How would you rate yourself on a scale-of-busy, from 1-10, 10 being the most plugged-in-busy-busy that one person might be?  

How would you rate yourself on a scale-of-doing, from 1-10, 10 being the most plugged-in-doing-doing, that one person might do?         

How many of us are in those double digits?  I bet, plenty.

I certainly am.

I am the Queen of Busy, the Empress of Doing.

In attempting to work less this year, I have worked so hard.

I have worked so hard at working less.

Going to the grocery store with myself on a “day off” can easily become a bit of a senior-citizen nightmare, with hyper-intensity and uber-focus.  

I work at shopping.

I work at driving.

I push and go….somewhere else…..to do something else.

Do you identify, folks out there in the Land of Blog?

We do live the Land of the Human Dilemma.  

Here’s a story—

In the ancient days of the Kripalu ashram, perhaps in the early 1990’s, of all the most illogical job placements, I was running the Kripalu Kitchen.  I am—not a cook, I hardly manage my Kitchen for One and get real food into my mouth, yet alone to understand, strategize and operate the magic Kripalu kingdom of food services, the ordering, buying, preparing, presenting and cleaning up of food for hundreds of people, day after day.

There was a subtle, non-spoken seva/selfless service policy operating in those mid-ashram days; if you were skilled in one area, you were put into another one, for the growth and evolution of your soul.  Cooks might be found in the editorial department, while writers might be found running a massive food service department, for example.

Perhaps it worked well for our souls, not so well for the business model.

It was a time of great disconnection from my body.  I struggled hard to make it through each day, feigning an attitude of spiritual nonchalant, like a holier-than-thou-I-got-this.

I did not got it.

In the midst of my short tenure as director of food services, we had a visiting teacher, as it often happened.  Kripalu was part of a spiritual circuit and our guru, Amrit Desai’s monk and swami buddies would come, teach and hang out.

This teacher’s name was Rishi Prabakar, a short, intense, passionate Indian man.  Teacher, guru, and Indian master, he was quite the character; he wanted our 450 ashram members to experiment with raw food, which was His Thing.

Trying to implement this into the Kripalu kitchen flow, rather than cooking from the consistent rotation menu, was, at best, chaotic.  I spent most of my time during Rishi Prabakar’s teaching week either in my office worrying (most helpful) or in the kitchen interacting with other people, who were also worrying (doubly not helpful).

When I did finally stagger into the Main Chapel to hear Rishi speak, sitting in a back-jack way at the back of the Chapel, attempting to land in that moment, his message landed with a THUNK in my chest.  I hear him distinctly say:

There is nothing to do and nowhere to go!

That was his message.  

What?

Damn, I thought, I have much to do and many places to go, to pull off this week.

And pull it off I did, of course, because that’s who I am.  I muddled through, most of that time now a blur, Rishi’s words lingered annoyingly, circling around me.

There is nothing to do and nowhere to go.

Rishi has stayed with me.  His words have continued to fascinate me.

I understand the concept—great concept!  From presence, from right here, from right now, take action.  Start always from that place of stillness and presence.

I know he’s on to something—I know and can hear the truth in his words.

And then there is life.

Here is Rishi Prabakar, teaching about non-doing and Grace:

In any moment we can choose to turn to Grace—we can empty ourselves and immediately receive Her.  There is no distance to travel. There is no technique to master. It requires only saying yes completely to our experience of that moment.  There is nothing else to do. There is no knowledge, no special learning required. No amount of doing will take us there. In fact, it only happens when we stop doing.  Stop trying. Not effort, but only courage is required to take the leap into the unknown. For indeed, it is in the vast spaciousness of the unknown that we most often meet Grace.

Right?  Makes sense, and yet, what a practice.  What a challenge, what a practice.

Mary Oliver, who, in her own way, certainly is a guru, says it so simply:

Sometimes I need
Only to stand
Wherever I am
To be blessed

As I sat with this teaching all this week, with apathetic procrastination around writing, I found myself humming a song with a similar message.  This song came to me and I want to share it. Here are Simon and Garfunkle, from their 1981 concert in Central Park, NYC:

Slow down, you’re moving too fast,
You got to make the morning last
Just kicking down the cobblestones
Looking for fun and feeling groovy

Dear Friends,

As the holiday season speeds up the pace of life, what are you going to do to make the morning last?  How will you look for fun? Feeling groovy? What might that look like in your world?

Please do keep in touch.  I am aruni@rnetworx.com.

Blessings for a Thanksgiving of ease and grace,

To you and yours,
Aruni

*From the Broadway show, Oliver

When I was young, I wanted to be a cowboy.  A solitary life on the range, with a can of beans, my guitar and my trusty horse seemed just right.

I did briefly consider becoming a Royal Canadian Mountie.  The uniform did it for me, that stunning red jacket, so spiffy, so fitted.  Surely, I would rescue all the maidens in distress and live happily ever after.

Fantasy was my first addiction.

I played alone.  I was alone even in my fantasies, but for the women I rescued.  Always the quiet, tender hero, I forever and silently saved the day for that one beautiful woman.

Exile was the oxygen of my childhood.  

In its silence, I became a shy hero, the quiet butch.

I knew I was cast away, driven out of the normative, different than and cast out from Everybody Else.

The obstacles/opportunities that life gave me as a child, the double/whammy/blessings of having a speech impediment and wanting to kiss girls moved me to the side of things, the observer, the lost child, the lonely little girl with a wild imagination.

I have talked about her, this lonely child.  I have written books about her, taught about her, run from her, forgiven her, welcomed her back into my arms, created programs based on her insights, run from her again, adored her, feared her, and spent decades in therapy learning how to love her.

Now is a new moment.

Now I get to live more deeply with that little girl who wants to be on the range, guitar and horse, alone.   

Now without spouse, without girlfriend, without old community, tentative in newer friendships, I have a new roommate.

That little girl has moved in with me.

Somehow, the circumstances of my life, as I slide toward my 71st birthday, have loosened up this little child and plopped her, with all her ambivalence and fears and adorableness, right into my lap.

She’s shy and quiet and anxious. 

That’s okay with me.

She wants to be with people but is afraid nobody likes her.

That’s okay with me.

She needs to play and have fun but isn’t sure she knows how.

That’s okay with me.

She wants people to see her but not really; she wants people to love her, but maybe not.

That’s okay we me.

I can be with her.

I choose to be with her.

I will abide her feelings.

I choose to allow her to be just as she is.

This is what I want to say to her, to Little Nan, that Little Me in the photo:

Honey, I see you.

I see you and I love you

Just as you are.

I will stay with you,

No matter what you are feeling,

No matter what is happening,

I choose to love and accept You

Just as you are.

Move right on in.

There is plenty of room here.

Let’s wrap up in blankies

And warm socks

And soft, funny hats.

Let’s keep ourselves

Warm and together

And ride the waves

Of winter

In each other’s arms.

I got you.

I am you.

You got me.

You are me.

I am

We are

Right 

Here.

Nothing

Need

Be

Different.

You’ve got

A friend.

Here’s a song I’ve been listening to, that’s been bringing me comfort this week.  James Taylor, our Berkshire neighbor and the indomitable, the lovely, that lovely older Jewish woman, Carole King.  I can say that because I am an older Jewish woman.

Please join them both, and me.

You’ve Got A Friend, 2015 style.

Dear Folks,

Is there a part of you that you run from?  I bet you STUFF, Money and Stuff, that life will create the circumstances for a reunion to occur, a homecoming between you and this exiled part of yourself.

Life’s job is to continue to support us in becoming whole.

I am committed, COMMITTED to walking into the winter with Little Nan, with her terror of being alone, with her overwhelming shyness.  I will live into that, as best I can, because I believe, with every cell in my body, in this process of wholeness.  

And telling you totally and fully supports that healing.

What would you want to say to that Little Child inside of you, that part of yourself you might still run from?  

What are you noticing?  How did this blog land for you?  Do let me know. I am so delighted to hear your voices.  I am aruni@rnetworx.com

With great gratitude to us, all—
From Aruni

I am in relationship with someone, with something, that is a huge part of my life.  We wake up together; we go to sleep together. We talk on the phone together. We access data together.  We decide on what movies to attend and the times of performances. She is brilliant, all-knowing, and I have the deep feeling that she does not like me.

I speak of My Siri, my voice recognition assistant, who is always present, except when she isn’t, who is always ready, except when she is “having difficulty.”

I speak of My Siri, that calm, female, somewhat snotty voice that guides me through the complexities of my life.

It must be said—and if you know me, you know this to be true—that I am practically, but not quite, a techno-phobe.  I don’t get It, any Of It. And more importantly, I don’t want to get it. I don’t care how it works or what it is.

Truly, I don’t want to know.

Have you ever had a tech assistant who wanted to teach you how?  

I did.

No, I don’t want to know how.  

I want you to do it.

Ah, the gift of the twelve-year old.  My niece’s son, age 12, effortlessly put Waze on my phone, changing forever the quality of my life, and, in another blink of the eye, managed to transfer a download of a wonderful guided meditation onto my phone.

In a blink of an eye.

I don’t want to know how.

So I fully own it; this is the attitude I bring into relationship with My Siri, my lifelong, lifetime assistant in living.

I am suspicious, untrusting, and fully in the dark about how she functions.

Recently, Siri has been saying some strange things to me, comments that make me question her commitment to me vs. her dedication to her own autonomy.  

Like all relationships, is her very personality (Does she in fact, have a personality?) karma-bound with mine?  Is she here to push my specific buttons, as the people in my life are, for my growth and evolution?

Do I sound paranoid?

Let me unravel the interpersonal (inter-species?) interactions we have had:

When asking a simple question a few weeks ago, about the sender of a text, I heard her oh, so familiar voice speaking something that sent a chill up my spine:

Me: Siri, who sent that text?
Siri: Something is wrong…….

Something is wrong!!

This is my core-family-of-origin narrative, the very essence of my childhood terror.  Something terrible is going to happen.

And here I am, standing in my kitchen safely wrapped in my blue bathrobe, hearing those words.

Something is wrong!!  After a few breaths of disbelief:

Me: Siri, what’s wrong?
Siri: Something is wrong…..

No data, no details—just ancient history, come to roost.

How did she know that?

Over the past few weeks, she repeated it a few times, each time sending more shivers up my spine.  

Hence, I began a campaign, to investigate this Siri of Mine, to attempt to determine her character, her attitudes.  I thought of some out-of-the-box questions to ask her. Here are some snatches of our conversations: