March 2015
Lenten Travels It is hard to write this, this little thing that has no significance but so much meaning. YesterdayI was driving to one of my six jobs, (yes, crazy isn't it?) and as I was traversing the winding road that leads to their long driveway I saw a groundhog in the road.

He was a little guy, a youngster. He looked so innocent. Stopped there on my side of the road, looking around. I stopped and patiently waited for him to cross. A car was approaching from the opposite direction and must have seen him and I naively assumed that he too would stop for the crossing and we could watch this adorable sight together. I cannot tell you if it was a man or woman headed toward me as my eyes were on the small creature. I still had faith in a safe crossing even though the car continued as the groundhog started to go across the road in the direction of the car’s path.

The car didn’t slow down though, it was meaningfully careless as it ran over the little creature. I stared in disbelief and was still hopeful that maybe he was just hurt. But then he started to convulse and then he stopped moving, a quick death as blood poured from his mouth.

I just stayed there watching, helpless in shock. Stymied by his senseless death, and then thought that maybe if I didn’t stop then this might not of happened and what might the karmic repercussions be for the other car, for that traveler? For all of us? I left the spot disheartened and somewhat depressed as I headed towards the wilderness program where I work. Coincidentally, I ended up giving my notice there later that day.

Recently a client looked at me crying and said, why?  "Why did this happen to me?"  Her question in part was rhetorical but it was also a pleading for an answer.  She looked at me, the mental health professional to give some insight into why this tragedy had befallen her.  At first I gave a spiritually pat answer that 'we choose our path here and we know what we are in for before we incarnate even though on a human level we don't understand why.'  It was an incomplete and maybe even a wrong answer and I knew after I said it that it was not comforting to her. She looked at me, thankfully with an understanding of where I was coming from but said, "I chose this?" Pointing to her now disabled body from a devastating accident that she wasn't the cause of.  I then was given another chance by her and said the better answer of, "I don't know."

I don't know why some people live after fighting cancer, while others die.  Why some people are abused and others are protected from this.  Why some people's lives are easier than others.  Why some people who desperately want to have children and would make wonderful parents, cannot get pregnant and others have an easy time.  Why some people are disabled or killed after an accident and others walk away unscathed.  Why some children are hungry, sad, and lonely.  Why some elderly people are sad, lonely and hungry. 

I wish I had the answer for her but I didn't. I don't. 

If I was going to guess I would say that if everything was without risk, then we wouldn't need to be here.  If everything was a matter of obvious karma then there would be no mystery.  If everything went along as it was supposed to then there would be much fewer lessons.

I know for myself that prayer has helped me tremendously and (it would seem) has provided untold protection.  The few times that I have prayed and it hasn't worked out I have had to trust that there is a lesson here that is beyond my human scope of understanding but maybe my spirit can gleam some wisdom.  Maybe my spirit can grow from the experience and evolve into a better one. Because I believe that ultimately this it what we are here to do.  To become better beings. This opportunity to be here on earth has so much potential to benefit us, but the risks are daunting if we dwell on them. A landmine of risks. Trust, Faith and Presence are tools that we can use in the face of tragedy.  An understanding that there are no human answers to explain the mystery of being here and the way of our path and the path of others isn't always clear.  

​I speak these words of, "I don't know"  with humility, reverence, frustration, sadness and sometimes even with awe.

The details of my client have been changed to protect her privacy.
As published on http://www.elephantjournal.com/2016/07/why-did-this-happen-to-me-the-only-real-answer/

 
6/29/16 We are almost to the end of June and Mars goes direct tomorrow.  Mar the planet that rules so much in my chart.  This rajasic, active, blood red fiery planet will start to pick up momentum in the forward direction soon. Things have already started to.  I am getting a lot of new referrals for work.  I am being taken out of my state of reflection into that of activity.  I am still in the in-between phase though, where both reflection and activity are gently cohabitating.

 Last weekend Bill and I went to DC and attended a Rocket class that was advanced. It was full of inversions and hard stuff but that is not what has stayed with me.  What has, is what happened the first three minutes of class.  We congregated together in a small upstairs space of a building next to Whole Foods.  The floor was well worn with large windows on one side and a beautiful brick wall on the other.  A fireplace sat in the middle of the windowed wall.
 
Everyone was very cheerful and yang.  The group was a competitive one, but outwardly and refreshingly so.  It reflected a healthy group of smiles and muscles rather than a denying of sort type-group, which is always a bad thing.  When you get the competitive ones together who are frowning because ‘it isn’t a competition’ then this is never good—energy needs to go somewhere and when not released can result in nastiness.
 
Anyway…the young teacher, Jonathan seemed to know yoga well even though he hasn’t been teaching that long, so I  wondered if he had done this kind of thing in times past.  (Another life perhaps?) That is what I was thinking this guy looks all regular and competitive but there is a refinement about him that gives pause that this yoga is imbedded in his bones. 
 
He starts class by saying that he had to go to the doctors for a respiratory thing recently.  The doctor asked him to breathe and he was stymied, naturally breathing ujiyah breath but then remembered that this was all wrong.  He then started to deep breathe and this lead to inquiry, on his part of ‘how do I deep breathe’—he started to use his side muscles (intercostal) and then back muscles.  He tells us this as he defined for us how long the lungs are.  How they extend far up to the collarbones and then he points to below the rib area.  He asked us to lie in savasana and had us breathe.  For some reason, I started to access parts of my own lungs, parts not usually accessed as I lay there on the floor. 
 
This breathing experience felt new and I started to awaken some of my own cells that have been dormant for some time.  It is said that we ‘hold our issues in our tissues’ (and that grief resides in the lungs) and this rang true Sunday. 
 
I awakened a memory of 9th grade.  A time when it was discovered that I had scoliosis severe enough to warrant wearing a brace for 23 hours/day.  The memory brought forth was of the first day that I had to wear this Milwaukee Brace to school, a constraining contraption especially around my neck area.  I could barely turn my head.  Could barely look away.  I got to Spanish class at the beginning of my day and my teacher dramatically asked first thing, “Kristina, what happened?!” 
 
All eyes turned to me and I felt my face get red. The embarrassment burned into my cheeks, as I stammered “well I have scoliosis and have to wear this brace….”he didn’t seem to get it, but did get that on his part this was a faus pax and he shouldn’t have asked, which made the awkwardness of the situation even worse. 
 
Then my mind went further back to the day I was fitted for the brace.  How the doctor who measured me was actually very good at his job.  He had me learn all these exercises for my back that are yoga poses like bow and wheel which I seemed to be able to do well even back then. 
 
But that is not where my memory was stuck, it was in the humiliation of me being in my underwear and my mom looking on as he measured me and told me that I could lose a few pounds around my waist nodding to my mother.  This memory of being very angry and embarrassed floated up from my body/mind.  
 
As I was sitting with this memory in yoga it was as much an observing than a re-experiencing.  I started to think, I wasn’t fat and then to understand that some of my eating quirks started that day.  My desire for thinness and periods of dieting.  Periods of time when I would wear the brace for years afterwards up until college at night (even though I refused to wear it after a few months during the day) to constrain my belly and hips, corset-like to try to shrink my midsection. 
 
The yoga teacher, a talisman of sorts with his prompting of this memory though the breath helped me unleash what was stuck in me.  A trauma held that I was ready to let go of. I didn’t cry or feel any major emotion as I lay there, other than an inquisitive inquiry into my younger self that was victimized by this experience.  One that I was able to leave on the mat that day.

Asheville Summer 2014
I wake up to the rain.  I have my bedroom door open to the outside—the patter of rain and birds and cars in the distance with the sound of water splashing is invigorating to hear on this Saturday morning. Last weekend when I had been in Durham I attended an Astanga class and the teacher had mentioned a good Asheville Asthanga teacher, Tina that I might want to check out. 

I see this morning that Tina is on the schedule to sub a flow class at the studio I frequent.  My husband and I are apart this weekend.  He was in Washington DC last week for business so is all traveled out and my Friday was full of urgent cases and I am not up for the drive to Durham where he works.  *One of my young clients who has Bipolar Disorder destroyed his parent’s home in a manic rage.  He’s in the process of being committed.  Last I saw him,  he had a maniacal smile.  His father reassured me that he was“doing well” but I suspected mania was fueling his gleeful energy and recommended we increase his medication.  His parents were against this. My Friday afternoon ended up fielding calls from his parents and the school trying to get him hospitalized.

I arrive at the studio and head into class and see Tina, a young yogi  who looks ballerina ish in a astanga square bodied way. She has a book and singing bell in hand as she starts the class talking about our story.  Her voice somewhat shaky and I assume she's a little nervous—She talks about us mistakenly having a fixed plan for the future-like a concrete box that we are working toward this fixed ideal or we are caught up in the past, and events as either being good or bad rather than seeing life as a continuous process that we flow with toward our goals. 

She speaks of non attachment, aparigraha (my favorite yama) and how if we just let things flow we would be happier.  During the practice she says that when we get stuck in the past this is called depression and when we are constantly anticipating the future then this is called anxiety.  She encouraged watching, observing and noticing.  It wasn’t an easy practice but not overly challenging—holds and flow and warrior three for quite a long time and some restorative poses at the end right after we held pigeon, and half frog, I went into savasana early which I didn’t need to do because she ends up giving us a long savasana so mine ended up being like 15 minutes.  I tried to hold still  but started to get stiff after a bit. 

It reminds me of Adhil’s yoga nidra class that I attended when he came into town.  He told us we couldn’t move or we would ruin it for the class.  We were to not move at all for 45 minutes. I remember moving every so slightly and he yelled, “do not move!”  How did he see me move the blanket a hair of an inch to get it off my chin?? The lights were out—is he some type of ‘seer’ or what I had thought?  He chided the movers at the end of class as lost causes, un-evolved souls but complimented those who didn’t –they would reach nirvana or nidra heaven and the rest of us well we were doomed. 

Back to Tina—I talk to her after class.  She hosts a mysore class at her house on Sundays.  I may check it out tomorrow.  She has a nice way of speaking.  She touched my back when I was breathing heavy after bow (danurasana) and gave a gentle foot massages during final rest. Her style is comforting and pleasant.  The singing bowl was a nice touch that brought us back before OM.  

That night:  I made the mistake of looking at my work email. The client who I was concerned about didn't end up in the hospital but rather ran away from his home and is missing. He is in a very precarious situation and needs lots of prayers. I start praying 'Mother Mary I need your help again.’ The next day I head out for Tina's mysore class at her home.  I find myself on the wrong road so distracted and needed to call her for direction.  I get there and there are three other students.  We flow through the practice in her dark foyer with an Om bed sheet up next to the shoe cubbies.  An older student is there, adept but somewhat stiff and a woman who is efforting, a newbie.  The third man was odd, (as my neighbor, Sid would say, "Asheville weird")—working on the poses in his own order with a strange smile on his face.  Tina seem to avoid him and spends most of her time helping the woman.  At times she assists the older gentleman and me.  I feel like the emotional energy of worry has drained me and at one point I am ready to rollup my mat and leave. 

I stayed though and fixed my gaze on the specific drishti for each pose a few times asking her where to look so intent on staring at the right place.  She pauses a few times trying to remember.  We end with her giving us a heavenly foot adjustment and an OM at the end.  Off we go on our separate ways, the three of us back into the rain when class ends.  The odd man lags behind—I think he was doing marichyasana when I left.  Was it still raining?  I feel so tired and worried about this kid now gone for over 18 hours that he might perish in the elements that it takes effort for me to drive home. Where is he? I keep thinking that if only I convinced his parents to allow me to increase his med then he would be ok.  Those old irrational feelings like if I just tried harder everything would be ok come up again. 

 After Tina's class, I decide to go church.  The priest talks about forgiveness and how it isn’t up to us to judge but to wait until judgment day for this to be done—not ours to do.  "Leave the weeds alone with the wheat." 

I then think of the Tao

“Simplicity, patience, compassion.
These three are your greatest treasures.
Simple in actions and thoughts, you return to the source of being.
Patient with both friends and enemies,
you accord with the way things are.
Compassionate toward yourself,
you reconcile all beings in the world.” 

― Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching… 

In church I look up at the beautiful cathedral ceiling.  My heart starts to pound as I peer so high upward- that I am afraid that I could be lifted. This silly, irrational fear that I have had since I was a kid is felt—afraid of being lifted up and the ensuing heights and the stares that I would most surely get if my body drifted upward.  I pray—just return this kid safely and then I picture a God box that I places my worries in.  When I leave church the sun is shining—I find some peace leaving my worries in this imaginary God Box.  The weather lifting seems to mimic my new emotions. Later that afternoon I get a text that this child is found and ok!  He had wandered into a berry patch and ran into a woman who took him to the fire department to be check out. He is now hospitalized. Praise the lord (Thank you Jesus and Mary)—this kid had two counties of rescue workers looking for him but it took a woman picking berries to save him! 

(Almost all details in this blog re: the client have been changed to protect the his privacy and his family)

North Carolina August 2014
Saturday I went to *Jane's Bikram class.  For an August weekend it is rainy and dreary so thought ‘why not bikram?’  I walked in and saw Jane-a 40 something short haired bubbly blonde.  She is pretty, with a naturally stocky build a smaller upper body and a bigger lower half. She is very likeable and without pretense, a favorite of mine.  She likes the men but is just as kind to the women.  She always asks about my husband.  I tell her that he is home making salsa.  Her eyes brighten.  

She had been co-owner with Anna, the little moody owner until Jane sold her ownership and now is just another teacher.  Anna is precise and militant at times and at other times soft and sweet.  You just don’t know which Anna will be there. She yelled at me once in class and since then I am uneasy around her.  Thankfully she is out having baby number two.   Jane without Anna around seems more relaxed too.  She’s lost a good amount of weight recently and has that confident strut that is unencumbered, maybe in part because she has the studio to herself.  She seems happy and surprised to see me as I haven’t been there in months.  I walk into the classroom and it’s crowded and of course it’s hot with a faint smell of body odor.  I plant myself near the back behind two tall men but I can still see the mirror. 

I am trying to gear myself up for this.  I don’t enjoy Bikram but almost always feel better afterwards. I get in a few downward facing dogs before Jane comes in. My body feels great this week without injury.  My neck and back pain are almost gone.  Jane is whizzing through the series and only one set of lights are on.  Everything she says is relaxed and supportive.  Like “hurry up out of this” as we are coming up from a squat.  We all laugh because this is not what the dialogue is supposed to say.  She apologizes for hurrying blaming the caffeine and sugar she had that morning, “I haven’t eaten sugar in months and this week I started to slip and am eating it again.  It makes such a difference in how I feel.” Bad sugar bad…yeah we all know. I am holding the difficult poses w/o falling out encouraged by the low lights, her pace and her words. She has energy packets for us at the front desk as we leave “take one they are free” she says with glee—maybe she’s giving everything away before *Anna gets back. I grab a packet and thank her, feeling good about the practice as I walk out into the brief sunlight.   

Asheville July 2014
It is a Monday and I am thinking, 'Ok I really do need to get to yoga again soon but don’t have any motivation tonight.'  I went to the farmer’s market this afternoon after work and drank this cashew cacao concoction and now have a stomachache.  Well really I had the stomach ache before yoga class would have started but it seemed to have settled to the point of allowing me to get a second wind on eating.  I finished some mushroom raviolis with a wholemade sauce that my neighbor next door made from the tomatoes from our garden and after the pasta I finished it off with a salad with this tahini/nutritional yeast dressing and an apricot croissant and then a piece of chocolate. —she and her partner are the nicest neighbors we've ever had—generous, friendly but respect neighborly boundaries.They later text me to thank me for walking their dog over the weekend while they were away and offered me bread pudding “I know you aren’t eating too many sweets these days,, but do you want some?”  I told them, “I’m good.” 

As I sniff a piece of lavender I plucked from a plant outside, I think back on my weekend.  It really started with a cow.  Friday afternoon I made the trek out to one of the wilderness programs where I work and the cows were grazing on the periphery of the property.  The dirt bumpy road rarely has traffic except the coming and going of staff so I stopped my car to watch them for a few minutes.  One of the black cows started to watch me as I watched her and I thought to my self—how lovely is this life that I am living that I can go to work and gaze at cows on my way to work and watch them chew as they gaze back at me.

My husband was out of town for the weekend so I spent much of it socializing with girlfriends.  I called my friend Sarah to find out if she wanted to go to class on Saturday as I wanted to say goodbye to a friend who was moving to NYC as this was to be her last class with our teacher. Sarah wasn’t able to go but invited me to stop by before class. 

I arrived at her house with a few gifts of tomatoes from our prolific backyard garden and a pastry croissant from the farmer’s market that I stopped at on the way to her home, oozing with raspberry filling.  She and her son and dog greeted me outside. Her son was waiting for a friend.  He was in his own world swaying back and forth on a homemade swing attached to their front yard tree.  I watched him for a moment, dark and pensive and my eyes were drawn to his feet.  Thin and perfectly shaped they appeared to me so perfect that I commented on what nice feet he had.  I guess it was an odd compliment; He ignored me and his mom paused before thanking me as we walked away into the house.  She and I chatted for a few minutes on an upcoming writer’s seminar before I hurried off to class. 

Dear friends,
 
I leave for NY on Monday.  My to do list is a mile long. I don't care:) I'm stopping all to do's to be at class tomorrow.
I have been attending our teacher's class for 7 years. He has been a wonderful yoga teacher and light in my life.
In as much as I'd like to say I'll be back, I don't know. Please join me tomorrow in my final, but never last class, with my maestro and dear friend. Class is at 11am.
 
Much love,
*Jeannette
 
Our teacher's Saturday’s class is more of an event that a class at times.  He draws a full crowd and finding a space to put your mat down on can be challenging. (One woman actually plopped her mat down outside the door of the room into the expanding courtyard when she came in late after the class had begun.).  I hadn’t been to his weekend class in over a year so it was a reunion of sorts.  I had switched to the rigor of Bikram for awhile to try to heal a hip issue. When I got to class, Jeannette who the class indirectly was in honor of was at the desk signing in.  She is glamorous with her long reddish brown hair and green eyes.  She seems scattered and spacey but isn't, she is dressed today in a long scarves with big sunglasses, her laughter ever present and lilting voice with a sophisticated air. 

She is about my age give or take and is leaving the area to return to her home state of New York to be a curator at an art gallery and an adjunct professor at Stony Brook.  I am sad to see her go, I have enjoyed spending time with her before class and a few times after, when I have joined in with the yoga group that often meets for lunch.  She was always a favorite in the group when I would go—interesting and engaging. I picked a Goddess Card earlier that morning for her and made a photocopy of it. The card had to do with receiving and as we all gathered around her I thought the card apropos.

She was very thankful when I gave it to her and got teary-eyed that so many of us were going to miss her and were honoring her specialness in the community. Our teacher during class mentioned her and her faithfulness as a student for the last seven years and how we’d miss her but said she’d be back visiting, trying to keep it light as he asked her to demo a pose.  She remarked somewhat anxiously but gleefully, “Oh no, are you going to embarrass me?” A southerner, ever polite he seemed flustered, as it wasn’t his intention at all. The pose that she was to demo is a challenging one (eight limb pose) and she struggled initially to get into it, I looked over at another woman who I can only describe as the grande dame and hostess of classes—she was looking on nervously empathizing with Jeannette’s embarrassment.  Truly we all held our breath and then breathed a sigh of relief when our teacher, (a little guy) finally hoisted Jeannette up into the pose—we all clapped nervously ready to move on and away from the awkward scene.  
 
He started the class by saying that the class was to take a bird’s eye view of things. He looked around and sincerely and humbling thanked everyone for coming in his endearing way, “Thank y’all for coming today.”  He added, “Once I was in a class with my teacher and there was wayyy more people in the class than today”-we all looked around as he is saying this, how could you get way more people in here?  He goes on to say, “and my teacher (John Friend) said, ‘where is everyone?’ “You know, y’all, It is all a matter of perception.”  This lead into his story (as stories are the hallmark of his class) of how he was at a friend’s house recently and they live on a “homestead” and have chickens and horses and the horses were mating so this friend said let’s go watch and they all ran out to see this lesson in breeding.   Later that evening the friend told his daughter, ‘we are going to have a baby!’ and the friend’s child replied, ‘when did you mate?’ He added to the story, “she was thinking why wasn’t I there?”  Laughter….

He went on to say that “once after class someone told  (him) that he was too idealistic. He then glances over pointedly my way…Is he speaking of some comment I have made? Might it have been the time that I told him that ‘I want to live in his happy bubble??’  I tuned in again as he says, “But really with the sun 93 million miles from earth the PERFECT distance or we would burn to death or freeze, but don't… …his sentence seemed to fall off from there. 

 
4/2/16 I am excited to be going to a yoga retreat in Guatemala in a few weeks.  I am having a hard time containing my excitement but I have to admit I am a little nervous and well afraid.  I will be going alone and I haven't been to Central America before.  Listening to podcasts recently I worry about violence but have been assured by many that Guatemala is safe just don't wander out alone in Gautemala City.  That shouldn't be too difficult   Many of my friends in Asheville have already been to this country (ironically) and their shared tales are colorful, fun and lively.

Our Yoga class this week is about Fear and knowing fear.  Not ‘no fear’ but to ‘know fear.’  I later go for a run and contemplate fear and how do you know it?  I thought of this poem that classmate Alan B. read when I was a junior in HS.  “I knew a Woman”…none of us in the public speaking class knew what knew meant except Alan and the teacher, but our teacher explained that to know, biblically speaking, is to make love to.  (A sexual and sensual connotation).

It make sense to me and the yoga class perfectly fits because our yoga teacher had explained that when fear is your shadow, you will run away from it until you die.  To Know Fear (A bumper sticker he remembers from his kayaking days) is to respect it (his words) What comes to me is the idea of making love to it.  To be in communion with fear. Like a kundalini snake that intertwines.  When we embrace something it is with us, in us, not stalking us.  I run into our yoga teacher a few days later and tell him the meaning of ‘know’ because he doesn’t know. He just stares.  I shrug and say I like these things.  Words.  And the meaning of words. He quickly says that he does too as he hurries along on his way to another class that he’s teaching.
 
BY THEODORE ROETHKE
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;   
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:   
The shapes a bright container can contain! 
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak, 
Or English poets who grew up on Greek 
(I’d have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek). 

How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,   
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand;   
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin;   
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;   
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake, 
Coming behind her for her pretty sake 
(But what prodigious mowing we did make). 

Love likes a gander, and adores a goose: 
Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize; 
She played it quick, she played it light and loose;   
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;   
Her several parts could keep a pure repose,   
Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose 
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved). 

Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:   
I’m martyr to a motion not my own; 
What’s freedom for? To know eternity. 
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.   
But who would count eternity in days? 
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:   
(I measure time by how a body sways).

​Theodore Roethke, "I Knew a Woman" from Collected Poems of Theodore Roethke. Copyright 1954 by Theodore Roethke.  
 
Source: The Collected Poems of Theodore Roethke (Random House Inc., 1961)

(Fall 2015) Asheville Our Yoga Teacher's theme is Discipline and 'disciple ship'.  I guess I am still repealed by these words and my ‘go to’ is F%! Discipline.  But…I owe a lot to discipline.  He and she (a two faced) Disciple has been a learned lover.  One that took my hand in 2006 (a second time around in this life) and said “come, you need to leave here now. Get up and walk out the door.” Enough frivolity and fun. I could feel them pushing me, literally picking me up as they whispered, “It will be difficult but there is more for you.  More than what is offered here.”  Two hands supporting me and walking me out the door of the yoga studio where I was playing and teaching.  They lead me home.  Lead me back to school, lead me through two degrees and one college certification, (soon to be) four moves, 15 jobs (four at other yoga studios and gyms), one granddaughter’s birth, one daughter’s marriage, one son’s high school and college graduation, a mother’s illness and father in laws death, husband’s three surgeries and an illness of my own.  It asked me to give up alcohol forever, my favorite vice and I did. Watched me stand by as two clients died unnaturally.

It has been a task master and unforgiving at times.  Always asking me for more than I thought that I had, but never letting up. Never giving up.  Pushing me and not allowing me to settle for anything less than life had in store for me in its fullest force and asking that I meet and greet it with strength.  I guess I should look around at all its offerings and say thank you but I am asking for a reprieve instead.  I am asking for it to leave. I am full of its gifts and they are plentiful. My body bowed by the weight of its presents.  I am gently ushering it out the door as I bow to its order and lessons. With gratitude, I watch it slowly take shape and leave, suitcases in hand.  I sigh as its heaviness starts to dissipate and can finally see the buoyancy of my old life shining back in as the door shuts behind it. 

​9/15/15 My friend went to jail for 24 hours for a crime she did commit.  She had a DUI and fell asleep while driving home one night from a bar.  Fortunately she and others weren’t injured.  It was her first arrest.  She normally helps people.  She is an excellent healthcare professional in town and when sober, a conscientious person.  She has a problem with alcohol.  She is now in recovery and doing well committed to not touching alcohol again.  Her night in jail was hell.  Some might say this punitive penalty was deserved.  That it might be a deterrent.  The statistics show differently.  Recidivism rates continue to rise and incarceration feeds hate, shame, poverty and human degradation. 

The night before she went in she was naively hopeful that she would bond with the women there.  That maybe she could help them and in turn they would help her.  She planned on practicing yoga and envisioned a shared womanhood with others.  She had no idea what to expect.  She heard different things from different people.  She went in to a place that was freezing cold.  She went in at 8pm and from that time until 5 am there was no blankets, cots or pillows.  Just a few benches.  She and the other few women in this nightlong holding room had to keep moving to stay warm.  She told me that at first the cold air felt good but the room just got colder and colder “like a freezer”.  When they were let out into the general population the “rules” weren’t explained to my friend. No one told her what to do.  That she had 10 minutes to eat inedible food.  That she couldn’t give her food away.  She got into trouble for doing this, offering her food to others.  She wasn’t shown how to open a door that allowed her into another room. 

A fellow roommate, an older African American woman was bullied by the staff and other inmates. The staff set people up and the women in turn set each other up pitting person against person.  This older woman made the mistake of saying the water tasted terrible and she needed an extra moment to swallow her pills.  My friend witnessed this and saw her being placed in solitary for “talking back.”  This woman wasn’t allowed any of the inedible food that night and maybe nights to follow.  My friend never saw her again.  My friend was shaking the day after she was let out. She didn’t know how anyone could stand being there more than 24 hours.  She said that she knew a man once who committed suicide after being in jail for a few months with the possibility of having to go back to serve a longer sentence.  She didn’t understand then why he went to such a drastic measure to avoid prison.  She now understands why.

​She said that the saddest thing was an 18 year old who was glad to be there.  This young girl knew what to expect when she was there…I guess feeling safe is a relative term…. What kind of hell do some people (kids) live in that jail is a better alternative? After I saw my friend and heard about her experience, I read about the North Carolina’s prison system.  Abysmal at best.  600 inmates last year were on lockdown for 9 months.  Not allowed to shower or out of their room for nine consecutive months because two sets of people got into a fight. They were removed from the population and convicted of their crime.  No guards were injured but 600 people were punished for almost a year because of this.  http://www.mintpressnews.com/north-carolina-prison-imposes-9-month-lockdown-600-inmates/196732/

Another news story talked about ‘prison reform’ that is now taking place following the death of a mentally ill man who died of dehydration while in solitary confinement.  This man wasn’t allowed enough to drink and he died or was he vomiting and sick and left untreated? One can only guess. http://www.nydailynews.com/news/crime/mentally-ill-inmate-died-severe-dehydration-n-prison-article-1.1952896 

​If hearing about my friend’s story constitutes prison reform I guess I questions this and what type of reform is happening.  The woman who needed to take longer to swallow her pills was on bipolar medicine. People who enter the system don’t have a voice. Many of them come from abused backgrounds and have mental health ills.  The National Alliance for the Mentally Ill (NAMI) statistics show that the prison system is the largest ‘mental health’ institution that we currently have. 20-25% of inmates have a diagnosed mental illness. https://www2.nami.org/Template.cfm?Section=CIT&Template=/ContentManagement/ContentDisplay.cfm&ContentID=57465   

No one cares about us when we are incarcerated. Us sadly becomes them…  We are ignorant to think that we aren’t connected in a deep and meaningful way and that when we demean others we demean our society and ourselves. Don’t we get that this isn’t the way? Cruelty just begets more cruelty and hate and anger feed on each other and the cycle goes on and on and on. 

Asheville Feb 2012

I was staying in an eclectic and quaint space in the lower half of a bungalow with a rundown exterior, old furniture stashed in the backyard hugging a small opening that lead to a crawl space that ran the perimeter underneath.  

The day was clear and crisp and I left for yoga that night with a skip in my step and a warm coat and hat on as I headed down the street.  When I got home I remembered it was Ash Wednesday.  I was arguing with my husband about some inane thing. 

Before getting off the phone I noticed that Oscar had been out for quite a long time and he wasn’t responding to my voice. I circled the dark yard and noticed that the fence was missing in one spot.  Did he get loose?  I exited the house and started walking down the street calling his name. 

​An hour later I was in a panic, calling my husband back.  He calmly said check under the house.  I leaned down near the opening beneath and called Oscar's name again—nothing. I called the police and told them, “My dog is missing.” They didn’t seem to care.  The shelters were closed. “Call in the morning.” Was their response to me.  The kind woman in the pick up truck who I hadn’t seen before (and haven’t  since) who got me sobbing with her kindness, “I will drive you around so that you can look for him.”   My thoughts were running wild: Did someone kidnap him?  Did he wiggle out of an opening in the fence and get lose?  Was he hit by a car and not yet discovered?  Was he dog bait for fighting? 

My prayers were unrelenting to Mother Mary, God, and St. Francis. “Please help me find my sweet dog.”  In retrospect I think Hanuman the Indian monkey God even showed up in my dreams that night to provide reassurance and assistance.  After hours of lying awake I thought to offer up a promise to Mother Mary …’please Mother just let me know where he is…but if you bring him back to me alive then I will stop drinking (alcohol) for the rest of my life.’ Amen. 

I fell asleep exhausted. I woke at 5 am the next morning to the most pristine morning.  I started to walk around calling Oscar's name.  The beautiful stillness and the crisp air so bittersweet in its loveliness, its beauty and silence palatable.  I started nailing signs to telephone poles as I softly called his name feeling sad and vulnerable.  I drew two tarot cards and got the death and the sun cards. The best and worst cards in the deck.  It seemed it could go either way. I waited around until 9a before calling the shelters. “No they hadn’t seen him.  Yes they will call me if he shows.”  I got off the phone…now what?  I then heard what sounded like a whimper.  ‘Did I hear something?  Could he really be here somewhere?’  Maybe my husband was right maybe he was underneath the house??  I called him at work and he said, “You have to crawl under the house and look for him.”  I am terrified of closed spaces and this was a small one. 

When I shimmied under the house, I got maybe 10’ in and then was prevented from going further by insulation and a beam that cuts me off. I peered as far as I could but the beam prevented me from seeing much even with a flashlight.  I crawled out relieved to be out but frustrated, now what?  I called the fire department.  ‘Hey I think my dog might be stuck under my house can you help me?’  No they were sorry they don’t help with these types of things.  Celeste a bald headed no-nonsense friend of the owner of the home (who was in South America) was covering and listened initially with sympathy as I tearfully told her my dilemma.  She then stressed to me that I will be responsible for any damage to the dilapidated house that might be done trying to extricate Oscar, but was sorry to hear.  (I felt like saying if the house didn’t have a hole under its foundation this wouldn’t have happened!)  She agreed to try to call a few contractors to see if they can help. 

One of the contractors miraculously showed up within the hour.  Louis was very sympathetic in a non English speaking kind of way. His brown eyes showing intelligence, compassion and concern.  He nodded as I mimed what happened.  He went around the back of the house and then quickly hurried away from the undesirable hole.  He then walked to the other side where the window well was.  A tiny space. I wondered why he was looking there?  He knocked out the covering and tried to peer in.  He looked at me and said that he thought he saw a raccoon.  I was wondering dead or alive when we heard a yelp.  My goofy Oscar was indeed alive and stuck!  Louis finally went around to the back of the house and reluctantly crawled under.  I sat on the side looking at the window well space not able to see him but now knowing he was there. 

I paused and looked up at the sky and intuitive knew that I needed to start digging in the direction of the noise.  I start to reach in the hole where the window well was and my hand got stuck against insulation.  I pulled as hard as I could and reams of material start to come out.  Finally I saw Oscar.  His head was lodged under a beam of wood.  He had crawled under the back of the house but could only be accessed from where I was sitting. I shout for Louis and he came over and surveyed the situation as he asked for a shovel.  I couldn’t find one so he started to dig Oscar out with his hands.  He dug and dug until Oscar was finally able to come out from his stuck locations.  Oscar ran out of the hole shaking himself off like nothing had happened.  He seemed alittle embarrassed and sheepish.  OMG he is fine.  I turned around and then experience the greatest joy and feeling of gratitude and then the deepest grief.  Oscar was fine but alcohol was now gone from my life forever.  The death card and the sun...Now it made sense.

Louis humbly accepted the money I insisted he take.  He came in as I offered him water and he hovered in the kitchen for a bit.  His nature unhurried and maybe expecting something else?   I am so grateful to him but not in that way. He finally leaves smiling and I wonder if I imagined it.

I am exhausted, I am sober. My life changed forever. I had been drinking almost daily since I was 17 years old.  Alcohol my friend, my entertainer and lover gone. The only times in my life that I have abstained has been over the Lenten periods.  Ironically lent started this day.