Who am I?

What is this thing called identity? This straightjacket in which I uphold the following words: fearful, woman, angry, poet, sad, singer, joyful, healer, peaceful, mother, hateful, daughter, love, short, alone, beautiful, jealous, ugly, Indian, greedy, American, generous, Buddhist, delusional, nature lover, wise.

When I am stuck with these labels, I suffer. I cannot reach outside of myself to see that I am really none of these. My mind may hold on to one or more of these labels to save me from death, but why die in so much pain?

If i can let go, maybe i can open to someone else’s suffering and see the stains within their own hearts. Maybe i can awaken a peace they have sought outside themselves. Maybe they will look closely at their own stains and find an opportunity for art therapy.

In our deaths, may we all live. In our suffering, may we learn that we are not fixed identities. We can change. We can find love, we can be love, even if we still hate.

A Letter to Truth

Dear Truth,

You have unveiled me. I see that fear and trust are two sides of the same coin. In a world of daggers, petals are also possible. I cannot contain my bliss any longer.

Let me open to the world. Let my own suffering be a story, an ear to receive their stories, a space for their emotions and thoughts to travel far and wide as they must to find you.

Let me love them as you have loved me.

Buddha Nature

In nature, there is no heaven or hell.

The tree does not complain about losing her leaves in order to carry snow in her bare arms. The flower does not bend toward the lake to reflect on her beauty, or stand taller than the other flowers to be noticed by the sun.

In nature, there is simple understanding.

Blossom

Learning to bloom again. Is it spring or my heart that is opening?

Life just seems to continue revealing such wondrous gifts when I am open to all possibilities. I am currently in the process of starting a mindfulness support group at my workplace for mothers who struggle postpartum. This group is born out of my own womb, my own experience with my beautiful daughter. I did not always see her this way, but this babe is truly sacred. She swam in the Amniotic Sea of my womb for 9 plus months, and was first a shark who threatened to devour me whole. Now, after 2 and 1/2 years of being with her, she is a little mermaid with her own ocean of secrets and hidden wisdom she slowly reveals through laughter and tears.

I may also be part of a small meditational writing group, which I know will ultimately help me dive into those dark places I have previously been too terrified to explore. I feel extremely blessed to be able to give and receive in this world.

Learning to bloom again. Is it spring or my heart that is opening?

Someone is Dying

Someone is dying.

That someone is me.

Not a 6 month to one year prognosis from a terminal illness, but a letting go of all I have ever known.

I used to believe that fear would save me. Worry just enough, and maybe even sprinkle just a little extra anxiety to convince myself I can control future events.

I know nothing. Except for this moment. Beginner’s Mind, my mind is like an empty page. The words cannot be written, the colors cannot be painted until the moment arrives.

And when it does, I will know who to be, what to say, what to do. I am on the right path. I wish to let go of all my preconceived notions of what will happen. The only thing I wish to hold onto is trust in this practice.

Good bye old mind. I do not hate you. I do not wish for you to die sooner than you must. You brought me here. I will collect ashes from your pyre, let them scatter with the wind and float on the river.

You will join the earth, as I am born again.

Going Deeper

I.

i am not sitting at the edge
of a cliff, but sliding into this world
where dead birds are as beautiful
as sunsets, the passing of moments
of life, each kaleidoscope turn
glass beings circling one another
forsaking or embracing the design
and i am the space between them
making the connections

II.

give me my daughter’s fear
give me my husband’s anger
give me my sadness
i may lose hair
i may lose sleep
but i am a river
meeting their turbulent edges
vibrations transmitted to the deepest
part of me, my family trembling
‘please make it stop’
and i meet them again
with love for their pain
and space for my own heart
to be cut and washed again
the edges no longer sharp
but soft with understanding

Stillness Evolution

in this breath
there is no tomorrow
no trapping of seconds,

minutes, hours, or days
in muscle tension
but a river of blood

from head to toe
oxygen flowing freely
no dam to obstruct

its natural rhythm
like rain to leaves
to trunk to roots

a tree growing blossoms
or losing leaves
breathing acceptance

Rain

Rain can be a sudden inconvenience – a ruined hairdo or wet clothes. It can also be one of life’s gifts, washing away the dirt that distorts our perceptions.

A few days ago, my family attended the wedding and reception of my husband’s high school friend. A sudden loud noise through the speakers both at the wedding and reception frightened our 2.5 year old daughter. She released her fear in monsoon wails, “Home, home! Go HOME!”

A similar thing occurred at my cousin’s wedding a few weeks ago. At that time, her tears had overwhelmed me, drowned me in dissatisfaction. I was not going to be able to dance or enjoy my cousin’s wedding.

A similar weight of displeasure began to burden my mind and body as I watched by daughter cry in my husband’s arms at the second wedding. I would not be able to take part in the karaoke fun.

But something happened.

I realized I was inside myself, and I was dry. I was not drowning in my daughter’s tears. I was swimming in them. I was holding a little girl (my own inner child) who had been raised to stifle emotions, to leave them as quickly as possible in search of fairer weather, of happiness. The rain had cracked my own heart open, and I was grateful for my daughter’s fear bathing us both in this healing moment.

My husband and I decided to leave the reception for our daughter. I know now more than ever that this child will learn to embrace everything, both joy and pain in equal measure.

Sometimes we will be dry. Sometimes we will not be able to find shelter from the deluge of our overwhelming emotions. Sometimes our children will bring rain, and we will heal together.

Awakening

Awakening may not be
Christ’s Ascension or Buddha’s Enlightenment,
but a woman begging for food, for answers,
starving till she is filled with bodily sensations-
muscles twitching in fear
acid refluxing in anger
a heart soft with love.

Awakening may not be
eternal peace or the absence of pain
but a woman embracing her emotions
as orphaned children in her bosom,
her body their temple of refuge,
space to be free
and loved unconditionally.

being where you are

Just today, i was thinking how far i have come with my mom. Then, she said something and i exploded. After some time, i remembered i was engaging in false speech, and sat in silence to reflect on my words. Something inside me needed to release all the hurt, and i lashed out again.

In the past, i would have felt horrible, and nailed myself to my own cross for days. i did not feel good about what happened, but knew i had progressed a bit in forgiving myself. i am where i am. Sometimes i wish that my relationship with her were different, that she was sharing some of this insight work, that i was kinder and more patient.

Sometimes it is enough to share these words, to be where i am, knowing nothing else but now.

If the World

if the world is fire
i am water
if the world is anger
i am forgiveness
if the world is suffocating
i am a breath
if the world is gone
i will stay and say
i tried

i wrote this a few years ago and bring it back for Earth Day. Today I was just thinking how i resist change, and how i thirst for it when i am board. Change or not, the Earth sustains me and loves me. i vow to live life loving her.

35

There is a war
between imminent future threats
and burdened past regrets
my mind is unsettled
how to declare a truce?

There is a woman
who has let fear
come oh so near
frighten love away
from her heart.

There is a space
where thoughts float free
don’t bother me
and letting go
is a choice.

There are these words
to reach all lands
to join our hands
may suffering be
a door to love.

(inspired by my family)

Models

We wear clothing and personalities that separate us like long distance, neither telephone nor email helping us to bridge the gap of differences. Sometimes even our ear drums deflect the words we choose not to hear in face to face conversation. Our models, our perfect selves are sculpted from artisan marble. We are too afraid to break, to lose ourselves.

Last night I broke my model. As pieces of my shattered ego lay scattered on the floor, my heart also spilled out, raw and messy like an unboiled egg. I feared my family members would laugh at it or step on it, and the only remnants of me would be the yellow streaks of a coward who did not fight for her cause.

To my surprise, no one died. i learned that seeing others and loving them requires a certain loss of self in order to open to a universal being. No color is brighter than another. The ones that highlight themselves are likely to be the first ones that burn out.

no name

the clouds shed
so many tears
as i cry
for the women denied
the woman loved now

an opening
in the gray
is it the sun
or my heart

pouring love
everywhere