The wind sang. I turned and went into the forest where the wind doesn’t go, then walked back through the explosions of Miller Moths. I felt my day’s practice in me. I had done my practice on the deck rediscovering my contours of motion, the movements that, like wind sculpting the rock rim, have carved my nervous system. My muscles objected, humping and bumping along, but suddenly they fell into the movement flow and opened like flowers. The muscles like secret drawers.

Moths
Imagine Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds’. Now imagine that all the black birds are moths and you have a pretty good idea of the Miller Moths invasion of the Southwest. I opened the barn door and, disturbed from their rest, thousands of moths leapt madly into space. The whir of wings, light glinting off the dust of their pale bodies, rhythmic slamming into the barn walls in a frenzy to get out, to go, to escape. Wonderment unfurled in my chest. After a moment, the flurry subsided as they returned to crevices, invisible until startled into flight again. The barn was once again a naked interior of wood and metal, so  the moths are a good diagnostic of just how many crevices there are to inhabit.

At night in the cabin, I struggle to usher them outside. I don’t want to dodge their manic fluttering as I prepare for bed by candlelight. Happily, the moths sleep when I sleep. They don’t eat wool but prefer on the nectar of mesa flowers. Apparently the bears, which are still hibernating, find these moths tasty. There will be fat, happy bears this summer.

Clothes
When I arrived in New Mexico last year in early May it was cold and I was fat from wintering cooped up in NYC,  so I bought large sweatpants and shirts. As the summer progressed into hot weather and I was out on the land, very active, I lost ten pounds. All my lightweight clothes are quite a bit smaller. Today it is cold. I don the large clothes which fit because I spent yet another winter cooped up in NYC accumulating a large winter butt. It won’t last long up here. Climbing, walking, lifting, hauling, reaching, pushing, pulling.

Thank you for reading.
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It is important to see these these long discursive novels with their ragged, repeated plot lines, fetishistic thematic returns, abortive attempts to break through illusions of grandeur, and the accompanying humiliations of truth crashing through. It is important to notice how they’ve lurked and to toss them out now that I am less invested in them. They aren’t me anymore. They are where I’ve been. They are dusty old back-country maps of places that have been paved over. They can’t be sold for a lot of money or passed down to progeny; they are just my story and we all have stories, and all our stories are both equally special and un-special.

How I will manage this? Dancemeditation is a huge, true gift. It cleanses away that glut of memories acting as a buffer against living in the present world’s continual mixture of happiness and discontent. I move and the old hidden parts blown out like a flurry of moths. Except for a choice few moments, a few choice memories, the past can depart now. Let what is moving away die away. Let my youth go. I thought I was doing that, but I didn’t see, until visiting old haunts, the undone housekeeping. I’ll then have space. To fashion new memories with whoever I continue my journey. (These will drift away as well.) Or to simply stay in that center turning and turning and looking out and looking in.

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First, money:

When women aren’t acknowledged and respected, we aren’t paid as much, (and in money-grubbing America the reverse is certainly true—less money, less respect) and when we aren’t paid as much we have less freedom of the ordinary sort. To live and breathe. To chant and meditate. To feel. To think. To be creative. Money gives us independence to pursue our spiritual path. Spiritual path has never been without the little practicalities of housekeeping. Acknowledgement and money and freedom. That is the grounded part.

Second, archetype:

The point of having women spiritual leaders as an archetype is to frame, within the collective consciousness, the idea of women’s spiritual authority. Women can author spirituality, and that spirituality is legitimate. The archetype sculpts the internal right to regard our sense of spiritual self as real. This subtle point can be hard won for women, often escaping them entirely. Every evanescent template is shaped by the bodies we occupy and half of us occupy a female body. When the world’s iconography of women does not include, in real terms, female leadership, women have a blank space in their internal array, or worse, a hole in the reflection of their core self. Having women spiritual leaders makes women’s spirituality real.

How do women teachers garner respect? It’s a long, hard row to hoe. We have a habit of viewing women in authority as our mothers partly because it is a well-established icon. (No wonder older women who aren‘t our mothers bristle when shunted into this delusion.) When I was a young woman there were fewer role models to emulate. I chose ‘dancer’ in part because the role models were so wonderful—Margot Fonteyn, Martha Graham, Ruth St. Denis—women who had artistic and physical freedom. I also had the Women’s Movement at my back proclaiming that we could be anything we wanted to be. As time progresses, however, and my path becomes clearer, I feel the paucity of role models. There are very few women Sufi Masters before 20th century America. (Are there really any? And don’t trot out the almost-one-and-only Rabia who was an ascetic who smacked down her big boy contemporaries. Tokenism.) Where do I turn for that affirmation as my Path protracts? These later stages on the Path have few women beacons. Of course I have wonderful interlocutors, but this piece is about the lack of cultural affirmation and the need to act in the court of culture as well as within the court of the self.

Everyone’s life is political action, large or small. We make choices. Our actions display our ethics. The public bow of respect and appreciation makes a rightness real.

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The first is  renunciation of this world.
The second is renunciation of the Other World.
The third is renunciation of the self.
The fourth is renunciation of renunciation.

Not a lot of words here, but an elegant, succinct map for a pursuit which could occupy the better part of a lifetime to undertake and understand.

I adored hearing this metaphor at the SAT Conference, tucked within a flow of words during discussion about the map for Path. Claudio articulated a few typical shapes of spiritual path while wryly acknowledging that, “It is a paradox: training is a map to study something which is not on the map.” The most common map is an upward progression with a pinnacle. But seekers have described other shapes. For some it surges down and down in. For others it follows a wheel shape in which the seeker winds upward, reaching a the pinnacle at the halfway point then wending downward into integration that might feel disappointing after the illumination pinnacle. He then suggested that people draw a map of their own Path experience so far and to split into groups to explore those shapes.

Guideposts, like the dervish turban, are a way to encapsulate challenges for contemplation, to measure one’s experience, and to form intention. What is it that we want to accomplish? For Sufis, renunciation is a stage. (The word ‘dervish’ means a renunciate, materially poor and rich in spirit.) Renunciation connotes the alchemy involved in releasing attachments only to discover subtler ones. Does renunciation lead to seeing to the ‘ridiculousness’ of ego? Yes, we hope, but such a seeing is blindness if it happens inside the ego, inside the delusional mind. Sufi path requires seeing with the heart.

It is all very well to say ‘oh yeah, I get this’,  but very hard to actually experience it. ‘Get’ is not experience. ’Get’ is a hit and run. ‘Experience’ is a body smeared beneath a steamroller, every bone broken, the brains mauled, the flesh pancaked. Do we survive? Do we give up? Do we liquify and transform like a butterfly? Seek sincerely, intentionally, feeling it all, finding the next knowing. We have to stay wary of our certainty about anything while not giving up on seeking.

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We didn’t stay in Bogota but immediately left for a farm in the mountains outside the city. After a twelve hour airport saga, another hour in a car wasn’t my first choice but off we went, winding up and up. We passed through rustic stone gates. Here was a charming casita. A dinner. A bed. I slept deeply.

Group laughing

I was there for the SAT Conference. SAT is an acronym for ‘Seeker After Truth’, a classic Sufi moniker, but introduces larger idea of Path. “The reason for following a Path is to develop Existential Competence, ” said Dr. Claudio Naranja, the director of the conference. Eighty men and women, mostly from Colombia and Mexico, gathered to work with Claudio. (Here is a thumbnail bio: Claudio Naranja, MD, renowned Chilean psychiatrist, writer, teacher, and internationally sought-after public speaker, is considered a pioneer for his experiential and theoretical work as an integrator of psychotherapy and the spiritual traditions.) This group has been journeying together under Claudio’s aegis for the past four years.

peacock

In the morning, rooster crows were drowned out by a loud siren whine of peacocks. Horses (there were 27 on the ranch) cavorted in the lush green pasture outside my bedroom window. They do the most wonderful dance — passofino and other stepping — that is like a flamenco dancer. They also loll lying down. There were lovely goats and a quartet of mellow German Shepherds that leaned like guardians against the outside of the workroom door, making it hard to get in and out. Breakfast was thin, unsweetened hot chocolate to which you add your own milk and honey or sugar, or excellent Colombian coffee, papaya, banana, a very mild fresh white cheese, a bit like tofu, and huevos.  Then off to the morning session.

Each day began with four hours with Claudio and the group. After lunch, they had two hours with me, followed by two hours in Shamanic practice with Jorge Llano, a later dinner, and an evening practice that varied. An uncanny harmony emerged immediately, as if we three teachers had a coordinated syllabus. Of course we didn’t. Jorge doesn’t speak English well and I have no Spanish. Claudio speaks everything quite well. But language was not what made our worlds flow. The field of connection was opened and kept open by each teacher and we each picked the day’s progression like ripe fruit out of the intuitive air.

I taught Whirling and exercises including Breath Dance and Rocking Array and some Ornamental Motion. It was dreamy and deep and solid. A whole room of people new to me who were intelligent, solidly intentioned, capable and open was uplifting. In a flash, any whiff of having to defend the value of doing movement meditation disappeared. I wasn’t wading through anxiety that can block participants from reaching in deeply; and I didn’t have to fight a haze of dissociative scattered-ness that typically plagues Americans. Everyone knew why they were at this conference. They trusted me. They trusted themselves. There is nothing more precious.

Hand Dances in Groups

In the next posts I will include a few tidbits from Claudio’s talks and why they stay with me. As well, I’ll write about the buoyant camaraderie that emerged amongst Bettina and Katrin, both from Germany, Cynthia (all three are psychotherapists) and myself. Las cuatro chicas. Having time in intelligent, loving company discussing shared values deliciously affirms dharma.

I wish there was a way to convey the energy. I came away from the week knowing that my mind can come into my spiritual flow, and that it isn’t a separate energy. Words are a movement, a form of dance like lifting an arm. Deep states can be shaped by mind as well as by body, something that, just a few weeks ago, I’d been so certain was not possible. How interesting that Path takes our certainties and rips them to shreds.

Thanks for reading. (And please feel free to correct my Spanish.) ~
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Bill and I are surprised by one another. Nobody uses the back. We both think we can sneak quietly around unseen.

He stops. We shake hands and exchange names. He asks what I’m doing, and I say writing, and he asks what I’m writing, and I say whatever is on my mind, and he asks what I do, and I say I teach meditation, and he says oh good, he’s learning that now, with his group. He asks me if it is spiritual in nature.

Now, I don’t know Bill and he has startled me in what I have come to consider my own private back garden. This sudden question makes our morning brush intimate. Shall I divulge? I look into his pleasant smile. It’s a personal question but he has enough sense to ask a good question. He asks the sort of question that someone who actually does meditation would ask. He has tipped his hand. Because he asks this question, I know his meditation is spiritual in nature. I wonder if he is Catholic or if he is learning a Buddhist practice, but I don’t ask.

I say, “Yes.”

He nods. We have a moment here. A moment.

Then I say, “Yeah, its hard right?” And he says yeah, especially with all the noise going on in his head. I agree and we laugh. He says have a nice day and starts to walk off. Then he pauses and turns to toss over his shoulder, “Its an inside job.”

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The other evening I sank in, and the music took me somewhere. Darkness swaddled me. The floor slid by. The floor pushed my right arm away from falling into a cavern… And then I must have slept. I felt a billion times better afterward, limbs swinging loose, lymph circulating, mind clear. Totally reset.

Exercise: Simple Side-to-Side Roll

• Put a squishy thick blanket down on the floor.
• Choose smooth music without lyrics, not too quiet and not too active. Preferably, the music should be seamless. A mix without silence spaces is best, and it should extend for an hour to give you plenty of time. (You may want to set a timer. Set it for at least ten minutes.)
• Begin lying on your back, knees bent, feet on the floor. Bring your awareness to your breathing. Be aware of the floor. Take a few moments to release any overt tension. Breathe…Relax…Breathe…
• Now, languidly draw your knees up toward your chest, feet loose in the air, a bit sloppy, hip sockets soft, arms on the floor. You can move gently here to get your orientation, to get a sense of your back on the floor.
• Now bit by bit relax over toward one side, letting the arm that trails behind gently join you. Let it sleepily tag along as your roll onto your side. Take your time. Be aware of your breathing. Maybe take a moment, when you are on your side, to feel where everything contacts the ground. Your shoulder, ribs, side of your hip, your forehead. Breathing. As you begin to roll back to center you might be aware of your skull’s roundness against the ground. Breathe as you go.
• Pass through center and roll slowly toward the other side. Feel every little contact with the ground.
• As you continue rolling from one side to the other and back, breathing, breathing, feel the floor. Feel your body melt. Feel your flesh become thick and blob-like. Jelly in a sack. Even the bones soften. The floor touches more and more of you, the ground reaching up to gather you down onto it.
• As you continue, your awareness opens, your breath expands, the space within and between bones and muscles and organs awakens and grows resilient, and you may move more slowly, savoring the deliciousness. Rasa.
• Continue for a while. Then, let your body explore however it wishes.
• After a while, let the movement subside and rest.

Try it and tell me what you felt.
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I began with ideas and a gorgeous, ideal architectural drawing from Dana Bixby. I sent these to five contractors in New Mexico. Two were swamped, one backed away due to conflict of interest, one is still working on an estimate two months later, and one gave me a detailed, transparent estimate which, though fair, was so far out of range that I was very, very demoralized for a week. $34,000!

Well! $34,000 is double the $17,000 we raised in December which I thought would be adequate based on preliminary calculations sent by a friend who had recently put in a dance floor in a warehouse. The company that sent the estimate is the premier local construction company so I had no qualms that if I went with them the job would be solid and right. I called the second not-so-local company to see if they would weigh in wildly differently but didn’t have much hope. The materials on the list — plywood, OSB, insulation, joists, cement perimeter, etc. cost money. Men with big machines cost money. Mostly, it all felt wrong.

I wandered around wondering how to approach this. I could return to the Dancemeditation Community to try to raise more money. This is the usual approach, but juast at this juncture something about this  felt unengaged and unconsidered. I don’t want a rich project, a spa vibe. Ravenrock is meant as a place where we know nature, we know our bodies which includes finding human-sized solutions to our needs. All of us spend too much time using water we don’t carry, electricity we don’t generate, paying money into systems we have no control over designed to keep us in thrall, making salaries to keep roofs over our heads and the cold winter wind out. I felt completely determined not to start down a track with this barn that was all about that. We had raised a modest amount of money. Now could we get a floor out of that?

I have been guided, since the beginning of this wild and huge venture, by the certainty that a place for spiritual work is achievable, even by me, a no-longer-young dancer/mystic. In my gut I have felt this every day. The solutions to date have been the work of squeezing through narrow apertures rather than just waltzing down the lane. Ingenuity and prudence, rather than lavish gestures. The effort to find workable solutions and the effort involved in seeing what is truly needed and what is gratuitous is a perfect manifestation of spiritual path. The construction of the barn floor is another portrait of how this can and must happen.

I knew I couldn’t go with the local company. I wanted to. I wanted to give local guys business, to be part of the community in that way, but they cost too much. I sat by a huge fountain on 53rd Street in Manhattan on an unseasonably warm early spring day seeing only the barn and the mesa in my mind, thinking, thinking. I phoned Stewart Hoyt who loosened up my mind. He came up with five different floor structure solutions in one conversation. This was perhaps the best first step out of my little gully of worry. “We can do this or that…” Dana’s drawing faded away and now I was looking at unorthodox possibilities. It was a strategic issue. How can we do this modularly to make sure we are never hanging over the edge beyond available funds?

Judith Williams' papercrete subfloor

Cheap solutions — in builder’s parlance ‘cost-effective’ measures. Sure, one could pour a slab of concrete and bing bing the job is done. Everyone had suggested that. But all of us dancers know that even if you put wood over concrete it is cold and hard and miserable. No! No concrete. So with that expedient ruled out, the primary challenge in the plans was keeping animals from roosting under a wood floor. (New Mexico has little in the way of drainage issues.) The need to put a concrete perimeter around the entire floor that dug down into the ground a foot so mice and rats (which means snakes) couldn’t burrow was looking tough. It just was. And then what about that air space under the floating wood floor? And could we blow in insulation later?

Even so, I felt happier. I began to see myself with a couple of other as-yet-unknown volunteers digging around the barn perimeter. Then the cement guy (every town has one, Stewart says) would come up and pour the perimeter. Etc, etc. The floor would go in with a combination of specific hired specialists and a lot of unskilled labor. Well, it felt okay. But just okay.

Then Saturday dinner at ‘Sonny and Tony’s’ upstate with ‘the Family” (Ric’s multitude of siblings, mostly brothers who know how to build things) came around. It can be a noisy sort of dinner and lots of subjects come and go, but in passing the barn floor trotted over the eggplant parmesian heros and pasta fajole and lasgna. “Papercrete, ‘ Ferdinand said.

Well, I had heard about papercrete before and I nodded but didn’t think too hard on it. A possible insulation solution, yes, because everyone agrees insulation is expensive. Papercrete is cheap. The evening came and went, lots of hugs goodbye after dinner and off we went home. I checked papercrete on the iPhone and found a good site. Lots of rah-rah info. Papercrete is great for everything! But no formulas. It was the usual guy site with elaborate calculations and ‘it already feels too big for you, Lil’ Lady” going on. Obfuscation.

Well, let me say this, Ladies, construction that is good enough to live in is not rocket science. Construction that doesn’t need tremendous curb appeal, construction that is shelter is not rocket science. Of course, like anything, it can be good or crappy, but it can be learned.

Finally in the wee hours, a time when good things often happen, I came across a blog by a 60-year-old woman in northern New Mexico who built her entire house by hand, by herself out of papercrete Yes!!!! Her name is Judith Williams and here is the link for her story. Granted it is a small cabin (so cute and cozy and good) but the walls and floor are made from papercrete.

Judith William's Papercrete Floor

Papercrete is lightweight, insulative, as soft underfoot as wood, it is fire and animal resistant, can be done modularly, is cost-effective, is green (made from recycled paper and other fibers and Portland cement). Wow the check list is fantastic!

And she built her house by herself.

This is something that I can do. In fact, anyone who wants to can come give a hand. It won’t break our backs but will make us strong and, more important, help us know we can make our own shelter as well as our own barn floor.

Well, this is the hope. I will call and email and check this out. In my gut, I feel right about it. I think there is now a happy way forward!

Any helpful input on this?

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All I could think was that we wash our hair a billion times but rarely consider clearing our sexual channels. I don’t think women, in particular, talk about this option much. Sexless-ness is hush-hush turf.

I used to think of time without sex as giving up a pleasure but perhaps, like giving up the pleasure of chocolate mud cake and goopy cheese, time off from sexual intimacy can be a revitalizing break for our energetic circuits. Let the body clean out, have a rest and find its easiest digestive ways.

In search of love, I spent two decades taking a succession of lovers (and a husband) into my body then acting as a filtration unit for their confusions and angers. It was quite exhausting. I realized I needed a break from partnership. I needed to be single for a while, but a script in my head and emotions urged me to hook up again, as if an unattached me wasn’t attractive or real. As if I was a loser. Having been taught to be sexually available, and not necessarily for my benefit or pleasure, I didn’t feel valid about taking time off for my body to clear. I spent a lot of time judging myself and not really feeling how I felt. And nothing in my world encouraged me to ask my body how she felt, no green light to simply let my body rest from lovers. I took the break anyway. During my Dancemeditation practice, I noticed my body’s unexpected, un-categorizable freedom. My body was happily unencumbered. She was mainlining something more spiritual at that time. Sex is not the answer for a spiritually bereft condition. Sure, it can be a palliative, but more often it’s like perfume masking a bad odor. It doesn’t remove the rotting smell or the thing that is rotten.

All spiritual paths include fasting from time to time in order to receive clarity about the self, about path, about the world. Fasting gives a moment away from the gnawing of appetites. It allows the body to recalibrate. A time away from sex is a fast, and it can be a feast of self-awareness.

There’s no should or shouldn’t here, rather there is a ‘could’. We could take time off if we want to and still be women,  still be sensual women, alive women. We are still our own person which means our own body cleared of the imprint of others. Having a break allows our flesh to heal and our core being to find itself.

In the midst of spring cleaning, how does your body feel? Who is ‘in there’ with you?

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Dunya:
Hi David ~
Ok!
These are all black teas since I know nothing about green except that a good one probably can’t be had in America. I had Taiwanese green once properly brewed by a tea aficionado friend and it was so fabulous that I realized all the green dishwater I had been drinking year in and year out was pathetic. So I’ve stuck with my black tea from Wendell in Boston which tastes as good as anything I ever got in UK where even a crappy little cafe knows a great cuppa.

• Lapsang Souchong is my favorite. It’s a smoky tea and the most full-bodied with a rich, almost rough flavor. (This might make leaving coffee easier.) Not everyone likes the smoky thing though…I drink it with milk and stevia. (Tea has the antioxidants, and stevia and milk are both good for teeth/gum health, though tea will stain tooth enamel, of course, but so does coffee.)
• Any of the Breakfast teas are satisfying–English, Irish, Scottish. They are a tad sweeter than Lapsang Souchong while being robust and hearty. (Assam, Ceylon, & Kenyan blends.) They generally brew up a rich, deep color. (Love this great descriptor of Scottish Breakfast Tea from the English Tea Store —> Scottish Breakfast Tea delivers a rich and malty full bodied flavor with hints of oak.) I like the blends better than straight Assam or Ceylon (or Pekoe) which can be a little flat.

For the best taste experience, steep any of these loose leaf for seven minutes in a teapot. They’ll be deep-colored. For super strong tea (called Builders Tea) use more tea and brew longer. Lot of caffeine but it has the antioxidants as well.

A note: the finer cut the leaves, the darker the tea brews. If a tea is dried and left in whole leaves (like Oolong) it tends to brew paler. For the above teas, seven minutes is right regardless of the leaf size.

• If you want a smoother, sweeter taste but retaining a dry edge to the flavor:
  - Earl Grey or Lady Grey. These are black and scented (oil of Bergamot.)
• For sweet, light, delicate tea:
  - Oolong; there are many grades of Oolong And you can pay a lot of money for a good one, but I find the cheap ones fine. I don’t tend to drink oolong much — too sweet and perfume-y for me as a general taste — unless in the late afternoon when I want less caffeine. Though oolong has kept me up all night as well.

Yes, I don’t drink afternoon tea, because it will keep me up all night. So sad, since I’d love to be sitting down to a little ritual at 4pm. And don’t say ‘herbal tea’ because it just doesn’t make it for me. Even in a lovely tea cup! Sometimes a pot of really wonderful mint tea, full leaves not bits and pieces, with its soothing flavor and gold color will feel divine…

A good start. Let me know how it goes. I love to hear tea adventures!!!!

David:
Wow, Dunya, you really came through on this one! I guess I asked the right person. Lots of great information.  Makes me really want to do it!  Is there a particular brand of Lapsang Souchong that you prefer ?  And brands for the other ones too ?   There are just so many out there.  And, so, stevia — it’s really for real, eh?  What’s your take on raw honey ?

THANK YOU SO MUCH !

Dunya: 
I like China Lapsang Souchong from Mark T. Wendell Tea Company in Boston. (978) 635-9200. They have 2 types of Lapsang Souchong. This is the grittier one. (The other which is more refined is called Hu Kwa.) All their tea is top shelf.

But Twinings has a good LS too.

Raw honey? Delicious. But not in tea. It has too much personality.

Stevia is a lighter more neutral sweet. Natural, with no calories so there’s no extra sweetener buzz. I like the clear one which is a little less natural than the raw one but also less personality so the tea can shine through. Be careful not to put too much because it gets bitter right away!
And sugar. But I don’t like sugar really. It’s soooooo sweet. Gives me the creeps.

This is so much fun to try to express. Taste  is very personal, yes?

David:
Sugar — I shudder just thinking about it.

Thanks for the great tips, my friend.  I’m gonna have to give it a try!  — that gritty Lapsang…hmmm…

Oh, and I really need to be moving my body.  But that’s another story.
Peace.

Dunya:
Moving the body — yes, that’s another story!

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