Dear Abbey

It's been a long while since I've read anything by that bard of the desert, ole Edward Abbey. "Down the River" is a fantastic book, close to genius but for a few weak pieces near the back of the book, and the political stuff now dated. The opening essay on Thoreau is magic. I think I'll have to plan a revisit to Walden in the near future...


On the turntable: Velvet Underground, "Quine Tapes"
On the nighttable: Edward Abbey, "Down the River"

Sunday Papers: Colin Fletcher

"Once you become a walker, you become a conservationist: no one can walk for days on end through wild and unspoiled country and then stumble upon some man-perpetuated horror without having his blood start to boil."

On the turntable: Marillion, "Misplaced Childhood"

(Untitled)

My newborn daughter's eyelids
Twitch in sleep.
You're been in this world
Less than three hours, little one.
What can you possibly dream?

Marriot Darshan

We never made it to India in 2010. We'd planned to spend a good couple months there, traveling around, waiting for winter to run its course. One of the things I'd most hoped to do was to visit the ashrams of Sai Baba and Amma. But somewhere during Miki's visa process, the rules changed, and we had to enter the US early. So much for India.

Last April, Sai Baba passed on. Around that time, some of Miki's shiatsu clients mentioned that their guru, Amma, would visit Albuquerque in June. At first I wasn't interested, wanting instead to visit Amma in the jungle of Kerala. But Miki won out, and with our friends Ayumi and Taylor in tow, we drove south.

Finding parking was surprisingly easy. There were plenty of spots beside a large customized bus of the type that are the homes of famous rock stars on tour. There were a handful of people dressed in white standing in the entrance to the Marriott, where Amma would give her Darshan. I was amused by all the shops here, some the type found outside temples of India, selling candles and incense and photos, and others more geared toward the modern American spiritual pilgrim: books, colorful, billowy clothing, and the omnipresent essential oils. In fact, the majority of the people attending darshan today were of a particular demographic, their white robes matching the color of their skin. Some of the booths had signs looking for people willing to do karma yoga. My favorite sign was for 'Veggie Choppers.' Great band name.

Miki, being 9 months pregnant, attracted immediate attention. We were lucky to be allowed to receive Darshan quickly, and therefore avoid a long wait into the afternoon. We found a place off to the right of the stage, a good perch from which to view the proceedings. When Amma entered, the energy of the room changed immediately. I hate to overuse any cliche, but it literally became like a hive, with the bees buzzing frenetically around their queen. We all sat again and were led in meditation. I had a hard time concentrating since the voice of the man leading the meditation reminded me of the intonation of Goenka-ji, making me smirk occasionally. After, we watched the video monitors, showing people as they received their Darshan. It was amazing to watch Amma, talking to some of her circle while she clutched someone else to her bosom. She'd be all smiles and engaged in conversation, then would suddenly bend forward and whisper intensely into the darshan receiver's ear. This shift was always sudden and always dramatic. During the proceedings, a band played devotional music on stage, the tabla inspiring motion in me, as it always does. Amma's helpers moved in a different rhythm, assisting in where they were needed. I wondered what these Indian nationals made of Amma's celebrity abroad, if they found it odd at all. More than this, I wondered how they felt after these long days of Darshan. Amma's energy is famously steady, but do they feel? Empty or full?

After about an hour or so, it was our turn. There was a bit of musical chairs, then my face was pushed into Amma's chest. What did I feel? Hmmmm, it's hard to say. Part of me was busy with protocol. But another part...
Then, just as swiftly, we were guided off to the left to sit at Amma's side.

Not being a devotee, I chose to close my eyes and meditate, falling quickly into quite a deep state of quiet. Finally, a voice inside said, "That's it," so I quickly stood up and walked back through the crowd of people who'd be here well past midnight.

And again, what did I feel? After the four of us got back in the car, we talked some, but no one shared their own personal experience. I liked that. Miki and I later agreed that we liked the auspicious timing of meeting Amma, less than a month before our child's birth. Our own experiences are still beyond words, which feels pretty much right...


On the turntable: Pink Floyd, "Wish You Were Here"
On the nighttable: Pauline Kael, "For Keeps"

Sunday Papers: Shunryu Suzuki

"In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities; in the expert's mind there are few."


On the turntable: Pink Floyd, "Obscured by Clouds"

The Fires...

...rage on. Smoke pours over the ridges of the Jemez, the sky taking on the colors of the apocalypse. We sit in the house, windows closed. We have no A/C, so the rooms are stuffy. As the days go 0n, my body begin to feel like a dried out twig. It's difficult to sleep, with the heat of the room, the stale air, the fears about radiation coming from The Labs, the potential respiratory problems for my child, due to be born any day.

Almost worse is that fact that all the mountains are closed. I had intended to do at least one hike per week, making up for last year when anxieties around money kept me working and working. This is to be our last summer in NM, so I had wanted to spend much of it in the hills. This connection to place is important to me. It has slowly become my spiritual practice. And as ever, it remains my muse. But now the door to the wild has been shut. Miki and I find consolation in sunset walks around the arroyos, after the heat has gone. There's a wonderful trail system just below our house. Rabbit scurry, beetles lumber on their way. There is some wild left after all.

My fire anxieties peaked on the 4th, being all too familiar with the capacity for stupidity in my fellow humans. This stupidity shows up in some surprising, yet surprisingly obvious, places. Around the 1st of the month, the governor finally got around to declare a state of emergency around fireworks. Despite this soft ban, the city of Albuquerque went ahead with their annual fireworks display anyway. Fire teams stayed on the monitor the situation, and wound up putting out over thirty spot fires during the night.

The other day, a woman came into the store, wearing a face mask, like those seen during Japanese winters. She told me that it wasn't so much the smoke that was getting to her but the ash. Apparently, many people have been coming down with digestive issues, after swallowing this fine gray dust day after day. "The good side," she said, "is that we're all getting smudged." "Smudged?" I asked. "Yeah, think of all that burning sage." A true Santa Fe perspective...

The mood in the city is dark, made worse by a population swollen with refugees from Los Alamos. Tempers too flare up easily. So we all collectively pray for rain.

There has been a taste. Last week, as I taught my yoga class up at St. John's, the clouds began to gather. At the end of class, with the students in savasana, the drops began to fall, turning quickly into a squall. The cathartic release was almost sexual. The Chinese have it right, clouds and rain.

Clouds and rain.



On the turntable: Roger Waters, "Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking"
On the nighttable: Bill Morgan, "I Celebrate Myself"

Sunday Papers: H.L. Mencken

"Democracy is the theory that the common people know what they want and deserve to get it good and hard."


On the turntable: The Beatles, "Yellow Submarine"