Elephantine Consciousness

I wear an elephant broach on the left shoulder of my black french button up every winter. In the summer, there is no place on my clothing thick enough to hold the trunk, or the roundness of its body, dented with fake jewels that shimmer like real diamonds under the brooklyn sun. When I have had two or more drinks of the most delicious raspberry lambic beer, I lift my little gold elephant to my ear and pretend it speaks sweet words of joy into my ear. Like a child, I pretend it sings to me every morning, as it coats my body with warmth.

And inbetween these moments of golden gobbles, I spend far too many hours lounging...time when I could have been writing my application essays, or studying for my test in April. Time when I could be meditating on my next crucial step. It makes me feel terribly guilty. But soon today I woke knowing that while in this time of haze and headaches from the commercials, or the crappy local news about the slew of enraged citizens with the Mayor's poor response to the blizzard of 2010, I am calm, and okay in my response. All of the sleep was needed, the extra pieces of chocolate, necessary. The home-made dishes, a golden gobble indeed.

And on a night like last night, I watched a special on CBS about the Kennedy Center's Honours for the year of 2010. Oprah Winfrey, Paul McCartney and Obama sat like regal gems, soaking in the honour with humble love. They cried to their tributes, and kissed the sky with white gloves, and golden bands wrapped around their fingers. I watched God emanate from their beings, and that same God in them rests in me. The difference? They thought BIG. I imagined what the energy must have felt like being in a room of our world's true leaders.

And this theme runs through my blood. Think big, GINORMOUS thoughts, all the time. I spoke of this over dinner a few nights before, after a table talk about all of our plans for the year of 2011. Unknown to my consciousness at the time, I said that if I want to help thousands, or perhaps one day, millions of people, I have to think BIG, prodigal thoughts of magnanimous proportions. Do I want to work in Africa, give workshops to hundreds of people? Sing again? Help many families? Publish many books? Speak from love and passion every minute of every waking day, fully conscious and forgetful of the lowly powers of fear?

If I want to truly perform acts of heaven on earth with all of the people I meet in my life, I must take on angelic wings and leave the fear to the floor, as I pick up new ideas in coffee shops, on the bus to work, or when I am with children, who know no limits. I have to manifest a circle of people in my life who know this about me and are not afraid of it. I will walk alone, as well, to this goal, and happily so.

I will heighten my consciousness by making goals each day, of every hour. I will dream of large buildings, soft pages of my own written wonderment, and be the love that I can give. I will start to imagine my organization's name, the outlines of my books, the smell of the printed pages. I will imagine a spouse who holds my hand in all of these endeavors, and adds their own flavor to their purpose in life, as it will blend splendidly with my own.

If I want to experience love in this magnitude, I must give it in equal proportion.

And I will love myself humbly, as I love all of you. And I will remember when I am lounging, low, or down, that where I am and what I do along the way will build upon this steep and complex mountain of consciousness, with many roads, curves, and fresh pine trees, until I make it to where I want to be. And it will be more than enough.

And when I am scared, sad or feeling uncertain, I will listen to the whispers of my little elephant, my source--guiding me with divine love, and white light.

I will see its' jewels cast rainbows on the wall, and know in the power of now.

For Mary, Who Shall Walk With No Shame

My dear friend Mary approached me on break during West African dance to say that she has been out of hand since her mother's recent passing. Her mother died of a blood infection gone horribly wrong just two weeks ago, and to my shock, Mary had an overwhelmingly positive attitude for our upcoming performance on January 8th. She said the performance is just what she needs--the chance to throw her fists outward and upward, to bang our bodies to the floor, to act out the kukilamba dance in wild prayers for rain and a plentiful harvest. To listen to the drums for a beat that our hearts can all dance to with laughter and lightness.

Absolutely.

And like the psychologist that I am, I let her tell me her troubles with the intent to heal. No Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy or Mindfulness techniques. No man-made interventions, just spiritual connection.

She spoke of having sex with men who didn't love her--of getting bar tending jobs because she felt it was the only way to get by until she was out of school. Of smoking pot and drinking a mere day after her mother's death. All I could think was how much more painful the shock was while intoxicated. It all made me hurt for her. And as much as the therapist avoids counter-transference, I couldn't help but speak on my behalf.

I know what it is like to give your body away, and even the lightness of your spirit to someone when all you want to do is discuss the joys of our lives--to inch toward an inkling of spiritual union, of connectedness. Which is really what the art of relationship is--growing together in a deep spiritual union, bound by human universals. And it is not just women who crave this. I know men ache for love and like-mindedness just as much as women. We all want to have that deep connection and the chance to truly create conversations of gold. A chance to show each other who we really are.

We are all searching for love from one another, and we mix in this search with a need to fill deep wounds with pretty pebbles. There is a flaw in this, though. How can we ever learn to give our love if we do not accept that we are already whole? Wholeness is perceived as a lifetime achievement, but the truth is that we are already perfect, and that these bumps in the road are actually the gaps, or space between our thoughts that help us leap to higher faiths, to greener pastures. To sweeter days. Be thankful for them, and hold your head high with no shame. Walk knowing that you are, and always will be, connected to your source, your own spirit. The light that loves you unconditionally.

The source in which we all come from and eventually return to, together.

And then, be kind and forgive yourself.

Where you are right now is where you are meant to be. And if you can, forgive the other person involved too. Jesus was actually pretty cool when he said to "Forgive them, for they know not what they do." Just as we are all trying to figure out what it is that our soul needs, know that these are all lessons that have been brought to us with grace.

They are the greatest lessons in self-love. Know that time is an illusion to this growth. You are okay where you are, right now.

And when you can, send that person involved blessings for health, wealth and happiness. And if it were really up to you, tell them your regrets and realizations. Their spirit will love the honesty. This is true love for humanity, transcended, and when this happens, watch how quickly your wounds heal.

And then, finally, walk upward and onward, with your hands outstretched to the sky. Let the beat of your own drum carry you. Always.

For Better or Better.


I will love you, Mary.

For The Little One Who Loves

Instead of using the bridge to cross over the public garden's pond, businessmen in suits and women in heels clobbered their way to the other side, digging into the thin, murky ice.

Some slid along with their tennis shoes flat to the ground, and one man in particular ice skated ringlets along the edges where the ducks once came near my side in the summer, begging for a piece of my Upper Crust pizza. And although I walked over the bridge toward the musicians strumming and humming on the other side, I couldn't stop myself from grinning. The joy this moment brought was unthinkable from the depths of the subway tunnel.

I decided to take a new route home after the discordant strums of work. There was a little girl in baby blue sparkle pants and her mother, drinking coffee and holding large oversized holiday bags in her other hand. The little girl had blonde hair and kept her jacket unzipped on this rather cold night. She had two front teeth that opposed eachother's growth, as though they were magnets repelling. I loved her for the smile she gave me. We sat together on the train going upground, mesmerized by the moon's beam along the Charles River. Even after five years of being in Boston, nothing about the ride over the Charles River gets boring.

And as we got off the train and settled on a bench for the bus, the little girl spoke to me. "Do you know my name?" she said.

Precious.

"No," I said.

She squirmed on the bench. "DEVON!" she squeaked, holding her hands over her mouth after shouting.

I told her how fitting the name was for her, and that I have never met a Devon with blonde hair like hers. The interaction thrilled her. She was delighted to engage in a small conversation about my hat, the weather, and hockey. I didn't know much about the sport but for this little seven year old it was all the rage. She paused though, for a moment.

"Did you know there's people that don't have homes?" she said.

Children are so aware and honest. I told her that yes, I did, and that I loved them.

Her nose wrinkled up into an adorable little grin! She said, "You looove them?! Do you love me?!"

And as casually as the little one asked and offered love, I gave it. Her mother was on the phone near by, and I didn't want to make it awkward but I didn't want to miss this beat.

"Yes, very much" I said.

We took the bus all the way to my stop, where I regretfully said my goodbyes to her from afar, waving and winking at her as the bus door opened. My wink made her squirm with delight in her seat, grabbing her mother by the arm and pleading with her to say goodbye to me too.

And when I got off the bus, I knew that what I said was true. My love for her was instantaneous. Just as it is for anyone with their heart in the right place, and especially for those who are looking for their path. I love and forgive all and wish her mother strength, love and happiness. I know that they will find this light and that they are protected by the mighty wings of the Universe.

We are all safe, warm, and loved. And I think back on all of my choices in life...the moments that saddened me and the ones that brought me to where I am now. Each a beautiful puzzle piece to add to my collection of lessons. What I am capable of is the kind of love that makes my heart soar for the children that know no limits, and the ones that want to fly.

This is who I truly am.

And it is in these moments that I see the God in all of us. I imagine the little one crossing the pond... not slipping or sliding but ever so gracefully gliding along, taking her time to grow out of her troubles, just as we are all meant to do.

I will love her for always.