About 500 years ago, in the early 1990’s, I was a young disciple in the Kripalu ashram.  I felt so spiritually evolved, just a tad-better-than-most-people in my 12 Step meetings, which, thank goodness, I continued to attend.  I was positive that living in an ashram, committing to my spiritual growth with such depth, would shelter me from the crasser, baser things in life, like, to name just a few:

• Money
• Career
• Sex
• Relationship
• Anger
• Feelings
• Etc.

Little did I know that being spiritual might just mean being present—and being present, just might mean, having relationship with some tiny parts of the human equation, like, oh, I don’t know—money, career, sex, relationship, anger, feelings, and etc.

We might name this phase of my life, The Era of Premature Transcendence.

However, beneath my mala beads and my guru scent-essential-oil and my white ashram clothes, my heart beat with wild insecurity.  At the same time as feeling spiritually superior, I was terrified of you—of me—of us. I did not have access to my voice; I had no clue I had feelings.  The articulation of my needs wasn’t yet born, since I was pretty sure being spiritual meant I didn’t have any needs.  

My spiritual transcendence was a shield.

I hadn’t fully landed yet. The Kripalu ashram in the upcoming years would bake me into life, bake me into myself, but more about that down the road, in blogs-yet-to-be-imagined.

It is of a specific celebration that I speak.  We, as a resident community, separate from you guys, our dear guests, (although I wasn’t so sure I liked you all so much yet—that, too, would transform), would have resident-only satsanga, an evening time with the guru (now the ex-guru), with chanting, singing, wild dancing, teaching (my least fav part), all with powerful shakti/energy.  These Thursday nights were precious to me—They were like the best party that I never got invited to. Now, wearing white, I was up front, in the glow of the guru.

This particular night’s celebration was based in a certain holiday.  I was never clear with details. But, in celebration of Whatever the Hindu Blessing Day might have been, I do remember Vandana.  Vandana, in our tradition, is a ritual of coming before the guru in two’s, bowing at his holy lotus feet (yes, I did this), and receiving his blessing.  We only did this a few times a year, hence it was way-special to me.

The best party I was never invited to?  For sure!!

You can see in the picture above my goofy smile, as I look longingly toward Gurudev, who is perfectly shielded by his spiritual armor, the freaky rays of light.  If you look carefully, you can see his knees.

Dancing around, then sitting at his feet, receiving a tap on the back of blessing, dancing wildly some more, goofiness released—I was sweaty and joyous and for a few breaths, I became miraculously freed from my own enslaving self-consciousness.

And in that profound emptiness, that amazing freedom from my own despair, I heard the Voice.  Call it Truth, call it Grace, call it the Unconscious—whatever. I have never written about this ever—although it was a turning point in my life—for fear of sounding too woo-woo.         

A voice deep inside of me (and not mine, for sure!) said to me, as clear as any human voice:

“Your life is going to have a happy ending.”

It stopped me in my tracks.

It continued:

“No matter what happens, your life is going to have a happy ending.”

I knew it’s truth, in that moment.  I dove down into it and cellularly memorized it.  

Time stopped.

And then the drums continued, the fevered dancing heightened, the truth slipped away, as it does, that slippery little devil, Truth.

As I sit here, decades later, considering the last year of loss, blessing and freedom, I can newly appreciate the perfection of that message, the absolutely right-for-me-ness, of that message.

These past months, I have had to live through such depth of terror of being alone, of my life sucking as an old, single woman.

This fear has no cognitive basis, of course.  I am already an old woman, I am already alone, and I am already beyond-fine.  It is a cellular, ancient experience of exile, that I have been feeling and purging.

And back then, in the early 1990’s, Life told me the answer.

My life will have a happy ending.

No matter what happens.

So, I say to you, dear friends, why not lean toward the positive?

Why not dare to rewrite the narratives, the old stories that limit us, that scare us, that make us tiny and constricted?

Why not imagine, no matter what, that we are blessed?

That we are safe?

That we are supported?

I think of the 23 Psalm, one of my go-to’s, such a beacon of positivity.  Here is Bobby McFarrin offering us his version—please take in that promise in the opening lines:

I Shall Not Want.

I Shall Not Want.

There’s a positive direction to lean toward.

And why wouldn’t we?

Dear Friends,

What ancient, limiting narrative to do you wish to lean away from?  What new affirmation can take its place? I’m going for I Shall Not Want.  That speaks to the addictive hungry ghosts whispering inside me; it gives them a shudder.

What about you? 

As Autumn sheds her leaves, as the temperatures drop, as the earth hardens, as the birds quiet down, what do you choose for yourself?

Let’s choose for ourselves.

Let’s live the lives we want.

I say yes to possibility.

Please join me.

Keep me posted.  I am aruni@rnetworx.com

All blessings, 
Aruni

It does seem like this lifetime of mine has had many within it.

No wonder I’m exhausted.

I’m a secular Jew, which to me means, I’m a cellular Jew.  With a limited amount of knowledge, nevertheless the heart that beats within me is a Jewish heart; the eyes I see with are surely Jewish eyes.

Over these last few years I have attended temple from my couch, streaming holiday services from Central Synagogue in NYC.  Being a cyber-participant seems to have washed me clean of old challenges, the crazy mind as it attempted to participate in a group experience without really being part of the group.  Ugh. Thoughts like these interrupt the opening of one’s heart to the spiritual process unfolding:  

• What do I wear?  
• What time do I leave to park, in order to get a seat in the same state as the service?
• Look at that woman.  Do I know her?  
• Who do I sit next to? 

My ancient awkwardness of not knowing much Hebrew, my inevitable impatience at the never-ending service, and so on have been plaguing.

But not now, since I have been given cyber-participation freedom.

Being on The Couch (best seat in the house), attire fluid and self-determined, one can get tea, go to the bathroom as much as one wants without tripping over strangers’ outstretched legs (just the dog’s), take notes, weep voraciously, sing happily and proudly off-key, leave, come back, yes, laundry can be folded (Surely God wouldn’t mind)

Truly I have never felt so much, received so much, learned so much as from my canine-and-human participation in cyber-temple.

And what a time it is, right here and right now.

These are the Days of Awe for us Jews, the ten days between Rosh Hashanah, the New Year (hence, 5780), and Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. 

It is assured us that, through repentance, prayer, and charity, no matter our sins (what a word!) during this past year, we will be rewritten in the Book of Life.

Forgiveness!

You guys, what a deal.  Yet at the same time, the bar is set high.  There is work to do, to set the stage for the return, the recalibration, the realignment with Self, the turning back toward the authentic Self that we are, as well as the turning back to that Great Mystery, greater than all, and finally, the turning back to the Society, the people around me.

Jew or non-Jew, whoever you are, please read on.  

How do we forgive ourselves and others, how do we wipe the slate clean with non-judgment, how do we return, deeper than the story, the narrative we tell ourselves?

How to return?

Teshuvah means repentance, in a wider context, it implies to return, to turn back.

I have had a year, A LIFE-CHANGING YEAR, leaving a long-term marriage, falling in love, watching that dream evaporate before my eyes, finding/creating/building a life of myself and for myself (whether I wanted it or not), perhaps for the first time, at 70.  I thought I was done, that it was time to “retire” from growth.

It has hardly begun.

Suffice to say, I have much to feel, to consider, to ponder, to atone for on this Yom Kippur.

It is time to return to my authentic Self, deeper than all the story, the narrative of this past year.

It is time to return, to turn back to that Great Mystery, my spiritual partner in all this wacky humanness.

It is time to return to a more even keel, with the people around me.

I have some letters to write, some calls to make.  Nothing to force, nothing to make happen, I choose to set the stage, to create the circumstances in which I can walk forward into this New Year, with an open heart, with non-judgment ignited, so that life can continue to draw me forward.

The head rabbi of Central Synagogue is my personal hero, Rabbi Angela Buchdahl.  She is a rock star in my heart, a beacon of compassion, a personal cyber-hero but, oh, so real to me.  Below is a link to her sermon, “Forgiveness is a Prayer” from 3 years ago.  It touches me deeply.  It is twenty minutes long, so, as you can, give yourself pieces of it, or all of it.  She asks incredible questions, offerings soothing answers, guides us all forward toward the process of forgiveness for ourselves and for others, with relevancy and gentle strength.

Please do watch, as you can.

Dear Friends, wishing you and yours, no matter your spiritual or religious leaning, no matter the moment in which you are living, no matter the story, the narrative, of your moment—wishing you and yours a sweet New Year, a rich and ripe returning back to Self, one breath, one moment at a time.

Please keep me posted.  I am aruni@rnetworx.com

All blessings,
Aruni

Clearly, what I say to you all is what I need to hear.

Whether it’s through teaching, writing or coaching, the words I discover coming out of my mouth are exactly the words that I need to hear, to keep moving forward on my pathless path.

How wildly cool is that?

As I offer solace to you, I give it to myself.

As I look with you for the energetic breadcrumbs to move forward, I, too, am guided onward.

Dear friends, we are in it together.

As the I becomes the we, everybody wins.

Everybody heals.

I find myself these days telling anyone who will listen to keep it simple.

Obviously, I need to consider this for myself.

Hum.

What does that even mean, keep it simple?

Within the complexity of my mind’s interpretation of the moment, the great brilliant Aruni-narrative of- the-moment (which is often based in lack), there is a place of great stillness.

Within the swirl of all I think/I know/I am positive I SHOULD BE DOING, there is emptiness.

Within the confusion of the rush of feelings within me, there is silence.

Okay, I understand this.  I can write about this. I can teach about this.  

And yet……

How do we live this?
How do we live into this?
How do we lean toward it?

How do we, within the intensity of the many, many intense moments of our day, gain access to that place of solace, that place that always exists, that place of homecoming?

How do we return home, you guys?

How do we get back?

First and foremost and forever and always, let’s remember the breath.

In its biologic brilliant, breath literally shifts gears metabolically for us, moving us out of the sympathetic nervous system (fight/flight/freeze), through the vagal nervous system, into the place of rest and digest, the parasympathetic nervous system.

The best intervention lives within us.

We just need to remember to breath.

Set your phone.

Find an app.

Every few hours, take a breath-break.

Practice accessing breath. 

Find a prompt.

At every red light, take three deep breaths.

At every subway stop, breath.

Weave that sacred pause into your day, literally prompted by reoccurring externals.

Mini-meditation-moments rock.

Okay!

Second suggestion—find solace.

Practice going to that place that feels so wondrous.

So familiar.

So comfortable.

Whatever takes you there—and the range of possibilities is exquisite—like Rumi said, there are a hundred ways to kiss the earth:

• Cuddle with your cat
• Take a hot bath
• Meditate on the sunrise
• Become one with your morning tea
• Listen to the sound of the wind
• Rest-yes, America, it counts—friggin’ REST.

Do it consistently.  Commit to it. Write yourself in your own schedule.

It counts.

Okay!

And here’s the final suggestion, looking around, looking at your life:

Change it up.

Lighten the load.

Do one less thing today.

One less errand?

One less phone call?

One less task?

Delegate?

After writing this today, I had a little time between clients.  I thought, oh!  I can go for a fast bike ride!  And I felt my excitement building.  As I thought it through, I realized the time crunch that ride would create.

Realizing the cost of that ride, I decided not to go, to simplify, to lean away from my habitual pushing toward busy.

I stopped.

I decided

To sit on the porch,

To feel the sun on my face,

Eating a banana.

It was a major victory.

We expect too much of ourselves.

We think we are super-beings.

Yes, we are wonderful-beings.

Yet, we are overworked, over-involved, over-responsible, and probably over-committed.

Is anybody identifying yet?

Okay!

There!  Three suggestions, like a good coach, STEPS, two internal and one external, to keep it simple today.

And this video.

I have over-thought, over-considered, made-complicated my choice/or not to offer it to you.  Thoughts plagued me.

Is it too commercial?

Do I believe it?

Do I even like it?

Then I remembered the topic—keep it simple, Aruni.

Here is India Arie, with I am Light:

Thanks, Mr. Thoreau, out there at Walden Pond.

 

Hi, Folks, 

How did the video land for you?  What phrase did you relate to the most?  
How might you simplify, lighten your day today?  Just for today?
What about you?  How are you, as autumn lands softly around us?

Please do keep I touch—always!  I am aruni@rnetworx.com.

To the moment,
With grace and ease,
Aruni