steppin'

Steppin’

The rhythm it always starts with the rhythm. I can feel it all through me, like blood, or water or air but juicier. My ears are the gateway, but it is all of me. I feel that tingle in my belly that reaches down to my groin. I like it. It thrills me. My eyes light up, I can feel their brightness and flicker. Breath- alive and kicking’. Tongue with a little bit of wag to it. And the body, the tension and the tease of release but it is really just one building on another building on another, crescendo on top of crescendo. The waves pour in and topple upon each other. At some point, my feet get engaged, but it is really my hips and butt that kick start the feet, they are just the part that I can see and follow but it is the butt and hips. I wish mine could move the way I want them to but they do OK. Ahhh, the spine! Straight erect and firm with just enough relaxation for the beat to move up and down bringing its heat with it. The Dance. It is The Dance.

It doesn’t matter to me what the dance or the music is, because it is about the dance. There is no art form of any kind that can move me or effect me like talented dancers who know how to use their body and are not afraid of what it can do. I have basic talents in most “still” art forms like painting, drawing, calligraphy, been messing with a camera lately and oh yeah, I like to write too. But none of them touch me and set my system on fire like a group of dancers.

What is it that moves me so much? An old friend who was a dancer among other performing arts suggested it might be the fact that it is where I have the least raw talent and why I have such appreciation for it. At the time, I bought that explanation since it made sense then. Since then I have done some West African, Sufi, Dances for Universal Peace and modern dance. As I learned to move my body a little bit more fluidly, freer and passionately, my appreciation grew even more. Every time I see a live dance performance I leave with tears in my eyes. I am amazed the human body can be so flexible, fluid, strong and just absolutely sensual, or is it sexual, maybe some combination of both. To a lesser degree, I experience something similar when I watch a movie about dance and dancing, tonight was one of those nights. I again watched a movie called Step Up. The story line is not something new or innovative- young talented, gorgeous sexy dancers face great challenges to perform at their highest level and fall in love along the way. Knowing this ten minutes in does not spoil the movie because that story is one I can afford to experience again and again. To me it is one of the only stories that matter: artists struggling and working through their obstacles to be free from their inner and outer resistance. It is the great triumph that gets even juiced up more because of the dancing and its unmistakable passion and fire. If you missed it, check for body temperature.

Great dancing is incredibly sexy to me. It is clean and sensual and filled with the desire and connection that makes for great lovemaking. It stimulates the desire in me to dance, to move, to love and to make love. It is body, connection and ecstasy blended together in harmonic choreography. Choreography, there is a talent I would love to have. I have experienced some great performances in recent years and so many have made lasting impressions on me and have altered my association with the songs they moved to. Every time I see Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater it is weeks before the world has any resemblance to the way it was before that night. Flowers look like they are moving and choreographed by some crazy country choreographer. Telephone poles appear as poses held longer than any human could possibly sustain. Couples holding hands and smiling together seem to be so much more in sync. My love and appreciation for everyone around me grows and deepens so that I feel our bodies connect, move and capture its lift and dip together. I see the dance we are all doing together. Our dance. I feel a sense of freedom, as if we can fly for the first time like Jonathan Livingston Seagull.

As I write this, I notice how straight, erect and firm my spine is naturally sitting. My eyes are clear and without strain. My typing is almost well, typing. I am excited and my heart is beating fast, strong and ready for action. I am alive. I am dancing while sitting here in front of my white MacBook with my little green frog humidifier named Troy and blueish grey waterfall on my left, my favorite new plant that the vice principle gave me as a gift on my right and my butt perched just on the edge of my seat to be as close to this as possible. I am here!

Thanks dancers, dancing and The Dance!

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

Like a Korean Virgin

Like a Korean Virgin

I am sitting at my MacBook listening to the Buddhist Television Network in the background with volume at #1 about to dive into an area that baffles. Being baffled is not a new or unexpected state for me, just one that well, baffles me.

As I have begun to form friendships and relationships here in Korea, an added benefit is direct sources of information that I would not be able to access otherwise. This reflection comes from one of those opportunities. My ‘informant’, who will remain nameless for obvious reasons, has no reason to lie or distort the truth. She is trying to help me understand her culture as best she can. I am grateful for her trust, respect and willingness to aid me in my continual process of learning. These days, the ‘textbook’ I am studying is about male-female relationships, sex, gender roles, norms and expectations. I say ‘these days’ to make myself feel like it will someday be something different.

Today I had the pleasure of penetrating the topic of virginity and sexual activity in Korea. I was flat out bowled over by what seemed obvious to my informant but oblivious to me. I appreciate her patience in this department since it took several restating of questions and answers to make certain I heard, understood and swallowed the information correctly. I also need to add that any conversation that includes sex, virginity and prostitution as its main focal points will both maintain and distract me continuously.

“So, I have been thinking about what you said yesterday about the whole women leaving the door open or not be allowed in a man’s room or apartment thing. It really has caught my attention since it is so far removed from American culture and norms. My question is; if men and women are not allowed to be in a room together alone before marriage then do they not have sex?”

“No, they don’t.”

“They’re virgins till marriage?”

“Yes. Most Koreans do not have sex before marriage.”

“Both men and women?”

“Yes. But more women are virgins than men.”

“How is that possible? Don’t the men have sex with women to not be virgins?”

“You know how in Korea all men have to serve in the military?” I nod my head. “Their senior and junior officers take them to get sex for pay. It is a regular part of what happens when boys go to the military. Many say they have not done it but we all know they have.”

“So prostitution is how most boys lose the virginity?”

“Yes. It is very normal in Korea. Most girls do not have sex before marriage. If they get married and the girl has already had sex with a man, they will get separated immediately.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Most men will not marry a women who is not a virgin.”

“Really?” For a guy who talks as much as I do, my vocabulary as an English teacher was becoming very limited to just one word; Really? “It is like Muslim culture?”

“Michael, it is Korean culture.” I am beginning to find out that the answer to anything that Koreans feel insecure or embarrassed about is; “It is Korean culture”.

I was about to say ‘Really?’ one more time but thought about it and tried some new words. “So you are telling me that women that are between 25-35 years old and not married are virgins?”

“Yes. It is very normal in Korea.”

“And boys that do not have sex with a prostitute in the military are also virgins till marriage?”

“Yes but many of them lie about it.”

“What percentage of high school students has sex before college?”

“High school students having sex?” She is now the one who is sounding like I was speaking a foreign language(OK, so I am, but you know what I mean!) . It was like she did not understand the question or it was a quantum physics equation.

“Yes. In America, it is very common for high school students to have sex before they graduate high school. In fact, most of them have more sexual partners in high school than I have had in my whole life.”

“Really?” See what a good English teacher I am? In a matter of minutes I have Koreans mimicking my phrases like natives.

“Yes. It is one of the reasons me and some of my friends that work with youth for a living do not want to work in high schools any more. The girls are too aggressive and we get accused of things that didn’t even happen.”

“Do you lose your jobs if that happens? If a teacher or counselor has sex with a high school girl, who gets fired?”

“The man! He loses his job, never can work with youth again and usually goes to jail for many years, sometimes even twenty-five years.”

“Really?”

“Yes. In 1997 I was accused of trying to have sex with a high school girl that was in a program I used to coordinate and I almost was arrested and prosecuted and I never even touched her beyond the way I would touch any boy or girl.”

“Really? So you can’t be a counselor any more in America?”

“I can. There was a lot of support for me and things were sort-of resolved without any legal or professional consequences but I resigned from my job because all the girls thought I was some kind of a sexual molester and I knew I could not do my job effectively any more. It was more about rumors and gossip than legal or professional. Girls were afraid to be alone with me after that.”

“Did you ever talk with her about it?”

“Yes. She said she did it because she didn’t want to be on the camping trip any more and thought by accusing me of trying to have sex with her, we would go home. Unfortunately for her, that did not happen and I almost lost my freedom and went to jail. I asked her about three years later when hired by the University of Cincinnati to conduct research on the effectiveness of the program. She said she didn’t even remember the situation. It meant that little to her.”

“You are lucky michael.”

“It didn’t feel that way at the time though. So this doesn't happen here in Korea?”

“No.”

“Out of 100 kids in high school, how many have had sex?”

“They don’t.”

“Less than ten percent”

“Yes, maybe.”

“And of adult women, how many do you think are still virgins before marriage? More then fifty percent?”

“Yes.”

“More than seventy percent?”

“I do not know exactly but more are virgins than not.”

“So a couple together for several years not married would never have been alone with a door closed or had sex?”

“Yes it is very normal in Korea.”

“Is this true for Japan and China too?” I asked this as a way to validate her statements and just in case what I had heard was completely untrue.

“No, just Korea.” She laughs for the first time. I am not sure if it was because she thought it was funny or she felt uncomfortable.

“I didn’t think so but figured I would ask.”

At this point, we both had to go. I was experiencing many different emotions including confusion, bewilderment, surprise, disappointment, erotic thoughts about having sex with a gorgeous thirty year old Korean virgin and a pinch of anger. I was bothered by all this- what it says about Korean culture, American culture, men, women, social norms and programming, and just plain old judgmental thoughts in my head.

It is now past midnight and this has taken up a large chunk of my mental process the rest of the day today. I was looking forward for the opportunity to write about this to get it out and have a chance to process it. I do not think it has achieved what I had hoped for. I still feel confused, disturbed and turned on by the fantasies in my head of these hot, adult Korean women in high heels, very short skirts that are virgins, real virgins. It is not necessarily a healthy set of emotions but the ones that I am experiencing at the moment. Tomorrow that may change, maybe not.

I can’t help but wonder who is the oppressed culture; Korean or American? At first glance through American lens, it appears that the Koreans, especially women are the oppressed people in these cultural, sexual norms. But I am flinching to say that I am sold on that to be true. The idea of not having any sexual pressure or expectations seems somehow very liberating and freeing for both men and women. If you already know you are not going to have sex with someone before marriage, it really clears so many things up right then and there. What freedom we would experience to be able to love and learn about each other with sex not even a concern now or the immediate future. Not even a discussion topic, nothing, nada, zilch. A complete non-factor in a relationship. Friendship and companion really are why you are together, not just what we say to cover up what we may be truly experiencing inside but playing the waiting game to appear evolved.

Who are the oppressed and who are the free? The virgins or the double-digit sex partners?

Either way, my Korean education continues. As a side note, I am starting to learn some basic Hangeul and it feels good!

Not with the Door Open Young Man

I was having a conversation with a female Korean friend over lunch the yesterday. We shared some brown rice that I over steamed, Kuk (light soup) and several Panchan (side dishes). I thought this an excellent opportunity to dig into some social questions I had in my ‘whenever I get a chance’ section of the brain waiting for a willing informant on Korean culture. I was ready to seize the moment like the shark I can be at times.

But first we had some business to discuss. I was meeting a mutual person few know for language exchange later on that evening and needed to work out the details since she does translating via phone for us sometimes. Like most folks learning a foreign language, my exchange partner does better in person with understanding me where she can utilize facial expressions, energy, hand signals and lip reading to aid her comprehension of words and phrases. My friend asked, “Where do you want to meet her tonight, that same coffee shop you went to before you went to Malaysia again? You both liked it there.” We did, but caffeine at night is not something that is supportive of positive circadian rhythms for folks like me. So, with ignorance and naiveté as my guides I asked what I thought to be a reasonable question, “What about my apartment? I do not have a good table for us to work on but the floor would be fine.”

“No michael, she cannot do that.”

Wanting more information and an explanation, Curious George became my next guide into ignorance, “Why not?” Simple, direct and to the point.

“Michael, in Korean culture, a woman cannot be in a man’s apartment or room unless they are married or there is another woman present.”

Stunned and a little embarrassed, I proceeded with clarification to make certain I didn’t get things lost in translation, “You mean that you or her can never come to my place for dinner, to watch TV or drink tea without the other one present?” I was hopeful there was a communication problem.

“No. The only way is if we leave the door completely open so that your neighbors can see in.”

“You are kidding right?” Still hopeful but starting to fade.

“No, I am not kidding Michael! Korean women cannot go to a man’s room or he cannot come into ours until we are married.”

“So your boyfriend has never been to your room?” Reaching now, knowing they have been best friends for seven years and a couple for the last year.

“No.” I gulp and try not to let the Kimchi in my mouth choke me. I succeeded at that endeavor but am struggling to swallow with the deeper one.

“Really?” I had nothing else.

“Michael. We can’t be seen with a man on the floor of his room or on the couch without another woman present unless we leave the door open. People will think something is happening. And it is also for the girl’s safety too. Bad things happen to girls when they are left alone with guys with the door shut.” She hesitates reflectively, “Do women do this in America?”

I am able to answer without laughing at her, Koreans or American values and boundaries or the lack of them. I silently reflect on how many different women’s couches and assorted other sleeping arrangements I have been offered and accepted through The CouchSurfing Project in the last year. “Yes, all the time. It is very common now for men and women to even share apartments together as friends. We hang out together at each other’s places all the time and it is not a big thing for a guy or girl to just crash at the friend’s home if they are too tired to go home or something. It is very normal in America. I know that some married women will not be alone with a man that is not their husband down South but I think that is even becoming rare these days.”

“Really?” Her face looked like she just saw a ghost, maybe two.

“Is this about rumors and gossip?”

“Yes, a lot if it is about rumors and gossip. If people say the wrong things about a girl she may not be able to get married.” My turn to wear the ‘I just saw a ghost or two look’.

We finished lunch with more digestible topics like children, English, Hangeul and Kimchi. But is stuck with me all day! At night, after our language exchange session at the coffee shop, I asked my language partner who does not command the English language as well at this point about this conversation. It took nearly five tries to communicate the content enough for her to understand. Her reply put this whole thing to bed for me, errr, maybe not a good choice of words. “No Michael. A woman cannot do that Michael. I do not know why but it is never allowed.”

“So you or her will never be able to come to my place across the street from both of you and eat dinner or watch a movie with me and talk? Ever?”

“No Michael. I am sorry but we cannot do that. It is Korean culture. I do not know why but it is this way Michael.”

I shared with her the part of my earlier discussion about safety and gossip. “Yes, that must be why Michael.”

“This makes me sad.” I stopped there.

I am still sad a day later. Partially since I cannot hang out with my friends individually and I for the most part, do not like crowds larger than two people. That is the self-centered sadness. The greater ache is that of social norms that prevent love, friendship and relationships based on gossip and perceived or potential safety hazards. Have we not gotten past some of this yet? How can a college professor still not be able to keep male friendships and maintain her social and professional status? AAAHHHHHHH!

I am sad, very sad. I was happier standing in my cultural bliss of ignorance less than thirty-six hours ago.

Malaysian Street Women or How Michael Again Proves his Cluelessness

Malaysian Street Women or How Michael Again Proves his Cluelessness

I was out walking through downtown Georgetown on Penang Island in Malaysia. I had spent part of the afternoon in Batu Ferringhi on the beach. I was ready for some dinner after a semi-clean shower that at least was successful in cooling me off from the almost ninety degree day on December 29th. I left Night and Day Guesthouse an turned right towards Penang Avenue where I could find something interesting to eat. What with so many choices of Indian, Thai, Malay, Chinese and combination of all of the above, how could I go wrong right?

Well, I am Michael and there is always the distinct possibility of me taking a simple task and finding away to turn it into something, clears throat, ‘interesting’. This night was not except to that rule that I seem to live by.

I turned right at the street just before Penang Avenue and started towards the huge Malaysian version if a food court. In Malaysia, they have these large sometimes covered, sometimes not areas with table and chairs outdoors where you just roam around the squared off section and choose different foods from around the world prepared fresh and VERY CHEAPLY of anything from satay chicken on a stick to nasi (rice) with anything you want on it to Mee (yellow noodles in a bowl with chicken broth) covered with your favorite sauces, gravy, meats or vegetables. All the vendors are privately owned and operated by real people who eat what they cook for you too. Yo can eat three main courses from equal the amount of cultures all for about $5.00. I was just about to reach the entrance to this particular food court taking in the combination of curry, garlic and fish when an attractive and normally dressed young woman walks over and says “Hi” to me. She seemed friendly so I stopped and said, “hello” back to her. She had brown hair, about 5’ 5” tall average weight and a pretty but not extremely noticeable face. I believe she was Malay. She would look normal on line at the bank, grocery store or the food court. She had no heavy make-up or jewelry, no tight pants or deep cleavage. Just a regular girl in her twenties who while we were exchanging “hellos” she casually reached over and gently started rubbing my penis! Just like that! It took my about a minute to collect myself and reel in my now ecstatic hormones to excuse myself and start walking away while she was following me. I escaped by walking through the cemetery across the street without her following me. It is amazing how the potential threat of a ghost haunting a person can be a source of safety in certain situations.

I ate a nice dinner at an inside Indian restaurant and found myself very attracted to everything that did not come into this world with a penis. My senses were on high alert. The Tandoori Chicken and garlic Naan were delicious. I left feeling satiated at least food-wise. Time for a nice walk around downtown at night before I meet up with my friend Happy.

As I walked with increased sensitivity, I noticed there were certain women ‘stationed’ along the way. Growing up outside NYC I do have that kind of perception, if not slowed by distance and lack of interaction with that world. There was this very interesting and attractive in a late night B mo vie kind of way dark skinned Indian woman who had dyed part of her hair with crimson streaks. I’d by lying if I did not admit to more than passing acknowledgment. She was wearing simple clothes but her eyes were wild, very wild. Like cover of a romance novel type wild. Then there was the Malay woman in her late twenties, maybe early thirties wearing a nice red and yellow traditional Malay blouse with jeans. She was soft and gentle looking. She does not have any of that rough, beaten-down and beaten-up, used and abused look of NYC street women. I could see her passing the ‘mom test’ if I wanted to take her home for approval. She had these nice warm, caring eyes and her voice was equally as soft. The clue was her saying “Hi” to me three times and looking me up and down the third time. I flinched and scampered away.

I met up with my friend Happy later on and it turned out his car was parked directly in front of the dark-skinned Indian woman with the crimson striped hair. She approached us and then actually just opened the back door to the car and started to sit down, as if invited and welcome! Happy spoke to her in Malay and hew got out slowly. He turned the car on while telling me, “She is on drugs.” Little does he know how easily that part was for me to identify. She then opened the back door again and this time sat with confidence while he was forcefully telling her to get out. At this point she started shutting the door like she was here to stay. He became more forceful and louder; she hesitated but eventually stood half in and half out. I told him to pull away and he did and she got out without closing the door. Happy and I talked along the way about her, and street women.

I still have the impression that these women and their lack of outwardly distinctive presentation of self are so different than their American counterparts. I have to say; it made me cautious when interacting with women the rest of the trip. Not to the point where I felt inhibited, just mindful. This is such a stark contrast to living in Korea where I do not believe I have seen one prostitute in my about to be half year here.

In case I had somehow convinced myself that I have reached any level of higher knowledge or wisdom, my experiences observing and unintentionally interacting with these women has cleared up any false sense of spiritual development or enlightenment. The Teachings come in all shapes and forms. I am fortunate for the education in spite of myself.

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

Blindness

As the weather in South Korea starts to turn, so have the leaves. I have been looking forward to this more this year than past. I wanted to see what it looks like here in autumn. It has arrived. Red, burnt orange, orange, yellow, ochre, green and light green fill the streets of Cheonan. Today, being a sometimes-sunny sometimes-cloudy day, I wanted to get out on Tang San Mountain with camera and hiking shoes to enjoy the day. I did not leave my room till about 3:30, which was fine. It is getting dark near 6:00 so I would have plenty of time to explore and take pictures of the trees and whatever else caught my fancy. I got some great shots of the top of the white cement apartment buildings foreshadowing all the mountains in the background that surround the city of Cheonan. I had not seen this view before since it was the first time I made it to this trail. This one was more vigorous of an incline and had better unobstructed views of the city.

After about 45 minutes, I decided to take my first off the main path trail. I knew I had time before dark and know my way around this part of the city well enough that wherever I ended up, I would be OK. Along the way, I asked my Higher Self to be in charge and giude me where I needed to be, I trusted that and felt the support. I got lost and it took about a 1-½ hours to make it to the other main trail I typically hike on. No big deal.

I saw there was a set of steps with a sign marking to be only 0.2 km to the end. The steps seemed to go forever but I had been in the middle of the woods by myself in search of solitude long enough. I thought some time walking on the street would be nice. I started towards the top step and there was a woman by herself on the top step. She was wearing a green shirt with a lighter green shawl around her neck and shoulders. Her pants were black and she had semi-long black hair. Everybody in Korea has black hair. She was standing on the top stop in the exact middle twirling and rubbing her hands on a red leaf that looked similar but with less edges than an oak tree would produce. I paused for a second before entering, not wanting to disturb her intense experience with the leaf. She seemed so focused and single-minded. About a minute later, I decided to slowly walk around her without breaking her moment. I started down what looked like more than a hundred wood and dirt steps with a sharp incline slowly. I typically do not have good balance on steps for some reason. I focused my energy to my feet and my balance improved. As soon as I started walking, the woman in the green shirt started right behind me, like right behind me. I felt a little nervous, since I am not accustomed to folks walking right on my tail in the woods, especially down steps. I slowed to let her pass but she didn’t. I stopped, stood to the right side and motioned for her to pass gently; she stopped right behind me and wouldn’t look at me. I started again, walked about seven or eight steps and stopped again. She stopped directly behind me and I again motioned for her to pass. Again she did not, but this time she stomped her foot on the ground loudly. Still no eye contact or acknowledgement. I felt uncomfortable at this point. What social/cultural boundary have I broken? Is it not proper for women to pass man on steps? Is she afraid of walking in front of me? While finishing this third question, I approached a small bench inches off the trail on the right for folks to rest while trying to make it to the top due to the sharp incline. These trails have many older folks enjoying them and a bench is a good thing. For me, it was Blessing at this moment. I stopped, and sat on the bench’s left side with my backpack still on, since I planned on only staying there till the woman in the green sweater passed and created some distance for me. She stood right in front of me and stomped again. Her expression was blank but intense. I looked up and her eyes were closed. She looked like she was forcefully praying or something similar. I could feel her frustration and did not know what to do. I sat there still leaning back against my black pack. She started stomping more and did it several times, maybe eight or nine. She became more forceful and firm in her stomping each time. Her energy was strong and willful. She needed me to do something but could not tell me or was not willing to do so. I sat. A minute later she started walking. She walked slowly and I looked in another direction to not be rude. About ten steps later, she started stomping again on a large white rock at a curve in the step-path. She looked downright angry at this point. I was scared. I did not know what to do but sit. While she was stomping on the white rock, an elder couple with hats on passed her coming up the hill. Another couple, going down, passed her and then she started walking again. I felt a sigh of relief.

I waited about five minutes seated there on the bench to give her some space. I recalled she never let go of that red leaf in her right hand the whole time. I man and his son plopped down next to me, we exchanged pleasant glances. Then it hit me. It was not a social/cultural issue, the woman was blind. She could not see and would listen for the steps of those in front of her to find her way down the to the bottom safely. She was not standing at the top step to be with her red leaf; she needed a guide to make it down safely. She was not avoiding eye contact, she could not see me! My blindness was the problem, not hers. A sharp pain ran through my gut. What a jerk I am. I felt shame and embarrassment. I asked my Higher Self to send me where I needed to go and I was directed to lead her down Tang San Mountain safely. I failed and was somewhat rude along the way. I prayed for forgiveness, stared to cry on the bench next to the man and his son. They could not tell. I prayed for her. How could I do such a thing? What is wrong with me?

I got up to head down the trail. I walked down the steps faster than normal. I wanted to do something, anything but be alone with my shame. I am such a fool. When I made it to the bottom. There was a small park with a playground. A couple of moms and kids were playing. There was a woman sitting on a bench to the right. I looked and it was not her. I did a mental check to make sure I remembered what she was wearing correctly- green shirt with a light green shawl and black pants. No, she was not there. I walked towards the sidewalk I saw about fifty feet ahead. I looked both left and right, across the street and in every direction. She was nowhere to be found. I started in the direction that I thought would bring me home since I did not recognize the streets or area that was around me. About fifteen feet to my left and there she was. How did I not see her when I looked? She was stopped with the red leaf in her hand. She stood as if she was taking inventory of her situation, so was I. She paused then started walking in the direction towards me very slowly. She appeared cautious in her steps. As I passed her on her left, I softly said, “ I am sorry” knowing she would not understand the words but possibly the sentiment and energy behind the words. I sensed her focus was elsewhere and hearing some babble in another language by some guy was not high on her priority list at that moment. I started walking again; tears were again building up inside me. I am so blind. I know nothing. I think I do but I do not. Blindness, total blindness. I looked back and she was walking on the yellow grooved tiles that mark the center of Korean sidewalks for folks visually impaired. Her strain and focus was intense. I prayed for her. I prayed for me that I may learn how to see. I prayed and held back tears the entire hour or so it took me to get back my neighborhood. Along the way, a few different groups of young kids did the “Hello” routine with the foreigner. Typically I enjoy their enthusiasm and excitement. Today I was too full of shame but I played along because that it was the foreigner does with kids, play along. I stopped at ‘815’ grocery store to pick up some stuff for dinner. The bright lights and activity startled me. I brushed away my feelings and did what I needed to do. I left with my backpack stuffed with chicken, curry, eggplant and cucumbers. One block till home and still blind. “I was blind, but now I see” runs through my head with its soft, warm melody. Grace, that is what I need.

Mother Theresa was once asked, “Why you pray so much?”

“Because I need it. I don’t pray enough. I should pray more so I could be of greater service. I need it, that is why I pray.”

I need to pray more. I am blind and need to learn how to see.