Just an ordinary day.

Every time I sit down to write my blog entry I feel an insane sort of unjustified pressure to write something meaningful. It says a lot about my life that I believe most of it is meaningless.  Of course, there are moments when I believe I am hovering very, very close to the precipice of enlightenment, times when things seem to have so much meaning and so much quiet perfection that it almost hurts. It's these precious times that I am remembering to notice and when I do stop and remember I see that they are actually very small ordinary events that provoke these feelings. It is not the big occasions or the major crises that cause me to feel certain that there is more in this world and maybe another, that I am aware of.

Today was just such a quiet, uneventful day.  Unfortunately I have come near to the end ot it without reaching a more enlightened frame of mind.  What I did reach today was a point when I felt and looked good.  This sounds unimportant and in the overall meaning of life, it probably is, but for me to sail through the day, meeting new people, shopping for clothes, and generally being out in the world whilst feeling so relaxed and confident is really unusual.

I loved being me today.  Why?  If I could define the why then maybe I could do the same thing every day and carry on feeling this good.  I have not lost one single ounce on my new healthy eating regime.  I blame this on the massive amounts of cheesecake I poured down my throat at the weekend, but maybe giving myself such total permission was also part of why I feel so good.  I never once felt guilty or blamed myself for eating forbidden foods.  It was always part of my birthday treat and therefore all permissions were granted.  I am also looking tanned and fit.  This is totally bottle-created.  I used to  love to sit in the sun and bake.  I would oil myself up with any tanning oil with factor 0 and lie out in the sun turning every few minutes just like a rotisserie chicken.  I would happily tan to a dark mahogany colour.  when I was younger I would be outside at the first sign of the sun's rays.  At least now I stop at a nice golden glaze and it's out of a bottle.  A great benefit to me of having this light tan is the dark circles under my eyes are less noticeable.

Wow, did you notice what just happened?  No sooner did I say out loud that I was feeling good that I started in on the self-criticism.  I am such a maroon!  Stop it!  I feel fine, just enjoy it.  I bought wonderful new clothes - out of character and a little more out there than usual.  I bought soft new bedsheets and even a brand new frying pan.  How little it takes to make me happy. 

I also stopped by Ralph's school today to see his students' end of year work.  Impressive.  His students are talented and creative and, as I've said  before, he is a wonderful teacher.  it was so sweet to go to his school.  He introduced me to his colleagues and some of the students and I felt he was really proud to show me off and pleased to have me there. 

I stopped on the way home and got some great sushi for dinner and we are quietly sitting here having our daily post-mortem.  I am a lucky woman to have such companionship and love in my life all day and every day.  Today I managed to remember that more often than usual.  I think that's why I felt so good.  I felt enveloped in love.

My children on the other side of the world.

Sometimes I sit back and  am able to count  my blessings and amongst the ones I count as most important are my two wonderful children.  They both live in San  Francisco so I don't see them very often, but we manage to stay very connected via telephone and e-mail. I often think of them with such longing and today is one of those days.

I spoke to each of them at the weekend.  They called to wish me a happy birthday.  I was very aware of how far away they are.  They also sent e-mail cards.  In so many cases this could seem impersonal, but it's always a delightful, very personal surprise when they send cards that they've designed.

Both of my kids are graphic designers. I know, I know, how lucky am I to have such talented offspring?  Each of them has developed and matured the talents they displayed as youngsters. It's satisfying as a parent to watch your children grow and fulfill the promise I knew they had.  I miss them horribly today.

When my son was tiny, his sister moved away and never really lived in the same place as her brother for many years.  Actually, they didn't really live together as brother and sister till about two years ago when my son moved to California and they wound up sharing a flat.  This, I recognise, is an unusual occurrence.  Most brothers and sisters are not that close.  There is a large age gap between them and its nice for me, as their mum, to see them caring for each other and being so close.  They seem to have found a way to live independently and still together and I believe there's a real respect between them.

Once, many years ago, my mother spoke to me about how hard it was to have me living so far away.  Well, my kids have doubled that distance and the minimum time it takes me to get to them is about 11 hours and a chunk of money for airfare.  This suddenly feels unacceptable to me.  They are growing up, we are all growing older and I want to be nearer to them.  The idea of moving to California did enter my head, but the issue of medical insurance in the USA, that land of opportunity for some, is an impossibility.  I will have to content myself with periodic visits.

Missing them feels like a physical pulling inside, the longing is so real. What a strange thing missing people is.  I have so many people I love all over the world. My brother, my father, my family and many of my friends are all in America.  Some of my dearest friends are not in England. I have friends in Italy, Holland, Germany, India, Canada and Switzerland.  This is not the way it's supposed to be. Maybe I should have stayed in the Bronx?

When I was a teenager my girlfriends and I would fantasize about how we would all buy houses in the same street in the same little village and then we could  live in a semi-communal way and always be near each other.  Our fantasies included our children growing up together and playing together.  This vision was inspired by one of the Beatles' films in which they all had separate  terraced houses, but once you walked though the individual front doors, all the houses were amalgamated into one huge open plan space. Contrary to my childhood fantasies,  here I am, an adult, and even my own children are not nearby.  Not fair.

My son's birthday is this week.  He will have his own celebrations with his sister and his growing group of California friends.  I have no worries on his account.  I know that he is surviving well in his new home.  His sister will be there to help him celebrate.  They are both fine - it's me who's sad today.  I feel a bit like Old Mother Hubbard in the nursery rhyme who went to the cupboard and found that the cupboard was bare.  I have my wonderful, beautiful fantastic long-suffering husband, but my kids will have remain at the end of a phone and right in the middle of my heart today.

Sunday night and Monday afternoon...

A lovely summer afternoon -  champagne, good food, great cakes and of course, outstanding cheesecake.  The end of my birthday draws near and I feel absolutely replete.  It was a good decision to spend the day with close friends.  No big parties this year - just good friends and lots of good food. And now off for a short, well-earned birthday girl nap...

My early evening nap turned into an entire night's sleep and so there was no blog entry for yesterday.  I guess I'll let myself off with a caution this time.  The afternoon with my friends was delightful.  Somehow it turned into a separate men and women day.  The men, with bottles of beer, in the garden and the women, with plentiful supplies of cheesecake, in the living room.  How strange.  We don't usually divide in this way, but it turned out really well.  I think the men connected with each other on a good level and didn't need to listen to our discussions about plastic surgery, end of life, corsets and soap operas.  I have no idea what the men talked about, but it probably wasn't undergarments.  Surprisingly, no one wanted to watch England vs Germany World Cup football, even though I generously offered.  This turned out to be a good decision since the English lost decisively and without this information there was nothing to interfere with the celebratory mood in the house.

I've been busy thinking about next steps in my life.  I am more than aware than ever that right now I have 'red light' body issues.  I have been big before, but right now this seems harder to deal with than usual. I am also very hard on me and heap negative criticism on myself at the drop of a hat.  It doesn't help in this moment to tell myself that I am beautiful, etc., because when I am in this space I don't really hear that voice very loudly.  It's as if the positive body messages come from my conscious outer voice, the one I programme to be encouraging and uplifting and is desparately trying to convince the inner me to listen and, more importantly, believe what I am saying.  The other voice, the inner negative one, is very loud and seems to be working overtime right now.  It feels like a very deep unconscious voice that I am trying to wrestle control from. As I write this I recognise that it sounds as if I am at war with myself.  Maybe that's one of the reasons that I keep gaining weight - to try and lay in supplies in preparation for the siege of battle.  After all, I grew up with my mother telling me that it was good to carry extra weight in case you got sick, or in case of unknown, but terrifying, emergencies.

So, as a way of beginning to declare a ceasefire with my body and all those multiphrenic (i.e. having multiple identities pieced together from the multiplicity of mediated messages in our environment) voices in and outside my head I am doing more meditation and studying more about how to bring more compassion to myself.  This feels like a good idea at the right time.  The day of mindfulness meditation that Ralph bought me for my birthday is a step in this direction and a new book I got called 'The Compassionate Mind' are all good beginnings.  Now all I have to do is read the book and follow any instructions.

I was talking with a friend this morning about the accumulation of awareness and understanding about my life.  I am a great accumulator of trivia.  I vacuum it up without even realising that I'm filling my dustbag of a mind with more information.  I actually like doing this and the more information I have, the more secure I can fool myself into being, but the information and awareness on their own do me no good whatsoever.  I have never been someone who can change because of facts.  I need to have actions to put with all this intellect.  All the history and factual evidence for why I am the way I am does nothing towards moving me in a direction of change.  All it does is fill my head.  There is nothing wrong with a head full of information and justification and history and reasons, but for me, there is nothing particularly helpful about it.  OK, so I now know why I do what I do, but so what??? Can I change it, do I have the tools or spur to action to move things along???  This is why going and doing a workshop, a group, a day of meditation work well for me.  It's the third piece of the jigsaw - the first is awareness, the second, understanding and the third piece is action.  For me, having the first two pieces without the third is an incomplete puzzle.  A pretty frustrating 'so what??'

The 61 year old Cynthia is awake today and ready to move things forward.  Let's hope tomorrow's 61 year old Cynthia doesn't get too tired. It has been known to happen.

Pre-birthday baking...

Today was a day of home. I baked (lots) and  cleared and cleaned and generally went round my house like one of those genuine mail order brides you read about, but almost never meet.  Mostly I enjoyed it, but right at this moment, as I sit waiting for another tray of cookies to emerge from the oven, I realise that I am not as young as I once was and don't have quite the stamina that I used to.

Obvious, you might think.  After all the cause of the baking is my birthday tomorrow.  Not for me the easy way out. I am surrounded by bakeries, patisseries, artisanal shops where someone like me slaves over a hot oven to bake things that women can serve on their birthdays and yet, I do not go and buy any of these things.  I insist on doing it myself. Right now I ask myself why?

My mother used to bake all the time.  She would have some sort of cake or cookies ready for us when we came home from school.  Mostly the baking happened on Fridays and I can remember the fantastic smell of baking that would greet me as I walked in the door.  Actually, my mother's kitchen always had the wonderful smells of cooking emanating from it.  If it wasn't my favourite split pea soup, it was chicken fricasee or apple cake.  I ate like royalty when I was young.  Maybe this is why I eat like Henry the Eighth now!

What a joy it is to be able to emulate my mum and create good food.  I love, love, love to cook.  When I spend a few days at the Humaniversity in Holland the thing I enjoy the most is the cooking.  To be able to have a huge,well-equipped kitchen with all mod cons is a dream fulfilled. So actually, today was not at all a trial, but a pure pleasure.

There is only one major problem with baking and cooking and that's the eating.  I am married to a wonderful man who never complains if there is no dinner on the table and is remarkably appreciative when there is anything resembling a meal that has taken the slightest effort.  He eats pretty much everything, but with the kind of restraint that I have never been able to develop.  If I bake a cake, he will have one slice, when I hand it to him, and then he'll forget all about the existence of said cake.  Three or four days later, he might recall some sort of cake and ask for a piece.  Of course, by this time I will have demolished all but a few crumbs.  And there is the problem with being married to Jack Spratt. He can go whole days without noshing - amazing!

I brought a few slices of cake and some cookies to the people who run the local corner shop.  I've known this wonderful Greek-Cypriot family for years and we've become good neighbours.  They've seen my kids grow up and I've watched their children get married, have their own children and take over the running of the shop.  The younger son is opening a cafe/restaurant next door to the shop and wants me to be the resident cake baker.  At the moment we're joking about it, but he's actually serious and I am considering it as a possibility. My training work does give me time during the week to take on something else and maybe this is it.

So, on the eve of becoming 61, what have I learned this year?  I've learned to be a little less hard on myself and I've learned that if I am willing to let go of my resentments and hurts, they go away.  I've also learned that there can never be enough good cheesecake in the world.

Making me happy -

These days it doesn't seem to  take much to make me happy - a good cup of coffee, a completed crossword puzzle, a ten minute meditation, a discount on cream cheese - all these are things that have pleased me today.

Have you ever really thought about what makes us happy?  Maybe I don't really mean happy, like the jumping up and down sort of happy I used to experience much more when I was younger.  I've learned over many years that the jumping up and down sort of happy is tough on the knees and usually involved major life shocks, which are tough on the blood pressure.  These days I tend to go for pleasure and contentment.

When I give myself ten minutes, as I did today to watch and experience my breathing I feel pleased.  When I take time and effort to drag my iPod out and plug it into the speakers so I can listen to and sing along with Krishna Das et al, then I feel really good.  When I clear a corner of years of clutter and find real places for the things stuffed into that corner, I feel a sense of accomplishment.  When I come across really funny old photos of me, first fat, then thin, then very thin, then fat, then ok, then skinny, I have to laugh and enjoy my ever-changing appearance. Today was full of these things - all of them made me feel better than when I started doing them.

I went out to enjoy the heat and sunshine and went to the new 99p shop that's opened nearby.  What a sign of the times that is.  The neighbourhood I live in would never have countenanced such a shop three years ago, but now, as we are all tightening our belts (I wish!) everyone shops there. My, my, what a revelation.  Everything was 99p!  How easy it is to shop, never having to check prices, how delightful to be able to afford every single thing in the place.  How interesting that there were hardly any things in this emporium of cheap that I actually wanted, but I did have fun looking at shampoos with labels in Greek, biscuits just past their sell-by dates and tea towels that looked and felt as if they would withstand one encounter with a wet plate and then give up.

What was clear though was how much fun I get from finding bargains.  I am certainly my mother's daughter. As a child I remember never having quite the clothes I wanted, or the shoes, or bed sheets or anything, for that matter.  I always had what was on sale, on special offer or reduced to clear.  What this meant was that I never had the saddle shoes I wanted, but sort of similar, but to my teenage eyes, absolutely awful, copies.  I never had nice cashmere sweaters, like some of my friends, but only something called 'acrilan' - a polyester type woven stuff that never looked or felt quite right.

And yet  now, I understand my mother's thinking about shopping.  If you could get shoes for $5, why would you need to pay $10?  If you could get bed sheets for half of the normal price, what difference would it make if they had an ugly flower pattern on them.  My parents had very little money as I was growing up.  We lived in a tiny apartment and I suppose my mother's job was to make the money go as far as possible.  I can honestly say I never went without anything.  it's just that most of what I had was second-best.

So now, as an adult, I love a bargain, but I don't buy flowered bed sheets, I buy wonderful, soft white ones. I buy the shoes I want when I want them, but it is a genetic inheritance that I only ever want shoes that are reduced in sales!  And I am lucky enough to feel like a tourist in the 99p shop.

It gave me great pleasure to buy the cream cheese for my birthday cheesecake on special offer.  I would,of course, have bought the cream cheese, cream, sour cream and eggs anyway, but nice to get a little discount.  I see that buying food is one of my great delights.  My mother always told me to scrimp on everything but not food.  This, I'm sure,  is the sad legacy of having gone hungry too often during the war and seeing her sister die of malnutrition.  Food was a source of joy in my house.  My uncle and my mother would go food shopping at any time of the day or night and to watch them buying fruit and vegetables was a remarkable experience.  They would smell the fruit, touch it, pick it up and weigh it in their hands and generally, look ecstatic as they did all this.  I don't think they ever got over the wonder they felt at such abundance.

All in all, a very satisfactory day and tomorrow, an early start at baking before the sun warms the house. I can't wait.

Today I am bowled over......

The floors are covered in books, vases, dvd's, bowls and more bowls, little tchatchkies and other assorted useless things.  I am cleaning today.  I decided that I couldn't take any half measures and had to do a very late Spring clean, one room at a time.

When my daughter was a very little girl she used to clean and tidy her room by herself. She would start with enormous enthusiasm by emptying all her shelves, her drawers and her cupboards.  Slowly the floor of her room would fill up with things, then the chairs and every inch of available counter space.  The contents of her room would make its way onto the floor of the hallway, until every inch of space near her room was covered in the now-moved contents of her room.  It was usually at that point that she would sit down and start to cry.  It all just became too much.  She could always imagine taking everything out, but couldn't cope with putting it back. 

I am at exactly that point now.  It's early evening.  I'm tired, dispirited and want to stop, but the room looks like an explosion in a secondhand shop and I feel like throwing my hands up in horror and surrendering.  This is a dangerous place for me to be.  It is at times like this that I do one of two things.  Either I begin to indiscriminately throw things away or I shove things back in the same places they were in originally whilst stuffing the bits that have no real home into odd dishes, jars and corners.  What this means is that there will be things which become forever lost.  Lost things in this house are commonplace.  Sometimes it's like opening Tutankhamun's tomb when I start to genuinely clean up.  Long lost keys surface, tiny bits of thread, odd buttons, little stuffed toys, dozens of screws that look really useful, all these small things emerge from their dusty hiding places. Very rarely are any of the hidden things useful and I have yet to find a use for those old screws. 

I start off with such good intentions, just like my daughter, and then I become swamped by things.  Things that I might want, if not now, then at  some point in the future.  Just like I could cook and serve a small village with the amount of food I have stored in the kitchen, I also have serving bowls and dishes to serve these huge amounts of stored food.  I could easily cater a wedding without having to buy a single platter!

A few years ago when I went to Findhorn in Scotland I was inspired to start making bowls. I'm not sure why bowls took me with such a passion but I know that when I see a nice bowl, I want it.  Maybe I see myself as a Buddhist begging monk with an empty bowl that I trust will be filled, but I buy bowls all the time and when Ralph was doing pottery earlier this year, I asked him to make more bowls.  He did, and they are really beautiful, but now, on display, in this one room, I have no fewer than 21 bowls!  All shapes and sizes, of course. Not to forget the 11 vases of assorted sizes and this now includes the huge red glass one I bought today. I must have been worried that we didn't have enough.

I have said it before and I am 100% certain of it at this moment.  I am not a minimalist.  I am a Cancer, I build nests, I surround myself with objects and then I can feel safe and cocooned.  I guess I will always be this way.  I trust that this is true since it has always been this way.  I'm sure that tomorrow morning all the 'stuff' off the shelves and from the corners will still be here.  I will approach it fresh, with the renewed energy that morning brings. Maybe this time I'll do a little cull and get rid of a few things.  Today I managed to give away a glass globe and a glass egg.  This is progress.  Things can only get better.

I now have a deadline.  Sunday is my birthday and I have invited a few friends for an afternoon tea party. By then, the kitchen should smell of baking, the cakes made, the crusts cut off the sandwiches and the house will be a serene oasis of calm.  How I'll be, I'm still not sure.  

Feeling overwhelmed...

There is such a relentless quality about the world and today seems more than ever to be a relentlessly time marching on sort of day.  Yesterday I felt like the world slowed down for me as I enjoyed remembering Frank and today just seems to be rushing by in a cascade of time and heat.  The sun is shining too hot and the day is too bright.  I emerged from the underground cave of travel on my way home from work and felt like a troglodyte shielding my eyes from the sun.  I hate the heat.

Funny how I dislike the short, dark days of winter and dislike the white hot city days of summer.  Is there no pleasing me?  I guess not.  I need to live in a warm temperate environment where it's always spring and the breezes are warm and balmy.  But, then again, Spring is the time of year when I have my worst allergies and all those grass and tree pollens play havoc with my breathing. There really is no pleasing me.

As I approach those last few days before I am no longer 60 I feel the drumbeats of aging.  I feel old today.  Tired and worn.  My work day was good, but I feel no joy in it anymore. It's a great way to earn money and I certainly am not in a position where I can turn down this income, but I wish I was.  I would like to not need to work and then I would work out of choice. God, I love complaining.

Right now I will make myself a list of things to complain about:
1. Crowded, hot smelly trains filled with young people wearing far too little to be out in public.
2. Course participants who think they are getting away with their racist attitudes when it's as plain as the noses on their smug faces.
3. Bad coffee for which there is no excuse.
4. Air conditioning that is never right - either too cold or too warm.
5. Cooking dinner again, after 40 years of cooking dinner.
6. Dieting.
7. Housework, once done, needs doing again.
8. Missing my kids, even though sometimes they are quite a trial.
9. My own laziness.
10. Never being satisfied with what is,and knowing that that's all there is.

I am a complainer.  It gives me a sense that I'm doing something when I complain.  My mother was a blamer, but not me, I'm not so hot on blame, but I sure can complain. I am fed up with myself today and with the rest of the world.  I want to pull the blankets up, but it's too hot, so I just want to retreat to a small corner with lots of unhealthy snacks and gorge myself on starch and sugar until my stomach hurts.  Then I can complain some more.

At least I am not depressed.  There is a definite upbeat quality to my complaining today.

And so... I just took a break from writing to go out with my handsome old man for wonderful Japanese food and a walk in the fading light of day.  It is a beautiful, soft summery evening and I felt my energy change completely while I was walking.  All the scratchiness of today fell away and I enjoyed my dinner and great company and now feel quite relaxed and calm.

I am unbelievably tedious.  These moods are a pain in the neck.  I must start being more meditative and even.  The see-saw ride of this evening is absolutely exhausting. Sleep now.

Memories of a teacher...

It's now been eight years since my old friend and one of my beloved teachers, Frank Natale, died. I thought that today, the anniversary of his death, his birth and the summer solstice, was an appropriate day to remember some of the things Frank brought to my life.

I met Frank in New York in about 1978. I was in a bar in Manhattan with an old friend and as we were having a drink a man walked in, laughed this hugely guffawing New York sound, turned to us and lifted the robe he was wearing to reveal... nothing underneath!  Well, that was the first time I saw Frank. It wasn't the first time I heard about Frank. For many years my friend, Veeresh, had told me stories about his wonderful, inspiring teacher and mentor, Frank. He was the co-founder of Phoenix House, a therapeutic community for addiction in New York, where he brought and incorporated the work of Synanon. His reputation as a crazy and spontaneous group leader and creative designer made me keen to meet him.  The New York meeting was brief and I remember thinking that he sounded more like a New Yorker than anyone I had ever met, also he had the slightly menacing air of someone out of the Sopranos!

My next meeting with Frank was in a more therapeutic setting.  In 1979 I was a staff member in a one month group, Bodhidharma, in the Villa Volpe.  The group was in a paradisical setting in the hills above the Lago Maggiore in Italy.  Frank Natale was on the staff and arrived a few days after I did.  He was certainly an explosion of a man.  He brought with him his own atmosphere and an expectation that around him, anything could happen.  He and Veeresh were great friends and they seemed to encourage the madness in each other, as well as bringing that energy to our group.  Being around Frank was exciting, fun and quite a learning experience.  He took risks with people and created an electric environment. I so enjoyed hanging out with him that summer, meeting him as a friend and working with him.

Over the next few years I met Frank intermittently in Holland, in Amsterdam and at the Humaniversity.  In June of 1984 my son, Ben, died.  As a family, we were more than devastated by this and it was in the summer of that year that Frank was in Holland at the same time as we were.  He had just developed a course in creating results in your life - how to manifest what we choose for ourselves.  He had just completed running a pilot course at the Humaniversity.  When he met Ralph and me he really was at a loss as to how to help us out of the sadness and despair we were in, so he gave us the Results Course as a gift.  Frank got all the teaching tapes together and offered us the possibility of having one-to-one weekly sessions with him by telephone to Texas, where he was living.

I remember thinking that I was not ready to look to the future yet, but decided to try to, step by step, go through the eight weeks of the course. What a gift this turned out to be. It didn't change the heartbreaking reality we had to live with and process, but it enabled me (and Ralph) to look forward to creating something positive in our lives.  Frank was right there at the end of the phone whenever we needed him and guided us very gently and with great love, through eight weeks of healing.

During the next ten years of so I worked with Frank many times including on his Life Skills and Esoteric  training programmes.  During those workshops I found strength to really heal my relationships with my parents and further cherish my relationship with Ralph.  I particularly remember a session that Frank led about forgiveness.  I had never even thought about forgiveness.  I didn't really understand what that meant and Frank brought something very new to me. I wrote a long letter during a workshop weekend to my parents, thanking them for everything they had done for me.  For many years I had been busy blaming my parents for all the things they hadn't done for me, so this was a new direction.  The letter went on for many pages.  I remember reading this to a partner in the workshop and sobbing with gratitude.  I really began to see my parents as people, doing the best they could for me.  After the workshop I posted the letter to my parents and even today, when I think back to the wonderful phone conversation we had following their receiving the letter, I feel so much gratitude to Frank for creating that opportunity.  So many things changed for me during that time.

Like all the remarkable teachers I have had, Frank was not an easy man.  There were times when he seemed to be hell bent on alienating everything and everyone in his life. He was a great fan of legal solutions to interpersonal problems.  I think anyone who knew him would say he was not easy, but when have inspirational people been 'easy'?  It is their very complicated selves that cause us to look deeper into our own selves. Frank taught me tools for living for as long as I knew him.

During the lat years of Frank's life, as he fell ill, he left Europe and went to live in California.  During one of my visits to San Francisco to see my daughter, we went to visit Frank in the small house he was living in in Petaluma.  I was shocked to see how ill he was and I was very uncomfortable in the surroundings we were in - the discomfort wasn't Frank's, it was mine.  I didn't want to see him like that.  We only stayed for a few hours and then returned to San Francisco.  Frank phoned when we got back to say he wanted to see us for longer and would come to San Francisco the next day. He came to my daughter's flat, with Ichiko, his wife and Jason, his son.  We stayed together for the entire day, reminiscing, laughing and sharing so many good times and hard times we had been through together.  It was a wonderful day, filled with the bonds of friendship and warmth of family.  Frank phoned us afterwards to say how special it had been for us to spend that day together and include our children. I cherish that day since it was the last time I saw Frank.

His death a number of months later did not surprise anyone.  Frank chose to stop treatment for his illness and allow himself to leave his diseased body.  He was surrounded with people he loved and who loved him on the beach in Hawaii. I like to remember something he said to a friend shortly before he died.  He assured him that dying consciously wasn't that difficult. 

I guess, when I remember Frank, I like to remember that living consciously is the more difficult, but he helped me so much along the way.  Thank you Frank.  Thinking of you with love today.

Headache notwithstanding...

Today I will attempt to write my way through my headache. I have a shocker, killer, zinger of a headache and I have donefor the past six hours. Drugs don't help so I'm sure it's a sleep it off headache.  My blog entry today will be short and sweet.

Spent a beautiful afternoon in the country at a friends' son's 21st birthday celebration.  The parents of this well-brought up delightful young man are two of our closest friends and have been so for many years.  It's always good to see them and always easy and relaxed.  Today the guests were godparents and friends of the birthday boy.

I started to talk about having been out yesterday and Friday chanting at kirtan.  I explained a little of this and then found myself in discussion with a woman who is a Buddhist and practices Zazen meditation.  She has often visited Tibet and was most interested in the chanting I spoke about.  Another one of the women sings in a choir and has invited me to join them.  I find it increasingly common an occurrence that when I open up and talk about my interests in meditation and chanting, others suddenly reveal their interest as well.  It's as if we're all a bit in the closet and waiting for the first person to come out.

Ralph went to the barber yesterday and mentioned having been to a Krishna Das evening and the barber started talking about meditation and Sai Baba.  Now there was a surprise.
Do we all go through our lives assuming that everyone who looks straight-laced and conventional is actually that way?  It was easier in the 1960's when you knew who the good guys were.  They all had long hair, bell bottom trousers and wore flowers in their hair.  Now, anyone could be a kindred spirit and often is.

Driving back from the countryside today I started to think about the few people at the party today who were still smoking cigarettes and thought that they must be crazy.  I was a very heavy smoker at one point, actually many points, in my life, but gave it up about five years ago.  I thought about how if I was still smoking I would be risking my life in a way that I now feel is unacceptable.  What if I only had a few years left, I thought? What is still undone? I'm now over 60 and I guess that what I really still need to do is build in a regular singing practice in my life.  A Bhakti/kirtan practice and also singing just for the sheer wonder of raising my voice and making a melodious sound.  Can I sing?  I don't really know.  Am I an alto/soprano?  Who cares.  It makes not the smallest amount of difference to me.  It is my unfinished symphony and I intend to finish it.

And now to put my head to bed....

Life is full of surprises...

Today in an early evening workshop/mini-retreat with Krishna Das I found myself laughing out loud in recognition of some of the wisdom he was passing on.  He talked a lot today about how we identify with everything and attach to everything in our lives and how this gets in our own way.  We see everything through our own mirrors and filters.  So far, so good, nothing new to me there.  He then went on to describe a normal day - we wake up in the morning and immediately begin to write, direct, produce and star in 'The Movie of Me'.  We carry on with this major story production all day and then begin again the next day and so on and so on.  And then (and this is the bit that had me laughing) we are are own worst reviewers and critics!

The theme of today's workshop, if there was a theme beyond KD's desire to talk and our willingness to listen, was losing ourselves in love and the place to begin and end was with the self.  I liked this very much.  KD talked, answered questions, we chanted a bit and generally filled the yoga studio with harmonious sound.  I came away much clearer about the path I seem to find myself on.  It's not a new path, I've been walking this path for many years, but sometimes I forget the direction I was going in and take a precarious detour.  Chanting is right for me.  It's a way for me to connect with my loving heart.  The heart that I know is the essence of me and is much, much bigger than me, if this makes sense.  Sometimes I feel such a sense of longing that I feel like my heart will burst, but this is such a beautiful feeling that I really cannot explain it, except to say, that as KD said today, when I asked him about this, this longing is an incredible gift and is helping me to see my true self.

The workshop ended a short while ago and I walked to the tube station to come home.  The train was filled with late night shoppers and a young woman walked through our train car begging.  She had a tattered paper cup and some implausible story about needing money for a meal before she went to a night shelter.  She looked absolutely terrible.  She was pale and very spotty and dirty.  I noticed all this as she passed me by and I pretended, like everyone else, not to see her.  As I let her pass I suddenly felt an enormous welling up of compassion, quite unlike me.  I got up from my seat, followed her to the end of the car and pressed £10 into her hands.  I told her that I didn't really care if she bought drugs with the money but maybe she could buy herself a bit of food, too.  She barely looked at me, mumbled thanks and got off the train.  I have NEVER done this before.  I NEVER give to beggars and get quite indignant at  the number of beggars in London, but suddenly this evening, I realised that it wasn't about me, or even about the number of beggars, it was about this young woman and a sudden moment of empathy.  I did not have a warm and fuzzy feeling because I was being a do-gooder.  I had a sense of rightness that was and is quite inexplicable.

All things considered, it's been a good day.  Very rich and filled with peace and some old friends.  Now I am happy to be home. I am very pleased to be in my movie today.  Expect the critics to give today a five star review.

Heart full of soul...

Today on the radio on 'Desert Island Discs' the guest was an English comedian, Frank Skinner.  He is not generally someone I go out of my way to watch, though if he happens to be on TV and I come across his programme, I might linger for few minutes and listen. On 'Desert Island Discs' he was discussing his very eclectic  taste in music.  His first choice of music was an aria from a Mozart opera.  He described his growing love of opera and told a sweet story of going to hear Placido Domingo at the Royal Opera House, which was around the corner from his office, so an easy choice of a way to spend an evening. He had booked the cheapest seat and knew little about opera at that time.  He said that there was a moment when Domingo's voice hit a note and his whole body vibrated.  He said he spent the rest of the opera with his mouth hanging open in total awe.  During the interval a well-dressed elderly man came up to him in the bar to ask if he was enjoying the show so far.  Skinner said he felt a bit intimidated since he knew nothing about the opera, but all the man asked was 'Did you feel the tingle when Domingo sang?" Skinner said that he never knew that anyoine could feel music in their body like that and he has loved opera ever since.

Tonight listening to Krishna Das chant and sing with us was the same for me.  There were moments of such sublime beauty that I felt my body expanding with longing.  Sitting in the Union Chapel on hard benches, the room disappeared and became just voice and sound and heart.  How wonderful a way to spend an evening.

It was curious to hear Krishna Das in London.  For a couple of years I have heard him at the Ecstatic Chant group at the Omega Institute in upstate New York.  The setting is very informal though the kirtan format is the same.  The real difference is the audience - 450 Americans, mainly New Yorkers, are very different from an audience of English people.  At Omega everyone gets up and eventually dances and celebrates whilst chanting.  Here, tonight in London,, the only people who got up and celebrated the music were a small handful of people in the balcony.  I wondered why this was and think that there are a number of reasons.  The English do not just get up at concerts, even if they are participating, they wait for someone to give them permission, they are polite and wouldn't stand up in case they block the view of the person behind them and they are terrified of looking stupid or drawing undue attention to themselves.

At first, being more used to the celebratory abandon in Omega, I was disappointed in the staidness of the chanting and then I relaxed and decided to just be with what was happening.  Everyone was involved, everyone was touched by KD and his spectacular voice, just in a different way.  It was a very English kirtan and it was lovely.  Heartful, touching and very rich.

Now I am back home.  Tired, but happy.  Very full and looking forward to another workshop with Krishna Das tomorrow.  Till then...

Hair past and present..

Mark, my hairdresser has moved to a new salon.  This has now happened a number of times and each time I follow him to wherever he has moved.  The new salon is very swish, all smoke and mirrors and is in a trendy, young part of town.  As I walked there this morning I looked around at all the cafes (no global chains here), the vintage furniture 'emporiums' and design shops and marvelled at how similar all these are.  It doesn't seem to matter whether I'm in the Mitte in Berlin, Soho or Chelsea in New York or Clerkenwell in London, there is a design vernacular used that is remarkably similar in all the up and coming cities of the world.  I find this somewhat disappointing and a bit boring.

It used to be an adventure to head into town.  I would give myself extra time either before or after the hairdressers to explore and perhaps turn up a new little gem of a shop or restaurant. More and more now I find myself going directly to the hairdressers and straight home when I'm finished.  After all, even vintage furniture and interior shops get repetitious when they're all stocked with a seemingly endless supply of Eames chairs, Saarinen tables and Poole pottery.  Surely the reason these things are of some value is that there are limited numbers, but no, they are everywhere.

Today I also left an extra hour to explore Clerkenwell, the location of my hairdresser now. I walked, looked, saw lots of cafes decorated with old over-stuffed sofas (how 1990's!) selling 20 over-priced variations on coffee and a number of small craftsmen studios.  The crafts people made me happy.  There was a bit of variety there though because the area has become so stylish, the crafts people now charge Cartier prices!  I did come across a tiny little place, with no name over the door, that had a few interesting bits of furniture and old prints.  Turned out to be a cafe/vintage store and as there was no one there, I sat with the owner and chatted while we had coffee together.  What a nice little London interlude.  We exchanged a bit of work history, political discussion, design information and generally spent a delightful half hour in the company of strangers.  I guess I am a New Yorker at heart and do strike up these little conversations with anyone willing to listen.

Anyway, as I said at the start of this, Mark has moved.  He has been my hairdresser for about 20 years.  This man has known me through many crises, through the trials and tribulations of my children growing up and leaving home and he has been my almost friend for that long.  We are totally relaxed in each others presence.  Yet, he never really crosses the line from professionalism to over-familiarity.  I have great respect for this quality in him, not to mention that he cuts hair sublimely. He was the hairdresser who saw me through my misguided attempt to let my hair grow longer until he could no longer bite his tongue and asked me, no, begged me, to cut it short again.  He advised me not to let my hair go grey, since he says that it's not grey enough yet, bless him.

Having known someone for so long makes going to the hairdresser a really relaxed affair.  I don't have to explain anything.  He looks at the shape of my face, assesses how much weight I have lost or gained, and cuts my hair accordingly.  He also trusts my little comments about taking a tiny smidget more off here or thinning it out a bit there and today, when I mentioned that the front of my hair was a bit heavy, he completely understood when I suggested it looked a bit 'Hitleresque'! Especially when I put a comb under my nose and demonstrated the full moustache effect! I am always happy with my hair when I leave and feel like I've spent an hour sharing chat and smiling.

My life is becoming simpler and simpler.  Small things make me happy.  Finding beautiful raspberries in the local shops, having a good haircut, my husband coming home before 5 pm.  All these things happened today and tomorrow I get to chant along with Krishna Das.  All in all, it's a pretty good life and the days are still getting longer!

What to do for my birthday?

I find myself in a quandary.  What am I going to do for my birthday on the 27th?  My friends have asked me and there is clearly an expectation on their part, albeit small,  (and mine) that I mark the day in some way. Last year was a big birthday and I had a wonderful party with lots of dear friends and this year seems to feel a bit more of an anti-climax.

I spent a little while today thinking of what I might like to do.  Everything I thought of involved food.  I think this is because I am on a new eating regime.  I am loathe to say diet, since I vowed last year not to put myself through the tyranny of another diet, but that's really what it is.  I've gained lots of weight this winter and finallly reached ENOUGH.  This is a good thing. I was almost waiting for the ENOUGH point to be reached, since I knew it was only a matter of time before I stopped stuffing my face with unhealthy food.  It felt like the time I stopped smoking.  I knew I was going to stop.  It was an inevitable decision, but I carried on smokling for another year or so after I knew I would stop.  It's been five years since I stopped smoking and I can hardly remember being a smoker.

Food is slightly different.  I can hardly go cold turkey on food.  So I am eating very heathily and obsessing about cheesecake!  I am certain this is why, whenever I think about my birthday, all I can come up with is visions of restaurants, four course meals, desserts and other food fantasies.  And yet, this is not really what I want for this year.

Funny, I never thought I would get to a point in my life where I can't think of what I'd like to do on my birthday.  I certainly don't NEED anything.  Whenever I declare that I don't need anything, I remember my aunt Roszka and something she said to me about 15 years ago.  We had gone out shopping together and she was a great shopper.  She was a clothing designer and had a great eye for style, elegance and also an eye for a bargain.  She pointed me in the direction of some wonderful shoes that were reduced to about half price.  I looked at the shoes, tried them on and they fit, but I decided I didn't really need them.  My aunt looked at me as if I had lost my mind and said, "Need?! Need doesn't come into this, as long as you have breath in your body you need things".  My aunt then went on to advise me that if I was worried about bringing home yet another unnecessary pair of shoes, I was welcome to hide them in her closet for a few weeks, after which time I could honestly take them out and when asked say, 'no, they're not new, I've had them for quite a while!' I always remember this advice from my 75 year old aunt when I'm shopping though more and more I have to admit that I need less and less.

Those who know me know that I shop almost exclusively at charity and thrift shops.  I love doing this and can almost always spot something worth owning.  Worringly though, in the past few months, I have held items in my hands in these shops and put them back without buying. Often these are great designer clothes, wonderful bargains, but I have looked at them and admitted that there was no need to buy them.  Is this a new trend?  Am I reaching a point of ENOUGH on possessions?  Oh my god, I hope not because it's still fun.

Meanwhile, back to my birthday.  i want to mark the day, to do something, get presents, celebrate in some way, but so far I have no ideas.  I still have 11 days.  Plenty of time to come up with an idea.

Tired today...

Tuesday evening, the days are long and, at the moment, quite sunny.  Walking up the stairs from the tube station tonight I was relaxed and satisfied after a good day at work.  I enjoy my training days (mostly) and enjoy the end of the day in the summer. I was happily walking along when I suddenly realised that it's June 15th. No big deal, you might think, but June 15th is six days away from the Summer Solstice and this fills me with anticipatory dread.

The Summer Solstice is the day when we have the most daylight of the year and after that the days start to get shorter. This is the cause of my dread.  As far as I am concerned part of me is already living in the oncoming shorter days and winter darkness.  Boy, talk about not living in the present!

I am not so good at living in the moment.  I am someone who is always waiting for the axe to drop.  Pessimism is the order of the day.  I think I would like to change this, but obviously I haven't done in all the years of meditation, group work and therapy.  It must fulfill some strange need in me to be so doom-laden.

I am totally and completely exhausted tonight.  Though I had a good day at work I find that getting up at 5.30 am  and getting home at 6pm is pretty tiring.  My training means that I am completely and totally 'on' for the whole day.  The only break I give myself is thirty minutes at lunch when I try and find a quiet space for me. So tonight, this means I have little to say and less inclination to say it.

By tomorrow I will have recovered and I'm sure I'll have more to say.

Confessions of a television addict.

When I was a little girl, living in a two room apartment in the Bronx, we had a tiny television.  It was a small screen black and white TV,  set into what seemed to be a huge wooden cabinet and it took centre stage in our living room.  I remember watching The Howdy Doody Show, Kukla, Fran and Ollie, as well as my all-time favourite, Rootie Kazootie, sitting cross-legged as close as possible to the television in a sort of hypnotic state. I loved watching TV as a kid. It opened up worlds beyond worlds for me.  In my mind I travelled far beyond the walls of our little apartment, away from the rows my parents seemed to have and to a world where children got to sit in studio audiences wearing silly hats and eating Power Bars and women got to be 'Queen for a Day'.  Marvelous!

When I was a bit older we graduated from our tiny screen TV to a larger black and white screen and then we even acquired a second television.  My family had truly embraced the American way of life. I got used to watching television all the time, when I did my homework, when I came home from school and most evenings.  We had dinner together in the kitchen, but would each leave the table the moment we had finished eating since sitting together as a family was not too wonderful. I actually remember no conversations at the table, though there must have been some. I do remember retreating to the bedroom and switching the TV on as soon as I could.

Television became the backdrop to my life.  It was like moving wallpaper.  I could study while the TV was on and do my homework.  I could pretty much block out the TV or keep it in the background quite easily.  It became my ever-present friend.  I cried with Scarlett O'Hara watching 'Gone With the Wind', commiserated with Jo in 'Little Women', was horrified by Joan Crawford in 'Mildred Pierce' and identified with Bette Davis in 'All About Eve'.  I loved the fact that my mum and aunt loved watching 'I Love Lucy' as much as I did and my parents even reminded me of Lucy and Desi a bit since my mum dressed like Lucy and my dad had a strong accent, albeit his was Polish and not Cuban, like Desi. My aunt and uncle always seemed like the neighbours, Ethel and Fred, too. Television taught my family to be American.

And now, as a fully grown adult, all of 61 years old, I still love television.  There, I've said it, I confess, mea culpa.  Watching TV is one of my guilty pleasures.  I can try and dress it up in all sorts of academic sociological guises, but the real truth is I will watch almost anything.  I get wonderfully lost in watching telly and feel like it is a little gift to me to have the possibility of entering so many different worlds so easily.  I am often home during the day since I work only a number of days a month and I have become quite an expert on the joys of daytime telly.  We have, as yet, resisted signing up for cable TV so I have to make do with 35 channels, but frankly that's more than enough for a non-discriminating watcher like me. 

I am a television whore, I will watch anything (except sports) and usually do.  Of course I have favourites.  My informed hypochondria means I watch most medical dramas, the gorier, the better.  I love CSI and Law and Order and have learned so much I am close to being able to commit the perfect crime.  I am a sucker for Judge Judy and watch most talk shows, especially the ones involving DNA and lie detector tests.  I marvel at the type of people who want to have their supposed loved one take a lie detector test about their fidelity and then say how much they love each other.  I am in awe of those people who climb mountains, trek the Himalayas and cross the Arctic.  The fact that they do it, means I will never have to.  The thrill of vicarious adventure is enough.

Of course, I am still able to have the television blasting away in the background and get on with work.  I can get on with other things while it's on.  I don't need to watch all these programmes, I just like the fact that they're there.  Just like television was the medium by which my parents learned to be American, I also learned to be English by watching TV.  When I first came to the UK I really didn't get the humour and the haughtiness of the English.  The more I watched TV, the more I began to understand the quirky eccentricity of the English.  After all, where else could I watch a four (!) part series on Harris tweed.

I get annoyed with those who make judgements and get all superior about the fact that they don't watch television.  The people who look down their noses at the common people who watch this lower class medium all have their own addictions, sources of pleasure and guilty secrets.  If I spent my evenings at the opera or my afternoons at the library or communing with nature,  those same judgemental people would approve.  I have friends who disagree about television watching. Karl Marx once referred to religion as the 'opiate of the masses' and many of my friends think of television in the same way.  Too bad, I say.  Different strokes, etc.

My TV watching has not prevented me from being creative, indeed their are times when it has sparked my creativity.  It has occasionally been a wonderful cathartic medium for me and there are other times when it has helped me to relax, unwind and even heal.  All this from a small box - I intend to continue watching.  I wonder what's on now?

Quiet on a Sunday afternoon.

The world around feels very slow today.  The energy in my house is subdued.  Ralph is busy in the next room writing reports and is totally immersed in the hundredsof assessments he has to compose.  I have been napping and then sewing.  I love sewing.  It is a quiet, meditative thing for me to do. There are times when I just want to sew, in the same way that I want to pick up a pen and write or go into the kitchen to cook something - not for the end result, but for the sheer enjoyment of the doing.

When I was younger, I would watch my father sew.  He was a tailor all his  life and never had to think about how to sew things.  He just knew.  He made wonderful high fashion couture coats and suits for me when I was a child, but of course all I ever wanted was a cheap nylon anorak.  What kid really wants to wear cashmere coats in the playground?  My father could never understand this.  To him I was just an ungrateful nine-year old who didn't want a camel-coloured, double-breasted cashmere and vicuna coat that any 50 year old woman would give her eye teeth for!

Regardless of my childish ingratitude, he continued to make me clothes until I was old enough to be delighted with the designer garments he made.  I watched as he brought things home for my mum and fitted them out on her.  He would tear off sleeves with careless abandon, draw big white chalk lines on seams and pin buttonholes in the right places.  He would thread a needle so quickly that I could never even see him do it and his hand would fly across a hem as he sewed furiously. 

I used to watch mesmirised. My father was rarely still.  He was a restless man and was always running somewhere, so those odd moments of stillness, when he was sewing, were rare and special.  I learned to sew from him.  I don't remember him actually stopping and teaching me how to sew, I just sat at his elbow and watched. It was the closest thing we had to doing things together.  I have absolutely no memories of my father taking me places or actively doing things with my brother and me.  He would happily bring us somewhere - the the country, on a barbecue, to relatives' houses, but then he would disappear into the world of adults. This was pretty much the norm for the Eastern European refugee families we mixed with.  The fathers were a presence, but not an active one.

Quiet times always bring memories and a softness to the day. Sunday afternoons in this house always have a lazy, timeless  feeling that I love.  When we have no social arrangements and there's no shopping to be done, I love being able to lie in bed in the morning, having a leisurely breakfast and watching the day unfold. I love having no time pressure or a list of things to do. 

Days like this make me very happy.  The quiet, the sense of warmth and love I feel in my home, the knowledge that I don't need to say anything and Ralph feels the same. No shouting today, just whispers and lots of hugs.

Finally, a diagnosis on the way to the shops.

In the car this afternoon, driving to buy a new iron, I was joking with Ralph about my moods and their volatility.  I decided I was bi-polar, in a mild, albeit, noticeable way.  I was joking and so was he when he said I wasn't bipolar at all, but multi-polar.  We laughed and discussed my rapidly changing behaviour, from loving and warm one minute, to despondent through to raging the next minute.

I came home and looked up multi-polar personalities on the web and found this:

'Multi-polar disorder is characterized by the classic high/low pattern, alternating frequently between emotional extremes to the point of delusion. Grandiosity is often expressed with the multi-polar personality who feels extreme love and goodness one minute, and intense anger and mean-like-a-witch the next minute. These frequent and intense emotional episodes take their toll on family, friends and co-workers.'

Well, this certainly took me aback.  I go up and down like a yo-yo, but would never label what I do as a 'disorder'.  It is part of the rich tapestry of my life that I move between moods so much. I do not feel disordered, just chaotic and I certainly don't feel this chaos all the time.

I read this definition out to Ralph and I think he was a bit discombobulated by it.  As he said, 'but I was only joking!" Lucky for him I was not in my mean-like-a-witch phase today.

To get back to my shopping expedition.  It was to Brent Cross, a nearby shopping mall -  all indoor shops and not enough fresh air and light. Once again, and this seems like a regular event, I had to buy another steam iron.  The one I bought 18 months ago blew up on Wednesday.  I hate the fact that appliances that look perfectly fine will suddenly stop working.  Surely we live in a society where things could be manufactured without this built-in obsolescence?  Capitalism has a lot to answer for.

Well the shopping mall was today populated by women.  Lots and lots of women, shopping while their menfolk stayed at home and watched World Cup football.  I am amazed at what happens to this country when the World Cup starts.  Yesterday were the first matches and suddenly the streets seemed to empty of men.  It was as if we were back in 1940 on war watch when all the women had to take to the factories and replace the absent men during the second world war.  Today is the first match that England plays and as luck would have it, it's between England and the USA.  Ahh!  Who to root for?  Should I root for England but put a sneaky bet on the USA?  Where do my sporting loyalties lie? Do I have any loyalties, sporting or otherwise?  I actually have been asked this at least half a dozen times today and I had to stop and think about this for about ten whole seconds.  of course I will cheer for England.  I've lived here for 40 years.  I consider myself as English as most of the English and I even tremble a bit for the possibility that we will lose this first match and I will never be able to hold my head up amongst the Yanks that I know.  Also luckily, I don't really particularly care who wins, who plays, what order the teams play in or how long this madness carries on.  I intend to plan my shopping expeditions, restaurant visits and trips into town to coincide with this week's matches.

Back to my multi-polar personality and my multi-polar life. I have always fluctuated in my moods.  As a child I was sulky and described as 'moody'.  Those who know me will know that I am still a bit that way sometimes (!). I went through my menopausal years doing a rather convincing interpretation of a screaming banshee and my son took to referring to me as my 'evil twin'.  Thankfully those days are gone and I have returned to my usual normal fluctuating patterns.

I do wish I was even-tempered and quietly, meditatively accepting of the world, but I think I would miss the craziness of my life.  I also think these bouts of 'mishigas' contribute to my creativity.  Forty or so years ago I saw a play called 'Equus' by Peter Shaffer.  The premise of the play was that by curing someone of their non-conforming, disturbed behaviour will we also condemn them to a life of mediocrity and stagnancy.  This resonates with me still and I wonder if I am  not just a child of my time.  I grew up in the generation Tom Wolfe labelled the 'Me Generation', a generation of self-involved people concerned with their own emotional needs and well-being.  Of course this led to a selfishness that I see in myself.  I grew up with my feeeelings taking the front row in my life and now that I want my feelings to take a back seat, that's not so easy.  Old habits die hard.

Generally, though, as far as multi-polarities are concerned I am feeling good right now.  I have taken back control of my appetite and am eating in a healthy balanced way again and this always makes me feel positive.  I am looking forward to next weekend's chanting with Krishna Das and the sun is shining more these days.  The garden is abundantly green and the days are light and longer.  I have a new steam iron and am ready to take on the world again. What could be bad?

Surprises galore today!

Driving in my car, on a journey I make with great regularity, I suddenly found myself talking out loud.  This is not as rare an occurrence as it used to be, but I still startled myself when I heard my voice speaking my thoughts out loud.  No, I am not losing my mind.  I feel perfectly clear and sane today, more than I have felt for some weeks. What I was saying to myself was "I welcome all new experiences today, I welcome all positive energy into my life, I am open to positive experiences today".

Surprise! I thought.  Where the hell did that come from?  Usually I drive along in my fugue state blocking out the world and just quietly trying to get through my day.  This morning it felt completely different.  Immediately preceding this uncharacteristic positive vocalising I was musing on the years that I was a sannyassin - a disciple or follower - of Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh, now known as Osho.  Specifically I was remembering the name I was given by him and that I went by for over ten years of my life.  Bhagwan named me Yoga Shakti. 

This is quite a name to be given.  It has a powerful meaning and when I was given the name I felt it to be more than I could fulfill.  I was told that the name meant 'union with energy'.  Wow!  This made me feel very small and very big all at the same time.  Initially calling myself by this name seemed an arrogance, a presumption of power that I didn't really feel.  As I got used to my new name I began to enjoy my name.  Hey, I was powerful, I was cosmic energy personified, I was an explosion in human form - great!

For some years I felt I was growing into this new name. I lead encounter groups, meditations, and I was a dynamic, talented leader in many areas of my life.  At the same time I began to feel a bit embarrassed by calling myself a name that was so loaded with meaning.  I started to wonder whether my name was something I was meant to aspire to, or was it some indication of what my guru felt was missing from life?  I never asked.  It was clear that everything I thought was true and also everything I thought or speculated was also so much nonsense.

Actually, I did once ask Bhagwan about my name.  When I first was given the name I wondered if it was truly for me, so I wrote to Bhagwan in India.  The reply was immediate and said simply, 'A rose by any other name..."  So I guess this name was mine and I had to work out what Yoga Shakti meant for me.

Remembering all of this today, I recalled that when I stopped being a disciple of Bhagwan's I also stopped using the name he had given me and went back to being Cynthia.  It also became clear to me that when I thought about my sannyas name I felt a bit ashamed at how little I was living up to my name and how low and depressed and energy-less I often seemed to be - exactly the opposite of my idea of how a Yoga Shakti should be.  After some soul searching experiences in recent years I began to re-integrate with the identity I had as Yoga Shakti and the woman I now am.  I do still carry the 'union with energy' that I once felt I owned and I catch genuine glimpses of the powerful person I can be, when I choose this.

There are still people who call me Shakti. People I knew from my life then, that are still part of my life now.  You know what, I am surprised to find that I rarely correct them.  I like hearing myself referred to as Shakti.  Some of it is nostalgia for an idyllic youth, but some of it is also that I like to be reminded that I once lived this name each and every day.

So, today, driving along, speaking those positive affirmations out loud, I felt myself to be accompanied by the 'union with positive energy', the Yoga Shakti of my past, travelling along with me in the present. It sure felt and still feels very good.

Fear and Loathing in Crouch End (with apologies to Hunter S.Thompson).

Sometimes I wish I used drugs - not just aspirin or antihistamines, but real, mind-altering, heavy duty drugs.  The kind of drugs that would make my humdrum everyday world look psychedelically different and take me to a different  reality without having to leave my armchair. The kind of drugs that would grab my life and shake it up into a new pattern.

Hold on there, this is not a notice of leaving my senses or a declaration of intention.  It's just that some days I am so bored and fed up with my own reality that I might welcome an easy way to leave it.  I don't drink, so alcohol is out. I've tried to have a glass of wine when I come home and I can't really understand what people see in it.  I have to admit that I drink wine when it is served to me and I can even distinguish between good and bad vintages (I think) but, you know what, I don't really like it.  I find all wines are a bit acidic and they never taste as good as a diet coke does. Does this make me sound unsophisticated?  Probably, but it is the truth. I've indulged and even over-indulged in mind numbing amounts of tequila, grappa and absinthe and though they do alter my world (and my balance) they also make me feel dreadful and the next morning, even champagne gives me a shocking headache.

I wish I could read science fiction or fantasy books and disappear into someone else's bizarro world for a  while, but again, I can't seem to get into books that blur the lines of the real world with some future life where women rule weird planets or people replicate by using machines.  It's just not my style and when I look up from a book, there it is again - same old, same old.

Unfortunately I am very reality-oriented.  I like my world to make sense and to have certain specified parameters.   This is as much the problem as it is a source of security for me.  My world is sort of limited by this need to be safe.  This confronted me today when a member of one of my courses announced that they had made a 'bucket list'.  A list of all the things they want to do before they die is how they explained it.  It has never ocurred to me to do this.  Am I missing something?  Should I be making a bucket list?  What would I put on it?  Where would my genuine desires end and my skewed realities begin?

OK - here is an attempt to begin to put together a list of things I would like to do or experience before I am too decrepit to enjoy myself (this, by the way,  could happen at any moment):

• Visit Japan,  especially the older, traditional parts of Japan
• Create an artistic masterpiece
• Spend a week in a luxury spa like Canyon Ranch
• Go to the Bhakti Fest in the desert in California and chant for a week
• Tour the palaces of India
• Share a beach holiday in a tropical paradise with Ralph
• Have a house in the hills of Tuscany
• Visit the monasteries of Bhutan

Suddenly I see that most of the things that immediately come to mind involve travelling the world.  I guess that this is the easiest and most pleasant way I know to alter my reality, to enter the reality of another culture and immerse myself in that new way of life for a while.  I am absolutely not interested in seeing ten countries in ten days as part of a cruise.  I want a month at least in a place.  I want to learn the foods of these countries and meet the people.  I want to watch craftsmen from all over the world demonstrating their particular skill.  I want to soak up these differences like a big, hungry sponge. I want to cook alongside the people of Kerala and the old widows of the Italian hills.  All of these things make me smile and especially because they are not unattainable.  I could do these things, at least some of them, quite easily.

I guess I do quite like fantasy, but they have to be fantasies that I create; lying on a beach sipping tropical cocktails (I do love those calorific drinks!), cooking and creating spectacular delights, painting masterpieces and generally opening up the borders of my world to encompass new things.  These are the mind-altering drugs I need today, just imagining expanding my boundaries is enough for now. I already feel better and even my own world seems different.

God bless my women friends...

This morning I had a long, very comforting telephone conversation with a distant friend.  she commiserated with me over my weight gain, she commiserated with me over my depressions, anxieties and doubts and she commiserated with me over my general malaise.  This was a wonderful gift.  Sometimes all that's needed is someone who understands, has been on a similar journey and knows that no real advice is necessary.  All that was needed in that moment was for her to be alongside me and put a compassionate, distant arm around me.

Over the last years I have come to value this more and more.  I am a big advice giver.  Come to me with a problem and I will try and find an answer for you.  Actually, it is more likely I will try and find you the answer that I think might work for me if I was in a similar situation and I think that's often the problem.  The answers we find for others are often the solutions we think might work for us if we experienced the same thing - they are not necessarily what the other person needs or wants. Sometimes what is needed is just to be listened to and given time and space to express our feelings.  This need to fix things is not unique to me,or even a womens thing.  It is part of the quick fix world we live in. I used to think this was a female trait - to try and fix everything - but I think it's more about thinking we know what's right for someone else, or at least that's what it is for me.

The urge to give advice is very strong.  If I see my loved ones in pain or strife all I really want to do is make it go away, to kiss it better. Actually, if I were only to kiss it better that would probably be fine,  but I want to make it better and make it better fast! I find myself formulating possible solutions and advice even before the person with me has finished speaking.  It really is all about listening and listening for what is needed.  It's what I usually need and I expect it's what my friends need too.  We are all pretty self-aware and if we are looking for an answer we are able ask for it directly.

When I had breast cancer so many years ago I decided to follow the treatment prescribed by my doctors. I went to my surgeon friend for second opinions and took the standard allopathic course of action. Eighteen years later I still remember how much unasked for advice I was given:  try acupuncture, coffee enemas, cut out all non-organic foods, go on the Bristol Diet, see a homeopath, use visualisation exercises, spiritual healing, naturopathy, shiatsu, reiki, Chinese herbs, leave your husband and family and go on a retreat and so much more.  I particularly recall the advice of a woman I thought was a close friend.  She insisted that I should not have surgery but should heal the tumour with something called Tibetan Pulsing, a form of energy healing.  Not only was she insistent that this was the one thing that would heal me, but when I chose not to take her advice she never spoke to me again!  All I really wanted was a shoulder to cry on and someone to listen.

When I was a teenager I never had many women friends and used to have a hard time with women.  I somehow felt too exposed and raw with other women.  It was always easier for me to make friends with men.  With men I could be flirtatious and use all my well-honed powers of manipulation and seduction to get my way or hide behind.  It wasn't till I was older and had spent a lot of hours, even years, confronting myself and discovering a lot about my own identity that I was able to become close to women as friends and now I feel the strength that we give each other as women is as vital as the air I breathe.  It is a sadness for me that some of my closest friends are far away, but telephones and e-mails make closeness easier. 

So this morning's phone call was a real blessing - I needed to vent for a while and this is what my girlfriend gave me - the space to just talk (and boy, can I talk).  Maybe I wasn't as receptive to listening to her side of the conversation as I could have been but I made a pretty good effort and the end result was I got up, showered, got dressed, put on my make-up and went out for a while to face the world.  I took with me a sense of being hugged by my friend and heard and it was just what I needed. I will try and remember this the next time my daughter calls and tells me what a dreadful day she's had. I will bite my tongue and not say "what you need to do is..." I will just listen with a loving heart.  She knows enough to ask if she needs advice!

I am so grateful to have strong, dynamic women as friends.  I like to think we all reflect the best in each other.

Fear of Mediocrity

I am good at my job.  I pride myself in delivering excellent training courses in an enjoyable fashion.  I work in areas that are highly emotive and that provoke many different levels of feeling in people.  When I deal with issues around prejudice and behaviour there are times when my work becomes very challenging and sometimes difficult.  I cope very well with the emotions and opinions raised in my courses.  I have learned to control my reactions and respond to the often underlying anxiety that people's emotional  reactions come from. 

I went off to deliver a day of training today having slept for about three hours.  I am still very jet-lagged and I find that the older I get the longer it takes for me to get over these quick trips to another continent. I've been home for three days now.  You would think I would be back to normal. This morning I dragged myself from my bed and immediately downed two ibuprofen for a throbbing sleep-deprived headache.  I went through the usual morning routine and set off for work. As luck would have it my course had no less than 15(!) participants - more than I would like, and all of them showed up.

I delivered my course in my usual breezy fashion and maybe that was the problem.  I think today I was just too relaxed.  I felt no sense of urgency or pressure to perform and just went through the motions of training people in an area of work which I have delivered hundreds of times before.  The feedback at the end of the day was very good, not all ten out of ten, but almost, and yet I felt that I had shortchanged the participants.  I did not have the 'edge' that keeps me on my toes and means that I pick up on changes in the group dynamics and the feel of the group.  I delivered a perfectly adequate course.  Other trainers might have been completely satisfied with the performance I turned in, but I was not.

Training is a bit like acting.  You are only as good as your last course and the critics reviewing my performance matter.  I know that I shouldn't get caught up in these subjective reviews.  I know that my style and manner do not appeal to everyone. My New York Jewish way of approaching things is still sometimes a bit  much for the reserved Brits, but usually I temper that more than today.  Having just returned from my Jewish homeland I think I am still a bit over the top in my expressiveness.  it takes a few days to adopt some of the 'cloak of invisibility' that the English like to adopt.

I hate to feel that I could have done better.  I could have made my course today a bit tighter, a bit less laid back and a bit more formal.  Some people 'get' me and that's delightful.  To others I will always be that foreign Semitic creature from another planet.  I'm sure I'll do better on Thursday.