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So— What’s a Blessing Anyway?

04/23/2023 by Aruni

So— What’s a Blessing Anyway?

 

Stay Tuned to the End for an Announcement.

This blog post is also available on my Facebook page to make sharing it with friends and family easy for you to do.

 

As an awkward, gawky, beyond-shy thirteen-year-old, a stutterer, a born–lesbian-who-wouldn’t-know-the-word-for-ten+-more-years, each day was filled with excruciating moments.  Having to talk—in public, in private, I was breaking my family’s silent contract that nothing was wrong.  

Every word I had to say was a threat to our collective denial.  

Wanting to kiss girls?  It was a secret, held in the depths of my being, so far away I could hardly know it myself.  

Don’t look at me—don’t see me.  Don’t love me.  No, just kidding, love me.  No, never mind.

I was a hider.  It made sense.  I hid well.

I’m not really here.  

So, my Confirmation in 1961 which culminated my already challenging Jewish education was a dreaded event, a day I prayed fervently would never come.    Thirteen of us Reform Jews would study all year with the Rabbi and then graduate, becoming members of the community upon Confirmation.

We would be seen, and we would be heard.  I would be seen, and I would be heard.

The only brass ring in this terrifying experience was the blessing.  Word had it, the Rabbi would call each student to him, after we gave our speech, a terrifying, death-defying affair.  The rabbi would offer his blessing.  Specific to that person, a personalized blessing.

OH, how I wanted and needed a blessing.  I was so lonely, so scared.  

Suffice to say, the trauma leading up to this June night, on that dread night, the intensity of walking down the aisle, the trauma of giving my speech, being both seen and heard, built over the months.

My speech!  Its opening words were, The rabbi is our friend…, which I practiced 900000 times, although I couldn’t count on that damn TH sound, that bugger, snagged me every time; it was horrific.

I was certain he wasn’t my friend, anyway.

But I kept my eye on the prize—the blessing.  At least I would get MY blessing, right?  At least God would be there for me, right?

Here are my words I wrote in 2010, describing what happened next, after just surviving the speech-giving before a packed congregation:

…”The moment I had lived for now arrived.  I would be offered my secret, perfect-for-me, blessing.

The rabbi put his hands on my head.  They appeared extraordinarily white and small and dry, and strangely warm, denting the helmet of my sprayed plastic pageboy.  OH, the blessing was coming.  I was trembling with relief, with possibility, almost faint with it all.  I could have fallen over from the dance in my body between exhausted terror and hopefulness.

His voice was a staged, hushed whisper, surrounding me—

“Nan,” he dramatically began.  “Stay—as— beautiful—as—you—are—in—this moment.”

WHAT?  

Stay as beautiful as what?  I was fully and positively certain I was not beautiful: that my hair was cardboard, my face pimply, my stomach too big, those white spots on my nails too noticeable.  I was both outraged and profoundly disappointed.

STAY AS BEAUTIFUL…It was bullshit.  There was no blessing here.  He didn’t know what else to say, he made it up.

I could have collapsed in a pile of disappointment at his feet.  But I did not…

God didn’t come to me that night.  God did not bless me, nor did he welcome me into his people.  God was nowhere in sight, as much as I could tell.  God wouldn’t lie to me like that.

He just didn’t show up.

I would have to continue along alone.”.

And so I did, for a long, long time.
~~~

I wrote about this in a story called, Heaven, Hell, and Hebrew School, for my book, Already Home.  As I read the story today—omg.  Why didn’t I call it?  Why didn’t I say: THIS IS TOO HARD. I CAN’T DO THIS.

 And where were my parents?  

Surviving, getting through, we were all managing as best we were able, following the great cultural advice of the 50’s and 60’s: if you don’t pay attention to it, it doesn’t exist.

Now—here is a blessing, written and read by the beloved John O’Donohue, priest, poet, philosopher. 

The Blessing:

 

~~~
There is such good news.  I am so blessed.  My greatest struggle, my stuttering, brought me my super-power, the power of synonym-izing, talking around the words I couldn’t say, finding words that I could, resulting in a fabulous fluidity of language in speaking and writing.  Who knew?

There is such good news.  I am so blessed.  Another massive struggle, my addiction, brought me into the world of Grace and Goodness, where I practice seeing the blessings.  Who knew?

There is such good news.  I am so blessed.  My shy, heartbroken younger self found community and connection in the world of Kripalu, where I continue to become more and more myself.  Who knew?

And today?

The blessings are—

  • The cacophony of redwing blackbirds celebrating the morning sun
  • Witnessing/feeling the leaves popping alive, fused with living green, out of nowhere filling the hillside
  • Niki the Dog’s stares, looking into my soul with an extraordinary depth of connection 

And you?

Dear friends, what are your blessings?

~~~

Although I offered this song before, I must offer it to you here.  Now here is a blessing.

May the Longtime Sun by Snatam Kaur:

 

 

~~~
Dear friends,

We are blessed.

Sometimes we 
Get a glimpse.

Sometimes
Not.

The blessings,
Nevertheless
Keep 
Flowing.

May
Our hearts
Receive
Their
Grace.

Best, Aruni

INVITATION

How is your relationship with food these days?
As the weather warms, how is your body feeling?
Do you need a tune-up, reminders to rebalance and realign your nutritional self-care?
Are those Covid pounds getting you down?
Do you want to feel healthier?
THE KRIPALU APPROACH TO HEALTHY EATING—
BEYOND RIGHT AND WRONG
Online Mondays, 12:00-1:30; May 1, 8, 15, 22
Information Here

Filed Under: Uncategorized

To Sonia–Memories

04/16/2023 by Aruni

To Sonia–Memories

Richmond Pond Sunrise

 

This blog post is also available on my Facebook page to make sharing it with friends and family easy for you to do.

As a child I shyly adored her.  She was a dear and a wonderful grandmother who loved me in the fullest and simplest and quietest of ways.  But once I left home, the real gifts came–Gram as listener, Gram as friend, as confident, as deep unconditional witness of my struggling young adult journey.

Together we were the best hand-holders.  We would hold hands for a long time—our hands were about the same size and shape, tiny.  When marked against the other, a matching set of four.  We would sit on her couch and talk and talk, holding hands the entire time.  No sweaty palms, no fidgety movements, absolutely no self-consciousness at all.  Quiet hand-holding.  Unconditional hand-holding.  I have never in my 74 years found a hand to hold that fits better in mine than that of my Grandma Sonia’s.

I would come home from NYC to Scranton as often as I could.  Monthly?  Who knows?  It never felt enough.  I would spend Saturdays with her.  Eventually she would always say the same thing:

“Nan, I have nothing to feed you for lunch.”  At the time, I was a finicky, ridiculously over-committed, somewhat ungrounded vegetarian.

Inevitably, Gram would whip together a magical combination of things: a little soup broth, some kasha, a hard-boiled egg.  A feast of fabulous Gram-food.  All the while, talking and listening, smoozing and gabbing.  The food that she offered me was beyond-delicious, a gift of her kind, gentle heart.

Then, for no particular reason, inevitably, INEVITABLY, I would get swept by a wave of total exhaustion.  I would find my way to her couch, sit down and rest.  She would insist, “Lay down, rest, it’s okay.”

I never wanted to “waste” time with her by sleeping.  Nevertheless, I would almost against my will, every single time, fall into the deepest, most restful and warmed sleep, arising later to the click of her crochet needles, feeling fully and wholly renewed.  

I would joke about her magic couch.  

It is not a joke.

I know today that the profound safety of my Grandmother’s love warmed my healing sleep, as she sat, so close, forever, by my side.

(Written in 1988 after her death)

~~~

 

How does memory work?
As a memoirist, I am captivated by memory,
How it changes and dances and shifts,
How it lives so deeply inside,
Available in the present moment.

Check this out—here’s Ms. Wikipedia:

Memory is the faculty of the mind by which data or information
is encoded and stored
and retrieved when needed.
It is the retention of information over time
for the purpose of influencing future action.

So—my Grandmother Sonia does live inside me.

~~~
The Memory Project is a celebration of Ysaye Barnwell, singer, songwriter, and founding member of the magical a cappella group, Sweet Honey in the Rock.

Here is the video celebration of Ysaye’s 75 birthday, honoring her lifelong commitment to music that heals individual hearts and creates collective liberation.

~~~

“I thought that you were gone, but now I know you’re with me
You are the voice that whispers all I need to hear
I know a please a thank you and a smile will take me far
I know that I am you and you are me and we are one
I know that who I am is numbered in each grain of sand
I know that I’ve been blessed again, and over again
I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
To see the beauty in the world through my own eyes
I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
To see the beauty in the world through my own eyes”

The final verse.
Full lyrics available here

~~~

Like the picture
Of the Pond,

My grandmother’s love
Is available to me.

Smooth
And
Steady.

Softly
Flowing
With 
Gentle
Protection
And 
Care.

She accompanies me.
She supports me.
She is with me.

I am sure.

Stay blessed,
Aruni

Filed Under: Uncategorized

From Darkness to Light…

04/09/2023 by Aruni

From Darkness to Light…

And Back Again

This blog post is also available on my Facebook page to make sharing it with friends and family easy for you to do.

One-hundred-and-fifteen-years ago, in 1972, I was sitting in a darkened movie theater with P., my supposed-to-be-boyfriend and soon-to-be-husband.

That would be another story.  

The movie was MaCabe and Mrs. Miller.  I adored it then.  I adore it now.

The music.  The music.  The music.

It touched into and through me, surrounding me and softening my defended, frightened heart.  Okay, I was probably stoned.  But nevertheless, this music was like nothing else—it spoke to parts of me I had not yet touched, not yet known

That was the first time I heard the music of Leonard Cohen.

The years passed.  His music was my music.  His angst, mine.  His struggling and searching seemed to be my struggling, my searching.

What parts of me were opened by Leonard Cohen’s music?  The neurotic Jew?  The brazen survivor?  The seeker?  

Even then, all I ever wanted was something beside myself—something bigger, something more reliable, something filled with light.  

Cohen’s music is not exactly filled with light, but certainly, his music is filled with life.  

Time passed.

No shit.  It did.

You Want It Darker, his 14th and final album, came out in October 12, 2016, 17 days before his death.

(Side note: Leonard died November 2016, one day before Donald Trump was elected president. Commendable timing, Leonard.)

I was excited to hear the album, You Want It Darker.

I listened to the title song.  It confused me.  Leonard-like, with so many images and religious implications—I mean, it was the end of the guy’s life, for goodness sakes. 

I listened again.  I put it aside.

I didn’t want life to be darker.

I put it aside for a long time.

I hear it now.

OH.

I hear it now.

Please listen—until the end…

 

~~~

Hineni, here I am.  I am ready.

This is the word that Abraham said when God beckoned him to kill his son, Isaac.

I am here.

Leonard defines it as, I am ready.

I have always defined it to myself as, I am here, the essence of the practice of being present.

I don’t know if I’m ready.  But I’m here, and I believe I will become ready as the situation unfolds.

Like Jesus said to his followers, when asked how to spread the gospel:

Get there and I’ll tell you.

I am here.

I do not think there is a more powerful prayer for me these days.

I am here.

Whatever it is you give me, I will find my way through.

I’ll do my best.
Light,
Dark,
Whatever.
Help me
To be
Here.

And then,
Show me
The way.
~~~

I used to think that the light must block out the dark.

Even in the Sanskrit prayers in the days of the Kripalu ashram, we would request to be taken, “From Darkness to Light.”

The darkness grows.
Perhaps it’s about
Finding the light within
No matter
What is happening.

~~~

Darkness to light.
Back to darkness.

To light,
Again
And
Again.

The fluidity
The
Mobility,
The
Ever-changing
Nature
Of
The 
Universe.

I believe
In the inevitability–
The value–
The preciousness
Of the dark.

I might not like it,
Being a recovering pseudo-hippy.

Yet it is integral,
Essential,
Unescapable
And
Always
Takes
Us
To
More 
Light.

Which then and again,
Subsides into darkness.

The waves—
Light and dark.
Dark and light.
All sacred.
All inevitable.
All coming
To bless us,
And coming
To pass.

Hineni.
I 
am 
here.

As best as I can, I am here.
And then, show me the way.

All blessings,
Aruni

 

To all, may your holidays be filled with grace.
Passover, liberation from bondage, Easter, the ongoing resurrection.
We are blessed, no matter what is happening.

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Sometimes It Just Sucks

04/02/2023 by Aruni

Sometimes It Just Sucks

This blog post is also available on my Facebook page to make sharing it with friends and family easy for you to do.

 

I’m a child of the ‘60’s.  In looking backward, way before, I can see pieces of me emerging, readying me for this moment.

I knew from early-on that life was I wasn’t okay, didn’t belong, that I didn’t feel safe.  The things that separated me from others, my stuttering, my wanting to kiss Leslie (the girl) Garber in the 6th grade, my obsession with  becoming a Royal Canadian Mountie and saving women in distress— were too scary.

They had to be hidden.  

I had to be hidden.

So, I hid.

I got on board the Choo-Choo-Train for Nice Jewish Girls.  I went to college.  I got a teaching degree.  I married a nice Jewish boy.  I did my best to make it look okay.

But I knew it wasn’t.  Not for me.  Not for a lot of people.

Somehow—the suffering of my separation made me acutely aware of other people’s suffering and separation.  Or maybe I just came into this world knowing that.  Maybe I’m one of those.

What to do?

I smoked a lot of pot in college.  Oh, wait, actually for several decades afterward, come to think of it.

I went to the Peace Corps after college, to my parents’ horrified terror.  Much happened—but did it help?  Did it matter?  Did it change things?

I taught in an inner-city high school for 16 years.  Again, much happened—but did it help?  Did it matter?  Did it change anything?

Thanking all lucky stars, I got sober.  And began to investigate myself.  Then, and only then did things begin to change.

Kripalu Center found me.  Taking a few programs over a year or so became a summer stay, which unfolded into a year’s residency.  That was 34 years ago.

I know it matters.  

Choosing to be a part of the solution matters.  

Choosing kindness matters.

Witnessing matters.

And sometimes it sucks.

The world!  Our glorious and beautiful world.  What the f?

Friends, what the f?

The normalizing of the absurdities around us—

The brutalizing of people without access to power—

The danger to children sitting at their desks at school—

The absurdities of this current political moment—

The abuse of people that are different—

Sometimes it sucks-beyond-sucks.

Oh, our collective and individual hearts.

~~~
Maybe it’s not about changing.
Maybe it’s about witnessing.
Being present for.
Watching.

And from that place of presence,
Then
Taking right action.

Letting go of the outcome,
Being present with what is…

Hum.
Sounds
Familiar.

~~~
Maybe it’s about community, our shared humanity.
Maybe it’s about taking care of ourselves and of each other.

Maybe it is individual healing merging into 
Collective liberation.

Maybe.
~~~
I have so much respect for Playing for Change and their Foundation.  I have shared their music videos with you over the years.  Here is some information about them:

Playing For Change is a multimedia music project, featuring musicians and singers from across the globe, co-founded in 2002 by American Grammy award-winning music producer/engineer and award-winning film director Mark Johnson and film producer/philanthropist Whitney Kroenke. Playing For Change also created in 2007 a separate non-profit called the Playing For Change Foundation, which builds music and art schools for children around the world.

Please experience their work through this video—see the communities that have emerged from their work:

Watch Here

~~~
Taking care of ourselves
And of each other.

Individual healing 
Merging into 
Collective 
Liberation.

Our shared humanity.
Our shared humanity.

With gratitude 
For the blessing
Of sharing
Me
With 
You—

Stay blessed,
Aruni

Filed Under: Uncategorized

We Human Forgetters

03/26/2023 by Aruni

We Human Forgetters


View from Kripalu, 3/21

 

This blog post is also available on my Facebook page to make sharing it with friends and family easy for you to do.

It is so easy to forget.
It is so easy to get lost
In all of the stuff that is here,
Calling us,
Seducing us,
Magnetizing us
Into more.

More.

More work.
More fun.
More food.
More stuff.
More—money.
Of course.

It is so easy to forget.
What is truly true.
What is really real.

That we are spirit
Wrapped in bodies.

That our minds
Began as perfect allies
To our hearts.

And can return
To that balance.

That we are all truly one.
One breath.
One spirit.
Divided out
Into 
Zillions
Of shapes and sizes and colors and 
Expressions.

It is so easy to forget.
What is really important.

Kindness
And
Connection.

Maybe that’s it?
Maybe that’s all?
Maybe that’s
Everything…

Kindness
And
Connection.

~~~

What kindness can you offer yourself today?

And from yourself,
What kindness
Can you extend
To
Another?

~~~

To remember: 

To have or be able to bring to one’s mind an awareness—
A keeping in memory that may be effortless or unwilled—
A bringing back to mind what is lost or scattered

What a cosmic joke, folks!

We already know.
We are already home.

We just forget,
Alas,
That pesky human dilemma.

There is nothing new here.
This journey of wholeness
Is
A
Returning
Back,

A remembering
Of
What
Is
Right
There—
All along.

~~~

Here’s a fantastic song for remembering.
From Beautiful Chorus.
Oh.  My.  Goodness.
Perfect.

Please see the lyrics (easier on computer than phone)

This is called Remember:

 

~~~
Dear Friends,

May we honor the forgetting.
May we know
All we need
Is right inside.

When we forget,
May we breathe
With compassion
And kindness.

May our forgetting
Be the doorway home.

With gratitude,
Aruni

 

3/22—What a difference a day can make

~~~

Invitation:

Grief, Loss and Renewal
Savoring Life’s Lessons

Kripalu Center
Lenox, Ma.
Friday-Sunday
March 31-April 2

INFORMATION HERE

  • What have you lost?
  • What do you need to mourn?
  • What can you remember?

Please consider joining us.
And—

Pass it along!!

~~~

 

Filed Under: Uncategorized

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Latest Entries From Aruni’s Blog

  • Dancing Together—Will & Surrender 05/28/2023
  • To Heal 05/21/2023
  • The Perfect Time for Coming Back 05/14/2023
  • “The Nobility of Retreat”* 05/07/2023
  • The Invitation 04/30/2023

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Books

  • Not Over Yet: Simple Strategies to Struggle Less and Savor More
  • Recovering My Voice: A Memoir of Chaos, Spirituality, and Hope
  • Already Home: Stories of a Seeker
  • Life~Works: Meditations for Mindful Living CD

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