Back in Balance

I began this blog last night.  It was going to be something very different.  As I woke up on this warmish, misty Ostara morning, it was as though all the things I was poised to worry about in writing had put themselves in order. Whether coincidental or a function of syncing spirituality with the seasons, I do feel balance on this Equinox.

The making of the new chant CD has happened in about as opposite as fashion as the last one as possible. The kirtans and other spiritual songs on Live Devotion came quickly, jumping into my head as I worked, drove, or sang other songs—anytime, and when least expected.  A few rehearsals, one long day in studio, and it had arrived.  I already knew that what we were affectionately calling “Studio Devotion” would be a more traditional recording experience, but I didn’t think it would be a year in the making.  Given that a lot of the year was pushing past emotional obstacles ad absurdum, I am happy to say that the gestation period for what will officially be called This seems just about over.  I would like to release it well – with some traditional and innovative promotion and viable distribution.  I’m open to suggestion from all quarters on how that may best happen.  In the meantime, it is a wonderful feeling to be just about through with recording and mixing and to feel the emergence of new spiritsong on the first day of spring.

A recent blog by my friend LauraLynn Jansen inspired me to reflect on “What is yogic?” Today, I believe it is the practice of remembering, of coming back to center, and living a life that allows all sorts of activities and interactions to be the instrument of balance.  Music, when I lose myself in it, does this work.  Lately exercise – especially swimming and biking – are just as much music to me, just as much a journey toward Center.  I am undertaking a sprint triathlon training, also inspired by LL.  I keep finding more and more depth in meeting the challenges.  I have considered the workout to be a form of meditation before, but it is new for me to think about fitness as art.  The metaphor of Oneness meets the day-to-day.

April is coming, and that means NaPoWriMo.  It may make me very busy, but springtime is emergence is yoga is staying in the flow of writing.

I am feeling like a fully erotic being again, after too long a hibernation.

November New Year

 I don’t believe in raking leaves.  On Sunday afternoon, the air was just chilly enough to coax me to admit that summer would not, in fact, be back until the wheel of the year turned again.  The leaves on the ground were a worn, welcome home blanket.  The ground is exactly the place they should be beautifying this time of year.  I thought of my friend from Tucson as I noticed the deep, red orange that still hung onto the sassafras and wondered how she would regard the seasonal shift.  I imagined that to someone who is amazed by the water flowing in East Coast rivers, these changes would be directly magical. 

In the Pagan traditions that have come to align with much of my spiritual instinct, Sunday was Samhain, the day that belongs to neither year.  I was preparing for the few people who would gather to celebrate the holiday.  I did my Halloweening the night before as a banana-clad Josephine Baker at Jack & Jenn’s Fright Night Party.  Samhain is a more somber affair, and we gather to honor and release those who have passed away in the year prior.  We listen for wisdom carried on the last of the October wind and whispered into our ears by the ancestors.  We welcome the coming of the new year and the Divine spark we will once again have the opportunity to recognize and embrace.  However literal or figurative a participant’s experience, these moments are meant for quiet reverence and insight.  It feels good to release what needs to go— to redefine, redirect, and get ready for what’s next.  I celebrate a new year whenever I can, though this time of year, it feels most serious. 

 The simple altar was set and thankfully, Vigile was more than happy to start and tend the fire.  That left me more able to finish preparing quinoa vegetable potluck, to relax into a ritual mind space, and to be ready to greet those who would arrive.  At six o’clock, we shifted ourselves into sacred space with a song, the smoke of white sage and the recognition of the four directions to mark our circle.  Over the course of the evening, the energy and love of God/dess was called and honored by Names most dear to each of us: Krishna, Ram, Brigid, Astarte, Jesus.   Everyone had a turn to speak the names and stories of those who had passed through the veil.  I remembered Frank Barnett, kirtan aficionado of Cleveland, a natural force for the drawing together of community.  Though I didn’t know him, I remembered Tyler Clementi and all kids who have died before they were able to grow out from under ridicule to recognize their worth and brilliance. 

We chanted for quite a while, and danced a little.  A young woman I met for the first time at circle asked me how I came to love chanting and to know about the Hindu path.  The question had me wondering: How have I gotten anywhere that I am?  The times of initial impact of all the most important aspects of my life feel like vibrant blurs of information, like sudden, unexpected downloads.  At its most genuine, my writing seeks to unpack and understand the visions, experiences, emotions, and intentional turns of the journey.  I keep trying for genuine.

These autumn days which I once resented on behalf of my beloved summer now find me loving their beauty and metaphor.  I welcome these changes, and the inner work that will follow.  I am ready for a time of gentle and courageous newness.