Somehow among the major life changes that surround and abound, I find myself living with no less than FOUR dogs and ONE new FURRY CAT!  So between the puppy shamelessly shitting left and right and the calico’s orinoco flow all over the bed sheets we have finally arrived at animal Armageddon though perhaps Animal House is a bit more fitting.

And of course all the animals have names “Move Dalai”, “No Ruby”, “Where’s Cali” and so on.  I too have taken on a new name as I move into my final chapter in Life.  Karma.  As a netizen I’ve been Ms. Karma for a mighty long time in one form or another.

And I knew that one day when the time was right, that I would establish a name of my choosing.  But what is in a name anyway, eh?  It is just one more letter in the soup that our ego wants to define as the me-meal it pretends to be.

In embracing my own karma I get to watch the parade of paw prints of my new furry friends and see that life continues to be a game of discovery and dharma … though dharma seems often to be spelled D-R-A-M-A when my dyslexia gets the better of me.  All of us are forever only trying not to step in the poo as we navigate our way through the pergo forest.  If Zen is about doing the laundry, I should think I have finally arrived because we are washing pee soaked sheets, blankets, towels and pillows as if it was a mantra … wash, rinse, hang and repeat.

So welcome to the litter box.  Whether its New Wine into Old Wineskins it is and will always be the same ol’ shit.  But if we approach the mess with open eyes we may be able to actually SEE the pee before we soak our socks.  Or at the very least, hear the laugh track when we once again find our Self seemingly soiled.  No matter what new practice we think we are embracing, regardless of how established we think we are in our regime … there is only so much thinking outside the (litter) box before we realize that we are still at the endomorphic core That which we have always Been before.

I Am

and

I am back.

When I was a business manager I made a point to tell my staff that I would not tolerate gossip or negative conversations about other members of the community. We would not gather around the water cooler and say the Faculty were idiots because they didn’t know that the mouse needed to be in contact with the table in order to move the pointer. We would not make fun of a student who lost her thesis at the 11th hour because she opened an EXE file in her email that destroyed her hard disk.

I gave lectures to the freshman class every August that said … “Never write anything in email (or on the internet) that you don’t want published on the front page of the LA Times. Or better yet that you don’t want your Grandmother to read!” One of the two hooks was usually sufficient to make an impression on the young minds.

And of course the converstion is not limited to what we put in print. I recall being in the ladies room after a final exam, talking with my best friend. She was in the stall next to me and I was kevetching about the professor and how inexperienced she was yadda yadda yadda. When I came out to wash my hands, I saw the faculty member standing there. Ask me what I got on that test.

Its a lesson that I wish I could say I learned one time and never repeated. When I wear my Zen hat or sit on my meditation cushion, its easy to be at PEACE and have compassion, not only for others but for our very broken sense of Self. However, the pull towards drama and mountain making mole hills is so great that at times even the sage falls to her knees and curses the dirt for being untidy.

Oh my yes, there most certainly is a story here behind my loosely guarded prose. But the work and the lesson for me is where to go from here. I took a stroll in my wheel chair with my youngest daughter today. Enmeshed in the middle of high-school she is all too familiar with drama and hormonal outbreaks. “Did you hear what the ho Becka did after the football game?” And my apologies to any Becka that goes to school with my daughter … I am speaking of course hypothetically.

In the moment, I explained to her, it’s important that we BE who we say we are. If we are to embody the practice of compassion and loving kindness, then our words must always match our intentions. Even when we think no one else is listening. Even when we think we are simply “venting”.

“But how DO we vent then?” she asked. “Its not good to keep that inside.”

To keep WHAT inside? A bio-chemical moment of misunderstanding or mistrust? A value judgement on another sentient human being who was as always doing her best in the moment? When we SEE clearly that each of us are licking our own self-inflicted wounds then there is simply no need to TAKE ON the poison that we may feel coursing thru our veins.

There is NOTHING to vent when we see the world through the eyes of compassion. The “I” of compassion.

It was a good walk and a wonderful conversation with my darling little one. Moreover, it was an important wake up call for ME … to remember WHO I AM and who I decided to be a very long time ago. And as I sit and reprogram my moral GPS I bow deeply and recommit myself to The Practice.

When I was 17, I bought my first car. I was a freshman in college, miles from home in LA LA Land. It was a 57 Chevy, with a Mexican blanket draped over the front seats and a bobble head dog on the dashboard. The virgin Mary was starring me straight in the eye as I looked in the rear view mirror. I’m sure there’s a metaphor in there about looking back to when I was a …. sorry I digress.

I paid $500 cash (check) for the car. It was only blocks away from my college dorm. I got in turned the key and carefully merged into traffic. I slowed down at the red light of a busy intersection. I can see the car coming at me still to this day as clear in my mind as if it were happening all over again right now. I was about 15 feet from the intersection … a large Plymouth was making a left turn in front of me. Had it been 2011, I’m sure it would have been her negligent texting that caused her to swerve into my lane. As it were she dropped a tissue on the floor and bent down to pick it up.

The radiator of the old ship let out a stream of white smoke upon impact. The low rider was totaled in one fatal blow. I got out of the car, wrapped myself up in the Mexican blanket and sat on the curb and cried. I was 17 and ostensibly alone in California. I didn’t have insurance, because I thought I had TIME to go back to my dorm and call Allstate to tell them about my new car.

My license was suspended and the other insurance company would not pay my claim. I remember calling my Daddy and crying HARD on the line. Listen!, he told me, ‘You tell the insurance company that you have lower back pain and that you are majoring in law and would love to take their client to small claims court for an extra credit assignment. They’ll settle with you.’ Then I called my Grandpa Jerry, who sent me a check for a down payment on a new car. ‘As long as you are alright, Nancy Ann. That’s what is important. There will always be another car.’

Tonight, I got to tell that to my son when he came home all misty eyed after totally the family van. I held him tight and told him everything would be alright. Then I dialed HIS Grandpa Jerry on the phone and said here … talk to your Grandpa he loves car stories.

His older sister did the same thing too. October Moons perhaps. The curse of the first car. Whatever it is, the sound of metal and braking glass stays in your cellular memory for a lifetime. Maybe it serves as a warning. A reminder that you are driving a one ton bomb that can destroy life in a blink of an eye. Or a drop of a tissue.

Of course there are lots of pieces to the story … lots of mistakes made … lots of family jokes made at Dan’s expense. But at the end of the day, as Dan’s bruises begin to discolor and the black night sky makes us all feel a bit blue .. I sit in my bed wrapped up in that same Mexican blanket of memories and I realize how very fortunate I am that it was Dan that called me from his cell phone … and not the police officer at the scene calling to tell me about the accident. Everyone is alright. That’s what is important. Thank you Grandpa Jerry your words ring so very true.

Photograph by Cindy Wilkins, copyright 2011

All around me I see the carnage of lives that weep from open wounds oozing with infected bile which sting as the salt from toxic tears rush into the hole in their heart. From one fire to another, I watch my dear friends run with buckets to dowse the flames, only to find they have been carrying kerosine and are now engulfed in the blaze of hell with No Exit in Sartre.

Over there is a young woman who has cut herself for the billionth time and now panics that maybe she has gone too far tonight. Another sage is in tears as she talks to her lover on the phone and wonders how an unworkable situation could ever possibly work. We all wonder all the time … are we doing the right thing … are we reading the signs right?

Should we stalk?

Or should we walk away?

And do we actually have a choice?

As I look at the manic moon, there are no easy answers. Nothing is certain. Even our uncertainty may fade one day. But rest assured that edgy feeling of dis-ease will get replaced by a new disordered mental concept. Because we never really run from our problems. We never actually close the book on our broken heart. We only ever trade one neurotic thought in our monkey mind for another greater or equal distraction.

And they ARE just that. Distractions from the Truth. The Truth that tomorrow never does come. The Truth that we are not as small as we think we are. The Truth that we don’t know and we have forgotten far more than we will ever know in this tiny spec of an existential existence. The Truth that everything is Perfect. Just as it is.

Despite what our mind is telling us in the moment…

Regardless of the three alarm disaster siren that drowns out the bird song outside our window….

THIS is ALL WE HAVE.
Enjoy this moment.
Or not.
Dance in the rain
While you weather the storm
THIS is ALL WE HAVE
Be happy or not
But SEE the Truth.
Because in that Seeing
You realize
that You Are
The Man in the Moon
and
the Moonbeam
that lands on
the empty space
in the back of
your Eye (I).

Namaste

I was sitting Zazen … which lately is a euphemism for being in an over-tired zoned out mind warp while watching my IMVU avatar loop micro-gestures (smile, nod, cast eyes down … and repeat) … when I heard the unmistakable sound of a cat in heat outside my window.  MerrrArrrRuuuuu …. MerrrArrrRuuu-uuu-uuu.  I could say it is an odd way to pick up guys, but I’ve seen comparable moves within the context of this social networking obsession so I figure, live and let live — whatever works in the moment.  My eyes glanced to the open window across the room.  MerrrArrrRuuuuu.  While the cat call may be well suited to attract a mate for the night, I knew that it was also dinner music for the coyotes who are always on the prowl looking for their next meal.  And tonight … cat food was on the local venue menu.

I quickly typed my BRB in the room I was in … which really didn’t matter since I’m pretty sure the other avatar was sleeping … and went downstairs to see if I could find the feline nightingale before she drew a crowd.  The little pup offered to come “help”, but she’d just be another juicy morsel for the coyote pack which I was sure were on their way catching an upwind of pheromones in the cool night air.

I spotted a white shadow dart into the neighbors rose bushes and did my best domestic cat call … kiss, kiss, kiss, pss, pss, pss, pss, pss.  The ball of fluff spotted me and took off further under a parked car.  I approached slowly explaining to our show girl that it wasn’t safe for her to be peddling her wears under the full moon.  Kiss, kiss, kiss, pss, pss, pss, pss.  She looked up at me and dashed off between two houses.  I hoped she would find her way home.  An open window perhaps?  A garage door left ajar?  Maybe she would climb up a crepe myrtle and be safe until morning.

>Having failed my search and rescue, I made my way back to bed, lifted the laptop up upon my thighs and continued my Zen meditation.  Which translated into saying I was back from BRB, and returned to watch my avatar bat her eyes and smile in an aimless pavlovian loop of catty gestures.  And just as the Peace was settling in the room … a slight breeze came in through the open window that caught my attention and the stillness of the night was broken with the rebel yell of the coyote circle.  Dinner was served.  The yelps and yips echoed in the quarry.  It is quite a macab dinner show indeed.  I could hear a neighborhood dog barking wildly amist the yiff and howls of the kill.

Soon, all was quiet again.  I glanced at the computer screen and my avi looked non-plussed by the whole ordeal.  I closed my eyes and breathed deep as I bid the sweet cat good luck on her new journey.

Sometimes there is simply no changing what is destined to be.  Or so it seems in the moment.  We may see ourselves walking into the lions den, or coyote clutch, or IMVU drama pit … but we can’t seem to stop our footsteps as we repeat the same brain patterns that seem programmed to carry us into our next adventure.  Smile, nod, cast eyes down … and repeat.

We may consider that there must be a better way to avoid the blood shed we know awaits.  Yet we still choose the same subroutine, day after day, night after full moon maddness.Watching our mind.  Watching our actions.  Wishing at times things would be different.  Witnessing it all and peaking through our fingers as we press our palms tight against our eyes at the moment of the kill.  Not wanting to witness the slaughter and not willing to turn away.  Day after day, night after sleepless night under a moon full of the emptyness that marks the passage of time.   Smile, nod, cast eyes down … and repeat.

I saw the first McBunny in the yard this morning. A sign that it certainly is spring. Never heard of a McBunny? Ahhh. Well, these are the tiny kindle of critters that are just coming out into the light of day and exploring their new world. Problem is, like most when coming of age, there is no owner’s manual. So that big open space with lush green grass that looks like a good place for a first meal — translates into the last supper for little bunny-fast-food. The hawk and her young will eat well this week. It reminds me of when my Dad and I watched mutual of omaha’s wild kingdom when I was growing up.

It’s all about survival I suppose. In the wild it is easy to get swept away.  Much like the wild mind takes us well off the beaten path and on to bumpy roads.  There is something to be said for letting nature takes its course, though I do try to keep the little dog from claiming her own lucky rabbit’s foot.  And my youngest daughter still has longings to gather up all the young-buns and make a wonderful enclosure to keep everyone out of harm’s way. Though the bob cat showed us some time ago that having a bunny cage just slows down the dinner order, in the end it still becomes take out food.

No we don’t always see the end coming as we explore our wild world. Though we sometimes notice the signs that we are embarking on a new chapter in our life. My daughter’s text books are open to the very back pages now. The last chapters of facts, fiction and fallacy that mark the final days of this school year. Another academic year is winding down – prom is over, award ceremonies are showcased and hatching butterflies can be spied in  creative kindergarten classrooms, as these last few impatient days of school play out before summer break.

How we are able to ebb and flow with life’s changing seasons is perhaps one of the tell tale signs of our level of happiness or satisfaction with our life circumstances. How we interpret the unknown — with either ignorant optimism or unrealistic fear and trepidation — is the litmus test of a peaceful mind. The other day, I faced a situation where ambiguous events triggered a down-pouring of tears and worry. A few hours later, when the clouds had cleared and it was more than clear that I had in fact only imagined the set of circumstances held tight in my minds eye … a friend said to me “why do you do that to yourself?” And indeed I had to wonder.

It’s an interesting question is it not? Who can judge the choices made by McBunny? And how do we strike a balance with our thoughts gone wild and our wild side?

We’ve lived in this house for more than a dozen years and over the many seasons we have had an interesting variety of back yard visitors.  There was that one spring when a family of quail came to our ground feeder each evening before dusk.  And the love bird who found its way among a local flock of wild parrots.  I’m quite sure we have the odd opossum and raacoon as well, given the look of my small solar water garden on some mornings when the lilly pads are sliced to shreds and the potted plants are turned upside down.  But I’ve actually never seen more than a few footprints in the soil to know that we have nocturnal neighbors.

One thing we don’t have that seems a bit odd since I know them to be residents of nearby parks and adjacent communities, is squirrels.  Perhaps once or twice I’ve seen a glimpse of the California ground squirrel.  Which in truth looks to me to always be a bit destitute, what with the scraggly tail and granite tones.  Growing up in Jersey of course there was the remarkable black squirrels.  But for whatever reason (okay coyotes, bob cats and our lovely hairless dogs that are expert ratters) we never seem to see any tree squirrels in our neck of the not-so-woods-suburbs.

Until this week.

How exciting it was to see this little friend at our platform bird feeder, happily chewing away at the sun flower seeds and peanuts that I put out for our scrub jays.  I realize that most back yard birders, go to great lengths to stop squirrels from eating the seed they put out for the feathered guests, but seriously WHY?  This is a squirrel!!  I realize the birds may have to wait.  But can you see those tiny little hands?  Is that not the cutest thing on this earth?!

Okay, okay.  Technically it’s a rodent.  Hellooooo.  Bird flu any one?  And for that matter, I really don’t mind the rats that come and feed at the tray either … as long as they don’t take up residence in my attic (but that’s a catch and release not-so-shaggy-dog story for another time.)

For today, I get to sit and watch this amazing little creature sort through the bounty in the hanging tray and pick over to find the perfect muesli of her choosing.  And from where I sit near my little window to the world on a day that I can’t seem to do much else but admire the outdoors … it simply doesn’t get much better than this.

It’s true, sometimes I forget what my body can do if I have been lost in the virtual world of 3D avatars.  Sure, I can occasionally still pull off doing the splits on the odd soul train line after the dinner dishes are done.  But I have to remind myself that I can’t pop-it-lock-it-drop-it with my 14 year old while singing Fire Burnin‘.  Though I suspect I’ll keep trying every now and Zen as we both laugh and I feel this body push as far as it can in all its glorious dysfunction.

Today was one of those hard POTS days, when standing at the bathroom mirror brushing my teeth set off a full on flare that took at least an hour to quiet down.  Certainly, no dancing today … and not much of a chance to get out and enjoy the amazing SoCal spring sun.  But I did manage to get to the park, even if only for 20 minutes.  And when I spotted a tire swing from the corner of my eye … I thought “I can do that!”  It just feels so good to do such simple things, especially when much of the day is spent simply remembering how it use to feel.