Little Buddha.

January 1st 2012, I drove to the Garrison Institute in upstate New York to sleep, eat, and meditate about Buddha. I knew nothing of the man or the practice of Buddhist meditation.

For seven days, I was in silence. I ate strictly vegetarian everyday. No heavy reading, very little writing, and hiked regularly.

I found that after the third day, I was having some problems with sitting for prolonged amounts of time. Being sociable is my nature and an apparent habit that weakened me and distracted me from the focus on "self" that this retreat was geared toward. I had very few options - either I force myself to bear the 15-hour days of sanskrit chanting, wall-gazing, and talks of a foreign religion. Or, I find a way to modify this bizarre experience into something wonderful in its own right, and even further - maintain my sanity. I chose the second option. By day I obeyed the rules of that place.. I ate all my food, made sure my bare feet stayed hidden in the presence of our holy teacher, sat still during guided meditation with our teacher - Lama Surya Das, and switched off all my lights when not in my bedroom.. even at night. By afternoon and evening, I was WILD.. in my hat, with wool scarf and walking stick, I trekked for hours outdoors to shake the misconceptions of this religious practice and the anxieties of what I should be doing here that were eating away at my nerves. Never have I owned a "nervous tick", nor rocked back and forth in a chair with, uncontrolled, untraceable thoughts running rampant in my mind. I would shake trying to sit still sometimes. It was clearly getting bad.

So my remedy was: "I have to run...."

I worked out the frenzy and burned it off as energy that immediately inspired me to bring along my camera and notebook to, at least partially, record my journey. My hat had wolf ears to assist the "transformation".. and I would leap upon fallen trees and survey the wooded, deciduous terrain. The trickling little creeks would pass along me as we both ran down the incline. My eyes grew bigger, my breath drew deeper into my chest, my legs carried me over, and under, in between, and back over again. My head was clear. My body was clean. My heart was full.... I had done it. My transformation was taking over and my worried thoughts of anything having to do with this place had evaporated.

What inspired me to go forward and do this retreat in the first place was following up to my change. I had recently left my job and was looking for a new beginning, and words like "Winter Renewal", "yoga", "vegetarian", "Hudson River", and "Buddhism" all sounded like 'this is place I ought to be'. But I had never met Buddha before. Nor noble silence. Or ideas like "this world is an illusion". Every possible preconception that I had of this place or of the experience being light or easy was quickly being disregarded with instant heaviness. What's everyone else doing? What was I doing? What does this mean? How can that be true? Why do I feel as though I'm "sinning", clearly a Christianity concept in this Buddhist sanctuary? It had all become too much, and my only method of self-medicating my conflicts and confusion was to have the ground pounding beneath my feet and my heart thumping within my chest. I was truly happy in this way, and half the time I didn't really know why. "Loosing yourself and finding your true self," our teacher replied one day.Was I escaping or hiding? No... I was uncovering, I later found out, because I've never considered myself an avid outdoorsy person. But here I am, scaling tree limbs and laying down in the top arms of trees, in complete peace. As I was, coming into a place that I had no previous connection to or understanding of, is justifiable for the way things seemed to unravel. To be outside, I had to go inside and recognize that I'm not like those people in there. Though certainly they are good people traveling on a certain similar path, mine is this one.

This writing is dated January 4th 2011 in my journal. The one and only time I picked up a pen to write while there. A means of marking my defiance in a way, and expressing how at the time, sitting still and breathing logically couldn't get me anywhere:


I myself am so small
to be inside inside
I must be outside
to grow and elevate,
to see my breath,
to cast out impurities from my skin.

I run, and make small flights above the ground;
I am fast.
I climb, and stretch my arms long like tree branches;
I am strong.
I jump, and land off-road in deep ditches and onto high rock;
I am brave.
I step, and place my feet on paths off of the living green;
I am kind.
I sit, and listen to the water, now passing me by;
I am patient.


The energy I create is now filling this place.
I am not so small anymore...

My eyes, my legs, my chest expand;
This is my outside outside.

My mind exhilarates, my heart rejoices;
This is my inside outside.


In a non-conventional way, I'd say I found myself. Everyone's means of getting to where they want to be or ought to be in life is completely individual. I don't regret having gone off and made this retreat experience my own. It felt right for me. And in speaking with other retreatants on the eve of our last day, I was actually commended for just making it there in the first place, considering my background as Roman Catholic and having never meditated in this extreme measure before.

There's a "little buddha" in each of us, I was taught and the path to Enlightenment is in finding the buddha in you... not an ancient man, not Asian, not a statue, as we think of commonly think of Buddha... but the goddess or god within you, which is in turn your higher Self.**



"There's no pot of gold at the end; it's golden all the way..." 

- Lama Surya Das, January 2012

One woman's trash is STILL the one woman's treasure

[ A repost from my "Around and About" blog, dated December 19, 2011 ]

Yesterday afternoon I had a yard sale in my driveway.
I cleaned out my room this Fall, found that I own WAY too many things, and figured I could one day just sell it or give it away. That ONE day became one month, then two months, and three months.. and finally, one bitter mid December day I decided: YES! TODAY will be that one day!

I was an avid collector of Vogue magazines at one point in High School and an antique book hoarder, so there was an entire box full of that stuff. I used to buy dresses that didn't fit, shoes that were too big, and jewel cases for cds that I burned, but now I dress smarter and have an ipod - so there was a whole other box of THAT stuff. Old dolls from when I was a kid, jewelry that I purchased for single use occasions, gifts I received that I didn't use/like/need, an assortment of ornate Asian table pieces, and a bag of old phone charges and odd wires that I accumulated over the years. This was pretty much the scheme of my yard sale tabletop.

I discovered a few things after dealing with my first customer:

#1 People don't want to pay a lot for anything. 
#2 It's prime Christmas gift buying time... so people want to pay even LESS.
#3 Finding a flaw on any piece of merchandise, anywhere in the world, substantiates an automatic discount.

My first customer walked away with two mint condition, silver (I dare not say the brand name) watches for four dollars, because "Isn't the premise of a yard sale to get rid of your "junk" for a reasonable to minimal price?", I said to myself, convincingly.

My next customer walked away with a four drawer jewelry box, a small floral jewelry box, a silver brooch necklace, and one other item I can't remember for seven dollars, which SHOULD have been eight, but the woman was a dollar short and I had no change for a twenty. Now this time, I felt like I was robbed; by me. I couldn't attempt convincing myself this time. I literally gave away some really valuable things, both in a monetary and sentimental sense, for close to NOTHING that they were actually worth.


The next few passer bys either gazed over all my things and snuffed at the ridiculously inexpensive price, perhaps wishing I'd go lower, and walked away... or pulled over in their car and rolled by like a snail while looking at everything on the table, with not even a wave or an acknowledgement to the seller - ME - then picking up and driving off.

About two hours into the yard sale's start time, everything died down. No more customers, not even a lot of general traffic was passing by. Granted it was cold and it was a Sunday, I still held out hope for someone that would see my table as being worth more than three dollars an item. Had I given in to my original price setting, I certainly wouldn't have had a single customer...

My mother believes that it was the cold weather. Had it been the proper season for a yard sale, I would have been cleaned out. Another thing my mother said was: Typically, the sort of stuff that people sell are considered junk; your stuff isn't junk.

In the end, I closed shop early and said 'screw you' to the remaining two hours that I advertised being available for. It was too cold and I was getting too touchy about people judging and taking my things. I do have some pretty decent things in very good condition, and I wasn't going to sell them, or myself, short, just to save some space in my garage. I'm sure I can find people that would appreciate a gift or donation from my collection.


A note for my future self: Let's splurge on a delicious, expensive dinner or a luxurious hotel with an amazing buffet-style breakfast every now and again... no more spending money on stuff that causes clutter and self-loathing.

Sweet and Sour Soup

[ A repost from my "Around and About" blog, dated December 12 2011 ]

I lost my voice over the weekend, singing in octaves I certainly shouldn't have been. Mariah Carey has a career for a reason.. I don't get paid to hit the high notes (ATTEMPT the high notes, I should say..)

Anyway, I had a doctor's visit earlier this evening for something unrelated to my throat, but decided to grab a bite first.. also because I was over an hour early and had time to kill. I went to this little spot in New Hyde Park called Benjy's, and it's Kosher Pizza, Falafel, and Sushi. Quite the mix of flavors there, but I can't deny by how fresh they make they're stuff that there would be any complaints from anyone.

I ordered a half falafel sandwich with hummus, tahini, salad, and a side of fries from a handsome young Jewish man, and we sparked a small conversation which led to him having me try their homemade hot sauce. Hot sauce...?

"Is it like really spicy?"

"No, no, not at all.."

I don't eat hot sauce. But he was cute and I didn't want to be rude so I agreed. What he gave me in a little paper cup looked very, well, green, and what entered my mouth felt more like red hot open flames. Later on I'd find jalapenos, coriander, cumin, and garlic are the ingredients.. yeowch.

I sat to eat my food, and I was told that I didn't have to pay until after I was done. Fair enough. Another Jewish gentleman came from the back, most definitely the owner, and said hello. I apologized for the rasp of my voice, to which he said:

"A woman that can't talk is a GOOD thing!"

He was definitely.. well, at least PARTIALLY.. joking, and I retorted something like "Not EVERYONE thinks that's a good thing", speaking about myself, then he sat at the table across from me. We continued to talk as I dined. We talked about conflicts in communication between men and women.. how the stresses of everyday life are turning men and women into frustrated, short tempered parents and spouses.. why people are unhappy.. and finally, how uncomplicated things used to be: You get a job, you keep the job, you make the money, come home, and everything's smooth.. but it's not so anymore.

I was offered a bowl of soup at this point - Sweet an Sour - just made by the cook, and thinking back now I'm realizing that it was likely made just for all the workers behind the counter taking a break, including the young Jewish man who said it could help with my throat and who ALSO made me the offer, because they were ALL eating it. One guy leaving his shift was given a small plastic container with a lid so he could drink it on the bus ride home. Again, I agreed and took his offer. And AGAIN, there were hot SPICES in it! Crushed red peppers this time. My god, is there like a prank going on here...?? (I won't deny, though, the soup was pretty good and did soothe the rasp a bit.)

The cook came out and the guys working teased how "It's tasted better... what's missing?", "Does it need more vinegar?" "You did something different.. any pepper?" I laughed and confessed to the cook how DEEELICIOUS it was, and the slightly sour look on his face from all the playful criticism of the others turned into this wicked little smirk because NOW I was on HIS side! We all laughed some more, and when I was done, the cook swiftly but graciously took my bowl to wash in the kitchen, thanking me again for the compliment.

The time on my phone read it was time to go and the young Jewish man (who I asked and found his name was Nathan) rang me up at the register. The price didn't reflect the bowl of soup he brought me, I noticed... and all I could do was thank him. If it weren't for the silver band on his finger I would've given him my card. Maybe.


So really, why was I surprised that ANY of this would have happened to ME in a place like a Kosher pizzeria, that is known for their cheese fries, has a sushi bar, and makes homemade HOT SAUCE..??


Damn I can't wait to go back...**