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Friday, December 31, 2010

Christmas as a Bootleg Catholic

Honestly my religious background consists of this: my Grandma telling me not to use the Lord’s name in vain and to say Geez instead, and……no, that’s it. I’ve sat here for the past half hour trying to think of other examples of times when my family discussed religion with me growing up but that’s the only example I can remember. All to say I don’t come from a very religious background. But when I got to high school I got slightly interested in religion. My interest was sparked mostly because my friends were starting to drink and smoke weed and the church kids were still playing hide n’ go seek and having sleepovers on the weekends which was more my speed at 14 years old. So I started to hang with the church group kids. I didn’t agree with most of what they said. I didn’t believe I was going to hell, or gay people were, or that God was going to judge us when we died. But I did believe the parts when they talked about loving all beings and having compassion for everybody on earth no matter their situation. So I basically stuck to that and was just thankful to have a group of kids who wanted to build forts and tell ghost stories with me on Saturday night.

But hanging with those kids and going to church with them in the morning opened my eyes to a part of society that continues to mystify me. For years I used to sit in the pews of church, listening to the priests amplified voice drone on and wonder what everybody was sitting there thinking about. Every once in a while I would get this wave of panic. As I stared at the backs of every bodies heads and listened to them say their prayers in unison or sing something I would feel like yelling – IT’S NOT TRUE YOU GUYS!! There are people like you all over the world doing the same thing you are but to a different god with a different set of rules. I couldn’t reckon with that. Sometimes when I would leave church it would take me an hour to recover. I would just feel like, Shit! Those are adults in there and they are just letting that random weird dude at the front of the room tell them how to live their lives. And some of it wasn’t good. I mean, the part that has always had me the most up in arms is people thinking being gay is a sin. I mean, come on Christian, you sound like such an asshole when you say gays will burn in hell. Like a real bigot, not like a loving open minded role model for the next generation. Okay and just to vent, this is the part that really got my blood boiling back then and still does (even as a newly baptized Catholic), you will throw out the parts of the bible that aren’t convenient for YOU, like the fact that it is a sin to wear two types of fabric (Deut 22:11)but you are clinging to that gays being a sinner thing for dear life. Let it go and be a good god loving person okay? So that was my main point in Sunday school and it didn’t make me too popular on a religious front but I was too fun of friend to have that once we got out of Sunday school people just forgot about the ruckus I had created inside the church and still hung out with me.

Flash forward 15 years later and I am still struggling with some of the same problems. But something has changed in me. When I am in the pews, instead of staring at the backs of peoples’ heads and feeling worried for them I feel a little bit jealous. It just seems comforting to have a faith that you are devoted to and you share with a whole group of people. It’s just nice to have somewhere to go where everybody has agreed to love each other and take care of each other based on a common philosophy and a shared understanding of why we are all here. I try to think of places I feel like that. I guess with my best friend Arley I feel like that, I think she is the only person I share an almost identical world/life philosophy with. Though most the time our philosophy is inconvenient and doesn’t fit into conventional society or relationships. Our philosophy is that each persons’ heart has enough love inside of it to truly love and understand each being and we should all strive to acknowledge that love and share it. Of course most of the time what that gets us is some stalker guy who we shared car share with or a guy friend that our boyfriends feel jealous of, but as a philosophy I believe in it 100%. And I guess I just think a lot about how comforting it would be if every week I got together with a bunch of Arley’s and discussed it for a couple hours and it could be a public part of my identity. Like, I’m Heather, I’m from California, I’m the religion where I believe I can love everybody with all my heart and find a common understanding with you and that is why I am being nice to you (Not because today is your lucky day and after 50 years of no girls ever giving you the time of day a pretty good looking 29 year old has fallen for you). I would like to have a word for it: Christian, Buddhist, Muslim but those just don’t feel right.

But since I sort of involuntarily became a Catholic last September I have noticed something strange, I like being Catholic! Minus all the wars fought in the name of my God, the pervy priests and the amount of times my church has damned gays to hell I feel great about saying I’m a Catholic. No but seriously, being baptized has been a interesting process for me. I’ll tell you the story.

My Grandpa Bill, who died September 2009, was one of my favorite people to ever exist and he was a good Catholic. He was a Eucharistic Minister, meaning he could give communion to people and sometimes he baptized people. He always went to church and always pushed the Catholic Church to do the right thing. Late in life he really started to get a little far out for a Eucharistic Minister. Last summer he said to me, "You gotta admit when things are changing and I really think gays should be able to adopt in the Catholic religion – I mean, who wants a bunch of old men in Rome who have never had sex with anyone telling them how to live their lives." Good point Grandpa.

So anyway, when my grandpa suggested that he baptize me last August, (“just in case us Catholics end up being right”) I agreed. Both my parents are baptized and he and my Granny had baptized my sister in the kitchen sink when she was one year old while my parents were at the grocery store (Mom and Dad were not too happy about that). Anyway, for my whole life he sorta worried about me because he didn’t want me to end up burning in Hell because he never got the chance to baptize me as a baby (parents were keeping a closer eye on Gramps and his holy water by the time I came around).
So anyway, he decided to baptize me. He rolled himself over to the sink of his nursing home and filled up his thick, pastel pink cup with water. We rolled down the hallway to go find another Catholic to witness my baptism (You need a witness present at baptism). I walked into Nat Cole’s room first and my Grandpa wheeled in behind me. From behind my Grandpa ordered very loudly, “Nat, I’m going to baptize my granddaughter and you are going to be the witness.” Nat was a frail little man and was lying in his bed, with his legs elevated. He reached out his hand and I gave him mine. “So happy to be. Welcome, welcome.” He was bowing his head. My grandpa dipped his fingers in his plastic cup and was ready to get to business. Nat stopped the affair, “I have a couple of questions for you before we go through with this. Where will you visit a priest to be confirmed? Will you have a ceremony at a later date?” Grandpa Bill was not happy with the questions. With an over exaggerated roll of his eyes, and his fingers still tipped in the cup, he said loudly and with a very annoyed tone, “No, no, no Nat she won’t do all this. We are just going to baptize her here and that’s it.” Under his breath I heard him say so only I could hear, “Just in case.” To Nat, those were fighting words and the sweet old man all cooped up in his nursing home room began to yell and scream. The fight went something like this.

Nat: Not in the Lords name will I witness a baptism that isn’t real?

Bill: Come on Nat, you are the only Catholic I know on this floor.

Nat: No chance, no chance, Bill you shouldn’t be just baptizing people for the heck of it.

Bill: (as he signaled to me to drop the old man’s hand and follow him out) “Nat, it is because of Catholics like you that our religion is shrinking, so by the book, so opposed to changing with the times.”

I pushed my Grandpa back to his room and I plopped down on his bed. He handed me the cup to set down on his bedside table. We were both quiet. Finally he said: “Next time you come up with your Dad or even your sister they can be the witness, okay Heather?” I agreed but felt a little disappointed. I just wanted so badly to be baptized by him. I mean, I loved him enough that I would have let him baptize me into anything if it was going to make him feel better and I was excited to share that part of his life with him. Okay, next time I thought. But in the back of my head I couldn’t help but think: what if there isn’t a next time - I mean, he was 91 years old and hadn’t been doing too well.

So when I landed down at SFO after a two week vacation in Europe and got the call that Grandpa had had a stroke and was sorta in a coma, my heart sank. Sitting on the floor in the baggage claim with my head in my hands, tears streaming down my face I prayed to Jesus Christ for the first time. I prayed he would hang on long enough for me to get myself up to the state of Washington, not to be baptized, but to give him one last hug. Actually I didn’t think of the baptism thing until the second day I visited my Grandpa in his coma like state.

My sister and I were standing on either side of his bed. I was giving him a thousand kisses on his face and telling him that if he wanted to fight through this we were rooting for him and that we’d be there for him. I had that same pink plastic cup in my hand filled half way with water and I was taking a little moisture swab and wetting his mouth. He had been opening his eyes a little but not moving. My sister was on her iphone talking to my Dad giving him a play by play of our two days by Grandpa’s side. I was shouting in Grandpa’s face about things I had done lately - telling him stories of me and Julian in Europe, and what was going on in politics when I felt his hand move. His eyes opened and he reached his left hand outside of the sheet it was under and at a glacial speed reached for the cup. My heart pounded, Carolynn said quietly into the phone. “He’s moving Dad, he’s moving.” My Grandpa reached for the cup and I helped him hold it. I was frantic. “You want a sip? You want to do the swab yourself? You thirsty?” He lowered his fingers over the edge of the cup and dipped them ever so slightly into the water. He reached his wet fingers up and placed them on top of my head and began brushing my face with his hand. I was laughing, “What are you doing Grandpa?? It’s Heather, you’re awake!!” Carolynn began to raise her voice as she continued to give the play by play to Dad. “He is grabbing Heather’s FACE!! He is touching her head. I don’t know what he is doing.” His hand stopped between my eyes and for almost a full minute he pressed his thumb into my forehead. I figured he was just trying to connect with me. He then dropped his arm back down. Carolynn looked at me with such intense seriousness, “WHAT was that?” I laughed, I felt sorta weird about it. I shrugged, “No clue.”

We had to go at that moment so we said our goodbyes to Grandpa and told him we’d be back in the evening to visit. We each squeezed his hand and told him we loved him sooooo much. We looked at each other with tears welling in our eyes both hoping that wasn’t goodbye goodbye.

As we were walking out to the parking lot my sister handed me her phone which my Dad was still on. I told my Dad what had happened and he said, “Heather, I think he baptized you.” He told me that my Grandpa had mentioned to him the week before that he hoped he got to baptize me soon. I sorta laughed and thought, long shot but maybe.
When we got back to my uncles house I took a nap on the couch. One of those weird daytime/something really sad is going on naps. I could hear my sister playing catch with my uncles golden retrievers in the back yard. I drifted in and out of sleep dreaming about my grandpa’s hand pressing between my eyes. I could feel his touch in the dream so vividly. His hands were so distinct and exactly like my Dad’s. To me there is such a comforting feeling when those hands patted me on the head or rubbed my back. In my dream I could feel that feeling all over my head and face and I woke up with a little bit of a startle.

I told my sister I needed to know if Grandpa baptized me or not, I was determined. That evening we quietly returned to his room, walked up to him so peacefully, stood on either side of him and began our interrogation. I held onto Grandpa’s right hand and said very loudly right in his face, “Grandpa. Hi, we are back, it’s Heather and Carolynn!! We want to know if you bootleg baptized me. Squeeze my hand if the answer is yes.” Nothing. We took turns. Carolynn was much gentler. Shaking his shoulder ever so gently as if he were a brand new baby she whispered in his ear, “Wake up Grandpa…we want to know if you baptized Heather earlier? Did you baptize her? Was that why you were touching her face like that?!” On Carolynn’s third of forth try his left eye opened and Carolynn and I both crowded our faces in front of the open eye. “Hi! It’s us!” The right eye fluttered a little and finally opened half way. I shouted my command to be heard down the halls of the nursing home, “GRANDPA – squeeze my hand if you baptized me earlier!” With exhaustion, “I gotta know if I am a bootleg Catholic…” His fingers began to move and he gripped my hand so tightly; the bones in my hand collapsed into each other. I flashed a look at Carolynn, “Feel it.” Carolynn tried to wedge her fingers between my Grandpa’s grip and my hand. “Oh my god, you’re a Catholic” Carolynn said. I smiled. I kissed his face all over and Carolynn rubbed his shoulder again very gently.

Grandpa Bill died two days later. When I found out I was driving in the car after a night of camping and on my way to go watch my sister do an Olympic distance triathlon. My Mom and Dad were both on the phone and they just said as simple as it gets, “Grandpa died last night.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and tried to remember how to do the catholic sign of the cross. I couldn’t remember if you go left to right or right to left when you say Holy Ghost so I decided not to do it. When I hung up I said a prayer under my breath. “Dear Lord, please welcome my so sweet, very very cute Grandpa to heaven. He can be gruff sometimes but he is a really good guy. Take care of him and know that he did a lot of good things for your religion while he was alive.” It was nice to have someone to pray to. I opened my eyes and thought: Hey, thanks for listening God.

My sister was a maniac that day. I didn’t get to the triathlon before the race started so I saw her running in her wetsuit after she completed the first leg, the mile swim. I screamed and cheered for her and she ran straight to me and threw her arms around me. Her embrace soaked the front of my dress. “Did you talk to Mom and Dad?” she asked gasping for breath. “Yeah” I said, “He died...poor Grandpa.” We both stuck out our bottom lips. She said she didn’t really want to do the race anymore. I told her to just go for it. She had got 12 of our friends signed up for the race and had really been training a lot. She stood there for a minute and then, with determination, pronounced, “Okay.” And ran off to complete her 26 mile bike ride and 6 mile run.
Julian and I were twiddling our thumbs at the finish line when we saw Carolynn approaching something like a half hour before we expected her. We hugged her at the end, “Good JOB sissy!! That was CRAZY fast.” She huffed, “I just thought about Grandpa the whole time and all the strength he had to use to even just open his eyes to let us know he knew we were there and that he loved us and I just felt like going as fast as I could.”

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

District 6 makes my heart pound.


Last week when I was at the League endorsement meeting I sat there for the majority of the meeting feeling so pleased. I was so excited about how much work people had put into researching the ballot initiatives and what an awesome job Beth and Alex did preparing it all. But as we wrapped up the ballot initiatives and started to move towards San Francisco candidate races, preparing mostly for the discussion of District 6 supervisors race, my heart began to pound. It was strange, was I nervous? Was I mad? I felt sorta scared. But I just took a deep breath and tried to just acknowledge my pounding heart. But why was it pounding? I hardly ever feel like that.

As I saw the page flip to District 6, I felt a lump in my throat, will I cry? District six: upper mission, tenderloin and SOMA. The most diverse district in the city. Chris Daly's district for the past couple terms. The place the Pissed Off Voter Guide is most recognized. And the hopeful future home to a very progressive woman supervisor. That is a big deal in San Francisco politics. There aren't very many progressive women in San Francisco who run for Supervisor positions, especially as the front running candidate. Well in District 6...we have two front runners. Jane Kim and Debra Walker. I really like them both, they are both incredibly dedicated, smart, passionate people and they each have always been supportive of me and of the League. I really trust them both to represent me in office and I am excited that they have both made the personal choice to run for office. But why in the same district? Why against each other? The heart pounding is coming back now as I type this. Why does this race make me feel like this?

Here's my story. Debra started running months ago, I was excited. She is sweet, smart, shows up for everything and is a good listener. I was ready to jump right into her campaign. I met with her, got a button and was ready to roll. District 6 is important to me. I had the time of my life working on Chris Daly's re-election campaign, got to know the district really well and really got an understanding of why it is important to have a progressive in that district who is able to pass nuanced policies and be a dynamic leader that will help build bridges in the district. A couple months after that meeting with Debra I started to hear rumors of Jane's candidacy in the district. Jane is one of my favorite elected officials in the world– she is young and sharp and isn't only a great person, but has proven to be an effective politician. I knew I would be supporting her one day for a supervisors race, but I didn't think she would declare her candidacy in this race. Basically, from my limited perspective, she seemed to have the same base as Debra, a lot of the same friends and surely similar political views. I knew they couldn't disagree on that much politically, so if Jane was going to jump in I trusted that the progressive movement agreed it was the right thing to do and we would make it into a golden opportunity to unite progressive San Franciscans around these two amazing women. It would be interesting, but because San Francisco has rank choice voting (a system where you can choose your top three candidates) if we worked it right, we would see a Progressive shoe in in that district and hopefully be part of the exciting and dynamic campaign that district deserves.

So yeah, if we were going to run two of the most viable progressive women in the whole city in the same district against each other it was important to me that something amazing came of it. This is what I pictured: a shared office space where our resources were shared and maximized. Each candidate doing a first place vote for themselves and a second place vote for the each other. A coordinated campaign with all the progressive candidates to talk about why it's important for District 6 to be led by a progressive and the opportunities we have in the district going forward. I pictured Saturday volunteer days where both candidates volunteers would do district clean up's in the streets or mural projects together or bike rides around the district and campaign in coordination. Yeah, I know it would get a little confusing because some of us would be for Jane, some of us for Debra and some of us for the list of other impressive progressives running in District 6, but I trust we could figure out a way to explain it simply and maybe even start up some great discussions about true democracy and rank choice voting. Our hearts are all in the same place, I'm sure we could make our materials and campaign slogans reflect that.

I pictured the election night party where we all stood in the same room and watched the largest progressive margin of victory in history of San Francisco politics. I pictured Debra and Jane both speaking at the event. I saw a few down faces in the crowd and a couple awkward congratulatory hugs, but come on SF look at who we got, isn't she wonderful?? And I pictured a speech that night by someone we all look up to, talking about how politics can be tough on a personal level but that we don't do this for ourselves or to support our friends, we do this because we believe in something bigger, we believe a world based in love and compassion and caring for each other is possible, where policies reflect that and where we all live in community and peace. And then the person would go on to remind us how lucky we are to live in a place where people like you and me can get elected, where we can pass innovative policies that try to solve some of the most tragic problems that we all care so deeply about: homelessness, unaffordable housing, violence, drug abuse, failing school systems. Then they would bow off the stage and thank us, thank the people of San Francisco for being able to run such a dynamic campaign, look past the challenges of this candidate or that and work together to not only elect someone to carry out our vision but to start realizing that vision during the campaign, cleaning up our streets, talking to our neighbors and holding the truth high that together we are always more powerful. I was so excited to hug Julian after that speech, snuggle into him and tell him that this is why I love San Francisco so much. Then I would walk around the party looking for Jeremy, Andy and the League to give them a big hug and get that feeling I have had so many Novembers when it just feels like...'awwww group hug, we've done it again.'

So that is why my hands were shaking when I saw the sheet come up, because for me it wasn't about which candidate would get our endorsement, it was that paper staring straight into my eyes mockingly questioning if my vision could ever be realized in politics. That's why that paper made me feel sick, because instead of coming home from Asia to start sweeping the sidewalks with my friends, I came home to my computer to see my facebook friends split on the issue, to the clunky, horrible noise of the rumor mills churning and to a barrage of questions of who I am supporting?

Who am I supporting?? BOTH of them, they are fabulous and it's a knife in my vision of a united San Francisco every time I hear one bad thing said about one or the other by people who should be supporting them. It's hard enough to reconcile that there is no dynamic coordinated campaign to work on, but it's actually heart pounding infuriating to me to know we are this far away from it.

Friday, September 24, 2010

Okay okay Billy - I'll Zen campaign

So I was REALLY looking forward to Billy Wimsatt coming out with his new book and I couldn't wait to go to his reading in Berkeley. I had been waiting. I have worked closely with Billy for years and he has taught me almost everything I know about politics and organizing, so I wouldn't miss an opportunity to support him.

But three days before his reading I found out my friend, Maggie, who is 29 years old, was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer. Needless to say I was a total wreck. Between sobs and compulsive google searching for stage four survivor stories I made it to Berkeley. As I sat there and watched Billy try to pump the crowd up about the super movement that will save politics in America I was overcome with the sense that we all just needed to go home and take care of our friends and families, cozy up in our houses and just try to enjoy life while we have it. I didn't want to talk about spending long nights in a campaign office to fight against tea partiers, I mean why does it really matter if any one of us can wake up in the morning with stage 4 breast cancer? I felt so sad and discouraged but this intense feeling of fear and 'we are all screwed anyway, let's just enjoy life' fit perfectly into my plan to sit out the 2010 election cycle.

I had decided I wasn't really going to participate in the 2010 election cycle. I was pondering the idea that politics might be too oppositional for me and I may just bow out completely. In the mean time, I figured I just needed to give myself some time to do joy filled work and focus on the positive in people and not think about the people who act like bigots and put up road blocks on election day. My plan for the Fall was this: work with 350.org on a global day of action (10/10/10) with amazing people across Asia who want to make a positive difference in their communities, meditate everyday to learn more about myself and how to react to all the moving parts of my life with more grace and joy, party with my friends and just continue to love being young and to be a good friend and girlfriend and not being too busy to listen. I like that plan and I am committed to it.

But on my BART ride to work this morning, while reading Billy's book Please Don't Bomb the Suburbs, something clicked, when I read the below excerpt, and I have had to add to my plan.

The Supreme Court's Citizen United ruling (saying corporations can spend with no limits in campaigns- ugh!) was a HORRIBLE decision. But it was a 5-4 decision split across partisan lines. The five Republicans justices voted for the decision. The four Democratic justices voted against it and wrote a blistering dissent. The real lesson of Citizen United is that we need to stop Republicans from taking over the U.S government and appointing right wing extremists to the Supreme Court.

There has rarely been a more clear-cut case of the need to stop Republicans at all costs. If a few hundred more of us had voted Democrat in Florida back in 2000, Bush wouldn't have become president in the first place. Alioto and Roberts wouldn't be in the Supreme Court. We would have a 6-3 majority on the Supreme Court against corporations buying elections.


Okay, so my core belief, what I guess I would call my religion, is that all people, if they are being their true selves, are good. So the whole Republicans are evil conversation doesn't sit well with me. I hate US vs THEM. Because truthfully I believe there is just us - people in the world who want to be happy, feel useful, free, loved and appreciated. But the above passage made me realize that holding that belief up as my ticket out of politics will not serve me or the vision I have for the world. I want to live in a world where people are more free, are happier, are more connected to their friends and neighbors, and where decisions that positively affect the people most in need are the ones prioritized by our government.

I can't think about it as Democrats vs Republicans, I think about it as people who support community building vs oppose it. I want to move towards a world where regular people, without a lot of money, have the same chance to organize for their vision of the world as a massive corporation or someone with a well stocked bank account. I believe a few basic things need to happen in order to make that possible: we need to be working together to create an accepting country where people have more or less equal access to good schools, good healthcare, good jobs, healthy environments, protection and acknowledgment under the law, fair elections and, by god, we must limit corporate control of our government and elections. I think we can all agree on that one. We are at a pretty uneasy moment in history where a lot of that is at stake this Fall. So no Billy, I guess won't sit out this 2010 cycle, because I refuse to watch candidates be elected who laugh at jokes like calling our President "Halfrican American", who support the tea party in denouncing Islam, and who campaign on doing away with medicare, privatizing vets healthcare and further privatizing everyone elses' healthcare. To me, those things aren't even Republican or Democrat, those are just bad ideas mixed with extreme ignorance and intolerance. I sat on the BART today and just realized these ideas aren't going to help me organize for the peaceful world I am determined to live in, they aren't going to help Maggie get the best healthcare she needs, they aren't going to help people with different religious views live side by side and they aren't going to help make our streets safer and our communities stronger. And at this moment in my life those things are the most important things to me.

So here is what I am going to do, when I finish this blog I am going to call Billy, ask him the closest races in the country where the extremists have the highest likelihood of winning and I will pool my resources, my time and both people connections and money, to help a better candidate win in that district.

Even writing this blog is hard for me because I don't like to get all worked up about how people can be so mean and say and do such wrong things. But deep breath Heather, they just need help getting in touch with the real them and tapping into that deep reservoir of love and unity every human is born with. Until they do that, I don't want them running our government. So I will do what I can this Fall to give them the opportunity to stay out of DC, so they can get to work finding their inner peace and return to the playing field as a candidate ready to support community and help build the beautiful, accepting country we all want to live in, where people thrive on and embrace our differences.

So this election cycle I will be zen campaigning - staying committed to my own inner peace, being a good friend, girlfriend and listener and having fun while I'm doing it!

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Me and my friends can move mountains, fighting cancer shouldn’t be too big of deal

I sat on my bed today, notebook in hand. I was writing a note to my friend Maggie who was diagnosed last week with breast cancer. I stared down at the page: Get better Maggie, okay? That is all I had, and I had doodled it all over the page. Tears streaming down my face, I felt sick, I laid back and furiously refreshed her website, waiting for the next post that said the doctors were wrong and it was just cat scratch fever after all. I couldn’t wait to get together with everyone and talk about how stupid the doctors were for freaking us out so bad with their misdiagnosis. I pictured our friends sitting around with Maggie celebrating, laughing, hugging and all recommitting to live life to the fullest together.

And with something about that picture of all of our friends together, I felt something click in my head. ‘Hey Heather – stop hoping for something else and get to work at the problem at hand. Maggie has just jumped into the ring for a big fight–she needs us.’ I sat back up, that’s right. I mean, we happen to have one hell of a group of friends that specializes in GIANT undertakings that require immense amount of energy, focus, commitment, love and dedication. I mean, some have criticized us for being clicky, traveling in packs, being loud and yes, even some have called us obnoxious. I won’t spend any time defending ourselves against these allegations but I will just say, ‘Fine, to all of the above AND we are an amazing team of dynamic, creative friends with enough love and energy to move mountains.’

Okay, so we haven’t moved any mountains yet, but we know we can. Picture what we have done with the Christmas party - six years, total splendor, hours, days of our blood, sweat and tears just for one night of Christmas joy! Or close your eyes and feel the million mega watts of energy coming off the dance floor in Lake Tahoe at Maggie and Man Ryan’s wedding. Or think of all the times you have come home from a party limping or bruised from dancing your heart out (especially after the old man party with all those canes and walkers on the dance floor). Or imagine the insanity of renting a house boat and dressing and acting like pirates for days on end like some of our friends did for Jake’s bachelor party. What about going to a 9 hour wedding and then staying up all night at the after party (on a Sunday?!). We know how to go above and beyond, show up for each other and make the most out of the opportunities we have.

So here we go guys, task at hand a little more somber in nature, but the most important thing in the world we can do together. Mags, we got this with you. In the coming months and for as long as it takes to get rid of the cancer we are sending our love and energy for life, you and each other out into the universe to be collected in a reservoir that will be right above you at all times so you can draw from it whenever you need it.

We will all get through this, it will take some time and it’s okay if we can’t always do it with a smile. I have been to a many Christmas party decoration nights, 1:30am, three days before “Christmas”, exhausted, up to my knees in cardboard cut outs of unpainted trees, discouraged and staring at an undecorated hallway and kitchen, and had to stop and look at Julian and Dexter in their eyes and ask, ‘Is this really gonna happen this year?” Not turning away from their staple guns they both always murmur, “Yes, Heather.” And as the universe will have it, those are the moments Jake and Lauren walk in with 40 perfect, amazing life size, handmade penguins, or Crescent rolls up with a ten foot photo montage of all the Christmas pasts. So we can be sad, even discouraged at times but none of us will ever give up. Because we don’t give up until we get exactly what we want.

And we can ask for help. Like Bunny (Carmen), who was coordinating Maggie and Man Ryan’s wedding, did this summer. Twenty minutes to wedding time and Bunny, looking all cute and businessy with her notebook, wrangled us all together and looking between each one of us and her task list she put us to work right then and there to get the place looking PERFECT before the guests arrived.

And we can do it however we know how. Take Gabe on the dance floor for example. We have all seen him try to express himself on the dance floor and it just escalates. It goes something like this. Dancing around a bit feeling the music, to a major toe pointing session which looks like it requires like 100% of his energy, then just when we think he might collapse on the dance floor of exhaustion – he launches himself, sliding across the dance floor on his stomach – committed to being all he is out there and getting all that energy out. His break outs usually result is some escalation of somebody else’s dancing. Whether it is Maggie’s “her” version of toe pointing or Man Ryan’s military rolls in his wedding clothes, someone is always there to take it up a notch from what Gabe laid out on the floor.

So I think with all of us fighting this cancer it doesn’t stand a chance in hell. The cancer just doesn’t even have a clue about how badly it just messed with the wrong group of friends. Mess with Maggie, mess with the whole family.

So Maggie, don’t worry if you get tired, just close your eyes and pull some energy out of the amazingly decorated reservoir of energy and love above you where at all times either Journey or Michael Jackson are blasting. Take as much as you need Mags because we’ve got an endless supply. And if you need something specific you just ask us. We will be by your side in a sec, go to the doctors with you, scream from a mountain top with you – whatever you need girl. WE LOVE YOU SO MUCH AND HAVE GOT YOUR BACK HECKA HARD!




Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Ojisan Bobby!

Sometimes you spin a globe to see where you will travel to, other times you travel to a place because you’ve dreamed of the blue water or the crooked cobble stone streets, sometimes it’s to get away from yourself, your life or something in your life. I’ve done them all, but last October when I was sitting on my bed staring at my map and wondering where I should go, I started to dream about the little old man whose been living on top of a hill in rural Japan since the end of World War II. I day dreamed about this cute 84 year old face that looks slightly like mine and much more like others in my family.

Bobby Becka, also known as Father Kimura, is my great uncle who forged his papers to go to war in Japan as a seventeen year old. Bobby, being protected by his superiors, was relegated the operating room to act as the surgeons assistant so not to risk the bloody battles on the beaches. As the family legend goes after standing witness to tragedies of war and the devastating use of the atomic bomb, his heart ached so deeply that he returned to California, only to call off his marriage and become a Catholic priest so he could return to Japan to become a part of the healing of a nation and its people.

When I walked into his room last week in Japan, I heard a different version. He joked so casually, "I was bored in class one day so I wrote to Rome that I would go to Japan, I’d seen a notice that they needed people there. Then next thing I knew, Spring of 1953 I was on a ship to Japan."

He was even cuter then I imagined and had seen in pictures…small with a big nose, very confident, very sweet. Oh, the sweetest thing. When I leaned over and hugged him and told him my sister and mom both sent their love and a hug with me, his bony arms grasped around me and he gave me a good pat and said enthusiastically, “Oh wow, I’ll take em, I don’t get many hugs in Japan.”

He has spent the past 57 years in Japan as a Catholic priest, helping generations of people find hope and community. So many times when my Dad and I were talking to him last week he would struggle for the English word or answer us in Japanese, then roll his eyes and correct himself. He is the brother of my Dad’s mom who died in 1956 when she was only 36. I’ve always been so curious about her, about who helped create one of the sweetest people I know, my Dad, and married one of the gruffest people I know, my Grandpa Bill. When my gruff but so so dear friend Grandpa Bill died last September I felt this strong desire to know Bobby. Maybe it is just because I am obsessed with old people, maybe it’s because I’m so curious about religion and felt I ought to visit a priest as a newly bootleg baptized catholic (I’ll explain later), maybe I felt like it was honoring my Grandpa by making a trip to Japan to visit one of his oldest friends, maybe it’s because I wanted an excuse to pin point somewhere on the map and buy a plane ticket. I think it was a combination of all of them. And the fact that my Dad met me in Japan for the visit made it even more special to me.

In Bobby’s room, Bobby, my Dad and I didn’t solve the problems of the world or crack the code on religion. We shared funny stories about my Dad taking his priest uncle to the bars when Bobby came to visit him in college, about how my Grandma was so straight and always taking care of everyone and making sure everybody was alright (also ironing a lot), about how liberal my Grandpa had gotten in his old age.

We shared some more serious ones too, about Bobby losing his mom at six and how remembers feeling at the funeral that if he becomes a priest he will be closer to his mother, about the tragedy of war and his work to help develop the peace Cathedral in Hiroshima, about the trials of old age and growing up to be 84.

My sister yelled to me when I was in the shower last night in Townsville Australia that we got a sad email from Dad. She told me Bobby died. My heart jumped up a couple inches and just stood there. I closed my eyes as my sister read me the email. Dad thinks he is perfectly happy where he is now, he’s now with my Grandpa and his mom and so many others he hasn’t seen in so long. He said he must have been holding on just long enough to visit with us.

My heart eventually started to beat again and I looked around the stark white hotel bathroom for someone to thank that those day dreams on my bed, led to painfully long wait times with United Airlines, which led to me to Tokyo, which led to a hug with Bobby. Knowing that bony hug is so very important to me.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Somewhere between Takadanobaba and Ueno Stations


(Dad pondering the subway map)

Tokyo is home to the most extensive rapid transit system in the world and it is INCREDIBLE. Every train is EXACTLY on time and the stations and trains are immaculately clean. Though Sri Lankan buses didn't share the immaculateness and packed in three or four times the capacity into the bus they were also always on time. So according to me, both Sri Lanka and Japan's public transportation systems have the San Francisco MUNI beat by a long shot. Get it together SF.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Tommy Box in Japan...and me toooo!



I'm with my Dad!! I left Sri Lanka last week and have been in Tokyo for a few days meeting with young organizers from the Japan Eco-League and the Japan Campus Climate Challenge (will tell you more later).

But last night Mister Tom Box showed up and now we are headed out to adventure around Japan! It felt so strange, after months of traveling alone, to be standing on the street corner looking onto the busy streets of Tokyo waiting for my Dad to pop up out of the subway. It was really fun to see him when he did pop up, but it was also strange. It was like this: Hello person who made me. Weird. Ah, my Dad is here. Cute. I love him. I look so much like him...shoot is that a good thing to look like a 65 year old man?! SO glad he made it safe. Dad's here. Wow me and my Dad are in Tokyo -- YAY!!

I will keep you posted on our travels and also be posting more from Sri Lanka. I was so sad to leave Sri Lanka last week. The past two months have most definitely been two of the best months of my life and I feel so grateful to all the incredible friends that took such good care of me there and shared their country with me. I am forever changed for the better! I cannot wait to go back and cannot wait to see the amazing things that the Sri Lanka Youth Climate Action Network does over the next few years.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Sleeping with Elephants/Elephants killed your parents?!



Meet Dinu. I met Dinu when him and his friends took me and some other tourists on a crazy jungle ride to chase elephants. I was a little nervous because I'm not so much of a wild life person and I was with all wild boys who were ready to push the limits!! But the second I met Dinu I felt safe, there was something very calming about him. We were standing in a tree house looking out for elephants and I asked him how he got into elephants. He looked at me and said, "My parents were killed by elephants." I could tell he was serious. He went onto explain that he grew up on a jungle road and one evening when his parents were walking to temple elephants killed them by picking them up with their trunks and throwing them into a ravine.

Flash forward two hours. I was standing in the middle of the jungle, my heart beating so fast as we watched a group of elephants move toward us. I looked at Dinu for reassurance. He looked at me and said quietly, "Don't worry, we are safe. We are being careful and they can sense we are respecting them. Stay here next to me and just don't surprise them. They won't hurt anyone." I flashed him a look like, are you CRAZY?!?! BOTH of your parents were killed by elephants!!!!!

He continued, "I know, I know, Let's just watch them naturally, be calm Heathie" (what a lot of Sri Lankans call me).

The elephants snuggled each other and made a low but very loud purring sounds, it was INTENSE to be that close. On the way home in the jeep I was trying to express myself about the experience, rather inarticulately - "They are SO big and weird, you could really see that they loved each other."

Dinu said, "I know, I know what you mean. I just want to sleep as close to them as possible. Some nights I drive my jeep into the jungle and go to sleep in the back. Packs of elephants just crowd outside the jeep pressing against it and knocking it- purring and squealing all night. I sleep good there."

Friday, May 7, 2010

You just gotta go with your crew




(more pics to come)

I think one of the best things about this trip for me has been the it has really forced me to expand my definition of who "my crew" is. A couple of days ago it became very clear to me how much my definition has changed in the past few weeks.

I am currently on a farm in Sri Lanka learning to build a house out of mud (it is called earthen building). I am part of a workshop that consists of twenty Sri Lankan men (17 to 60 years old), one Thai guy, two teachers (husband and wife - Jo from Thailand and Peggy from Colorado) and their 5 year old kid, Tan.

On the second day, after a hard day of building, me and some of the others went for a bath in the river. I stood on the river bank and watched the boys and men strip down to their tighty whities (actually mostly tighty bluies and tighty blackies) and dive in. I dove in only to eject three feet out of the water - "SOMETHING BIT MY FOOT!!" It didn't hurt, actually it felt kinda good, whatever it was, but it scared me SO bad!! One of the men swam over and let me know that it was just a fish and it was just eating at the wounds on my feet (of which there we MANY from mixing the mud with my bare feet). He told me it would help my wounds heal faster. I nodded but decided to just float on my back to avoid the situation - good or not.

As I laid there and looked down the river at the men unwrapping their bars of soap and lathering themselves and their laundry up I felt the strangest feeling...peacefulness. Heather Box in the middle of no where Sri Lanka, at dusk, swimming with eight stranger men, most of whom I couldn't communicate with, in a muddy river with biting fish. That is about half of my fears mixed into one setting. I mean, if I imagine myself coming across a group men alone in the middle of no where as it was getting dark I know my heart would pound and I would just think the worst thoughts and go in the opposite direction. (I have an irrational fear of groups of men I don't know - as many women do). But tonight as I looked upon a game of soap monster (man covered totally in soap minus his eyes, chasing one of the other guys) I realized that these guys, for this week, were my crew and I felt so safe and at ease.

I can only hope that I carry some of this home with me. Maybe, when I get home, if I just imagine the groups of guys on the streets of San Francisco and New York in their underwear playing soap monster I will feel more comfortable and at peace when walking down the streets alone.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Two decades later, I finally understand the Japanese tourists in San Francisco







I distinctly remember one summer day in 1989; I was gazing out the back seat window of mom's volvo station wagon on our way home from a day in San Francisco. I was caught in a thought as I watched the world pass us by: What the hell were all the Japanese tourists going to do with the photos they had taken of me that day? I was a tall, really skinny kid with bright white hair. When ever I came to San Francisco and came across a Japanese tour bus hordes of tourists, linked arm in arm, would point, wave shyly and giggle at me then they'd motion to my parents asking if they could snap a picture of me. Sometimes they would get in the photo with me. I didn't mind too much but never understood what they were going to do with the picture. Would they put it in their album, in a frame, were they making fun of me? As soon as I stepped off the plane in Sri Lanka I came full circle and understood them completely. I mean, the little kids are just so freaking cute, I can't help but ask their parents if I can take a photo. The only difference is if their parents are young or the kids are like twelve or above, I say to them with a accent after I take the photo: "Facebook?" If they nod I give them my pen and they write down their email and I post and tag them on Facebook. Sometimes I even friend them on Facebook. Maybe 20 years from now they will still be in touch with the weird tourist lady who was laughing and waving at them...wouldn't that be crazy?

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Hi, I love you


I’m sitting in my hotel room in Kandy – feeling a little lonely after ten days of hanging out with people nonstop. But I guess loneliness is sorta what I set out for, coming on a three month trip alone. Sometimes you go on trips looking for love, but not this time. For me I guess I came looking for the limits of love. It’s like we are all born when and where we are born and that reality affects all of who we are forever. But is it not true that we could have all been born somewhere else to somebody elses parents and we would love and worry about them just as much as we do our own now? What does that mean about the random man sleeping on my shoulder on the bus? Technically if I was born into his family instead of my own he would be my brother? Because of that should I not worry about it and just let him sleep on my shoulder, or because I have never met him before should I not feel any love towards him and only worry about whether or not he will drool on me.

It’s a complicated question and I can’t say I am finding any answers - only more questions. Okay, so don’t we all love kids? Like when you see a kid, no matter the country they are from, the language they speak, the amount of money they have, don’t we all just feel like, you’re a precious little baby and want to snuggle with them? So my question is – what happens to that love when it is baby plus three or five decades? It’s like sometimes you get those flashes of understanding – like you will see a random man eating an ice cream and you heart just beats an extra beat because there is something so sweet about it. Or when you can’t help but pat somebody on the back who is crying even though you don’t know them and you know it will be awkward. That is that baby love I think, the we are all in this together love.

But then there is also that unexplainable type of connection that is way more than an extra beat of the heart or a pat on the back. It is like upon meeting someone, instantly, it’s like you always knew that person. A lot of my best friends, my friends for life, I felt that way when I met them. It’s like no process of trust or finding out “what they do” or “where they’re from,” it’s just like boom. Sometimes it can actually be pretty awkward because it’s a little embarrassing to be like – Hi, I love you. I remember the first time I spoke to Mimi on the phone, just a week or so after meeting her, I said to her upon hanging up – “Okay bye, talk to you later – I love you!” It was SO awkward. I quickly said, “Opps, sorry, I mean, I’m just used to saying that to my parents and boyfriend etc.” She really laughed and then so normally said, “Love you too, bye!” When I hung up I felt like I wanted to crawl under my bed, but I also just felt like - well…it is kinda true, I do sorta feel like I love her. It makes me nervous/embarrassed to just recall it, but it is also so sweet to feel that way about strangers.

Even though I have only been gone for three weeks I have felt like that twice, I think I have made two friends for life. Yesterday in the shower I was thinking about how fun it was going to be to have Vositha come to my wedding someday and later that day when we were racing around Colombo in a three wheeler she turned to me and pronounced, “I’ll be coming to your wedding someday,” and flashed a grin at me. I smiled back, felt a little shy and was like, “I thought about that this morning. You are totally coming.”

Later that day I was talking to my new friend Akmel who is the Sri Lankan version of my high school friend Achilles. He knows everything about Sri Lanka and was helping me make my travel plans. We got talking about his family and he was telling me about how all six of his brothers and sisters are married and his family is sort of waiting on him to get married but he wasn’t really ready to yet. I tried to tell him twenty five years old was way young to get married and not to worry about it. It was sorta quiet and he was like, “Maybe you can come to my wedding when it happens.” I sorta blushed and was like, “Okay – I TOTALLY want to! ” We both laughed, sorta embarrassed.

For someone with so many of my own issues about marriage, weddings that day just made me feel like the world was going to be okay no matter what. It just makes me think, if I can set out on a journey with six outfits and a journal to a tiny island in the Indian Ocean and three weeks later I've met two of those instant friends, what else is out there in this big world?

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Perseverance - six years after the tsunami


So I just got back from spending a few days in the southern part of Sri Lanka. I was in a beach town called Unawatuna. Unawatuna was hit hard by the Tsunami on December 26, 2004. Everybody in the town has a story. I met this man who sells fruit on the beach in Unawatuna, people call him Uncle.

His story: (Story a little vague due to language barriers)
During the Tsunami his mother was killed by a falling building, he was there but could not help her out. He helped many other people find safety during that terrible time. He has severe PTSD because of the events and has spent nine months in a mental hospital and is now on medicine that is helping him a lot. He sees his mothers ghost everyday. He takes trips to go see monks and pay respect to them in honor of his mother, this is said to help free her spirit to move on. His hands are still shaking from the terror he saw but he hopes that in the coming months with the medicine and the help of Buddha things will get better. He makes his living on the beach by selling fruit. He has a really sweet presence and is determined to persevere.

Meet Vositha Wijenayake!!


Meet Vositha Wijenayake - my new friend! Vositha is a 25 year old woman who lives in Colombo (Sri Lanka's biggest city). She is just completing her studies as a law student and is the national coordinator for the Sri Lanka Youth Climate Action Network (SLYCAN). SLYVAN is a national network that educates and engages Sri Lankan youth about the climate change. We have been traveling all over Sri Lanka to meet with people who are working on different aspects of climate change! Stories to come!

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Day 5 - Meditation Course - Westerners Rebel




Day 5 was the worst day of the course for me. The whole point of meditation is to quiet your mind. My mind was participating in what Buddhists call “Monkey Mind.” Monkey mind is when your mind won’t quiet and it just jumps from one subject to the next.

It was 1pm and I had just sat down for the 1pm-230pm session. In the six hours of morning meditation sessions I had already thought of everything – planned Julian’s 30th bday party, planned a new 90 day exercise routine for my mom that included clubbing, decided I was going to be an actress, planned out over and over again until I was happy what my Oscar acceptance speech would be(speech included sawing the Oscar into 4 parts). I thought there was nothing left for me to think about. When I sat down for the 1pm session I was ready to focus.

1:03pm – Oscar speech again.

1:04pm - Massively annoyed with my brain that it was not only not focusing, but it was going for the same thought over again (when it was a weird thought in the first place).

1:04pm and 30 seconds – Out the door of the meditation hall, I had had enough.

I walked around the front of the meditation hall where there was a part of the porch that you could dangle your legs over. No one was really supposed to be there because it was an area men and women could get to and we were supposed to stay separated…but there was no one out there. It was so sunny and nice out, felt like summer, like we should be BBQing, drinking high life and swimming in a pool in Sacramento or something. Didn’t feel like the kind of summer day you should be stuck on the top of a hill in Sri Lanka with your eyes shut all day. I decided to just sit down and relax.

Back story: I was a little self conscience about the pants I was wearing because they came to the mid calf which wasn’t really appropriate for the monks but I saw another woman wearing short pants so, because it was so sunny out that day, I decided to wear them.

In my moment of freedom I pulled my already short pants up over my knees, took my hair down, dangled my legs over the edge and leaned back against the wall. It felt so good – just thinking about how tan my shins were getting and how blonde my hair was getting - I was so happy. Too get a better angle on the sun I pulled my legs up and sat with my feet on the ground, legs spread out. I heard my Mom’s voice in my head, “now that is not a very lady like way to sit.” I didn’t care, it felt amazing and I felt free for the first time in five days. I felt like I was on vacation.

At that moment I saw a white flash out of the corner of my eye, someone from the men’s side had come around the bend. I didn’t look over because I was like, “Enjoy the moment Heather, and don’t let anyone ruin it for you.”

Thirty seconds later the Teachers helper came outside and hustled me up saying something over and over again that I didn’t understand until the third or fourth time. “You’re too fair to wear those pants, the men can see you, see your legs, you’re too fair, come over this way.” She instructed me that my pants were a little inappropriate and I was to stay behind the covered part of the porch and not go where the men could see my fair skin, because as if I didn’t hear it the ten times she said it before I was too fair. She rushed back into the hall.

I slouched over on the covered part of the porch, trying to decide if I felt bad or not. I did, but I was also so disappointed that my hair was in the shade and was no longer getting blonde. I stopped thinking about it and just stood there staring into nothingness - exhausted and bored by my reality.

That is, until I saw the unthinkable happen. There were two cute young boys in the whole retreat (no Julian I wasn’t looking, remember I had my eyes shut 13+ hours a day. But with nothing to do you just analyze everyone, and I noticed these two 25 or 26 year old cute, euro surfer boys). As I was staring into my nothingness I saw one of them appear below walking towards the male sleeping quarters. He had a spring in his step I hadn’t seen before and he looked so happy. I followed him down the trail. He went into the dorms and came out with his backpack on. He must be moving rooms I thought, but why now? Then I saw his friend come out the dorm below with his backpack, straw hat and Nike high tops on. Their smiles were so big. You could hear their conversation faintly from the porch. They were laughing and talking. ‘NO TALKING! Nobel silence boys, noble silence!! They can’t be leaving, are they leaving? They can’t be.’ They marched down to the office. I heard the office manager say, you can’t leave until tomorrow morning and I heard the boys negotiating back. ‘Could they really be leaving? Just like that? Giving up? I know is hard, but the teachers say it can take the full ten days to get a grasp of your mind and quiet it. They said it over and over again. Did the boys not listen? Was it not true? TAKE ME WITH YOU, TAKE ME WITH YOU!!!!!!!!! You guys look like you are going to have so much fun. Are you going surfing? Are you going to go to a party on the beach? I WANNA GO!! I WANNA GO – CAN I GO WITH YOU PLEASSSSSSSSSSSSSSEEEE!!’ I watched their every move trying to decide what was happening. They had moved under an awning so I could only see their feet but I stared for hints to what was happening.

‘You can’t leave Heather, go back inside the meditation hall and stop watching this. Go on, stop watching. I know you will never know how it was when they left, you’ll never know if a cab came for them or if they decided to walk the 8 miles back into town or if the manager drove him off the hill himself. Go sit down in the hall. Take your fair legs and go inside.’

I really really didn’t want to go inside, but I dragged myself down into my little mat. I sat down, closed my eyes and started to monkey mind my way through how I would find out what happened and how it felt to just up and leave like that. After three hours of deliberation I decided a missed connection on Craigslist was the best way to connect with them after the course ended. Someone would see it and tell them right? How many surfer boys in the world were at a meditation retreat in Sri Lanka that week – ya know?

That day was sooooooo hard, and it only got harder. Flash forward six hours from then I realized I was sitting in the meditation hall with my shirt undone, bra showing – but that story is for another day. I gotta go meditate before I go to bed. Nite Nite.

I found my Sri Lankan toe double!


Yay!

Friday, April 9, 2010

Day 3 - Meditation Course - Sometimes you can't let your misery make a friend


Meditation = PAINFUL
I used to think of meditation as a peaceful, serene act - where you relax and just Zen out about your life. Ummm – not the kind of meditation the Sri Lankans do. The course I went to is about learning to quiet your mind in spite of everything – even if it is excruciating pain associated with sitting cross legged for 13+ hours a day. But I guess that is what will help you in life right, if you can find the strength to be centered and focused amidst the chaos.

So fine, I went with it, but by day three I was like – there has got to be a hidden camera somewhere because they surely have to be kidding and are just waiting for someone to rebel and freak out and catch it on camera for Bob Saget. I was afraid I was going to be the first. Up at 4am, no dinner, last meal of the day at 11am, no talking, sat eyes shut 13+ hours a day, unbearable pain in my legs…I was about to lose it.

That day at 5pm when we went into the dining hall for tea, I noticed someone else sharing my misery. A Belgium girl that I had talked to briefly before the retreat started. She looked like me, limping around with big black bags under her eyes. When we went to the tea counter to get served there were two choices plain tea or tea with milk. If you were an advanced meditater you had to have the plain tea but if you were a beginner you could have some milk. For me tea time was a big deal and I REALLY looked forward to a cup of tea with milk and felt like the milk made me less hungry. I think the Belgium girl looked forward to it too because when the women started to pour her plain tea, her face dropped in disgust and she said, as if it was a matter of life or death, “Milk tea PLEASE.” The look she gave the lady was chilling, as if she had just attempted to kidnap her child or something.

I felt an uncontrollable wave of giggles coming after she said it and I had to step out of line. I just related to her fragile state on such a serious level. From that day forward a lot of my days became focused on avoiding the Belgium girl – knowing that if our eyes connected and we exchanged misery we would break our vow of “noble silence” and just cry and commiserate together. Made me think about how in some situations in life, when you just need to persevere, you don’t need other people to relate to, you just need to harness the determination you have inside and drudge forward. Maybe it’s kinda like – misery does like company, but in the interest of your happiness, sometimes you just can't let your misery make a friend.

(the dining hall)

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Big Difference! HA



My favorite sign at the meditation center - on the door to the meditation cells.

Call it what it really is -- mosquito/lizard/frog/3 inch spider/ant/sticky beetle net!





um - yikes?!

Silent Meditation Retreat - why would I go across the world to sit by myself and not talk for 10 days?!



I guess I should give you a little background on me and what made me want to come half way across the world to go this silent meditation retreat. I guess you could say I am searching for something…inner peace, maybe god, maybe not. Here’s why:

• I talk a mile a minute; I think even faster, I never relax.
• I’m scared of everything - walking in the dark, spiders, murders hiding in my back seat, losing my mind and on and on.
• I have an almost decade long recurring nightmare of people throwing up on me (mostly drunk people, sometimes zombies). It is VERY disturbing.
• I have an uncontrollable desire to be involved in everyone’s business (i.e. I ease drop within a four person radius at all times)
• I am petrified of my parents dying. P-E-T-R-I-F-I-E-D.
• I worry worry worry.
• The second I sit down, I fall asleep and I always wake up rushed and late for something.
• I’m a recovering superstition-a-holic.
• I always feel like I am missing out so I try to do everything.
• I have a hard time forgiving people and I never forget (and I don’t want to be like this).

Nothing paralyzing, but enough to send me searching for some inner peace.

I had done some meditation before. I went to a two day retreat with naked hippies in Big Sur and have spent time at the SF Zen Center with the oh so hip, Malcolm X glasses wearing monks. The Vipassana Center on the hill in Sri Lanka was a world away from these two places.

What you should know about the retreat:
• It was 10 days.
• You couldn’t talk to anyone except the teacher when she checked in with you and you couldn’t look other mediators in the eyes.
• The schedule was 16.5 hours a day and there were only three hour breaks.
• You had to have your eyes shut when you meditated (that’s eyes shut for 13+ hours a DAY?!)
• For three one hour sittings a day you had to sit and couldn’t move, couldn’t straighten your legs, stretch etc. (SOOOO hard!)
• I had my own room (just lucky) but most people were in shared 4-8 people rooms.
• The men and women were divided for meals, housing etc but we all meditated in the same hall, on separate sides.
• Vipassana is based in Buddha’s teachings but people of all religions practice it. It is a meditation technique not a religion.
• Wake up call was 4am and first sitting was 430am.
• There was NO DINNER! Just tea and three cream crackers, or sometimes nilla wafer type cookies. Breakfast was at 630am and lunch was at 11am.
• You couldn’t read or write. (Just you and your brain!)

Day 0 - Silent Meditation Course - Hugging isn’t for everyone


I have received a few great travel tips so far:

• Exchange some money before arriving in the country in case the exchange kiosk is closed at the airport.
• Look in your shoes before putting them on in tropical climates.
• Always write down the address of the place you are staying so if you get lost you can show the cab driver. (thx gma)

I’m going to add one to the list:

• Do not assume that hugging is part of the universal language, opt for a nod and a smile.

When I got to the airport in Sri Lanka a man who works for the meditation center picked me up in a van to drive me three hours to the retreat. His name was Suri, and upon meeting him I could just feel his kindness. Not through his driving because that was the most insane thing I have ever seen, (passing buses on a mountain road into oncoming traffic, horn blaring) but his essence was so comforting. On the ride we talked about everything (some miscommunication intact) – the food in Sri Lanka, my family, my boyfriend, his life in Kandy, his daughters, finding his youngest daughter a husband and on and on and on.

When drove for miles up a steep rocky road and finally we arrived at the center, situated on the tip top of a hill with a view of Sri Lanka countryside for miles and miles in all directions. We got out, Suri leaned up against a railing and waited to talk to the manager and collect his fare from him. There was a large crowd of about 40 or 50 mediators waiting to get their sleeping assignments for the retreat. It was very quiet, people were talking in hushed voices. I was instructed to go to the dining hall to have some lunch and then come back and get my room assignment. I had to say bye to Suri. I smiled and said thank you and that it was so nice to meet him then……went in for the HUG. As I got near I felt his awkward tension as I felt a group of 100 eyes pierce in my back to watch the interaction carry out. No hug in return and just to make it that much more awkward I said in a high pitched voice mid hug – “hug.” Who announces what they are doing as it is happening?!!

I walked away thinking – WHY HEATHER WHY?? Why not just a head nod and a sincere smile. Why giant blond girl attack?!

And that was the moment that I picked up the narrator who stayed with me most of the mediation course. The narrator was an annoying voice in my head who announced everything that was happening to me in a very dramatic way. (Randomly it was the voice of the narrator from the Curious George TV show that I used to watch when I was little).

The narrator’s debut announcement: “Heather Box, giant American, goes in for a hug with the van driver – reception not good. Monks and Nuns watch with questioning looks.”