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.

The bookends of my Life

The Bookends of my Life


Sitting is good,
I like to sit.
Here on the mountain,
With lush green trees and plants.

I am at Home,
More so than my home.
They are my friends,
The Ones I know.

The beaten-up dirt path,
That winds it way from,
The Temple to The Church,
The bookends of my life.

The stairs i do not climb.
The graves i do not observe.
The women in their visors and long sleeves,
That pass without notice.

I have fallen in love,
Here on this mountain.
We share a vision of,
What was and what can be.

The dead bark covered in green moss,
Layers of my skin shed.
Both nourish the soil,
And connects us in a physical way.

I know it will end,
My time with this mountain,
The green trees and plants,
And the mountain itself.

Time cleanses and re-cleanses,
We are just food for the future.
The fallen pine needles cushion my steps,
I will someday serve this Earth as well.

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?

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

The football player florist

Sitting on a wooden bench on this beautiful fresh low-sixties degree night, I am full of hope and life. It rained several times today and the air, earth and its inhabitants have received the cleansing that soft cool rain brings with it. The nights are starting to cool off a bit and that makes walking, writing and sleeping all the more enjoyable. Tonight was exceptionally clean and crisp. I planned on a short walk and a stop at the grocery store and maybe the incredible plant shop near the park that I wanted to explore on my way home. Along the way, I fell in love with the night air and so much for groceries, plant shops and short walks.

After climbing up the hill of the park/school that I was curious about, I planted myself on a bench. I sat for less than a minute and acknowledged this was not the right time, space or bench for me to practice some Qi Gong. I stood up and noticed a man walking behind the school to an area with a lot of soft lush green grass and a slate path for walking. This was the way to go. He lost me quickly since I am a casual walker. I started walking down the hill and decided the dirt would be more fun then the rock and dirt steps. When I reached the bottom, I became aware that this is next to where I walk down the main street in this particular neighborhood but still secluded enough to sit and be still. Instead of sitting on one of the cement benches, I felt drawn to the actual octagon shaped mini wooden shelter. It was raised just high enough that sitting on its perimeter would give me the wood to sit on, the earth below my feet and the perfect height for my body and Qi Gong. So I plated myself there.

Five minutes into Qi Gong, the Qi started filling my body, specifically my belly. I could feel my whole being come alive with joy and softness. My face relaxed along with my shoulders and breath. I felt the flow of energy up and down my spine with its base in my root center; home. A few minutes more of expansion and gratitude, I moved towards a reflection on a topic that has been taking hold of me lately. This being the shift, or maybe expansion of my vision of how to deal with issues and obstacles, current or Karmic. I have predominantly come from the pro football school of spiritual development. Meaning that I have typically lowered my head and banged helmets like a ram with any and all spiritual or personal obstacles and issues. I have stood my ground and survived by sheer effort, will and Grace- it is rarely pretty. I have taken on my obstacles head on. This has gotten me to a certain level, and I have been at this level or near it for several years now. I have been confronted about my terminal stuckness by most of my close friends and supporters over the last couple of years. I did not get what they were talking about; I am beginning to get some clues. Or should I say, I am not resisting receiving the Teachings as much as I have in the past. That feels a little more honest and accurate.

The expansion is now including another gentler method of dealing with resistance and obstacles. The florist school of dealing with dead or wilting issues- strengthen what is alive and help it grow stronger and increase in vitality. Go figure. Instead of going to battle, I can just increase what is beautiful inside me as a means of growth. It has worked for me for years as a grower of vegetables, fruits, herbs and flowers- why not me? In fact, as a grower, I rarely weed. I work on the growth of the plant and let the plant deal with the weeds. Typically, the plant that I want (which we know is what makes a weed a weed and a plant a plant) to prosper does, and the weeds go about their life without disturbing the amazingly robust and strengthened veggies or melons. Go figure.

So my spiritual toolbox is now adding another drawer for me to experience. This drawer includes moving out of the way, stepping around or just standing where I am and staying grounded and alive- no battle, no head on collision, no football helmets full of opponents paint and blood. It is not that I am abandoning anything that I have learned along the way, just embracing another way. Of course this way, just like the original way are firmly rooted in Reiki, Prayer, Meditation and Qi Gong. No reason to drop my old and trusted friends. So the football helmet will be waiting me for when I choose to put it into action, but today I will sit quietly allowing life and all its beauty and force fill me up. The florist and the football player become one.

Finding My Path

I have walked these streets of Cheonan for more than six weeks now. Originally through only Young Am dong, since that is where there are so many stores and restaurants in my section of the city. I ventured further towards the Lotte Mart in my second week, finding clothes to wear to work, mops, cleaning supplies, neat pillows to sleep and meditate on (www.jayeonsum.com) that smell like a mix of sandalwood and cardamom with an orange/ochre cover and finally the immense food section with guys on loud microphones yelling about specials in Korean that just echo through my brain while sifting through Kimchi, bean curd, seeded dark red grapes, mandarin oranges, frozen Mondu (steamed dumpling with either Kimchi or meat) and mini shrimp that cost less than the equivalent of $2.00 for one serving. Ironic for a guy who promotes the refusal to support major chain likes Wal-mart, k-mart or any other damn mart.

After my trip to Seoson, I returned committed to finding a real place to walk, a path with real live trees and grass and dirt. Living in an urban environment that is fully developed with concrete everywhere was beginning to take its toll on me. I ventured out into Ssang-yongdong and its massive white concrete apartment buildings with sidewalks of yellow, mauve and green with a middle row raised for those who cannot see to stay on the path forward.

My evening walks have been a Blessing for me in their sense of feeling part of a community amongst the families, couples and folks walking, talking and relaxing on these beautiful summer nights here in Korea. I found a really cool park with moms playing badminton with their kids. Teens shooting hoops on a Saturday night and laughing about something and nothing. The exercise equipment made for outdoor strengthening and stretching filled with families and kids playing and doing their thing. Folks walking slowly riverside enjoying life, love and the steady stream flowing through life and Cheonan. I enjoyed this walk so much I did it three nights in a row and one resulted in a fun conversation with a man who spoke good English and invited me to his home to hang out near midnight. We ate garlic potato chips and he asked me if I wanted to watch Korean XXX movies. It took a minute for my brain to filter through his Korean accent of English learned in Australia to realize he was talking about porn, when my face flushed and turned red before saying, “No thank you” shyly.

But still, no path of nature.

Until tonight. I ate a massively delicious meal at this local place that folks sit on the floor on little gold or olive green pads stacked under the table. I have eaten here twice before with my coworker and the lady promised she would remember what I liked so when I came in myself she could serve it to me. She did, along with five side dishes including excellent Kimchi, sweetened onions, mung beans, pickled green beans with sesame seeds and roasted eggplant; these were just the free side dishes. The meal itself was a stew with lots of black pepper, sesame leaves, chili paste and pork bones over white rice. Heaven for 5,000 won, or five bucks in the U.S. While eating my meal as were the three men across from me, the owner/cook/cashier/server turned into delivery driver on motorcycle and left the restaurant to deliver a meal with four customers comfortably enjoying their meals with no fear of theft or anything else. She returned moments later smiling and laughing like she always does.

I left and ran into one of my favorite kids that I teach English to with her younger brother and mom. She loves playing with me almost as much as I do with her. Her mom was nice, genuine and spoke good English. I left them and headed in another direction for further exploration of Ssang-yongdong. I weaved through the winding roads of one of the apartment complexes to find a nice walkway with a sign pointing towards something that I could read the letters and pronounce but was clueless of the meaning. I followed the arrows like a good little boy who eats his vegetables. And there it was, a dirt path- real dirt complete with dirt. I was so excited I almost trampled on an elderly man passing by as I entered the trail to somewhere. There were grass, trees, bushes and dirt- old friends I have dearly missed; maybe more than friends and family back home. I could smell the dirt and greenness of nature, smiling and smiling, maybe even giggling. It being after 10:00 at night, it was dark hiking up the hill on the dirt path in my four-dollar brown sandals from CVS. No problem, even for a guy like me with a light deficiency in both eyes. Koreans line these paths with lights that are triggered by motion. As I climbed the hill, every fifty feet or so another series of lights magically lead the way for me. More giggles, one leading me to thanking God for me finally finding a place to walk, hide, reflect, write and feel Real whenever I need it, day or night just a few blocks from my home. I walked for about a mile without reaching the apex. More smiling at the thought that tomorrow I can do this with camera in backpack when light and bright and see Cheonan from above.

I have found my path. I needed this. As usual, I found it while wandering through life and Ssang-yongdong aimlessly in spite of myself. Grace is a beautiful thing.