I am karma's Bitch

Tonight I was dropping down in class and I convinced myself that watching My Name is Earl was a good and positive idea. I have seen parts of the show before and although somewhat funny, it is annoyingly offensive in so many ways. So, I watched it while enjoying some tofu, potatoes, cabbage and carrots with cumin and Cajun spices followed by an ice fresh vegetable salad like my mom used to make. It all tasted good.

The show was kind of entertaining but there was a line that that stood out to me and felt, well, incredibly accurate and insightful for my life.

“Just because I met a pretty girl doesn’t mean I deserve her yet. I’m Karma’s bitch right now.”

I wish I could take credit for that line but totally feel Ok with making it the foundation of what I want to write about tonight.

I have always had trouble explaining to others why I am not married and why 'a guy like me’ is single, whatever a guy like me means. I meet attractive interesting and intelligent women. I assume some of them are interested in me; at least that is what others tell me. I have never been good at that sort of thing. I must have been snapping some girl’s bra in science class when the lecture on how to know when someone is attracted to you was been given. Like Earl, I am a guy with an extensive past to clean up. Most of the bigger stuff I have dealt with directly. It is the indirect stuff that still lingers and kicks me around as ‘Karma’s Bitch’. I do not question Karma anymore. Those of us who have been pick up on the side of the road like the other dregs of the earth know that Both Karma is real and stings deeply without concern of pain or suffering. We also know that when we do cross something or somebody off our list it feels better than whatever else I am chasing that I think is more important. Karma is also an incredible Teacher of truth, since there is nowhere to hide for our own karma. Trust me on this one, I have tried, hard.

I remember when I first started dating again after my first steps of beginning life as a human being in the early 90’s. I went on a mediocre date with what appeared to be a nice and normal woman, but my barometer on nice and normal, were skewed at best. At the end of the our date that consisted of some nice Mexican food and a long and slow drive through about six inched of snow; I brought her back to her car. While sitting in mine through the awkward what is going to happen next moments, she leaned over, touched my right arm gently but firmly and without hesitation looked me in the yes and said, “Thank you for not raping me”.

To say that is not what expected would be a colossal understatement. I was floored and stared blankly without knowing what to say or do. Tongue I would have known what to do with, a soft kiss I could hang with, even a peck on the lips and a “can we do this again sometime” would have been fine, disappointing but fine. But, “Thank you for not raping me” I was not prepared for. I must have missed that lecture in high school as well. We said good night and that was that. And no, I didn’t get any!

What I did get was my first practical insight into life as a woman who has been raped. Till then it was all knowledge firm books and sharing of stories but not once did I have to deal face-to-face with the ripples that sexual assault leaves behind. I have never even come close to acting in such a matter since. Karma made me her bitch that night and has never lost her grip to this day.

An interesting chain of events followed that date and her comment. I started volunteering as a public speaker on date and acquaintance rape at schools, colleges, community centers and corporations. That lead me to an amazing man named Jeff Fleischer who inspired me into the social work field and counseling, which changed my life as I knew it. Karma?

Last year I was staying at the hoe of a female couchsurfer who invited me to spend of few nights at her place on the couch, a bold move as you will see. I was grateful after being in the road for a bit at that point and she was nice. The second night I was there we were up late drinking tea and talking about this and that- our sharing our life experiences on many levels. At a little past midnight she casually with her voice cracking barely said, “Last year during Christmas break I was raped by a guy I barely knew in Europe.” Without dragging this story our forever, we both needed each other at that minute to heal our pasts in reverse/parallel fashion. Over the next few days we continued this process and many tears, hugs and walks around her college campus allowed the healing process to take shape. Karma gave me front and center what I had been avoiding from ‘my list’ since I made one, but instead of an uncomfortable interaction in the front seat of my sports car in the snow, it was soft, gentle and forceful. But most importantly, Karma had her bitch right where she needed him again and the gifts have poured in from that moment in both our lives.

Being karma’s bitch is not such a bad thing really. It just sounds bad to those of us who think we are in control of our lives and can get away with what we don’t talk about or admit to ourselves. But when I stop and think about it, what could be better than knowing that doing good is good for me ad those around me. Even if that means I am not ready for the pretty girl who is the professor at a college yet. When I am ready, she and any other treats that life has in store for me will come my way when I am can properly accept and respect them for t=what they are. Again, what could be better than that?

So, I will semi-willingly continue on as Karma’s bitch for now, not that I have a choice. Maybe I will actually learn something for a change, stranger things have happened. I once thought that Reiki Training was so I could get things that I wanted for myself. The possibilities are endless, as are the consequences for not doing what I need to. Karma’s bitch and gift.

Two Words & A Hyphen

Two Words & A Hyphen

It aches
Down right unbearable
Two words
Seven letters and a hyphen

I have said them
Thousands, if not millions of times
Often a hundred times a day

I’ll see you later I miss you Say Hello to Steve for me will ya’? No, I wont No, thank you Of course I will Yes, Tuesday night will be fine Until Saturday night Thank you for being my Mother and bringing me into this world Thank you for loving me Thank you for being you Thank you for last night I’ll wait for your call No, I will not change my mind again Where did we go wrong? I’m sorry, so sorry I did not mean to hurt you I will wait for you Yes it was incredible, I’ll bring the guacamole and chips tonight I promise Please don’t let me down now I loved you and will miss you I wish we had more time I love you Please tell him I miss him too I’ll only be gone for three of four months I love you too Can we talk about this later tonight? I can’t wait to see you again Yes, I do mean it this time I trust our paths will cross again I still can’t believe we did that Yes, it was amazing No, I don’t think I can forgive you God Bless Namaste Peace Out Peace be with you God Willing No, you hang up first Just say it one more time If it is meant to be, it will I wish the best I will never forget anything


Two words
Seven letters and a hyphen

Michael = Dog?

Anna is one of my favorite students. She is in second grade and just adorable and beats up most of the boys in our class as a bonus. She has black hair like everyone else here, brown eyes like everyone else here but hers are deeper, darker and rounder than most. Her full cheeks with that soft, silky Korean skin is just unavoidable for a quick, gentle caress every time I see her when she is done walking with me with her little hand inside mine. Anna is very affectionate and loves to be loved. Fortunately, I love loving her, so we get along well.

Today while waiting for her classmates to get to class, she was holding my hand, well actually my wrist and looking up at me with those wondrous eyes and dimpled smile. I was lost in her world when I noticed there was someone petting me, yes petting my forearm and I came back to earth and my classroom. It was Anna stroking and petting the hair on my arms. She again looked back up at me this time with wonder in her eyes and said in her best English, “Michael, dog?” and she pointed to my arm hair and then to my chest. Translation for the non-EFL teachers of the world: “Michael you have hair on your arms, are you a dog?”

I laughed half-heartedly and smiled at my precious little angel who somehow made calling me a dog sound sweet. Second graders can get away with stuff like that but adults get the Jersey/NYC stare when they venture into making comments of that sort.

I still get startled at the fact that most Koreans, both children and adults have never touched a human being with body hair or facial hair. It startles me. I grew up in an Italian family and amongst Italians, chest hair and facial hair are signs of virility. In fact, you are not really considered a man until you have chest hair. I faired well in that department. The other symbol of Italian manhood is not as easy to see, but we will leave that one alone for now. The idea that men can be men and not have hair on their chests, face and arms is beyond my mental capacity to understand. When I am lazy and do not shave, the next day almost every young one will come and rub my stubble. It occurs to me that they may have never felt a man’s facial hair as stiff as mine, another fact that baffles me and my social programming.

While on a roll about my social programming, bodies and cultural differences, I might as well dive into the women. Wait, that did not come out right. What I meant to say was I would like to explore the different bodies of Korean and Western women. OK, that didn’t work either but I think you get the point! I was here almost a month before I realized that the majority of females in Korea are not teenagers! Korean women have very slight frames and bones. It is of the highest importance for a woman in Korea to be skinny. I mean skinny, not thin or athletic. Typically, their bodies remind me of the standard American eighth grade girl in girth, bone structure, weight and size of butt and breasts. Even when pregnant, Korean women are less voluptuous then the American college girl on a diet. And I am speaking of American White girls, not Blacks or Latinas. Their butts are smaller then most pre-pubescent American girls, often with even skinnier legs. If thin is in, then Korean women are it but if curves are what shake your nerves, head east in a hurry! Again, I grew up around Italian women and the physical features that define her as a woman are her curves coming and going.

It has taken me a while to adjust my personal definitions of what is considered attractive, sexy and mature here in Korea. I am not sure I would ever adapt completely from the social and familial programming that is seated deep in this curious mind. But I am curious about what the skin feels like, I cannot lie. Koreans have the smoothest, silkiest skin on this planet. It almost doesn’t feel real. I have a friend in the states who is half Korean and I call her Silky Pants (she calls me Jerk Face for the record) and she warned about how the whole country has skin like hers. I did not believe her, I am a believer now. At times, I reflect on wanting to have a one-night stand or something similar just to touch, caress and lay next to such soft smooth skin. My Inner-Slut has a field day with these kinds of thoughts. But generally, return to my prudish ways and go about my business while trying not to gawk at an occasional woman that I cannot tell if she is twelve or twenty-eight- their bodies, faces, skin and clothes are almost identical. I blush when I realize they are a child and lower my head in shame.

The lessons and education continue for me here in Korea. I am starting to pay attention again to my surroundings knowing that my time here is limited. So the young ones will have to find another man to pet and call dog, and I will have to hold the hands of somebody else’s children with skin more course and a lot less bowing. In the mean time, Michael Dog will try to not smirk at the idea of being a man without chest and facial hairs and being a woman without curves. The programming is deep, like the center of an old Oak Tree. And like an Oak Tree, they don’t die easily.

There is a Door

There is a Door

There is a door. I can see it. I have felt it many times. It is strong and heavy but really only feels heavy. It feels tall like a redwood or solid like an oak. Dark heavy wood, at least it feels heavy.

I have seen it open. It is beautiful inside. Home. No, better than home. It is home for the Homed. I belong there. I know this.

Inside there is strength. I can feel it even from the outside. Inside there is courage. I can feel it. It has fortified me the times that I have had a foot in standing at the threshold. Inside there is me- tall, solid, unwavering and alive, really alive. I have seen what I look like in there. It embarrasses me to see what I look like out here.

I have stood at this door for many moons and suns and birthdays and Holydays and deaths and births and loves and lusts and mountains and valleys and oceans and deserts. More deserts than oceans though.

I count. And I have been counted.

There are many zeroes after my history- not days but years and centuries and millenniums. Many zeroes. I am not a newbie. I have been at this game longer than even I can imagine. I have cried and begged to get in. My wrist gets slapped like a child chewing gum in Sunday school by Mother Mary Margaret or Rabbi Chaim Weiss. The scars still remain on these tattered limbs. I see them when my eyes are closed. Only when there is nowhere to hide like when the eyes are open. Darkness shines on the Atlantic at midnight. All looks so inviting but I cannot get in the door that way. Not me. Other’s maybe, but my agreement is different.

I’ve tried the book door too. It is lighter; almost see through. Transparent without really letting us see in beyond a glimpse of the porch. The red, yellow, purple and blue flowers sure do look pretty on that back porch. Sometimes at night I dream of their fragrance; its sweetness overwhelms me. I can’t sleep those nights.

I matter. And I have mattered. I still do.

There is no side door. Just the illusion of the back and the willful front. To touch the front door is to remember where we came from but have forgotten how to get back there. I wonder how many times we are given the grace to place our hands on the door and not enter? Is there a statute of limitations on grace or forgiveness? Can the Sacred Trust be permanently broken or can we get by with all these little fractured threads?

Is running in place any different than running backwards?

I have been here before. I know the ripe smells of the Honeysuckle, the clear Voice that echoes through time and space, the grip of the solid door, the sweet taste of fresh mango, the vision of purpose and the waiting hand from The Beginning.

I have been here before. What will it take to enter with both feet in the door and to not run and hide back in the familiar comfort of distraction and stimulation?

There is a door. When will I be ready and truly willing to enter?

This is how to do it

This is how to do it

“No, no, no. Michael you don’t use the lettuce to eat grilled beef, that is for pork only.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Grilled pork we eat directly from the grill.”

“Why?’

“I don’t know. It is Korean culture.”

It is those last four words that have been playing through my mind tonight and many nights lately, It is Korean culture.

What does that mean? Really, what does that mean? Stating it is the way it is because that is what we do is not an answer to a question.

Arresting Officer: “Why did you rape those poor defenseless women?”
Perpetrator: “This is what men do”.


Divorce Lawyer: “So why did you cheat on your husband of 27 years?”
Woman: “This is what women do when their men don’t pay attention to them.”

NYC Tourist: "Why will nobody help me find the Brooklyn Bridge?”
NYPD: "This is New York. If you don’t like it, get the hell out of here and go back to where you came from.”
NYC Tourist: "Why does nobody care about helping a lost visitor out?”
NYPD: "We’re Americans that’s why.”

Washington Post Reporter: "Mr. President, Why are we attacking the people of Iraq?"
George W. Bush: “Because we are the United States of America."
Washington Post Reporter: “What does that mean Sir?”
George W. Bush: "It means we are Americans. This is what we do.”

I used to live in an intentional community for a few years around the turn of the millennium. It was a vegan, environmentalist community with a small group of radical activists; I was not one of them but lived there and participated in our activities. I was labeled the community Passivist. Not pacifist, Passivist. They said I was the opposite of an activist, therefore, Passivist. But that is another story. One of the community members liked to go into town from our space on the outskirts of Hoosier National Forest on Tuesday nights to go to Tortilla Flats for Taco Tuesday- tacos for $1.00. I could usually be talked into going. I never quite got the point of a taco without cheese, but the meatless part didn’t faze me. One night while seated outside on their terrace with white iron table and chairs, we were talking about why we feel the need to identify as vegan, as opposed to just not eating meat or dairy and when we feel moved to do so, choose to eat it in special situations. She said something to me that felt very profound, “Michael, for me it is easier to just to make the decision to not eat meat or dairy products than to have make the decision before every meal. It is just easier this way. To be vegan, this is how to do it. It solves all the questions.” I think this is how most of us go through life- the this is how to do it system of life.

In Korea, this seems to be more so than most places. Koreans in general seem to embrace the notion of one way to do everything. The say hello all in the same exact tone and cadence. They say goodbye in the exact same tone and cadence. Mood, affect, relationship or environment do not matter, it is always said the same way by pretty much everybody- one tone for men and one tone for women. Done. This is how to do it. When being taught how to say hello my first day and by every single person thereafter, they all demonstrated the exact same tone and cadence for saying hello and made me practice it that exact way. Until less than ten years ago, every boy and girl in Korea had the same haircuts-one for boys and one for girls and each had their own uniforms. This is how to do it if you are a child in Korea. Done.

A friend was aware a few weeks back that it was the anniversary of my mothers passing. She asked, “Are you going to Church tonight?”

“NO. I will light a candle at home and say a prayer.”

“Can I join you?”

“Yes, I would like that. Thank you.”

Around 9:00 that night, she rings my doorbell and I open the door and she is standing there with sad expression holding a large grocery bag. “I brought you some fruit.” She hands me the bag and I look inside and there are oranges, kiwi and strawberries. She knows how much I like fruit.

“WOW. Thank you! Do you want to come in?”

“No. I can’t. It is Korean culture. Sorry.”

“Oh, OK. Well thanks for the fruit and the thought. See you tomorrow.”

“OK, hope you feel Better. See you tomorrow.” And she leaves. At another conversation she explains how she thought she would be able to join me with her sister but her sister could not come. And in Korean culture a woman cannot be in a room alone with a man that is not her husband. Done. This is how to do it. I knew this fact of Korean culture, although more rare today than twenty-five years ago, but did not think that applied to prayer and memorials but hey, it is Korean culture. Done.


Non-Korean: “Why do you not hug or have physical contact with your friends?”

Korean Native: “It is Korean culture. Why do you and your friends hug each other all the time?”

Non-Korean: “It is what we do as humans.”

Korean Native: “Really? Humm. We are human and we do not do this.”


Why do we grip so tightly to this need to have one way to do things? We are we so afraid if living without prescribed rules, mores and laws? Are we that fearful of what we are capable of? If so, do these rules really keep those dark desires and longings from being expressed? Or are they the cause of the outward expression themselves? Do Catholic girls who go away to college get pregnant so quickly because they are sheltered from the knowledge and experiences to deal with their feelings and actions or is it hidden desires that finally are expressed?

Boy: “Why do you spend an hour getting ready every day?”

Girl: "This is what girls do. Why do you play sports every day?"

Boy: "Because this is what boys do."


White Person: "Why do you talk like that?"

Black Person: "Why do you talk like that?"


Person from Culture A: “Why do you eat the skin on the apple?”

Person from Culture B: “It is where all the vitamins are and it tastes good.”

Person from Culture A: “No, the skin is bad for you, you shouldn’t eat it.


French Chef: “Why do you serve the vegetable salad after the meal?”

Italian Chef: “To help you digest your meal. Why do you serve it before the meal?”

French Chef: “To help you digest the meal.”


If there is one thing that will push me towards definitely making the decision to not renew my contract and stay another year, it is the exact phrase, It is Korean culture. It is not that the social rules or mores themselves are that troublesome for me, it is the blind obedience to living a certain way for no reason other than it is what we do. I ache every time I hear this phrase. It is what is wrong with every ‘developed’ society, this need to set life up to be a certain way with no or little room for personal or spiritual growth, guidance or direction. Love and Compassion lose out to this is how we do it. God takes a back seat to social programming and acceptance. Have we completely lost touch with our primal sense of being?

Michael: “Why do you keep giving different versions of the same example?”

Michael: “Because this is what I do. It is how I do it.” Done. This must be how to do it.

Deserted

Deserted

Alone,
But not left alone.
Dry,
But not without water.

Learning,
Slowly to accept
My
Lack of acceptance.

Truth,
Here at this moment.
Gone,
Before I see its face.

Suppression,
Stifles and chokes.
Release,
Frees and Fires.

Tears,
Proof of life.
Loneliness,
The mirror of unliving.

Time,
Distorts the past.
Today,
Clouds the future.

Willingness,
The Key.
Commitment,
The door.

Sand,
Between my toes.
Sun,
Beating and cleansing.

Forgiveness,
The Healer and The Healing.
Fear,
The motivation and the prison.

One Year: 2.14.2009

One Year: 2.14.09

It was a snowy day in the mountains of southwest North Carolina. I had worked there as caretaker for only two months. I lasted longer than I thought. I had not been so abused and disrespected in my life as during those two months. I had finally had enough. I told the owner of the Glen Choga Lodge I was leaving. I packed up my van in the snow. He said, “Why don’t you stay the night since it is snowing so badly, and leave in the morning.”

I was tired and miserable but my gut said, in the infamous words of Eddie Murphy, “Tiptoe the fuck out!” But I felt bad for the old man; he was sick and I knew I was leaving him in a bad way. To show respect to the old jerk I decided to stay the night, “OK, I’ll leave in the morning.” I stayed the night, slept a little late in the morning and when I made it to the kitchen to heat up a cup of tea on the wood-burning stove, I saw the envelope with my name on it “Michael”. I opened it and read the check he made out to me, five hundred bucks short! I waited till he came out and before I could day a word, “I reckon you should make yourself scarce and get on out of here. You are not welcome here any more.”

“But what about my pay? This is off by $500!”

“I’ll get it to you at the end of the month, now get on out of here!”

“I want my money! I will not leave without my money!”

He made a call to the closest police department, Andrews Township about twenty-five minutes away. I heard him say to the officer on the phone, “Persona non grata”. My Spanish is weak but I knew what that meant. They arrived about thirty minutes later and we both told our sides of the story. I was escorted off the property minus $500 by the two officers. It was a Tuesday late afternoon when my van winded around the mountains toward Asheville. Everybody I met since the day I arrived in North Carolina told me, “You should go to Asheville, you will love it there. Lots of people just like you.” I had no plan, so Asheville would work for the next few days until I start heading north towards New Jersey, my default setting.

I spent a week in Asheville and felt insulted when I left that everybody thought I was just like them; they were a bunch of pseudo-hippies playing spiritual New Age gurus. I ran for cover and headed towards Boone, another place I was supposed to love. I did. When I left Boone, a few days later, I directed the van east towards the ocean thinking I would head north from there. Little did I know that the next five months were going to spent living and traveling out of my van, up and down the east coast of the USA. I learned a lot and experienced all kinds of stuff; some of which I would prefer to leave behind and did. Along the way, I met and became friends with some incredible people. Some of them have become Reiki students and I had the opportunity to share Reiki with many folks. I guess Virginia and North Carolina are not Reiki hot spots.

In those five months, I was fortunate to receive teachings from several great teachers. Two of them being Grandmaster T.K. Shih in Danbury, Connecticut and Tenzin Wangyal Rinpoche in Charlottesville, Virginia. I slept in more than twenty-five different homes during this period, mostly arranged through The Couchsurfing Project. I happened to spend a great deal of time around university campuses and the students. The adolescent slut in me seemed to attract many sweet young things into my life to confuse and bewilder me; it worked. I managed to somehow not have sex with any of them. There is one that I regret that decision but that is another story that I won’t tell.

I was applying for jobs at Princeton and other universities along the east coast with varied responses and interest. I am not sure how, but I ended up on some kind of recruiters list for international work since I applied for a project in Liberia. I didn’t get the project in Liberia but was offered a position teaching English in South Korea. I said yes without much thought, maybe an hour or so. They called me a couple of days later, “Michael, if we paid you an extra 600,000 won per month, paid for your plane fare here and sent you to Japan to complete your work visa, would you come in two weeks instead of two months from now?” I thought about this for nearly two minutes, “Sure, I think I can do that.” Twelve days later with all my stuff stored and legal stuff rushed through, I was on a flight to Seoul-Incheon International Airport. I made it to my new room after 1:00am and unpacked most of my stuff, shaved and showered with cold water since I could not figure out how to turn on the hot water and went to bed after 3:300am to rest before starting work in the morning. That was July 16th, more than six months ago.

I get to bow many times every day now. I get to spend at least one chunk of time weekly at the local Jimjilbang, my other favorite thing about Korea next to bowing. I got involved in NaNoWriMo and wrote the bulk of a novel in one-month totaling over 55,000 words in November, and another 20,000 in December. And no, I had never written a novel or fiction before. I still have trouble identifying myself as a writer but besides teaching, sleeping, Reiki and meditation; I invest more of my time and creative energy into writing than anything else. I guess that makes me a writer? Or lacking in diverse activities.

I remember crying on my cell phone driving the mountains of western North Carolina talking to a friend with both joy and sadness about my episode at the lodge earlier that day. It was Valentines Day and I was a mess. In spite of myself, things have worked out better than I possibly could have dreamt up in a fantasy novel about a mysterious man traveler who ends up teaching English to Korean elementary kids while facilitating Reiki trainings on Skype with folks from three continents. I am glad that the powers that control the Universe have a more fruitful plan for my life than I do. If left to me, I am fairly certain I would still be sleeping in the homes of American college girls half-naked for the rest of my life, or till arrested for some awful act of disrespect on the soul and body of one of my hosts.

One year, twelve months and a pile of days, memories and miles. And who was it that said there is no God?

Eyes Open

Eyes Open

I had the opportunity earlier this month to participate in a Reiki Meet Up in Seoul, South Korea. Since Reiki is not very popular here in Korea, I was excited at the opportunity to share and receive some Reiki, and meet some good people. I was not disappointed. The group had lots of positive energy and everybody was respectful of each other. I felt welcomed from the minute I arrived and as usual, as a male, I was in the minority. I was grateful there was another male present, the group facilitator. In all, the group was made up of nine people; a few had never experienced Reiki previously and seemed to have very positive experiences. As is typically the case, I find the “proof” of Reiki success is in the change in the color and brightness of the eyes, cheeks and skin of each person as they slowly eased off the table. Our face and energy say what we are not always able to communicate verbally.

It was during the actual “table time” itself that has caught my attention and reflection since then. I have been fortunate to receive training from a very dedicated and focused Reiki Teaching Master who I think would prefer to stay anonymous, so I will honor that intention. She has instilled in me the wisdom of utilizing all our resources to support someone’s process. I am speaking specifically about using the eyes as a means of transmitting Reiki. I leave my eyes open when working with someone else. I know this has become rare these days in the Reiki community but I have had enough experience to convince me of its merits. In fact, I consciously ask for Reiki to flow through the eyes, belly, root, feet,and the hands, and of course the heart center. Why place limits on Reiki? I find using all three eyes increases the intensity of the energy. My experience is that the eyes are more powerful than the hands, almost without except. The energy tends to be cleaner and tighter. I know others access their eyes during Reiki counseling, I do not understand why it is not consciously included during hands-on work. That is none of my business. I do what I do because it has been effective for me, and those I have been fortunate to pass on Reiki Teachings.

Another added benefit besides the increased energy is increased focus. My experience has been that I am more present and focused when I look at whom and where the energy is directed. My whole Self is present. I do not drift and space out as much as I used to with my eyes closed. I do not get lost in my own stuff, or get caught up in things that I do not need to be getting involved in when working with someone else. Like most Reiki Practitioners, I take our responsibility serious and try my best to honor and respect those who have been sent our way. I feel if I can stay present even a pinch more, it is worth my effort.

A third reason I appreciate working with my eyes open is the added opportunity to “see” the physical effects of the session. Seeing their breathing slow, the body relax, eyes stop twitching, belly rising and lowering naturally and all the other physical signs that I missed with my eyes closed. Since I first received Reiki Attunements and training, I have sensed what other's process and systems functioning. This is an inner process and supports the core of Reiki for me. I am grateful I have been guided to not stop there and include visual evidence of what is happening as well. Again, why limit the possibilities? I do not say this from the perspective that I do not have enough faith in Reiki to do what it needs to do, like most of us; I have experienced and witnessed shifts, changes and transitions that cannot be accurately described due to their at times miraculous nature. Reiki has changed my life and I have significantly more Faith in Reiki than myself. That is why I want to give myself every opportunity to stay focused, present, engaged and aligned with the Reiki lineage as much as possible. Reiki is an honor and I want to embrace that honor to whatever lengths I can. I know there has been questions and conversations about how much intention matters in Reiki but my experiences to date strongly support the power of intention and its effectiveness. If my intention is to include my whole body and being in the process, how can it not increase the effectiveness of the process for all involved? If folks ask for Reiki to pass through their hands, why stop there?

This is not to judge or disrespect any other method that we practice as Reiki Practitioners; I am just sharing my experiences. This reflection came about from this Reiki Meet Up I participated in when folks were sharing about their process and how they didn’t know where their hands were, or where other's hands were, etc. Keeping our eyes open and still maintaining our connection to the Source of Reiki seems a positive way to support our work. I hope for those who give it a try find the same positive effects that I have experienced.

Peace and love,
michael

Covered: A letter to two spiritual companions

January 3, 2009

Dear B. and M.M.;

It came to me in meditation this morning to share with you some reflections and experiences I had on a trip I just returned from Malaysia on Friday. It may be quite long, so I invite you to read it when you have the time and a cup of hot tea.

When I was making arrangements to go to Kuala Lumpur and Penang, I was struggling with eh idea that I was going on a vacation to a tropical country. As you both know, we do not do vacations. But I had this strong sense I needed to do this. I told myself that it was to get healthy since I have been struggling with three separate colds since the weather has changed here in Korea. I needed something to justify my journey.

Upon arrival in KL, I was immediately struck by the Islamic influence everywhere. Women covered in robes with hoods and men often wearing caps. They looked so clear and focused. When I looked into their eyes respectfully, they were clear, focused and present. When passing women on the street, they avoided eye contact with all men and me. A statement of which surprised and humbled me. I veer my eyes towards too many women lustfully and pay a price for doing=g so.

The first time I was passing a Mosque, it was right after the call for Prayer. There were many Muslim men and women focused onto entering the Mosque on time and in the state of mind. It reminded me of the Cabbalistic Chassidim I have observed with the same intensity and focus. Their clothes were distinctly different from what they wear during the rest of their daily life. The men wore robes or clean white cotton pants with either white or a soft tan top. Everything looked so clean and cared for; sacred. The women wore dresses or robes and their colors were a little more diverse but still simple. The simplicity and focus left me feeling somehow out of place in my shorts and t-shirt as a not so casual observer. Knowing that they were sweeping floors, cleaning dishes, nursing children, cooking food, selling products and laughing with friends and family minutes before in their street clothes reached a part of me I do not let touched often. They are doing it, really doing it. The balance between sacred and mundane was evident in every movement and step. I wanted to watch them in prayer but felt like that was not Ok although their were others doing so, and the sign said it was permitted. Not for me though. I was however given inner permission to walk around the grounds and sit on another occasion on a white cement bench about fifty feet away. I experienced a need to wear robes, and head coverings like they do. I am aware this can be done energetically but the physical covering seems to help hold the energy and intention. I am sense we can do this through Reiki as well.

My limited real life exposure to Islamic culture and living had previously been from friends, acquaintances, Muslim literature class and the Teachers that have been given to me like Rumi, Attar, Jami, El-Ghaazzali and Hadrat Ali. They visit me in my dreams and in meditation. I have never walked with them in their lives and communities to witness sacred community like I did in Malaysia. There were Mosques separated by culture- Malay and Indian, and those were common and shared by all. I was fortunate to be walking in between two of them on New Years Eve during Call to Prayer. It was powerful I=t of feel the Call in my bones and belly so deeply. I did not know what they were saying but definitely felt what they were offering.

My experiences amongst these Muslim peoples were humbling. I remember having a somewhat similar commitment and dedication just a few years ago. I have swerved sometimes far and not so far from this place to stand ad miss it. Seeing it so commonly and without fanfare or ego was embarrassing and inspiring. I have received Teachings for the Sufis but had never really felt the Presence in the lineage of the Islamic Teachers till now. I am now connected tot hem in a way that was foreign or ignored. It is not that I will now become Muslim or start following Islamic practices. It is more about the intention, commitment and dedication that are what is with me at hoe in Korea. I need to be doing this stuff the way that I made the commitments to do when I came in tot his life. This just getting by business needs to end. Time to step up and stand the way I have been trained and allow the Higher Self to be in charge again. My sense is that the forgiveness will come through renewed commitment and focus. The attention to detail that these focus practiced was also humbling and created a pinch of shame inside me. I know better than to be so involved I the world as I have been and will continue to be until I give up the need to stroke and stimulate the ego. That is my part. That is what I am responsible for.

On a personal note, the people and food in Malaysia was excellent. I was treated kindly, respectfully by the Malay, Chinese and Indian people alike. The food was incredible and very inexpensive. I am grateful to be home but already miss being there. I hope this message was not too long but felt moved to write it and share it with the two if you, and maybe others as well.

Peace and love,
michael

Vacations

i have strange relationship with vacations and the word vacation. The word conjures up visions of white people all over the world having people of color serving them hand and foot like slaves. There is no greater example of white privilege than vacations and how they are constructed in my experience. Where women do what they would never do at home and almost always regret, and men get drunk and cheat on the women that love them. Somehow folks think the are Karmically exempt on vacations. Shopping in malls in every corner of the globe still is shopping and making rich white people richer. The Gap in milan is the same as the Gap in Seoul and in downtown madison, wi, usa. The excuse to spend wrecklesslly and treat the human body like a terrorist holding your child for ransom is obscene to me. So in that sense, i hate vacations. There are very few things in the world i hate- that definition of vacation is one of the select group.

OK, so what do i see as a vacation that is not despicable to me? Time off to meditate, walk, bike ride, camp, write, paint, sleep, sing, hike, snuggle, be with those i love, meet new people on adventures, push beyond my comfort zone, enter communities quietly and humbly, not as a tourist or vacationer. Help out a local organization while there. Drop by the local parks and visit with people who talk to you because you are a nice person, not because you paid them to be nice to you. Stay in a youth hostel, raizon, or a guest house. Be with real people with real lives. Walk gently and leave no foot print. Beaches are my favorite places for time away from home. Mountains are not far behind but it is still beaches when given the opportunity.

If never have tried it, traveling through Couch Surfing Project is my favorite way to travel. The CS project is an international community of over 600,000 folks who offer their homes and or time to help your stay in their community feel like home, a real home with real people who are nice because they are nice. There are no financial transactions made and i have made many great friends and companions that continue to be in my life.

Traveling by train is a ton of fun too. It is slow, calm, gentle and a continual sense of meditative peacefulness. Beats airports, airplanes, buses and cars by a long shot. And you get to see the sites without adding traffic or pollution to the communities that you pass through! They still get to live their lives while you can appreciate their environment.

I do not like having external commitments. That is the main function of vacations for me. I meditate when the Higher Self says it is time. I walk when the Higher Self says its time. Eating, sleeping, napping, playing and everything else follow that same blueprint. I enjoy meeting and watching new people in different places. I learn so much about me and us- our similarities and differences. We are such an interesting species. Visiting Temples Churches and Synagogues is my favorite part of most trips. I love learning how others relate to the Divine.

I rarely have the sense of "needing to get away". I like my life and what i do in it. In fact, vacations and weekends are almost identical, just vacations are in a different location without the comfort of sleeping and cooking in my space with my energy surrounding me. I usually miss home after a few days but enjoy the time experiencing different people, energies and environments.

My New Korean Bike

A silver frame with some cerulean blue mixed in. The seat is grey and the rack on the back is sliver with grey fenders underneath front and back. It is Korean made and new. It arrived today in a box at the school I work at by delivery. The bike cost an equivalent of about $55.00 dollars and the delivery fee about $6.00, it is the first brand-new bike I have owned since age ten when I had a Black Ghost sting-ray with a sissy bar in back, it was a five speed and I loved it till I crashed it going down a hill and landed in the hospital with five stitches in my right knee. The scar is still there. I have a new bike.

This is significant for many reasons; the one that moved me to start filling this blank page is that somewhere in the mid-late nineties, I made a personal commitment to stop buying new. This commitment has included everything in my life except food, plant seeds and underwear. I have been pretty vigil about this for the most part with a few alternative choices while traveling around in my van for five months this past year that added some new, simple tan leather shoes and a pair of Keen hiking shoes I found at a privately owned camping store for $30.00 at 80% off. I wore them bike riding tonight. My commitment was about recycling more than anything. Economy factored in since most of the last fifteen years has been one of part-time jobs or long-term retreats without income, to say money was not part of the equation would be misleading. I have found ways to wear clothes that were either purchased at thrift shops or dumpster diving to support my professional, spiritual and athletic lifestyle successfully. The few books that I felt the need to own a copy of came from half.com, garage sales and more dumpster diving. Furniture has only been found through sidewalk dumping and an occasional garage sale. That has ended now since residing in South Korea. Koreans do not do used, period.

There are no thrift shops, vintage clothing stores, e-bay equivalent and only two days a year are reserved for garage sales, yes two very specific days, otherwise it is illegal. Koreans do not believe in taking ownership of other peoples belongings. I have asked why and received peculiar looks as if I was asking to have sex in a public place with a stranger in the snow or something. They do not do used. I assume that they pass on items to each other among friends and family since Koreans typically are frugal, practical, simple and ecological by nature. My gut tells me they do not know why they do not buy used stuff really. My gut also tells me this is one of the many Buddhist traditional thinking concepts passed on so long folks do not know its origin or purpose, kind of like wearing underwear, which really have no purpose, nor do top sheets in bedding. The reason I think it is Buddhist is that I believe they do not want to take on somebody else's negative energy, imprint or Karma. This has always been a great challenge for me and my Teacher has several times questioned my choices on such matters. Used items, regardless of what they are or why we buy them, carry the imprint of those before us. A used bed carries all the sex, lust, dreams, nightmares, isolation and fears that have may have been part of the previous owners world. And the reverse is true as well; the love, joy, sharing, connection, fantasies and mutual-orgasms that may have taken place between the sheets carry an imprint too. What about a couch? Have there been arguing, fights, seduction, television, violence or desperation in its history? Furniture like homes and walls have histories, these histories can speak to us directly or not so directly but their voices will be heard. So the challenge has been to discern before purchasing if my energy and their history can be well matched or not. I have walked away from great and free items that rationally would be perfect for me but through inner discernment about possible contrasts in energetic tendencies. I have bought used clothes that I gave away after one wearing since they didn't feel right on my body or field.

Here in Korea that does not matter, the choice has been wiped from my range of possibilities. I am both grateful and disappointed in this process. I always feel better when I make the decision, not when the Universe does it for me, which is not a complete truth either but another tale for another day.

I enjoyed taking my bike for a test ride tonight. It is a small bike, really too small for my body. As someone who has used bicycles as his main source of transportation since 1995, comfort on a bike is important to me. But it is fine for the next nine months, if I feel guided to stay here longer; I will share this bike with someone else and get a better one that fits me. It felt good sweating enough to know about it and letting the wind flow across my face and cheeks. Seeing my neighborhood with new eyes that are moving faster than walking but slow enough to swallow my environment that buses cannot produce. I love bike riding, it is such a nice and peaceful way to move about through the world.

In 1996 in Bloomington, IN, USA, I was a guest at a meeting of The Simple Living Group. They were discussing how cyclists tend to be kinder and gentler than motorists on the road. My experiences echoed their theory on friendly bike riders. I shared a story that then made my nickname “Smile Michael” from that day forward among this group of folks that became friends of mine. There was this guy who owed a local rare and used bookstore on the square in the center of town. He had great books at semi-fair prices but he is a miserable, unhappy, elitist who made the energy and the experience of shopping in his store downright awful. I stopped going there but used to pass him every morning while riding my bike to work while he walked to his store with that same “I'm an intellectual, arrogant book worm who knows more about literature than you do you stupid un-cultured fool look”. I said “Hello” to him and smiled every morning without even an acknowledgement for almost two years five times a week. One day he nodded back to me. A few months later, he said, “Hi” and almost smiled; the closest he came to an actual smile in my six years in Bloomington. My work was done. Another town, another bike ride.

I have a brand new shiny silver and blue bike, I cannot wait to see what new adventures it will bring me!

Exposed

“So, what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“You asked me to come and meet you at nearly midnight and you look awful.” He looks directly into her eyes intently, “So, what’s wrong?”

She flinches and sits back in the wooden chair in the back room of Soma Coffeehouse. “You really are intense aren’t you? No small talk, no how is work or anything, just ‘So, what’s wrong?’ She says mimicking him and what she thinks is austere facial and body expressions. “Fine. I am miserable, are you happy?”

“Why on earth would I be happy about you being miserable? OK, so what’s going on lately? Have you been practicing Reiki, Yoga, meditation? What have you been eating and drinking? Let’s start with the basics and we can go from there.”

She sighs heavily and Miho notices her hesitation and her face drooping with shame. He decides that they need to go another route, Natalie is not ready to jump right in. “Natalie, how about we take a moment to do some breathing and get connected to the Reiki lineage. Maybe that will get us both in a place where we can move forward without the ego and emotions in the way.”

“Thanks Miho. I am mess and really need some help. What should I do?”

“Let’s just take a few deep breathes, relax and let our brain rhythms slow down a bit.” They both close their eyes while sitting in a public coffee house and take some deep breathes, hers are deeper and heavier than his. His are gentle; hers are weighted and carry a lifetime of exhaustion in each breath. He notices her relaxing just enough to move forward, “Now. Ask to connect to the Usui Reiki lineage. Let the lineage strengthen you and get you aligned. Feel the lineage and its Presence fill you up. Allow Reiki to expand in you and become you. Ask the Higher Self to be present, in charge of you and this whole process. Just your Higher Self and mine connecting and working together. No more Miho or Natalie, just the Higher Selves doing their thing. When you feel it, slowly open your eyes enough to see but not enough to let the whole world in. Take your time, we do not want to force or manufacture anything. Reiki is about genuine experiences and no pretending or letting imaginations have a field day with us.” She barely opens her eyes enough to see out and make eye contact with Miho. They both share a gentle and unintended smile. “How are you doing?”

She smiles softly and barely moves her lips to speak, her voice is still, gentle and without any of the drama and attitude that was present just a few minutes ago. Her face has a nice blush tone to it and her eyes are clear. “I feel good. It is the first time I have really felt Reiki in a while, too long. Miho, I need to get back to where I was just a few months ago. I miss feeling this way, being this way and being of service to others. I have become very self-centered, selfish and fragmented. What happened?”

“It feels good to see you this way again. This other Natalie is not needed or helpful to you or anybody else. The real Natalie is calm, focused, committed and cares deeply for others and their well being. You are needed Natalie and we need you to do what your Higher Self signed up for you to do.” He slows down even more, “You can’t do this if you are all caught up in your personal dramas and letting the ego run your life. Why have you been so fragmented?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do. There are no victims here and you have been trained in inner discernment through Reiki. Why are you so fragmented? Can you feel your body?”

“Yes, I can now. I have not felt my body in a while.” A small but visual hesitation before she continues allows her to slow down, “I have been doing some things I didn’t used to do when I felt connected and grounded. For one, I have started drinking coffee again in the morning and sometimes at night when out with friends. Of course, now I don’t sleep as well either. Which makes me want to drink coffee the next morning even more. Miho, my life is moving so fast these days, I never stop to slow down and barely do any Reiki or meditation in the mornings anymore. I have not been to the Yoga studio since May and my body is cramping and stiff a lot. There is very little energy flow and I feel it.”

“I am not surprised, caffeine pokes holes in the energy field and allows all kinds of stuff to latch onto us. I experience the same thing with sugar products, I get wired, anxiety, ungrounded and my field becomes like Swiss cheese. Who knows who and what I drag home with me after some ice cream and a cup of coffee?”

“OK, so I have been eating a lot of sugar too. And, when my friends and me go out, I drink a couple of glasses of wine. I rarely get drunk so I convince myself it is OK. What is the big deal right? If everybody else can, why can’t I? Of course, I know better. I have worked with enough folks to see just how dramatic alcohol in the bloodstream does to the energy field, digestion and mood. Then, the next morning, I need coffee to get started and some sweats to eat so I can get going. No wonder I don’t sleep anymore. That is another thing. Since adding all this stuff back into my life, my dreams have changed dramatically, they are darker too. I have gone from Reiki Teaching dreams to dreams filled with violent sex, fighting with everybody and I feel like the whole world is in bed with me now while sleeping. I can feel everybody’s thoughts and emotions, as if I am connected right to them.”

“Well you are! That is what happens when we let our field get open like that. And you are right, you do know better. I do too, but every now and then I convince myself like you that I can do it, somehow it will be different this time. And we actually buy this crap and ignore the Inner Voice that knows where it will lead us. I am so glad that I have been away form that stuff for a while now. Sleep is better and I don’t have that feeling like being spaghetti with all kinds of cords knotted and twisted inside of me from every person I come in contact with. The good news is that Reiki can help you get back to being Natalie again. But like everything else, it is not free. You will need to recommit yourself to doing your work. You are needed and matter. We have work to do and don’t have time to keep buying the crap that the ego sells us. We have to let the Higher Self be in charge and stop playing all these games.” He pauses long enough to make sure they have solid eye contact, “Are you ready to do your work, or do you still want to play around?”

Natalie’s eyes and focus are still and unwavering. She does not move anything in her body, as if she is sleeping while completely alert and aware of what is going on inside and outside of her. Her strength and courage are visible in her face, posture and tone, “Yes I am ready. I want to be of service again. I miss being me and the way I feel when connected up with Reiki. What do I have to do?” Natalie’s voice is steady and firm.

“You just did it. Remember, what we say and do matters. They are not just words and thoughts. They are real and hold an imprint. Everything we think and feel affects others. We are all connected and we all need to do out part, even though it may seem small or irrelevant, it natters. We matter.” Miho reaches across the Maple table and takes Natalie’s hands in his. His gaze does not budge, nor does hers. They stay locked in this moment for what seems like all of time but in linear time, just a moment. That is all it took, just that moment of connection and acknowledgement. What else is needed?

Exiting

Time to go
Escape leaving no footprint
That first step
No looking back
The decision
An opening
The Doorway
Passing the threshold
No more
Enough
Not enough
Too much
Too little
The Female Form
Entering
The joy and the ecstasy
Revived
Temptation
Retribution
The Amityville Horror
Tiptoe the Fuck out!
A clean get-away
No regret
No remorse
No visitors
No more hiding
Exposure
Extension
Exhalation
Existence
Exit

We don't even Know We have It

Yesterday while drifting around Front St, Wilmington, NC, I stopped in a hippie-type store to peruse and continue my search for linen or hemp drawstring pants for men. I found amusement in the marketing of the Grateful Dead and Bon Marley paraphernalia. I have felt this way before in these kinds of stores. They have made them out to be demi-gods and forget how simple and humble they were. Bob would have hated being an icon for anything but revolution or uprising I think. In some ways, it is similar to what has happened with Brittany, Lindsay and Paris. I love that I can just write their first names and everybody knows whom I am referring to; it just further illustrates the point.

I was conversing with the young lady working in the shop about unisex pants and the differences in where we need comfort and more space to account for gender body types, curves and such. We have the “such” and women have the curves. Our conversation expanded as we continued to the icons of the Dead, Marley and her experiences touring with Widespread Panic. Of course, our personal experiences were much different due to generational cultural shifts. She was not old enough to experience the Dead as a living, cultural group of icons and the following they commanded. I would not know a Widespread Panic song if given only two choices.

As we got more personal, I shared about being on the road for the past three months and writing. She asked what I was writing and I explained that I a working on a project that may become a book someday. She inquired deeper and I expressed its content being how we try this and that, make all kinds of decisions and mistakes and in spite of ourselves, we come out of it OK for the most part. Reflections on Grace of you will.

She beamed and said she understood; her expression let me know she definitely understood. I asked her if she wanted to share an experience and she said she did. And she did.

She shared how she has a year and a half old girl that she did not plan for and how it is has been incredible for her. She continued on how this has effected her so positively and forced her to be grow up and be more responsible. She shared how surprised she was with the degree of strength she has in being a single mother and all that goes with it. Her affect and voice resonated with that strength, steadiness and maturity that parenthood has brought out in her. The young lady who just ten minutes before did not make eye contact and fidgeted constantly before, disappeared and now an adult woman and mother was standing before me. This is Motherhood to me- strong, courageous and maturity manifesting in front of my eyes on Mothers Day.

She told me her name was Leah and I shared that mine was Michael. Our connection was now constructed through the bridge of sharing our experiences of being human. Being human to me means walking into to enough walls long enough to accidentally find there wall is a door with an amazing sunset over the ocean on the other side. The Inner strength that she spoke about and oozed out of her quietly inspired me, made me stronger. Strength and courage are contagious. I feel fortunate to have “caught” some being in her presence.

This is another example of the exact thing we were sharing together; I walked in the store, amused with my arrogance with the marketing of the Grateful Dead and Bob Marley, whining about not finding the pants I want and then while “bouncing into a wall”, a door opens and the magic happens- Love, Courage, Strength, Birth and Parenting shine out for all to seen and feel. This is the Teaching for me these days; in spite of ourselves and all are efforts, the Divine Presence holds us and gently saves us from ourselves. Something beautiful takes place and we can do things we didn’t even know we could do/with for somebody else.
Wilmington, North Carolina: 5/2008

sarcasm enters stage left and right

Like the South Beach Diet for those who think “thin is in”, the low-casm diet, sarcasm that is, has stripped off pounds of negativity so quickly I forgot what I looked like with the extra weight. But like all fad diets, the low-casm diet imploded when faced with a free crème Berlet or Coffee Heath Bar Crunch ice cream from Michael’s Frozen Custard in Wisconsin. In this case, the desert of choice was keeping company with those who value sarcasm above all other forms of communication- English-speaking white people.

This weekend I was visiting a friend in Busan, South Korea during the national holiday Chusak. It is the Korean version of Thanksgiving that includes visiting and honoring ancestors passed. This weekend, I certainly honored ghosts of sarcasm passed when giving the opportunity. I was amazed at just how effortlessly it flowed out of mouth like waffles and vanilla ice cream dripping out the corners on an eighty-degree night in Seaside Heights, New Jersey. Yes, sarcasm is back.

I had no idea how foolish I was in believing the progress in letting go of the darkest form of humor had nothing to do with me or any miraculous leap in spiritual development. It was simply a case of not having accessible anyone who speaks enough English to understand sarcasm if I chose to express it. No growth, no step up in commitment, no crossing of the Threshold- just no vehicle to harness the hidden and suppressed hate, anger and resentment in disguise known as sarcasm. If you are trying to shed sarcasm from your daily diet; I can offer the quickest low-casm diet on the market- move to a country where no one speaks your language and it will fall away like The Atkins Diet with the same results until the source of the problem returns; then every inch of unnecessary cellulite regrows itself and looks less appealing than it did when it was part of your natural disposition. I now know what I look like without sarcasm; warm, soft, gentle, open; and putting on the same old tattered coat will never feel as comfortable or acceptable again.

It is time to let go of these extra pounds of weight that I no longer need to survive or navigate my way through the world. Goodbye sarcasm, I bid you farewell. I am sure when I am not paying attention, I will embrace you like an old friend who still owes me the six hundred dollars he borrowed from in 1989 when his father died and I helped pay his family’s mortgage so they would not have to find a new home.

Hello warmth and vulnerability. I want to introduce myself; my name is Michael and I have looked forward to meeting you for many years. I hope we become close friends.

Nineteen Years

Release, relief, retreat
Free, see, me
Clean, serene, nineteen
Today, pray, a way
Serve, nerve, deserve
Walk, talk, balk
Meditate, radiate, navigate
Reiki, Napki, a new key
Create, relate, retrait
Years, fears, dears
God, Yod, a rod
Now, wow, bow
One, fun and done

Friendship

Connection
Love
Welcoming
Laughter
Fun
Hands
Hugs
Respect
Sharing
Listening
Gazing
Napping
Honesty
Risk
Trust
Mirrors
Tremble
Jump
Acknowledgement
Leap
Treat
Surprise
Delight
Right
Relief
Reflection
Reason
Being
Unity
One
Complete
Whole
The Goal

Rediscovering Latin American Soul in Seoul

Discovering Latin American Soul in Seoul

I spent part of my afternoon at Deoksugung Palace and the Korean National Museum of Art after escaping Itaewon and all the American tourists buying Puma or Nike sneakers, Gap shorts and Levis jeans in Seoul, South Korea. I have never understood why Americans fly all over the world to go shopping for things they can purchase at their local mall. It is not like America doesn’t have enough malls, although I am not a very good American tourist, I must have missed the class on how to be a quality American tourist no matter where you go.

The Palace was elegant, homey, fun and stirred some old memories from different times and places from before I was michael. I have been here before; not as who I am today in this body. It’s nice to visit home away from home every now and then. My heart felt full of times when I lived more focused and committed than I do today. There was no remorse for the steps I have taken backwards, it was more about remembering who I am, and what and where I have come from as a human and as a Presence.

As invigorating as the Palace experience was for me, the art museum reached deeper. It never occurred to me while riding the yellow, orange, brown and blues lines downtown that I would end up at a Korean art museum exhibiting Latin American art in downtown Seoul. I giggled internally when walking up the steps and could feel the smirk on my face.

The exhibit rocked. Each viewing room and its theme touched a different part of me. The first room full of work expressing The Revolution connected with The Revolutionary in me that is never too far from the surface. Diego Rivera’s work got me the most fired-up with his passion and use of colors and texture that soothe and stir simultaneously.

The exhibit on mixing of cultures and races with black, brown and every shade of woman in between with their varied bodies, fashion, joy and pain reminded me of how long women have struggled for recognition and respect.

The final two rooms exhibited work focused on cultural and individual identity. Of course, this is when I felt most connected with the artists and the brushstrokes and heart strokes of their lives as people. Folks seemed to be moved by Frida Cahlo’s pieces the most, me, it was the force of Wilfredo Lam, Alexandro Xul Solar and Roberto Matta Echaurren.

Apparently I needed a dose of Latin American culture while visiting Seoul. I am grateful to have experienced such beauty and passion here next to City Hall in Seoul.

If I Could Change One Thing

If I could change one thing,
I would smile more.
Pay more attention to you,
I would listen.

Listen, yeah, that's it,
I would listen more.
Hear what you have to say,
And really hear you.

No, i would pay more attention to you,
You deserve it.
It has been hard for you,
I know this about you.

Smiling is the thing to do,
Smiles, genuine warm smiles heal.
They make me come alive and sing,
Smiles like misery can be contagious.

If i could change one thing,
It would be none of them.
Loving Boldly with no limitations or restraints,
We deserve it!

Smiles are great but Loving Boldly,
There is no distance too great,
We can dissolve and dissipate hate.
Loving Boldly is the one thing i would change.

The Road Not Taken

It had been more than ten years since we last spoke. It was all so raw and painful back then. Her presence still felt like a hand cultivator clawing and scraping up and down my spine, slowly and deliberately. Just like the way I plant Lacinato kale every April except this one- slow and deliberate. Even though I was so happy she found the right man for her, I had not really ever let go of the questions in my mind.

Did I give up too quickly?

When Pastor Matt consoled me that I was not breaking my commitments with God by ending our engagement, did I use that as my get-out-of –jail-free-card?

Was I just not man enough to really handle commitment from all the pain and disappointment over the years?

Did I bail on the one woman I totally fell in love with and ached to be near night and day?

Ten years. So much has happened since then. All the physical scars from the biting, scratching and pinching have healed and been replaced with fresh new skin many times now that all physical evidence is filed away in a box with all the other Cold Cases. I had grown and gotten stuck and grown again so many times. She had gotten engaged again, broke up got married to a Navy man and lives in the suburbs of Virginia with their daughter Mary Elizabeth, she must be three by now. And then there was last year when she was placed in a state mental hospital by her husband and stepfather, losing rights to leave him with their daughter when she was finally released. After ten years, I knew it was time to face my demons and visit, not knowing why, just knew to visit.

“So you will really be here in a half an hour?”

“Yes, I think it will take me that long.”

“Really! I can’t wait for you to meet M.E. she is amazing. OK, so I need to take a shower before you get here, I look awful. Just let yourself in the front door. And since you know that if we are going to have lunch, you will have to make it. So, just come in, and look around for something to make us for lunch. I can’t believe you are really coming. I am so excited!”

I hung up my cell phone and took a deep breath. Am I ready for this? Funny, it is like history has stopped. I will be walking in her place because she is not ready, preparing food for us in her kitchen because she doesn’t do kitchens and no greeting at the door, no hug hello, no “I can’t believe you are actually here!” Just, “Let yourself in and make us something to eat for lunch.” Ten years, married, child and nothing has changed.

I got lost once on the way over but that means I will only have to wait about twenty minutes for her instead of thirty, the food won’t be completely cold by then. I slowly open the front door to their suburban mass manufactured house in a Desperate Wives look-a-like “community”. The blue Ford Explorer she told me to look for was in the driveway, so I knew I was at the right house and not just walking into somebody else’s house in this military families neighborhood. I did not want to get shot or deported. The house smells just like I remember her. This is a mistake, what am I doing here?

“Hello” I say loud enough for anybody upstairs to hear.

“You’re here? Already” I am not dressed yet. Just look in the fridge and make whatever you want.” “Mary Elizabeth, mommy’s old friend is here. Do you want to go down and say Hi to him?” “She’s being shy.” Loud enough for me to hear. She probably won’t come down without me, she is a bit agoraphobic just like her mother.”

I scrounge around the fridge and only see various kinds of over-processed foods I would not feed President Bush, let alone a little girl or myself. Oscar Meyer bologna, Wonder white bread, Pillsbury flake biscuits, Ahh, eggs an actual real food. Oh yuck, Kraft individually wrapped cheese food for my protection.

“Did you find anything? How about scrambled eggs with cheese, M.E. loves that.”

“I found that. I can make that if that is what she likes. Are you going to eat that as well?”

“I don’t really eat food anymore. The meds they have me on have depressed my appetite. Just make enough for you and M.E. I will eat whatever she doesn’t finish.” Her voice sounds closer and I hear two adult and two little feet starting to come down the steps. When they come within my view, a shot goes up my spine to my brain and the only word that comes to mind is “Crazy!” She has the look of all the clients I have worked with that are crazy. OK, we don’t call them crazy but that doesn’t mean they aren’t crazy. I can see it in her eyes and feel it in her energy. Crazy. I knew right at that moment that the road not taken was a road needn’t be taken. Freedom: all the questions have now been answered. No more questions, no more doubt and no more shoulda, coulda, woulda. Done. No, definitely did not need to have taken this road. Phew! By the Grace of God in spite of ourselves every now and then we step on the path that is ours and leave behind the road not taken forever. Freedom… at least for me.