A Return to Morocco after 42 Years

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In 1975 I was twenty-three years old and had never traveled beyond the borders of North America. Yet one day, I got it into my head that I wanted to tour Morocco. Long story short, a few months later my new husband and I were singing “Marrakesh Express” at the top of our lungs in a shiny blue Renault. We were traversing the mountains and deserts of Morocco on a journey that would take us through Casablanca, Rabat, Meknes, and Fes along the undulating ribbon of freshly paved highway that connected them all to the oasis of Marrakesh.

Fast forward. 2017. Intrepid Travel’s Walking With Berber Nomads trip appeared in my Facebook feed. Whoosh! Suddenly I could hear the muezzin’s call to prayer, smell the spices in the medina, and feel the breeze lifting my hair off the back of my neck on the Barbary Coast. I signed up the very next day.

Why Morocco? Why now?

Well, you never forget your first time, right? I had thought of Morocco periodically over the years, and now I wanted to see if Morocco in the digital age had managed to remain the kind, eager-to-please country I remembered so vividly.

“You are Welcome in Our City”

This sign of hospitality on the outskirts of Fes remains my most enduring memory of 1975 Morocco.

See the young man on the motor scooter in the distance? He offered—undoubtedly in the employ of the hotel—to lead us to a reasonably priced guesthouse, petite dejuener included. We followed, and it was lovely. Tiled floors and a balcony overlooking the city, upstairs from a French bakery. Merci beaucoup. At the time, Arabic and French were the prevalent languages.

In those days before Trip Advisor, we traveled unencumbered by reviews. It may have been naive, but times were different.

We never met another traveler on that trip, and once we were outside the cities, we never saw another car. No wonder Jimi Hendrix was hiding out there! We did chat with some Peace Corps volunteers in Rabat whom we recognized as Americans by the Clarks Wallabies on their feet.

Early each day, with an Orangina in one hand and an open box of fresh croissants between us on the seat, I spread the road map on my lap as a napkin and off we went.

In contrast to the few lodgings in 1975, today there are now over a thousand hotels of all sizes—mostly in the cities—in a country the size of California. Frankly, other than these small differences, the countryside we experienced during our Walking With Berber Nomads trip remains very much the same beautiful, undeveloped landscape that I recall.

Morocco

Between Ouarzazate and the mountains

The twelve of us arrived from the US, Canada, UK, Germany and Australia to join Abdellah, our nomad guide, in Marrakesh. Most of the group were millennials, along with three 40ish, one 50ish, and me, the baby boomer senior citizen at 67.

Abdellah briefed us on our trip details before dinner. We were the very first participants—the guinea pigs as it were—so flexibility was going to be our motto. The next morning we set out on the same switchback roads I recalled. During the 7-hour drive from Marrakesh, we chatted, laughed, enjoyed the scenery, and bonded rather quickly with our shared love of traveling, hiking, and worldwide cultural experiences.

Soon we crossed the mineral-rich mountains of the Low Atlas and rolled off-road to the desolate location where we would join our Berber nomad family. It was springtime in Morocco. The nomads were ready to move their winter camp from the lowland desert to higher elevations for summer, and we would be hiking alongside, 9 to 15 km (6 to 10 miles) a day, an average of 4 to 5 hours a day on foot.

For three weeks prior, I had laid out my duffle contents on a coffee table back at home, adding and subtracting the vital and frivolous contents. Most valuable items: broken-in hiking boots with wool socks, wet wipes, hand sanitizer, trekking poles, solar charger, journal. We each were allowed a duffle bag (40 lb/ 18 kg max) and had purchased drinking water along the way. There would be no water available for bathing or showers.

Morocco

Meeting our Berber family

As we approached the Berber camp, our van drove ahead to drop off our gear, and we walked the final couple of miles to stretch our legs.

Our Berber nomad family was waiting for us across the plain at a location with smoke darkened caves that had been hand-carved into the banks by nomads hundreds of years ago.

A cook, as well as a contracted team of three men to transport our tents and gear on mules, rounded out our group.

 

MOrocco

Tucking in the Baby Goats

The animals consisted of 3 adult camels (1 of them very pregnant, and no—darn it—she didn’t give birth that week), 3 mules, 4 donkeys, 53 goats, 8 baby goats, 120 sheep, and 2 chickens. The baby goats tolerated being tucked into blanket pockets on the back of a donkey every morning with the two chickens decorating the top of the blanket pile like the bride and groom on a wedding cake.

Day temperatures averaged low 80s F./ 26 C., and dropped to 40s F./4.5 C. at night. Not too hot, not too cold. “Just right,” said the baby bear.

After dinner in the cave, we retired to our tents and fell asleep listening to the murmur of animals around us. I slept deeply in my silky long underwear with a change of clothes stuffed in the pillow shell of my sleeping bag.

Morocco

Sunrise Slowly Coming over the HIlls

At dawn, we were awakened by a symphony of cellphones with a back-up chorus of goats and sheep. I hustled into my clothes, laced up my boots and sprang from my tent to greet the day. Watching the low rays of the sun swim over each hill until we were all bathed in its rosy warmth never got old.

Morocco

Tents Pitched on the hill over the Caves

Breakfast: Mint tea, English breakfast tea, sweet Moroccan oranges, cheese, flatbread and jam.

While we ate breakfast, the crew took down the cook tent, packed up, and set out ahead of us. As Karen Blixen’s houseman Farah had longed to do in Out of Africa, the mule team went ahead of us and prepared for our arrival.

Each day had a similar routine, except for the days when they didn’t. Yes, pleasant surprises were frequent, but the common denominator was the same relaxed pattern.

Privy

  1. Rise and shine. Use privy, a hole dug in the ground with a canvas privacy stall around it.
  2. Pack up, take down tent, refill our water bottles.
  3. Eat breakfast.
  4. Hike for a couple of hours, enjoy a 15-minute break with a snack of tangerines, nuts and some bite-size cookies/biscuits like American animal crackers. Maybe some chocolate.

    Morocco

    Break for Tea in a Dry Riverbed

  5. Continue hiking to the night’s campsite.
  6. Enjoy the lunch that awaited us in a cave lined with rugs and our sleeping mats.
  7. Rest for the afternoon in our

    Solar Charging my iPhone

    tents or communally in a cave, write in our journals, or explore.

  8. Meet for dinner in a cave around an oil lantern. Share stories and comradery.
  9. Before or after dinner join the nomads in their singing, dancing and drumming.

 

Mule Team Transporting our Gear

 

Day Two. The High Atlas before us. Seven hours. Crossing two valleys, countless ridges and a dry riverbed.

Abdellah and Linda Summersea pause at the first 1000′ climb in elevation. Low Atlas behind us, High Atlas ahead of us.

Our guide Abdellah with a member of the nomad team.

What did We Talk About on the Trail?

Everything except politics. Exclamation Point.

When you’re traveling with strangers, you don’t have the same reservations about being judged, so you tend be more frank. In the group, we rarely, I think, spoke about ourselves. This was about cultural immersion and we wanted to learn as much as we could about the nomadic lifestyle. For myself, I found that the conversations I had were about comparing travel destinations, discussing religious philosophy, and asking Abdellah questions about everything under the Moroccan sun: halal vs. non-halal, education, solar energy in Morocco, and more. Abdellah frequently addressed us on topics related to our passage: farming, crops, exports, irrigation, the structure of village politics, cemeteries and burial customs—anything we saw that caught our interest. Other times, we walked along alone with our thoughts, the rhythm of our footsteps the only sound.

After many miles, a village.

The nomads follow the old caravan routes, so our trek eventually brought us to some of the original 1000-year-old kasbahs (walled towns) in the mountains. The family herded the animals around their perimeter, while we passed through two villages. We saw the architecture and gardens up close, and stopped for tea at a B&B.

Approaching the Village

As in Moroccan households, in camp, fresh mint tea was a ritual at every meal. The silver teapot is held high while pouring into the traditional glasses with lots of Moroccan lump sugar.

Fatima shared her daily tasks, teaching us a variety of skills from flatbread baking over the fire to goat milking at dawn. She even applied kohl to the eyes of our women and organized a mock wedding with the “bride” selected from our group and the cook serving as “groom”. The wedding took place on our final night in camp, a celebration that coincided with reaching the nomads’ summer location. There was a bridal procession with singing and dancing, and even “parents” of the bride and groom to demonstrate the details of a typical Berber nomad wedding.

Morocco

Fatima with Flatbread

Morocco

Linda Summersea with our Berber Nomad Family

That night was our final night in camp. The following morning we expressed our heartfelt thanks to the family for being such kind hosts and so generous in sharing their culture with us.

We passed along items from our gear that we thought they might be able to use. I contributed my trusty roll of duct tape.

After many hugs and shukran’s (thank you’s), we reluctantly lifted our backpacks for our last hike as a group.

Just before rounding a bend in the trail, I turned back for one last look at the scene of camp activity in the distance. Generations of nomads have repeated this tradition annually in the deserts and mountains of Morocco, but for how much longer, I wondered.

Ahead of us, our van was waiting, ready to return us to the bustling streets of Marrakesh—and our first showers in a week.

After we split up at the hotel, I spent a couple extra days unwinding in the city, eating ice cream, getting a hammam (traditional scrub-down, bath and massage), and exploring the Djemma el Fna Square to see how the cobra charmers were doing.

But that’s a story for another day.

#RockTheCasbah

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Make Beautiful Music

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Last night I dreamed that I was getting married. My female relatives, young and old, were gathered all around me. It was a consummate summer scene in a fragrant apple orchard with vivid green grass and brilliant blue sky.

Instead of a frothy veil, I wore a simple crown of daisies in my hair. This crown was just like the one I had braided in my kitchen from a bouquet of Stop & Shop daisies shortly before I was married nearly forty-three years ago. This time there was no groom to be seen.

I innately knew that this marriage was mine alone.

I watched my sister approach carrying a banjo, in spite of the fact that she has never played a musical instrument.

She handed the banjo to me, in spite of the fact that I also have never played a musical instrument.

I sat down with this instrument in the midst of the wedding guests and looked down at the fretboard that crossed my lap. It was a light-colored wood that made me think of birch forests. Or maybe aspen.make beautiful music

I tentatively strummed across its taut nylon strings with my thumb, and was surprised to hear amazing music, so I continued to play. I played as if I knew what I were doing and the music kept coming, clear and beautiful.

The relatives moved in closer, surprised at my sudden talent.

And then it was gone.

I think that my dream means that sometimes we underestimate our abilities and our capacity for creating our own joy.

The banjo is a less respected instrument than guitars and violins and cellos, but it’s capable of beautiful music. Just because we’re different doesn’t mean that we can’t be beautiful.

This year, embrace your uniqueness and your dreams of the future. Don’t depend on anyone else to get you there or you may find yourself disappointed.

You and your path, like the banjo, might be uncommon, but they’re no Linda Summersealess deserving of success. You can get there on your own. I know you can.

Happy New Year.

make beautiful music

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Meditation on One’s Calling

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Clearly, for me, May has been a month of false starts and unfinished business, crossroads, and decision-making. Let’s try this blog post again. 🙂

Every Friday morning, I park my vehicle under a large Kwanzan cherry tree in a parking lot a couple blocks away from the Senior Center. With its fragrant double blossoms, it’s the kind of exemplary cherry tree that we associate with cherry blossom festivals in the Spring.

Two weeks ago its petals were drifting down to the pavement in flurries so thick it was accumulating like snow. Moist and slippery. And beautiful.

I was on my way to my weekly Guided Meditation Class.

I was thinking about earth—dirt, soil, compost, all of the above. I had spent a month that was more outdoors than in. I had been walking the earth, digging in the earth and thinking about digging in the earth, in the sun and in the shade, in the brutal heat and the cool rain.

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I had begun April walking with Berber nomads from the desert plains to the Atlas mountains of Morocco, where the earth and the air were dry as toast. For a week, our international group of twelve were an active part of the nomadic experience 24/7.

Atlas Mountains, Morocco, April 2017.

 

No running water save for one lively spring that poured  from a crack in the upthrust rocks on day 2. No conveniences of any sort, and millions—billions—of brilliant pinpricks of stars above by the time I slid into my sleeping bag in a new location each night. Intimately connected to the earth, with only the occasional bleating of sheep and goats breaking the silence.

When I returned, I spent a week transitioning back to modern life and crawling around in my damp gardens, thinning, transplanting, and weeding in preparation for another couple of weeks away in the outdoors.

I set out again, hiking the woods and hills in the Berkshires Mountains of western Massachusetts, enjoying “carpe diem” moments to continue the hiking momentum that had dominated my days in North Africa. Again, I hiked for hours without even noticing the time.

I found myself drawn to the trails where my literary heroes had walked, some of these trails now part of the Appalachian Trail. Went to the farm of Herman Melville and walked in his woods, climbing over fallen trees, and standing beside gardens that were still half-asleep after a long, stormy winter.

On one particularly unseasonably warm day, I climbed Monument Mountain where Melville and his friends had enjoyed these same views after a sweaty hike through mature deciduous woods scattered with the rocky remains of boulders tossed there during the Ice Age ten-thousand years ago.

Drove down to Amherst to Emily Dickinson’s home. Looked out the window from her second-floor bedroom, more gardens, more inspiration.

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All of those experiences were uppermost in my mind on my way to meditation class that Friday morning.

Our theme that day: What do I have that I can share with the world?

We began with deep breaths in and deep breaths out. 4 seconds in, 4 seconds out. Belly breaths. By the time we reached the completion of our meditation, I was 8 seconds in, 11 seconds out. A new level of relaxation for me.

When I opened my eyes, I had my answer to the theme.

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“Sharing my truth” is my answer. It’s been my goal for the past few years. I had dug deep into shrouded memories to write my childhood memoir after a long career as a teacher. I thought those years of teaching had (almost) been fruitless. I knew I had affected lives here and there, as most teachers do, and I had felt the reciprocal effects of my students’ lives as they taught me their life lessons. But teaching was not the career I had longed for as a child. I wanted to write, and it was a great relief when I realized later in life that it wasn’t too late.

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Two days ago, our meditation theme was a variation on our earlier “sharing”.  What was “our purpose” or “our calling”in life?

Suddenly I remembered the words of a school principal during one of my annual job assessments. She told me that true teachers are born, not made, and that I was a natural-born teacher.

During Friday’s meditation, those words suddenly came back to me and I understood that all those years of teaching were not for naught.

I now see that there’s a connection between my previous life’s work and my current life’s work. With my writing, I hope to, want to, will continue to teach, but on a different scale and in a different format. No longer one to one, or one to thirty, writing has the ability to be one to infinity. As a writer, our work and inspiration can carry on long after we are gone.

What is your calling? your purpose?

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The Metaphor of Me

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Today I listened to an interview in which it was suggested that we look inward for the metaphor of who we are and what we do in the world… what’s going on in our life.

My metaphor popped up instantly.

metaphor of meI am a conch shell.

A conch shell may be empty

but it once was a full, living, breathing creature.

It has been deep in the sea and

it has drifted in the shallows.

Its inner surface has become smooth and shiny and beautiful

from its body reaching out

over and over again

in order to move through the sea.

It has churned in the surf,

Become faded,

Scratched and cracked,

but it still has value, and now, a new role.

Although its core has been removed

(the food, the conch)

it has begun a new life.

Even when it’s damaged,

with its tip broken off,

it can be sounded like a horn.

Now it’s the voice of a musical instrument,

or a reminder to look up and listen for the message.

As an empty shell,

it can be held to someone’s ear

where the sound gets reflected back.

It still has something to contribute.

The shell will never be completely empty

as long as it can reflect back

someone else’s beauty,

or

a reminder

of where it once was,

and what it took to get here.

 

What’s your metaphor?

 

Return to Kripalu

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A return to Kripalu is always a full sensory immersion. Even while parking the car in the upper parking lot, I opened my door and the pungent scent of the forest immersed me in positivity. I walked down the hill, enjoying the view of the lake below and relishing each step, bringing me closer to the place that I have raved about to so many people—the place that changed my way of looking at life. Life with a capital “L”.

I found myself smiling continuously, the corners of my mouth curved softly upward, as I made my way around to the entry where the boot scraper and snow shovel reminded me that this is indeed a year ’round facility, ready to share its love and knowledge with us at any time that we’re able to arrive.

“Love and Knowledge”. I don’t say that lightly. Kripalu Center for Yoga & Wellness—as I’ve said in the past—is not some woo-woo kind of place. Maria Sirois, my first teacher here, reminded me of that. Kripalu is real.

When I visited last fall, I was introduced to Ayurveda and went home to seek an Ayurvedic counselor of my own. Lucky me. We have one on our island—and a very fine one indeed. I met with Melanie Farmer after filling out pages and pages of pre-appointment information. She read my health history, my health desires, and scrutinized my skin. She asked me about my life, my current situation, my daily patterns, my diet, my desires, my goals. After our lengthy consultation, I did the unspeakable! I eliminated processed sugar from my diet. Amazingly, it was easy. After the first ten days, I felt so fine that I couldn’t imagine returning to my previous relationship with M&M Peanuts. Lost twenty pounds. Regained my energy and self-confidence. Began to eat in alignment with the seasons.

Would I have done this without Kripalu?

Not a chance.

So here I was again. This time, I knew what I was in for.

Gentle yoga delivered with the softest of voices, coaxing us from one posture to the next. Bending, flexing, rolling, breathing. Ah, savasana!

Then a silent breakfast of fine whole foods, organic and Ayurvedic choices. Mmmm.

Followed by Introduction to Ayurveda: Life in Balance, with Cat Pacini.

“Simple, everyday approaches for increasing your health and vitality through Ayurveda, the ancient approach to health care that originated in India. Ayurvedic wisdom teaches us to connect with our deepest selvers, the source of all healing.”

After that, I couldn’t get to YogaDance fast enough. Still managed to consume my lunch “mindfully” before heading to the studio.

“Mindfully” is how you try to do everything at Kripalu. A little sign on the refrigerator door in the cafe reminds you to “be mindful of shutting the door”. A sign in the basement on your way to the sauna reminds the staff to be “mindful” of closing the office doors quietly. As you exit the property, a street sign advises to “Drive Mindfully”. Mindful works. It’s not a New Age joke. Do what you do “mindfully” and it will have so much more meaning. Everything.

I didn’t have time to tell Dan Leven how his YogaDance—last fall— had changed me from a non-dancer to a fully-evolved, celebratory dance-all-the-time individual.

I’m fortunate to live on a small island in Puget Sound where experience is not defined by age, where we celebrate our joy in any number of venues. My favorite is “One Night in Bangkok”, a first Friday dance event when the local Thai restaurant reopens after hours from 11 PM to 2 AM for a lively celebration of contemporary music amid scribble lasers. Sure, I’m 65 years old, but that’s what 9 PM caffeine is for. Or dark-chocolate-covered coffee beans.

The noon time YogaDance fulfilled my expectations again. New moves. New flows. Individuals becoming small groups, feeding off each others’ moves. Joy.

I do regret that I had to leave YogaDance fifteen minutes early to get to Aruni Nan Futuronsky and Izzy Lenihan’s Sharing Circle. They are wellness coaches of the nth degree. I didn’t want to miss a minute of what they had to share.

I was doing a self-imposed R&R Retreat, a day long visit with lots of options for classes, meals, hikes, kayaking. You choose.

Next I moved on to Kripalu’s Food Philosophy, with Annie B. Kay, the lead nutritionist at Kripalu. In a perfect world I would have learned more about Buddha bowls. But that’s OK. I learned how Kripalu designs food for health and more.

“Transform your health by deepening your awareness and understanding of food and nourishment. Explore a whole-being approach to nourishment drawn from the wisdom of yoga, and discuss how to cultivate compassionate self-observation.”

In my small class, there were fifteen pre-med students on retreat from the University of Connecticut. How wonderful that our American medical schools are acknowledging the power of non-mainstream, non-U.S. medicine and nutrition!

This was followed by another soothing yoga class. Happiness on the mat. And dinner. Another delightful mindful menu.

I happened to observe more of the participants this time. There were the usual young women, the largest segment. But Lots more men this time. All ages. Not just guys with man buns. Although I kind of like man buns.

Men and women older than I, too. 70s, 80s. Yoga and Ayurvedic are for all. It’s never too late.

As I spread a slice of flaxseed bread with organic apricot jam (for dessert), I enjoyed a cup of chamomile tea, and anticipated my path to the basement. As usual, I took the stairs. Why take the elevator when you can take advantage of a cardiovascular opportunity—and enjoy the inspiring posters in the stairwell?

I should add that in between these classes and meals, I had plenty of break time to visit the cafe, to record my thoughts, and to enjoy a snack of dark chocolate. Yes, I love the 35 cent teeny-tiny bite that gives me a boost without the guilt!

In the basement sauna, I ended my day as I had so many times before during my previous visit. Horizontal, naked on a warm wooden bench, eyes closed in reflection on such a fine day.

I thought of a brief encounter that I had at the main desk earlier that day.

I was crossing the carpet when a man—a bit younger than I—but not much—leaned forward, lifting his left leg behind him casually in a move that just happened to karate-chop me across the shins. I fell forward, convinced that I was going to be flattened—maybe injured—in that brief second.

But no. I caught myself by grasping the edge of the wooden counter as I was catapulted forward. The sweet man was horrified.

The desk staff looked on, eyes wide. He apologized over and over. I said it was “OK”. Over and over.

We were stuck in an endless circle of apologies and forgiveness. The two minutes felt like forever.

Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. I crossed the carpet and raised my open arms, inviting him to join me in a hug. He smiled in surprise, and we hugged warmly as the staff laughed in relief.

The moment was diffused. Mindfully.

This is what the Kripalu experience is all about.

Perfection is Overrated

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Is Perfection overrated? I think so.

A writer friend just sent me a download on the importance of being “Good Enough,” as opposed to being “Perfect.”

Long Story Short: If we fall victim to the whims of the Perfectionist in ourselves, we can damage the expression of our Creativity.

Example:

You write a stream-of-consciousness response to a few thoughts that you wish to convey. Your article is gritty and true.

Then you start fine-tuning it. You go too far. Instead of fine-tuning, you accidentally strip out the emotion.

Instead of capturing its essence, you pound it down to a shadow of its former self.

We need to encourage ourselves in our writing, and our lives, not look for the flaws.

Learning to recognize when we are Good Enough is not always easy, but it’s a good goal.

In fact, it’s a Good Enough goal.

Thanks, Nancy Harris.

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How Do You Want to be Remembered?

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Write down ten things that you want to be remembered for or ten characteristics that you want to be remembered for. Ten “totally you” remembrance criteria.

Do this before you read any further so that you’re not influenced by the ten criteria that I’m going to share regarding my own life.

“How do you want to be remembered?”

Write the answers spontaneously, without digging too deep.

They don’t have to be complicated. No long paragraphs. Just phrases. Even a simple list.

Got it down?

Now look at #1. This shows what you value most in your life. Is #1 materialistic or is it spiritual? Is it self-centered or does it focus on others? If you’re truly altruistic, maybe your first choice is even related to a worldview.

Move on to #2 and #3. Ask yourself the same questions.

#4 and #5. Are you seeing a pattern here?

Use your list as a means of self-examination. If these are the things that you want to be remembered for, they’re probably also a good view of your current values.

Are these values that you’re proud of?

Are you practicing the traits that you value in others?

Can you see room for improvement?

When you examine them, do you see items that are superficial­­–– like wealth or external beauty?

Do you see any obvious weaknesses or omissions? I found something significant missing from my own ten ways.

I would like to be remembered

  1. As an individual who wasn’t afraid to love deeply.
  2. As a good mother.
  3. As a teacher who loved her students and tried to make learning meaningful and fun.
  4. As a kind woman.
  5. As a risk taker.
  6. As a writer who loved language and wasn’t shy about sharing her sensitive side.
  7. As one who shared- thoughts, meals, resources, books.
  8. As a lover of nature- flora, fauna. All things outdoors.
  9. As one who loved learning and pursued it to the very end.
  10. As a gardener who created beauty in her outdoor surroundings.

Did you notice what’s missing?

Friendship.

I regret that I have few persons that I can call “friends”. I could make the excuse that it’s because my parents discouraged me from having friendships. As a child, I never learned how to nurture friendships- just as I never learned how to love my siblings.

And while I learned, as an adult, how to love my siblings, it has taken me a very long time to learn and experience true Friendship. I know that this is my personal weakness and I still have more work to do. I struggle with feelings of inadequacy that cause me to be surprised if someone expresses interest in sharing friendship with me. I don’t reach out as much as I should. I don’t respond as much as I should.

We each have personal flaws that we can change or eliminate with effort.

What do you want to be remembered for?

Ask yourself this question and see if you’re measuring up to your vision of your better self.

How do you want to be remembered?

 

From Hopeless to Hope – My Week at Kripalu Center for Yoga & Health

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This is Mental Health Week.

Last week I enjoyed a glorious retreat of self-discovery and restoration at Kripalu, the world famous yoga and wellness center in Stockbridge MA. I didn’t check in under my writer name and I definitely didn’t plan on writing about my time there.

I also didn’t plan to be transformed by the experience.

First, let me assure you that this is not a woo-woo place. It’s a serious non-profit devoted to helping us become our best selves through a rich catalog of courses for growth.

We were 16 participants in a program entitled “Rejuvenate and Reclaim Life over 40.” On Sunday evening, we shed our flip-flops outside the door to our meeting space and claimed our places on the carpeted floor where a circle of cushioned yoga chairs awaited us. Our youngest participant was 42 and I was the oldest at 65. When Maria Sirois, our clinical psychologist leader, introduced herself, I’m sure that I was not the only one who was more than slightly envious of this sensuous 40-something young woman with a playful, positive style.

Maria told us that we were going to be given the tools that would help us to become more mindful, resilient human beings. We would increase our capacity to thrive and regain our sense of a life worth living. Really?

I began to cry. I was not the only one, of course. Maria passed me a tissue box while lightly, but sincerely, reminding us: “What happens in Kripalu stays in Vegas.” Our individual burdens were varied, and no one was required to share their story, but we found that in our pods of two to six caring peers, we were safe. We could do this.

We would be dreaming and talking about very concrete, practical goals—putting our lives into perspective.

Would we really find serenity and begin living our true, authentic life in just under a week? We would, and we did.

Each morning began with an opportunity to participate in Gentle Yoga, a lovely way to greet the day with a relaxed wake-up yoga practice—easy prone positions or hands and knees asanas. After savasana, we rolled off our mats and followed the fragrance of breakfast.

Breakfast at Kripalu is always silent, giving us the opportunity to practice mindfulness as we enjoyed the nourishing, organic choices. Vegetarian, non-vegetarian organic, Ayurvedic, Buddha bowls— too many to describe here and all beautiful. Have you wanted to try healthy organic foods that someone else has prepared superbly for you? Ayurvedic spices, world sourced organic teas, and an abundance of fresh fruit and whole grain breads. Meals for Living and Thriving.

One is not allowed to use electronics on the premises, except in the Café or in the privacy of your room. I hand-wrote my notes and transcribed them to my laptop each evening. It turned out to be a good opportunity to review what I had learned each day. Mindfulness. Happiness. Flow. Loving Kindness. Courage!

IMG_5148Outside there are expansive lawns, orchards, hiking trails, a lake, labyrinth and lots of places to contemplate quietly or share conversation. Sometimes I enjoyed taking my lunch tray outside to a picnic table under a canopy, even on a cool rainy day when a little wren, with her feathers puffed up against the breeze, was my only company. She hopped over to me and we contemplated each other with our heads tilted, eye-to-eye. I imagined that we were giving each other much needed encouragement.

By the third day, I had the energy to join the Yoga Dances during lunch—an hour of spontaneity during which we were introduced to yoga and Qigong moves that were translated to contemporary music, starting slow, gaining tempo. Fantastic sweaty joyous fun!

Our program also included Wellness taught by an M.D., a class in Qigong taught by- don’t laugh- a soft-spoken, near Harrison Ford look-alike. We also enjoyed a superb class in Nutrition with valuable content that dispelled any of our predisposed ideas that a class in Nutrition might possibly be boring.

The next day I cried some more and finally on Wednesday night I sobbed for four straight hours as the clock inched towards midnight. Filled a wastebasket with spent tissues. I didn’t know I had it in me. Letting go. Crying for the prospect of the new Life ahead of me.

Finally, at midnight, I threw a tunic over my nightgown and set out barefoot, to roam the halls where I made a walking meditation. Passed no one except a person talking to someone on the other side of the world, softly speaking in an Asian language that I couldn’t identify. Found my way to the dining room where I made myself a cup of chamomile tea and closed my eyes as the raw honey drizzled slowly into the cup, wishing I could drizzle the honey over my head— wishing I could feel the sweetness seeping into my soul.

The next morning, I felt cleansed. My fellow yogis ignored my swollen eyes. Maria’s topic of the day was Falling in Love with Life Again. Stillness, Focus, Self-Compassion. Using the tiny moments for relationship building.

I learned that it takes courage to be Authentic. There are epic gains to be made in living a true life of authenticity, but there will also be painful moments too- like crossroads decisions.

Late that night I took a sauna bath, lying back alone and naked in the dark as the heat drew the impurities away. I rested my hands on my belly, feeling my breath rise up with each intake, then drawing out and away with each release.

I came here on the edge of Hopeless. Now, six days later, I am on a path of Hope. Thank you, Maria. Thank you, Kripalu.

#hopeless and #hope

Dirt Paths

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I had a dirt path epiphany this week. A grounding, as it were.

We moved to this mostly paved, though very rural, island nine months ago. Previously, we lived an isolated 45-miles-from-a-decent-grocery-store, dirt road lifestyle on a lake in the Ozarks.

Now that we’ve been here for nine months, a period equal to full term human gestation, I’ve come to  realize that I’ve been missing a critical element in my personal human needs. After nine months “in island utero” I found that I was getting downright snappish.

It wasn’t the isolation from the mainland. I like the fact that we’re an island of mostly kindred spirits with a population kept reasonably low by the lack of a bridge.

It wasn’t for lack of solitude. I replenish my need for reflection with long solo walks on the beach almost daily.

It wasn’t for lack of physical activity. Yoga and aqua aerobics give me more of that than I’ve had in the past twenty years. Or, even human contact. I’ve met a few people, but this isn’t about human connection. That’s another story altogether.

I entered the island forest last week, looking for a change from the beach. I hadn’t walked in the forest since April. As I headed into the woods, I remembered that, once inside, all sound of the outside world is masked in silence.

I could hear leaves falling and the flutter of wings. I could feel my heart rustling and swelling and, believe me, it’s been a long while since I’ve felt my heart rustling and swelling.

With each footstep deeper into the forest, I found myself fondling the tender spot that resides deep inside my psyche. I was surrounded by an atmosphere of hypersensitivity.

Even my dog, Lily, seemed to get it. She bounced along beside me, both of us practically floating. Rich humus absorbed our steps, decades of soft organic soil. No echoes. No distractions. Just absorption.

Connection to the earth is not to be underestimated. Farmers know this. Gardeners know this.

All I want to say is that feeling the earth, walking on it, lying down upon it, digging in it, kneeling low to the ground is restorative.

Since I had just finished a huge writing project this week, I returned to the forest the next day for more of the same. I was also able to head out to my garden this morning and devote three hours to the sweaty task of digging, pruning and weeding.

There in the garden I found myself experiencing more of the same grounding that I felt in the forest—and that led to this blog post. If you’ve read this far, perhaps you’ll forgive me this brief bit of touchy-feeling. I needed to remind myself of the value of a true earth connection.

“Of all the paths you take in life, make sure some of them are dirt.” John Muir

John Muir dirt paths

What Do You Give A Man Who Has Nothing?

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Today is the 80th birthday of His Holiness the Dalai Lama of Tibet.

I am honored to say that my article— What Do You Give To a Man Who Has Nothing? —has just been published on elephantjournal.com.

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What Do You Give a Man Who Have Nothing?

The Wall St. Journal had an article on Friday that I thought was going to address gift-giving for the 80th birthday of the Dalai Lama, but it turned out to mostly be about cake. (Everyone from the Glastonbury Music Festival to the Art Institute of California-Orange County has been baking birthday cakes for His Holiness.)

The article mentioned the Dalai Lama’s selflessness and his habit of re-gifting, but mainly, it presented material examples—not spiritual, as I had hoped.

So—in honor of the Dalai Lama’s supreme selflessness, I suggest that we bestow upon him a birthday gift of our attention to Buddhist principles. Let’s try to send so many positive, loving thought waves throughout the universe today that the planet will literally vibrate with our intentions.

The following is my list of Dalai Lama quotes and 10 suggested gifts.

  1. “Depend on Mindfulness.” ~ Dalai Lama.

Today, let’s give mindful attention to all of our daily tasks from the trivial to significant.
One way that we can focus on this is to take three deep breathes when we switch gears—before we enter the shower in the morning, before we cook our breakfast, before we eat our breakfast, and so on. Mindfulness: a simple concept, but a challenging habit to adopt. Let’s be especially mindful during today’s yoga class.

  1. “Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them, humanity cannot survive.” ~ Dalai Lama

Love and compassion are main components of Buddhism’s bodhichitta a path to enlightenment with many facets.

In Pema Chodron’s book The Places That Scare You, bodhichitta is described as as “a soft spot, a place as vulnerable and tender as an open wound”. Let’s seek our own soft spot today, sharing love and giving compassion by understanding another’s pain.

  1. “Remember that the best relationship is one in which your love for each other exceeds your need for each other.” ~ Dalai Lama

Speaking from experience, I believe that our first encounters with love often develop into relationships where there is an imbalance of need and want. This creates weakness in the relationship, leading to failure. We should not need one another, but want to share our love. Let’s try to be less needy today.

  1. “Silence is sometimes the best answer.” ~ Dalai Lama

Who among us cannot contribute a little silence? This is a great gift.

  1. “Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible.” ~ Dalai Lama

There are daily challenges to our kindness, not the least of which is our own impatience with brief acts that inspire negativity. The person that cuts us off in traffic. The waitperson that accidentally spills coffee on our sleeve. The child that has left their toys out.

Let’s be kind, and in return, it will foster kindness in those we touch.

  1. “We are born and reborn countless number of times, and it is possible that each being has been our parent at one time or another. Therefore, it is likely that all beings in this universe have familial connections.” ~ Dalai Lama

Treat everyone if they are our brothers and sisters. Our familial relationships have their ups and downs, but usually, we are more willing to make peace with our brothers and sisters than with strangers. Let’s sincerely try to extend that respect to all.

  1. “A vegetarian diet is the most healthy one for you. We must respect all forms of life.” ~ Dalai Lama

The Dalai Lama is not strictly vegetarian, as he lives also by the principle that he should accept whatever he receives, but he also believes “Animals deserve our compassion. We must know their pain. We should nurture this compassion through education. Showing concern about animal rights is respecting their life.”

Let’s prepare and enjoy a lovely vegetarian meal in his honor.

  1. “Happiness is not something ready made. It comes from your own actions.” ~ Dalai Lama

Happiness. This is a tough one. We can appear so free and balanced in others eye, yet often we lack true happiness. Let’s try not to measure our lives against another person’s measuring stick. Let’s try to have a truly “glass half full” attitude towards life. It will make us happier.

  1. “Take into account that great love and great achievements involve great risk.” ~ Dalai Lama

In 1989, the Dalai Lama was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for his work advocating nonviolent means to free Tibet from China. It’s not always easy to take the leap of faith towards love, and it’s not always easy to have faith in one’s goals. Take a chance on love and life today. Take the risk and find your own inner peace.

  1. Fasting.

The Dalai Lama usually has hot porridge for breakfast with barley powder, hot tea, bread and jam. A vegetarian lunch, and no dinner. I have read that as celebrations of the His Holiness’ 80th birthday take place around the world, some celebrants are including fasting in varying degrees.

Surely, if the Dalai Lama can forego dinner on a daily basis, we can go without dinner tonight in accordance with his practice.

Maybe we’ll find that we can do without more than we thought.

Happy Birthday, His Holiness Dalai Lama!

In honor of His Holiness, let’s have an awesome mindful day today!

I’m heading out to yoga class in 30 minutes… how appropriate.

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Click here to read the article on elephantjournal.

 

Photo credit: Tenzin Gyatso

Photo credit: Tenzin Gyatso