Nothing Unsaid

     It was one of those moments that, in retrospect, leaves you naked and breathless. It was a moment that lacked the import of JFK’s assassination or the bombing of the World Trade Centers. It was a moment, nonetheless, like the others, that I shall always remember where I was and what I felt when I heard the news, the words. “We’ve been friends for so long, it’s not like there was anything left unsaid.”
     Her best friend had just passed away. Her comment was so casual, spoken without forethought that I do not think she realized the weight of its profoundness. To have walked beside someone, as a lover, a friend or as a family member and in absolute honesty be able to declare, “I have left nothing unsaid” is perhaps the summation of all spiritual quests. It transcends the literal translation of verbal communication and includes actions, presence, attentiveness and constancy.
     As I sit here, my tapping fingers are slowly wearing out the letters on the keyboard. Perhaps it is just a message for me and will not resonate with others. How does one write about leaving nothing unsaid? Have I come full circle again to the earlier post where frustration led me to Gabriel Oak’s quote? Can I unroll the scroll of my heart and speak their names in the same way? Will their names now bear the question of what is left unsaid? Alas, I am not so wise.
     When I look at you, fear not the concentration of my blue eyes. I am simply searching in yours what I have left unsaid. When I reach out to touch you, worry not that my hand may tremble or even linger just a moment. My energy, the force of life within me is speaking to you and asking what I have left unsaid. If you see me walk slower than normal do not assume the arthritis and my knees are cranky. The souls of my feet are speaking to the earth and asking what I have left unsaid. When I say ‘I love you’ it is the ‘you’ that you are, not what I need or wish you would be. I will not define you and risk a box that excludes and leaves something unsaid. And in my struggle to leave nothing unsaid, know that I am both saint and sinner, easily distracted and absent minded and my words may scale heights that my actions do not. My claim to imperfection will never go unsaid. Nor shall my cry for forgiveness and my zeal to begin again and leave nothing unsaid.

no brakes, no seatbelts, and no anaesthetic

Sometimes life brings us drastic change -- disease, war, natural disasters, things that are larger than ourselves which we cannot control -- and sometimes we walk into it, or stumble into it. We've all heard the convenient little tidbit of "New Age" philosophy that states, "You create your own reality". There's certainly a level on which our perceptions shape the narrative we tell ourselves and others about our experience. It is also not far wrong to say that our perceptions are shaped by the choices that we make from moment to moment.

However, there's a dangerous "blame the victim" sort of slant implied by this bit of folk wisdom. We've all taken the stance of the victim from time to time, and certainly there is a responsible way for any adult to step out of victimization into empowerment -- I may have not caused the earthquake that destroyed my house (at least not directly or consciously), but I am in charge of rebuilding it. And if we burned the house down by getting drunk and falling asleep while smoking, well, we can't exactly blame the liquor store. But I feel a little uneasy about over-simplified statements of "Karma" (a complex philosophical framework that is mostly misunderstood by Westerners) or "drawing experiences to oneself", when considering things like child abuse, racism both institutional and social, famine, inter-generational poverty, and genocide. Even when faced with unintended consequences of one's own actions, to minimize the suffering experienced by saying the person "brought it on themselves" isn't exactly the sort of compassion I'm comfortable displaying in public.

In reality, or so I believe, we all brought everything on ourselves by being born; but we didn't deserve any of it, even the good things. However, for me to hold onto blame for someone who I believe has wronged me is just another way to hold on to suffering. In my experience, keeping score regarding what I perceive as harm done to me by others doesn't result in some sort of cosmic actuarial reckoning at the end of the day or even at the end of life. My fear, and I have good reason to fear this, is that there is no great cosmic reckoning of any kind, ever, other than in an unimaginably gradual process of random movements in the universe. Instead, the only reckoning I will experience is the one I bring about by the immoderate and reckless act of forgiveness.

We often see small children forgiving and sharing with others in a manner which seems angelic and pure to us; but it's really only a matter of the degree to which they feel the pain of their experience in any given moment. You and I haven't changed much since we were children. Sure, we'll share and forgive and include and all that great stuff -- when it's comfortable and convenient. Everybody likes to be perceived as a "nice person". It's when giving and forgiving hurts that it truly has any meaning. Anybody can throw crumbs to the birds; it takes a different sort of person to see a bird fly into a closed window and go check if it's injured. I think a good many of us have an "I gave at the office" approach to those who come to us with hands outstretched, reduced to a level of desperation in which they are incapable of feeling any shame for begging. But we need to help, however much we may resist it. It's like we have two voices in our heads -- or rather, one in our head and one in our heart. The one in our head says, "You'll be taken advantage of," and the one in our heart only knows how to say "I love you".

The secret to all this is that forgiving is easy, or at least it is past the first step. It is impossible to forgive anyone else if we can't forgive ourselves -- that is where it must begin. "I chose this" cannot be a self-condemnation; rather, it's an acceptance that we are not that special in our suffering. Miraculously enough, I have discovered that once I drag myself over that first terrible hurdle, everything afterward is a cakewalk. If I can fully and completely forgive myself for my mistakes, laziness, cowardice, even moments of cruelty, I have everything I need to forgive others. In forgiving myself I don't let myself off the hook; to the contrary, it's claiming a whole other level of responsibility for my actions. Once I've set aside luxuriating in the self-pitying voice that says "I suck!", I am confronted by the task of making ordinary human amends for my ordinary human misdeeds. You aren't a f?!?-up; you f?!?ed up. Get clear on the difference between those two statements, and you can get clear with anyone about anything.

Why Worry?

"Why Worry?

There should be laughter after pain,

There should be sunshine after rain

These things have always been the same

So why worry now?"

Dire Straits

Relax! Most of the stuff we worry about doesn't even happen!

I used to be the ultimate worry wart.

I had a panic attack for every occasion. From financial woes to 'does my bum look big in this?' type dilemmas.

I was plagued with the 'what-ifs' and the 'what do they think of me's', I would have mini cardiac arrests about a mess in the house, an upcoming bill or the fact my hair colour was not quite the shade I was aiming for.

I barely got through a day without having to close my eyes  count slowly to ten picturing calm waters and smiling Buddhas!

It was so difficult to enjoy life because rather than being in the moment, my head was compiling predictions of doom!

My alter ego "Nostri-doom-us" hung around more than I care to admit.

These days I am the opposite.

Perhaps it was one too many panic attacks or the realisation that as a Mama my son is going to take his cues on how to react to life from his parents.

Some of the things I DON'T worry about now, would make my own parent's enter cardiac arrest territory.

They actually worry about my lack of worry at times! Crazy!

I have decided to trust in the flow of life and to put my energies into the things I can do, change and things that matter.

It is with pleasure that I have compiled Swami Sharni's Guide to Five things NOT to worry about (aside from anything)

1) Mess. It is inevitable (particularly with a one year old)

If you are a parent, you can mop the floors until your pearly whites are reflected back at you from it but in five minutes it is going to be smeared with watermelon and Vegemite. Worrying about this raises your blood pressure, makes you feel a failure  and is a waste of your precious mind.

ACCEPT MESS! Embrace it, enjoy it! Make it! Sure it is also wonderfully therapeutic to clean it, but do so with a healthy sense of humour knowing that your best scrubbing is only going to come undone sooner than you think.

2) Lack of Sleep - worrying about not getting enough is what makes you tired! So don't -a- worry!

Repeated declarations of how little sleep you have had (speaking from direct experience) "I only had THREE HOURS last night AND it was broken" makes you tired. Worrying about how you are going to get through the day makes it harder. Cut down on worrying about this and watch an amazing energy boost come into your life!

3) What other people think - As a great person once said "What other people think of me is not my business" Damn straight.

4) Weight - worry is futile. Action is key. Why worry about how fat you have become? Put the energy that you mull over it into belly dancing and kayaking! Worrying about it will only make you reach for the packet of Retro Party Mix.

5) Other people - you can stay awake all night troubled over a love one. You can make yourself cry, toss , turn and pull your hair out over someone else's dilemma. Truth is, sometimes we worry about someone else, but they are not worried themselves! Perhaps take a leaf out of their non-worried book and save yourself the anguish....

Are you a worrier? What is your worry philosophy?

Moving Forward

Give up, leave, move, opt in, opt out, change.

Big life altering decisions are tough and putting them off suspends you.

I call this the place Limbo. It is not a nice place to be, but it is safe. Any regrets, failures and impact won’t reach you there. But neither will any successes.

Eventually you have to take a leap of faith. This feels like letting go of one trapeze and grabbing on to the one that’s coming towards you.

On the other side all the consequences of your decision will be revealed.

There is no going back. And so you move forward.

365 Lessons-Lesson 60: Those with Patience Persevere

I don't know why this word "patience" keeps popping up today. It popped up in an e-mail from my agent and it seemed to be the word I wanted to tell my husband's business partner when I stopped by the evening yoga class and saw only a few people in class. Kind of a let down after seeing the huge crowd of yogis and yoginis at the grand opening. After running two yoga schools in Korea for 5 years, I know that everything worthwhile in life takes patience.

The problem is that when things aren't going smoothly or at the speed we'd like them to, we give up. We think we need to change something. Things and people will take their own sweet time to change. You can't change situations or people, you don't have control over that. All you can do is give love continuously, through all the ups and downs, and see what happens.

We are always looking ahead to the next thing and often forget how far we've come in life. Today marks the day I have blogged for 60 days! It may not seem like much when you look at an entire year. When I try to imagine blogging for 365 days, It feels impossible. It feels like trying to scale Mt. Everest in one day or count grains of sand or something. The only way I can continue is to take each day as it comes. I don't even know what I'm going to write and sometimes I'm not sure I have anything interesting to say, but I keep at it.

So, today I celebrate the small victory of writing continuously for two months. I remember someone asking me, before I started my 365 days of writing, if I only blog or write when I'm inspired. I think I used to steer clear of the computer when I felt down or didn't have anything interesting to say. Now I just go to my keyboard and start typing. I have no idea what will come out, but it's all part of the process for me. Sometimes I feel so much enthusiasm, other times I feel down in the dumps and there are also times when I don't have much to say. This is life.

This is an experiment. It's my experiment and I have to remember that. I'm doing this for me so that I can remember the time when I wrote everyday for an entire year and what that was like. I am doing this because I believe those with patience persevere.

Anyone who has ever run a business knows that there are times when you can't believe how great business is going and times when you are sitting around twiddling your thumbs waiting for people and thinking in the back of your head, "How am I going to pay the rent?"

Anyone who's ever had children (I do not but I have learned quite a bit from my friends who do) knows that there are times of joy, love and awe when you look at these miraculous beings in front of you and there are times when you'd like to go to the store and return your children like you would a sweater (especially when they are screaming at the top of their lungs in a department store.) But you don't return your children because you are committed to them through the thick and thin of it. Children can be the greatest teachers because they make you feel the full spectrum of life, they test your patience and there is no guarantee that children will behave exactly as you'd like them to. You have to have patience with them.

How can we develop patience? I'm learning that I'm not so good at this part sometimes. I need to step back a bit and let things happen. All I can do is keep watering my intentions. The seeds have been planted and if I take care of these plants of mine, one day they will blossom. I am not going to throw in the towel at the slightest bump in the road. I will maneuver over and around the bumps, up the hills, down the hills, through the tunnels, through the dark clouds, hail, snow, thunder, and even sun. What else can I do but take each moment as it comes.

So, hurray for 60 days!..this is what I'm celebrating today in this moment. At least I had enough patience to make it this far. All I can do is keep breathing, keep putting one foot in front of another, keep loving and keep going no matter what life throws my way.

reposted from my blog: Lessons from the Monk I Married

Happy Mothers Day Mother Earth!

Happy Mothers Day to all the Mothers of the world.


But an even bigger 'Happy Mothers Day' to Mother Earth, for sustaining our existence, for letting us know when we have done something wrong to her. For always being there when we awake, for giving us her warm Sun and her moon and stars to light our night.


Thank you Mother Earth, for giving us your beautiful garden of flowers and trees, of streams and lakes of Mountains and Hills. Thank you Mother Earth for letting us toil your soil to feed our young, for giving us rain to grow our seeds, for giving us oxygen so we can breath.


Thank you Mother Earth for giving us a platform to experience our life, to learn from wrong and right. Thank you for housing all the creatures of our Creator, from the small to the large.


Thank you for giving us a chance to mend our ways to change what we have done to show you how important and loved you are.


Thank you Mother Earth for giving us life, and for taking us back to your bosom when we have finished our term.


Thank you for being there, a constant in our life. It is time for us to look after you now. It is time for us to show our true appreciation for all you give and do for us.


So today, as we celebrate Mothers Day on top of our list is a BIG I LOVE YOU to the worlds Mother - Mother Earth.

Train song

As I write this, it is very early morning in East Tennessee and I hear the northbound train approaching. The last several days have been damp and overcast and that causes fog to creep overnight across the Tennessee Valley. Fog, in turn, causes the sound of the train whistle and the train's passage along the tracks to carry more loudly across the hills and valleys. Having lived a great part of my life in East Tennessee, the sound of trains has always been a constant. Similar to how we can be lulled to sleep or calmed by the sound of rain, or a thunderstorm, so do the sound of trains rumbling, roaring and whistling down the tracks soothe those who have grown up with them always present.


I took this sound, this presence, for granted until I spent time in a city - Tampa, Florida to be specific - where trains weren't evident. I never did figure out this puzzle while I lived in Tampa; there were certainly train tracks around and about the city, but I never once heard or saw trains traveling. What I can report is that it took me almost a full month of living there before I finally realized part of my night time restlessness wasn't all due to being in a new city, new dwelling and new surroundings. It was actually greatly due to the fact that I wasn't hearing the familiar, comforting sound of trains traveling during the wee hours of the morning.

Once I did identify the source, I began to ask people in Tampa about the absence of trains in and around the city. I received puzzled looks and no ready answers as to why there were train tracks everywhere, but no trains visible. All I can say for certain is that it took me a good stretch of time to adjust to sleeping without the soothing sounds of far-off trains rolling along the tracks, and the occasional train whistle echoing and bouncing along the hills. Tampa doesn't have hills for the sounds to reverberate and echo across, so perhaps this is one reason I never heard the sounds the way I was accustomed to hearing in East Tennessee.

I have read of many people who have had near death experiences saying that they drifted from their bodies and went into an area that resembled a huge, limitless train station. Other people who have lived through tornadoes and hurricanes report that the sounds of the worst of the weather manifesting sounded eerily like a train running directly overhead. Years ago, I stumbled across an obscure book written by a hospice nurse who mentioned many of her patients who were slowly approaching death who mentioned hearing a train approaching from far away. I apologize for not remembering the name of this book, or the name of the author, but this woman reported this mention of a train approaching to be a common theme amongst many hospice patients.

It makes one ponder the train reference, the train station as a staging area for crossing over. Perhaps our Souls recognize something inherent to the concept of a train approaching that beckons us to release from the physical body, step onto that mystical and spiritual manifestation and continue the journey to the other side of the Veil.

Trains do indicate travel, and before air flight was accomplished, trains were the epitome of power, wealth, commerce and a literal ticket to the far flung, exotic, mysterious corners of the Earth. Distant and varied travel was possible, taking you as far as the train tracks lead. Perhaps it isn't that difficult a stretch to embrace that trains could also represent a mystical form of travel for the Spirit.

Here in my area, trains run day and night. To someone living in an area where trains aren't prevalent, that might sound horribly noisy and invasive. I am not describing endless activity; the trains run on schedules throughout the week and become a backdrop to our daily lives. To me, it isn't noisy. For the most part, it is similar to a clock in your home that you become so accustomed to that you rarely consciously hear the tick-tock sounds. Indeed, in the wee hours of the early morning, as I write this post, the sound of the northbound train is gentle, reassuring, and in its own way, quite majestic.

Perhaps the echoes of a train thundering along the track mimics in some manner a heartbeat, reminding us of our time in the womb. There is a rhythmic cadence as train wheels rattle and roar along the tracks. One close girlfriend has such a trained ear for the local train schedules that she can tell which direction a given train is traveling, simply from the sound of the whistle as the train approaches. I bow to her accuracy, because she really is incredible with this talent. That repetitive thundering sound could remind our Soul of a sort of homecoming, a welcoming portal to traverse from here to the Unknown There, the sure sound embracing us and wrapping around our senses.

For myself, the sounds of the trains each night are a lullaby that makes me smile and ushers me more deeply into sleep. The deep. smoky belltones of the whistle echoing across the Tennessee Valley rarely truly awaken me; it is more of a background reassurance that all is well. If I am having a night of fitful sleep, quite often the sounds of a train in the distance will relax me and help me drop off to deep slumber.

Much like an old friend, the song of the weekly scheduled train runs become so familiar to us that, were they to suddenly cease their normal schedule, we would become abruptly aware of the lack. As would the sudden cessation of that clock in the room, we would wonder why the wee hours of the night had suddenly grown so unusually quiet. Perhaps we would awaken and wonder at the strange lack of sound, not quite sure what was missing. I, for one, would be saddened to live in a world where there were no trains rumbling along the tracks, no piercing train whistles splitting the damp night air to travel, echoing their unique song across the hills.

It is a curiously gentle presence, the night train calling out. Distant, yet imposing as its inexorable rush onward is repeated week by week, year by year, imprinting in our memories with sound and vibration. This moment, this wee hour of the night that is slowly releasing darkness to dawn, the sounds of the train trekking northward inspire words to flow, to give voice to a sinuous, fluid trail of thought that mimics the journey of that train charging out into the distance.

In a moment, I will surrender to sleep, lulled by that soporific rumble....my heart and breath unconsciously matching the rhythm of the faraway rails being ridden by the Iron Horse of yesteryear. That curious anomaly of a bygone era remains an active, modern presence and continues to weave into the minds and hearts of those gifted with vision to dream, to hear a unique Industrial Age melody wailing through the night air.

This is a jumble of perhaps not very well connected or elaborated ruminations about trains. Perhaps I will let it rest as I surrender to the arms of Morpheus myself, and return to it anon, to read through with more clear mind and judge whether it is worthy of posting or abandoning. The train rolls on in the distance and I am pulled to sleep....

...and the following night, I have returned, read through these thoughts, and deemed them strong enough to stand. Jumbled and disconnected though they may be, I shall publish them. Another train calls out its song in the distance, this one southward bound, rushing into the dark to grace the mountains with its chant along the tracks, its whistle smoky and drifting out through the night. That is the interconnecting thread, the train song that trills ever onward.
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If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me at Healing Morning blog.