accordingly, neither are there any house loans, marriage licenses, retirement funds, life insurance plans or credit ratings. There isn’t even a mailbox to which you can send a neat white envelope with my name spelled almost right. And I certainly don’t have any intention of ever living on the soil of the United States again.

So with no check box befitting, I give you this letter of explanation. You may do with it whatever you’d like; dump it in a manila file with my number on it, spit on it, send it to the “greater authorities,”or tack it to the cork board for an office chuckle. But at least I feel better knowing that anytime one wonders whatever happened to account number 543-##-####, he or she may pull out this letter and see. Because I do not want to leave this matter without my apology and explanation.

I’m sorry I am currently unable to fulfill my agreement to repay your loan. If ever I come into any kind of money — by luck or wit or inheritance — I will immediately contact you and make plans of repayment. Until then, I hope you will forgive my youthful naivety in making a promise to tomorrow that I could not keep. I assure you that I have learned from this mistake and such promises will not be made again.

And I assure you also that my 4-year crash course in living, (at the prestigious global University of Life) has more than educated me of my debt to humanity for being born into a life of such incredible advantage. And to THIS loan of life that I’ve been granted, I consciously accept a duty to repay, in the forms of appreciation and shared inspiration, on a daily basis, till the day I die *living*.

My apologies, but I do not have an address or phone number or any other information of which will be useful to you in finding me for contact. Not even I know where I will be tomorrow. The only means of communicating with me is via email. I will most likely be here in South America for the good of a year and then plan on making my way back to India, Tibet and Nepal. (Or perhaps Africa?) Regardless, should any representative of your office wish to speak or meet with me over this matter, I most kindly extend the invitation to join me, so that we may discuss the issue further over tea.

With equanimous and undefended love,

Number #543-##-####

(sol’s travel photos) (about sol) (some sol stories) (LeapNow.org)

Posted in letters (my craft) | 4 Comments »

Put in My Place

Thursday, November 20th, 2003

In my distress of the war, I emailed a very good friend and both complained to her about “my” country and asked to her to give me some shread of hope to hold onto.

Her reply follows;

About Americans – what do you want to say to them? – If you could say anything at all? Here’s what I picture you saying — sometimes it helps to really get it out…

AMERICAN speaking to YOU:

Damn it Sol, those Muslims are fucking up the world!

YOU speaking to an AMERICAN:

Jesus Christ! Don’t you know you shouldn’t make assumptions about other people without REALLY listening to them (not listening through a filter of “you’re wrong, I’m better” – really LISTENING), don’t you know you should sit down face to face and TALK about it? And that if you did you’d realize that those are PEOPLE over there inside those imaginary lines. People just like you and me – people who care about their children and their livelihood and only want happiness and safety and LOVE. And you’d also see PEOPLE who are SCARED to death that someone will come into their country or their neighborhood or their home and destroy all that matters to them? And that the reason they are scared is because it has happened before — that everyone has been hurt, and hurt badly — by someone from another country, or village — or even by someone within their own home. No one is free of hurt – no one on the planet is free of pain. Of course the natural (human) reaction to fear and pain is to put up a defense and fight back. That is why they feel like the have to resort to violence at times.

AMERICANS speaking back to YOU:

Exactly – they resorted to hate and violence. They shouldn’t do that — we need to punish them with more hate.

YOU to the AMERICAN:

NO, no – that is the last thing we need to do. When we hate them for hating us the cycle continues – to no end.

AMERICAN:

But they started it!

YOU:

What?? How old are you? They are just people – human beings. If you want to talk about who started it forever just look at the mess in Isreal – obviously that isn’t working. The only thing to do is to stop creating discord between human beings no matter what. Have you ever heard of a little something called UNCONDITIONAL LOVE. I think Gandhi and Martin Luther King knew a little something about that.

AMERICAN:

That’s impossible – it’ll never happen.

YOU:

I can give you something that will make it happen. I’ll tell you a little secret about TRUTH but only if you promise to pair it with UNCONDITIONAL LOVE.

Because TRUTH paired with UNCONDITIONAL LOVE is what is really, truly needed in the world right now.

Don’t get me wrong – unconditional love is really fucking hard (in fact, it is perfect, you’ll never get there). But the way to get close is to recognize thoughts of hate or discord when they come to mind and say “thanks for your input but no thanks.” Doing that moment to moment is how you break the cycle – you start with you – it is a constant meditation – at recognizing your own degree of hate and LETTING GO.

And when one whose heart is full of unconditional love takes up the banner of truth, he/she is unstoppable. — That is the challenge I give you.

——————– Now read this version of the conversation — read ALL the way to the end WITHOUT STOPPING.

YOU speaking to ME:

Damn it Sarah, the Americans are fucking up the world!

ME speaking to YOU:

Jesus Christ! Don’t you know you shouldn’t make assumptions about other people without REALLY listening to them (not listening through a filter of “you’re wrong, I’m better” – really LISTENING), don’t you know you should sit down face to face and TALK about it? And that if you did you’d realize that those are PEOPLE over there inside those imaginary lines. People just like you and me – people who care about their children and their livelihood and only want happiness and safety and LOVE. And you’d also see PEOPLE who are SCARED to death that someone will come into their country or their neighborhood or their home and destroy all that matters to them? And that the reason they are scared is because it has happened before — that everyone has been hurt, and hurt badly — by someone from another country, or village — or even by someone within their own home. No one is free of hurt – no one on the planet is free of pain. Of course the natural (human) reaction to fear and pain is to put up a defense and fight back. That is why they feel like the have to resort to violence at times.

YOU speaking to ME:

Exactly – they resorted to hate and violence. They shouldn’t do that — we need to punish them with more hate.

ME speaking to YOU:

NO, no – that is the last thing we need to do. When we hate them for hating us the cycle continues – to no end.

YOU:

But they started it!

ME:

What?? How old are you? They are just people – human beings. If you want to talk about who started it forever just look at the mess in Isreal – obviously that isn’t working. The only thing to do is to stop creating discord between human beings no matter what. Have you ever heard of a little something called UNCONDITIONAL LOVE. I think Gandhi and Martin Luther King knew a little something about that.

YOU:

That’s impossible, it’ll never happen.

ME:

I’ll tell you a little secret about TRUTH but only if you promise to pair it with UNCONDITIONAL LOVE.

Because TRUTH paired with UNCONDITIONAL LOVE is what is really, truly needed in the world right now.

Don’t get me wrong – unconditional love is really fucking hard (in fact, it is perfect, you’ll never get there). But the way to get close is to recognize thoughts of hate or discord when they come to mind and say “thanks for your input but no thanks.” Doing that moment to moment is how you break the cycle – you start with you – it is a constant meditation – at recognizing your own degree of hate and LETTING GO.

And when one whose heart is full of unconditional love takes up the banner of truth, he/she is unstoppable. — That is the challenge I give you.

Dear Sarah,

You´ve made my life lighter.

…and my world more peaceful.

I promise to deny the cycle of Hate my energy…

… and to forgive the Muslims, America and myself every single day.

With unconditional love,

sol

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Letter to Leah

Saturday, September 14th, 2002

I roll over and pull the wool blanket closer around my head. I’d adjust the blankets to tuck around my feet…if I had the strength. But I don’t. I don’t have the strength to reach my water bottle. I don’t have the strength to put on an extra pair of pants, like I’d like to. I don’t even have the strength to call for assistance. I don’t have the strength to pull myself out of bed and walk twenty feet to the bathroom. But I do. And every muscle in my body screams from fever pain as I do. My brain swells against my scull as I rise, and I have to keep one hand on the wall for balance. The stomach cramps start kicking my insides out and propel me forward. I make it to the bathroom, but on my return I actually stop and fall to my knees in exhaustion. I listen and notice that no one is home. No one here to help me if I pass out, which I suddenly realize is a serious possibility. I stare at my hands. Despite the gallons of water I have drunk, they are cracked from dehydration and purple under the nails from cold. I stare at them for a long time, procrastinating the rest of trip back to bed. The chills race up my back and through my hair and help me muster the energy necessary to make it back to the temporary warmth of my bed.

This was my condition for roughly thirty-six – fever-and-cramp-ridden and thus, mostly sleepless – hours. Thirty-six hours spent wondering if I’ve ever, in all my amoeba days, felt to absolutely and completely terrible. Thirty-six hours spent in astonishment that my body had failed me and so violently violated my trust in it. Thirty-six hours not having the will or desire to appreciate a single thing in life. Thirty-six hours spent only asking for mercy for all those people in the world that suffer like this every single day of their lives.

IT hits me. But I don’t have the energy to cry about IT. Not yet.

I rustle through my backpack and find in my medical kit an old set of antibiotics I picked up last year in Guatemala. I read the instructions in Spanish and it says the pills say will kill a list of six different intestinal parasites. I’m not diagnosed, but I’m desperate. I take half the dosage…and wait.

I tell my mother every few hours that I feel a little better. She knows I don’t. What she doesn’t know is what a comfort JUST her presence provides.

The next day I take the second half of the antibiotics. “Fast and Effective” the box claims. I pray so.

Twenty-four hours and liters of water later, I’m finally re-hydrated again. The fever is gone. The abdominal cramps are gone. I don’t feel “good”, but I can smell the pine, I can hear the birds and I can feel the warmth of the sunshine. Energy has come back to me.

Enough energy to cry.

I have a friend. A best friend. Once upon a time we lived together in San Diego — where the boys would line the boardwalk every day at sunset just to catch a glimpse of the 5’10 figure with bronzed skin and golden hair *that trailed her body by four feet* as she coasted by with the ocean breeze on her skateboard. Even more beautiful than her appearance though, was her stride in, and appreciation of, life. The first person I have ever met who could grasp a moment – a really nice moment – right at its peak and give it love. Recognize it for the minute of bliss that it brought. Most people don’t seem to recognize the best moments of their lives until they’ve passed. But she didn’t. She felt them, and she loved them, AS they happened. Maybe it was her unique ability to be so susceptible to the highs of life that made her so susceptible to the lows. For she had pain. She had terrible migraines. I knew they were in town when her door would close for all daylight hours and she’d emerge from her eye-cover only for a pizza-pocket, a Dr. Pepper and an episode of Friends. Those days started off only once a week. By the end of our year living together, they were four days of week. But she still had life, beautiful life that could not be denied, and her special way of grasping it by the minute.

This was the condition I left her in when I kissed her goodbye on my way out to Guatemala.

We passed email updates throughout the year. Her letters were mostly comprised of under- exaggerations of the pain she was in and crazy tales of the multiple doctors and treatments she was experimenting with. Her “migraine days” increased to seven a week, thirty days a month. She couldn’t go to work. She couldn’t skate the sunsets. She couldn’t get out of bed. She moved to her parent’s home to meet more doctors, go to more pain treatment centers, and take new meds and have new surgeries. But none eased any pain and no one provided any answers.

How many times could I tell her I was sorry? How many times could I urge her to keep hope? How many times could I tell her I loved her and would do anything for her? And would be “there” for her…when I was thousands of miles away? It hurt. All I could be was honest and supportive.

Today, right this minute, she is in pain. Pain that is constant and unrelenting. Pain that weakens you and wrestles constantly with your simplest will. Pain that numbs the senses from feeling the beauty in life. Pain that deeply violates the agreement your mind made with your body upon birth. Pain that makes you fall on your knees in exhaustion and beg for mercy. Pain that consumes your soul.

Pain that I didn’t have an inkling of an understanding about until three days ago. Pain that I experienced for less than two days. Pain that you, Leah, have lived with every single day of your life for years. Pain that you live with this very moment….when I don’t.

So I cry. I cry because I’m so sorry I didn’t understand your pain…. and that I never really will. I cry not only for you, but for all those in the hospital beds next to yours. I cry because I’m out here realizing all my dreams, and despite all that pain (that you don’t talk about), you just keep cheering me on from a hospital bed. I cry because I wish there was something more I could do for you than cry. Well there IS one tiny little thing I do.

I take you with me. I take you with me up every Guatemalan volcano peak. I take you with me to every Thai sunrise. I take you with me on every dive in the Caribbean sea. (And you’re coming to Fiji with me this week.) For you taught me how to “grasp” the moment. To seize it, and appreciate it, AS it happens. To hold it for just for a minute, sigh, smile, and love it. It’s the best gift I’ve ever received. And I think that if someone told me that I’d given them the best gift they’ve ever received, well…that’d make me really happy. And if someone told me they thought of me every time they did something wonderful or saw something pretty… well, that’d make me happy too. And more than anything in this world, and more than any person in this world, YOU deserve a little happiness.

I miss and love you Leah.

(Please, no emails regarding this post.)

Posted in gratitude, letters (my craft), on tears & loss | No Comments »

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