December 2014 - A $2 Cushion

A $2 Orange Pillow   

It's almost impossible to get through December without thinking about the holidays and gift giving.  But how many people remember what they got for Christmas last year, or Christmas a few years ago?  It's not that the gift had to be memorable.  Instead, maybe it's because gift giving has become like eating - just something one does.  I was like that myself, until one day in India when I realized, trite as it may sound, gift giving was more about what I was receiving.

I went to India on a three-week pilgrimage with a spiritual group intent on meditating in holy sites, visiting temples, and doing what we could in the slums of India. It's a country of two billion people that assaults the senses on every level. The cultural adjustment is immediate.  Upon arrival, the sights, smells, sounds, pollution, heat and humidity are overwhelming, yet there's a noticeable current of serenity amid the noises of traffic, the endless horn blowing, and the people and cows walking the overcrowded streets. 

 

India is also a land of contrasts with designer stores on paved foundations flanked by small shops on dirt pathways selling inventories of single items like thread or tin pots.  Our boutique hotel, complete with a uniformed doorman, shared a lane with squatters living in the dirt under rotted tarps supported by tree branches.  Some of the dwellers lived in the shells of rusted out cars.  A few shared a patchwork hut of corrugated cardboard with a galvanized awning that was considered a luxury.  These living conditions, prevalent in the country, defy comprehension.

Because we sat on the floor of the temple during meditations several of us needed to buy a cushion.  Our hotel driver Salim took us to a local seller because he felt the designer stores would be horribly overpriced.  He was right.  We bought four cushions for $8 whereas the cushions would have cost $25 each in the designer stores.  It was then we learned from Salim that a good wage in Delhi was $20 a month.

 

Before leaving Delhi for northern India we had to lighten our luggage so I wanted to give the cushion away.  I'd seen the woman who lived in the dirt under the tarps.  Every day she cut fresh tree branches to support her decaying roof.  I'd walked past her dwelling several times, noticing only a small candle for light in the dingy interior.

Not knowing what protocol to follow I went down the lane to give her the cushion.  I was stopped by the uniformed door man who did not speak English but clearly did not want me to walk down the lane.  Our pantomime of flailing gestures summoned an elderly man who came out of the dwelling to see what was happening.  He spoke English so translated for the doorman what I wanted to do.

 

All of a sudden the doorman began to tear up as he moaned in Hindi.  He put his hand over his heart and kept shaking his head.  The old man translated for me what was happening.  It seems the woman I'd seen cutting the tree branches was his wife.  This job he held was the sole support of an extended family living under the tarps and cardboard.  He too lived under the tarps, appearing at the hotel daily to shower and put on the hotel-provided uniform.  He was crying because no one had simply given something to him or his wife before and he was overcome with emotion.  The old man who I learned later was his father, put his arm around the uniformed man's shoulder and both of them cried as they hugged the orange cushion.

 

In that single moment I understood the impact of what he said and tears welled up in my eyes as well.  This was India, where people living in the dirt under tarps could never afford a $2 orange cushion.  This was India, where a $2 orange cushion that I could have easily tossed away, had caused a grown man and his father to cry with gratitude.  This was India, where upon my return to Delhi, walking past the dwelling one night, I saw a $2 orange cushion glowing in the candlelight of the otherwise colorless interior.

This was the gift of a $2 orange cushion.  But the gift was in receiving the unheard of gratitude and heart-felt smiles from street dwellers who saw the cushion as a beacon that someone cared.  The gift kindled a visceral appreciation for the bounty we have in this country and often take for granted.  The $2 orange cushion memory stays with me every day, but it's especially magnified during the Christmas gift-giving season.   

Jo Mooy - December 2014  

   

Calling Mother

Calling Mother
 

"Mama!"  It's the first word a child says.  And, it doesn't matter what country the child is in.  For the baby-babble term for mother is the same in China, Poland, Africa, Peru, Russia or the US. When a baby wants something it cries out for Mama.  When it's anxious it sounds Mama.  When it's happy it beams Mama.  For the child, Mama is the center of its world.

On a recent foray to the grocery store I was watching a year old baby interact with its mother.  The baby was content to chew on a toy, but every so often she looked up to insure that connection with her mom was still there, by saying, "Mama!"  Each time, her smiling mom bent down to the child replying, "Yes, Emma" which elicited a giggle from the baby.

It was a simple interaction, but one that caught my attention.  What was this gentle checking in with mom?  What memories or needs were being activated in the baby?  And why was the mother being summoned and not others around the baby? I recalled the teaching of a Sufi mystic.  He said look beyond what was appearing and you would find what was actually transpiring.  So I did.

What was appearing?  A baby was periodically calling to its mother who was answering it.  But what was transpiring?  It was trust.  The mother was the source of the baby's well-being.  The mother was the individual with whom the baby identified, called it "Mama" and she trusted that Mama would hear and tend to her needs. But something else was transpiring.  The baby's connection with the mother was a metaphor of humanity's connection with source.   

Somewhere between childhood and becoming an adult many have forgotten how to Trust in the Mother Source.  They've also forgotten how to contact it.  Sadly, when we most need it, they've forgotten how to contact Her.  This disconnection is especially true given the nightly news barrage of misery around the world.  On an evening walk my neighbor commented that everything she saw on the news was so upsetting it was making her sick to watch it. I asked her if she could do anything about what she saw on TV.  She didn't think so.  I suggested she pray for everything to work out.  She thought about it and said, "I forgot I could do that."  

There is great healing in Trusting. It's an emotion that causes us to believe things will work out and get better.  It empowers us, helping us to feel safe no matter what we're experiencing in life.  Trust teaches us that it's going to be better in the morning.  So when we see these horrific things on TV that inscribe fear or pain in our hearts, we can Trust in the Divine Mother's care.

The great Bodhisattva Quan Yin, Mother of Compassion, gave up nirvana until all her children were saved.  She is the ultimate "Mother of the Universe" or "Mama" that we can call and who promised to hear our cries.  This Great Mother said no matter the trial or tribulation, if her children called her she would take the form needed and come to their aid.  And so the stories of her help are documented all over the world.

So when you're watching the nightly news, or see something that distresses you on TV or Facebook, or anywhere you go, think about "Calling Mother."  She said she would hear every cry.  You can Trust that promise and for that matter, Trust that everything will work out.  For as we look at what is appearing, something much greater is transpiring.  Behind it all, the Divine Mother is working her promise.  It may take a tad longer than we think it should, but Mama hears our prayers!

Jo Mooy - November 2014

 

 

Coming Around Again - The Lobster

Coming Around Again
The Lobster Story  

 

Over 40 years ago I picked up one of those magazines you'd never subscribe to, nor read, other than to pass the time waiting in a doctor's office.  It was filled with the types of articles that I assumed home-makers might enjoy.  But while flipping through the pages I saw a short article called The Risk of Growing by Eda LeShan that captivated me.

The author was celebrating her 59th birthday by reflecting on the years gone by.  She used each birthday to remind herself not to waste a minute of her life and to keep growing and changing.  While writing a book she'd met an oceanographer who told her the story of how a lobster was able to grow larger though its shell was so hard.  He explained that the lobster had to shed its shell at regular intervals.  When its body became cramped inside the shell the lobster looked for a reasonably safe place to hide while the hard shell came off.  While in the shedding process, the lobster was very vulnerable.  The soft underlying membrane could be crushed by wave motion on the coral reefs, or it could be eaten by larger predators.  It took a while for the membrane to harden into a new shell.  But the lobster had to risk its life in order to grow.

The story of the lobster hit a deep chord in me as I too was going through a major change in my life and felt vulnerable to the "what-ifs" in front of me.  I cut out the article and stuck it on the bulletin board in my office where it remained for many years.  I referred to it often, using the lobster's story as guidance when changes in my life seemed insurmountable.  I knew I had to tough it out - whatever it was - so I could grow and change.

One day a friend, (let's call her Susie) came to my office telling me about the serious changes happening in her life.  She was stuck in a relationship, filled with anxiety on how to move on but looking for answers.  I made a copy of the Risk of Growing while telling her the story of the lobster.  I didn't know at the time what an impact the lobster would have.  It caused her to leave the safety of a marriage, though it was not working, and strike out on her own.

I had not seen Susie in probably 25 years.  But our paths crossed recently at a weekend gathering of old friends.  One morning at breakfast we were talking about the old days and how our lives had changed since we met.  We reminisced about a world gone mad; how possessions once valued no longer served us; about life's ups and downs; and disappointments with goals and ideals gone dormant over the years.  One of the friends expressed her frustrations and sadness with her current relationship and struggled with how to change it.  She wondered how she could reclaim the power and independence she once had without causing irreparable loss with her husband.

Susie told the story of the lobster's need to grow.  I was stunned that she knew the story.  But she reminded me that I'd given her a copy of it at least 25 years ago. She said, "Oh the lobster story has been with me since you gave it to me.  I've relocated many times, changed wallets over the years, but I always kept it.  Here, I'll show you."  She opened her wallet, moving aside photos of her husband and grandchildren and produced the now creased and aged clipping dated 1972.  

She read the story of the lobster to the group, using the analogy of releasing the too tight shell that was cramping the intuitive growth needed by our friend.  She explained how our interaction so many years ago had caused her to shed ingrown inhibitions and move forward with freedom into a magnificent new life.  She said if she had not exposed her vulnerabilities and taken the risk she would have stayed and by staying, "died" in the relationship.

Life's circumstances cause us to grow and change whether we like it or not.  We all know when the shell becomes too tight and uncomfortable.  We become fearful, irritable and depressed.  Some may stick it out confined by the shell and suffocating the very life inside.  The brave ones leave the safety of the shell, venture out into the unknown, and trust they'll not get swamped as the new shell emerges.  Surrendering to that vulnerability and trusting in the process is the ultimate lesson of survival.

Eda LeShan shed her physical bindings in 2002 journeying into spirit.  But her story of the lobster continues to teach and inspire forty-two years after it was published in Women's Wear Daily.  

Jo Mooy - October 2014

Calling Mother

Calling Mother
 

"Mama!"  It's the first word a child says.  And, it doesn't matter what country the child is in.  For the baby-babble term for mother is the same in China, Poland, Africa, Peru, Russia or the US. When a baby wants something it cries out for Mama.  When it's anxious it sounds Mama.  When it's happy it beams Mama.  For the child, Mama is the center of its world.

On a recent foray to the grocery store I was watching a year old baby interact with its mother.  The baby was content to chew on a toy, but every so often she looked up to insure that connection with her mom was still there, by saying, "Mama!"  Each time, her smiling mom bent down to the child replying, "Yes, Emma" which elicited a giggle from the baby.

It was a simple interaction, but one that caught my attention.  What was this gentle checking in with mom?  What memories or needs were being activated in the baby?  And why was the mother being summoned and not others around the baby? I recalled the teaching of a Sufi mystic.  He said look beyond what was appearing and you would find what was actually transpiring.  So I did.

What was appearing?  A baby was periodically calling to its mother who was answering it.  But what was transpiring?  It was trust.  The mother was the source of the baby's well-being.  The mother was the individual with whom the baby identified, called it "Mama" and she trusted that Mama would hear and tend to her needs. But something else was transpiring.  The baby's connection with the mother was a metaphor of humanity's connection with source.   

Somewhere between childhood and becoming an adult many have forgotten how to Trust in the Mother Source.  They've also forgotten how to contact it.  Sadly, when we most need it, they've forgotten how to contact Her.  This disconnection is especially true given the nightly news barrage of misery around the world.  On an evening walk my neighbor commented that everything she saw on the news was so upsetting it was making her sick to watch it. I asked her if she could do anything about what she saw on TV.  She didn't think so.  I suggested she pray for everything to work out.  She thought about it and said, "I forgot I could do that."

There is great healing in Trusting. It's an emotion that causes us to believe things will work out and get better.  It empowers us, helping us to feel safe no matter what we're experiencing in life.  Trust teaches us that it's going to be better in the morning.  So when we see these horrific things on TV that inscribe fear or pain in our hearts, we can Trust in the Divine Mother's care.

The great Bodhisattva Quan Yin, Mother of Compassion, gave up nirvana until all her children were saved.  She is the ultimate "Mother of the Universe" or "Mama" that we can call and who promised to hear our cries.  This Great Mother said no matter the trial or tribulation, if her children called her she would take the form needed and come to their aid.  And so the stories of her help are documented all over the world.

So when you're watching the nightly news, or see something that distresses you on TV or Facebook, or anywhere you go, think about "Calling Mother."  She said she would hear every cry.  You can Trust that promise and for that matter, Trust that everything will work out.  For as we look at what is appearing, something much greater is transpiring.  Behind it all, the Divine Mother is working her promise.  It may take a tad longer than we think it should, but Mama hears our prayers!

Jo Mooy - November 2014 

The Elders Speak

The Elders Speak

Elders are everywhere and their numbers are growing worldwide. You see them on the streets, waiting for buses, in stores and banks. All of them were born in the 1900's. They witnessed horrific wars and the evil one human can inflict upon another in the name of religion, nation, or culture. Yet, they persevered and in many cases, thrived. Surely they have something to say - perhaps some words of wisdom about their longevity, what they'd experienced in life, or advice to the younger generations of the 21st century.

Because my travels took me to various places this year, I asked the Elders I met on these trips the same two questions. What's the most important thing you learned in your lifetime? What's the one message you would leave for your grandchildren? Sensing that these were important questions and should be answered properly, all of them took time to think before answering.Their answers were unique, varied and compelling. These Elders stood out not just in their comments but in their attitudes about life. The oldest was 99, the youngest 78.

Buddy, a Korean war veteran walks the beach at dawn most weekends. His metal detector which looks like an extension of his arm distinguishes a unique tone when gold or silver is discovered under the sands. With headphones tuned to the sounds, he shared stories of his many finds. His answers to my questions were short and concise. In answer to the first his eyes got a faraway look. Then he said, "Too many guys died in Korea." In answer to the second: "Wars change nothing. We don't belong there!" Realizing that the scars of that war still held Buddy, evidenced by the Korean War Vet baseball cap he wore, I changed the subject and asked him what he thought about when he walked the beach. He said, "Nothing. My mind is calm and clear." And then he went on down the beach listening for the high pitched hum of gold.   

Gladys, the oldest at 99 and last of several siblings grew up in the mountains of Tennessee. She's hard of hearing now but every day she exercises her swollen legs and ankles by pushing her tennis-ball covered walker around the block. If you say "Good morning, Gladys" she responds, "I'm fine." If you ask her "What time is it" she responds "I'm fine." So her answers, simpler than Buddy's, were surprising and humorous. She said of the first question, "Get your hair done every week." And of the second, "Gotta keep moving." She does.

   

Bob, in his mid-eighties, was in great shape. Walking briskly across a trail in southern Utah he was delighted to engage in conversation. He talked about his Mormon faith and of the blessings and bounty it had brought to him and his wife. He proudly revealed he had eight children, forty grandchildren, and twelve great-grandchildren. I said, "Bob, I'd like to ask you a question or two." Before I could actually phrase the questions he answered with such confidence that I knew he'd given it thought long before our conversation. He said, "Three things. Be charitable. Always have a good attitude. And last, believe in something greater than yourself." Then he repeated, "Don't forget charity. It all starts there and that's due to God's blessings."   

Betty is the 90 year old last surviving Elder matriarch of four generations. Her blue eyes sparkle when she tells stories, some of which are punctuated with an infectious laugh. She does the daily newspaper crossword, her record to completion, mid-morning. "Keeps the mind sharp" she tells me. The greatest thing in her life was her three children, though she grew sad recounting the story of her stillborn first son. I asked her if she believed in the afterlife. She said a few months after her husband died she saw him sitting in his chair. He called out her name. I repeated the question about the afterlife, but she only replied, "I don't know." When I switched

to the last question, what message would you leave for your grandchildren, she got very serious so I expected something profound. Instead, she put her head back into the sun's rays and said, "Laugh often - even if you have to laugh at yourself." Then she bubbled in laughter.   

A Buddhist loving kindness mantra goes like this: May all beings be well. May all beings be happy. May all beings find peace. The simple messages of the Elders to future generations incorporates all those attributes. And, they could be made a part of any spiritual practice. Be well by getting your hair done (Gladys) and having a good attitude (Bob.) Be happy by doing something enjoyable (Buddy's treasure hunting on the beach) and laughing (Betty.)  

And last, finding peace. Each of these Elders had a message for that. Bob said believe in a higher power and give to charity. Betty said she didn't know when asked about the afterlife though I could tell she thought of it often. Buddy said we should avoid war. And Gladys summed it up well by saying we should keep moving. For movement is the sound of lives being lived in happiness, wellness and peace! 

 

Jo Mooy - September 2014    

The Matriarch's Stories - Utah

They are immense in size, ponderous in their various shapes, mute to human ears, yet clearly audible to anyone stopping long enough to listen to their stories. They stand as guardians and sentinels looking out across hundreds of miles of landscape. Some are massive with gray colors, their faces shrouded in shadows. Others are thin elongated spires, dancing across the terrain like wild Dakinis. "They" are the towering matriarchal stones that tell unabridged stories of how they came into being, born more than 525 million years ago in earth time.  

There are many ways to trek through Arizona and Utah's National Parks. You can go by tour bus or by car - stopping at scenic overlooks. Or, you can hike the trails that lead you off the beaten path. Hiking takes you into the realms where the Matriarchs live undisturbed. Away from the constant drone of chattering tourists the silent dowagers speak. Three protectors stood watch, staring out over a vast curtain of limestone shaped like a pipe organ. The official park brochures called them "The Three Gossips" a designation demeaning to the elegant bearing of these towering shapes where one was crowned with an Egyptian headdress and another looked like a Mayan priestess. Others, surrounding the Three Matriarchs, looked like grandmothers lounging in conversation.  

In the cathedrals where they stood, these story-tellers held us enthralled. They possessed a consciousness of stability, of foundation, and of solidity, waiting for humans to arrive on the planet to appreciate their old stories. Climbing atop a large outcropping we sat with the grandmothers for quite some time. We listened as they told us of the winds which howled through the canyons eroding their ancestors and creating soil. They pointed out the remnants of waterways that had carved their shapes over geological time turning them into vivid shades of reds, ochres and oranges. Eons of lightning strikes had shattered or blackened some of the Matriarchs, allowing the space for the arrival of the plant kingdom. Flowering plants clung to small ledges, flourishing in the rocky arms of these mother stones. And still The Matriarchs stood, carefully watching over the earth.   

The Matriarchs, left behind after the oceans that covered the land evaporated, told us the creation story. We sat on a petrified dome that once was an ancient sea bed, listening as the shrieking winds blew cold air across us. The Sentinels said they were the earth - the foundation and container of all land. They witnessed the days of Genesis when the land was water and the light came and sky was formed. Though they were solid and immobile, they watched and patiently waited as plants grew in their dust, creating food for the animals and humans that would some day live on the land.  

Millions of years went by in the time all this happened. Over the eons, they saw their towering ancestors become rolling hills and valleys covered with grains and grasses. They knew that the similar monstrous stones of Zion would some day have the same fate. But between the heights of the Zion stones and the valleys of the reservations, they would become the lacy spires and arches of Bryce that draw humans from all over the world to appreciate them.  

As we sat on the slickrock the evidence of the continuity of life was all around us. Even though epochs had come and gone, still there was life. No matter how much the elements had altered the landscape, life continued. When flooding waters receded leaving only dry sand dunes, life emerged again. No matter how harsh the circumstances, a flowering plant lived. And amid all the grandeur of nature and creation, a magnificent spirit was present.

As the Matriarchs' Story came to an end, they asked one question, "What will humans do?" The question was not unexpected, for indeed, what will humans do? The teachings of the mystics of the far east tell us to study and learn from nature in order to understand our spiritual being. The message in every mystical text is clear: To know God go to nature. The Matriarchs of Bryce, Zion, Canyonlands and Arches also know this and teach it to anyone willing to spend time with them.   

Our parks are a national treasure with each one telling a unique story. If humans care to listen. Politicians with foresight created them. Now, it's in our hands to continue a legacy of protection for generations to come. Or through complacency and ignorance destroy the story of creation. But assuredly, not if the Grandmothers of Mother Earth have anything to say about it! For the spirit of all life lives through the stones and after 14 billion years, they will prevail.

Jo Mooy - August 2014 

Ice-Cream Jane

After a lazy three hour drive Patricia and I arrived in Mount Dora, a small lakefront "destination" town about thirty miles northwest of Orlando. We'd been hearing about Mount Dora for a few years. Friends described it as "Victorian, quaint, artsy, antiques and charming." So, with our seminars and retreats completed for the season, we took an overnight trip to the area arriving in time for lunch at a scenic restaurant overlooking Lake Dora, the town's claim to fame.

This journal is not about the "Victorian, quaint, artsy, antique" sights of Mount Dora which we found trite. But in order to set the stage for Ice Cream Jane, the town should be portrayed. It's a tourist town filled with endless rows of gift shops displaying kitschy items. The only shop that enticed us to enter was the Used Book Store. The single Victorian building we found was the Masonic Lodge which unfortunately was closed. It might have been interesting to tour it.

After walking the few streets in the humid hot afternoon, we felt we'd made a big mistake coming to Mount Dora. What were we missing about this town? Especially as so many rated it very highly. So, we went looking for an ice cream store to ponder the question. There were only two seats next to an elderly woman who sized us up, decided we were OK, and patted to the two seats.

The Ice Cream Shop Mt Dora

It's hot out there we remarked sitting down, though the heat was not bothering her with an over-sized dish of ice cream in front of her and an umbrella imprinted with miniature hot-air-balloons hanging on her chair. She looked like a "local" so we asked her "What do you do here?" Momentarily perplexed by the question, she replied with a laugh, "I live here!" as though that explained everything. She was beautiful with an engaging but serene presence. Her snow-white hair pulled back in a bun framed her sparkling blue eyes. With nothing calling us outside the ice cream shop and by silent agreement, we let the conversation evolve. It soon became clear why we'd come to Mount Dora. It was to meet Ice Cream Jane.

Not knowing her age I addressed her as Miss Jane. She was a triplet, born in Pennsylvania, to parents with nine children. She was an identical twin with JoAnne while Judy was a fraternal sister. She told us the story of meeting her husband who was an only child. She found that amusing and odd that he was an only child yet married into such a large family. Everything she told us was punctuated with a follow up comment like "Don't you think so?" or "Have you ever heard anything like that?" enchanting and thus engaging her audience further.

She was a school teacher fifty years ago but had to quit teaching because of

Miss Jane

"those kids in the sixties." We told her we were "those kids" but she waved that comment aside with a merry laugh. Instead, she told us she'd gotten a degree in nursing and switched careers. She told us proudly about her successful children - lawyers and teachers. She came to Mount Dora five years ago after her husband of 59 years died. And in Mount Dora she knew every shop owner and restaurant owner along with the history of the town.

Before ending any part of her story, she inquired about our lives. Her questions always related in some way to her own story. I began to notice synchronicities between some of her life events and ours. She did too, commenting on it frequently. I asked her, "Miss Jane, do you believe in synchronicity?" Without missing a beat she said, "Sometimes, but not all things are synchronous." Pursuing the opening I asked her to explain. She said "Some things just happen; some things get put in your path; some things you have to figure out; some things are a sign." Warming to the topic the old sage said, "You'll know!"

Soon it was time for us to leave. But I wanted to ask her one more question. "What life lesson would you leave for your grand-children or great-grandchildren." She grew quiet for a moment and then said, "Be kind. Be kind."

We fully expected to say goodbye at the door of the ice-cream shop. But Miss Jane wanted to accompany us to our car which was several blocks away. She opened the umbrella up over her head and began to walk with us, telling us more stories about her life. When we reached the car she saw the Namaste bumper sticker and inquired about it. When I explained that it meant, "the Divine in me honors the Divine in you!" and how the people in India greet one another with a hand over the heart, a slight bow of the head, and the word "Namaste" she cooed in delight. "I love that," she said over and over.

Standing by our car, I bowed to Miss Jane, put my hand over my heart, and said, "Namaste." Tears welled up in both of our eyes. She took our hands in hers and said, "Today has been my favorite day of all time. I'm glad you came into my life today." It was hard to keep the tears back.

As we drove away, we saw Miss Jane, twirling her hot-air-balloon umbrella over her head as she walked towards the lake. We knew Miss Jane was why we'd come to Mount Dora and Miss Jane might be why you would consider a trip to Mount Dora. For a sage walks those streets under a hot-air-balloon umbrella.     

Jo Mooy - July 2014    

Enlightened Beings

Enlightened Beings  

Recently, I was asked to participate in a study called "What Is An Enlightened Being?" As I reviewed the questions in the study I realized how much my opinions  on the topic have changed. Thirty years ago, without hesitation, I would have answered that an enlightened being is a Bodhisattva, one who has reached the ultimate state of purity yet delays that passage in order to alleviate the suffering of humanity. But now, many years and many miles on the journey, I answered the questions quite differently.

Everyone on the spiritual journey aspires to become "enlightened" some day. It seems to always be "the goal." For surely, if we achieve enlightenment it will change everything about ourselves and about the world we live in. Once we start walking the path of a spiritually attuned life, we attend classes and seminars that satisfy our need to become "enlightened." We read books devoted to mysticism; we learn about the value of meditation; and we practice diligently. The esoteric teachings support us by saying that if we do those things and apply ourselves to the noble path, we too can become a Bodhisattva - or at the very least an Arhat. Teachers say it could happen instantly (rare) or it could happen after several thousand incarnations (much more likely.)

As I explored the questions posed in the study I focused on my personal journey. I'd followed a spiritual path for more than 40 years. In that time I studied with some very well-known and some not so well-known mystical teachers. The not so well-known teachers had as much influence (sometimes more so) in my development as some of the very well-known ones. A not so well-known teacher told me what I'd be doing with my life at ages 40, 50, 60 and 70. She was right for the first three decades. (I haven't reached the last one yet.)  So, I wondered, was she enlightened? Or, did she plant a seed that caused me to do what she said in the time-frame she'd indicated. This much I know!  She kindled a blaze a long time ago that allowed me seek the answers that I was now trying to decipher about enlightened beings.

Some self-realized masters said they were enlightened. There's probably little disagreement that Buddha, Paramahansa Yogananda, and Jesus were enlightened beings. But what if I toss in a few others that might alter your belief systems. Does Genghis Khan, Alexander the Great, Einstein, Darwin, Saladin, DaVinci, Gandhi, Akbar the Great, Nikola Tesla, Mao Zedong, and King Darius of Persia to name a few, qualify? They were warriors and conquerors, scientists and peacemakers, but should they be considered enlightened beings? I now think so because they had purpose, conviction, and a focus on their life's goal. And, they had a global impact on their fellow humans.

But what about normal people who don't have a global impact? I realized my current beliefs had changed and those changes caused these questions to rise to the top. Is anyone I know enlightened? Or, is everyone I know enlightened? I shelved the first one after a few hours of review. But the second question stayed, creating even more questions. Why wouldn't everyone be enlightened? After all, each person is a spark of the pure 'ultimate reality' we refer to as "God." If "It" is the ultimate in enlightenment then each of us must also be enlightened. Except in the vastness of consciousness, each of us is in differing states of realizing it. Therefore, I concluded, everyone is enlightened to varying degrees.  And that enlightenment affects the whole.

So, "What is an enlightened being?" When I got to the summary question on the survey I answered it this way. Today, I believe an "enlightened being" is one who lives a conscious life daily. These individuals have great awareness of their fellow humans. They are conscious of their words and actions and how it affects those fellow humans.  They are conscious of the food they eat and how it affects their spirit and their bodies. They are conscious of the individuals they associate with and wisely choose to be among those who uplift their spirits.  They make daily time for meditation and reflection.  They are more in tune with silence and nature.  And they choose to walk their path with ethical dignity and perseverance.

These individuals, no matter how great or small their circle of influence, travel their chosen path with focused consciousness and full awareness. They are "beings of enlightenment" who live a conscious, purpose-driven life. They hold a brilliant beacon of light that illumines the way for all of us who are also walking up to the top of mountain. To them we are indebted.    

Jo Mooy - June 2014

MT Shasta On It's Own Terms

Mt Shasta On It's Own Terms   

Stories abound that 14,000 foot Mt. Shasta in California is "the" place to visit if

Mt Shasta

you're on a spiritual quest. Many consider it akin to a sacred pilgrimage to go to the mountain because on the mountain one is sure to experience UFO's, Ascended Masters, Lemurians or Atlanteans, the White Brotherhood, Elders, Crystal Cities, Vortexes and every New Age idea you can imagine. And so, we did our own research about Mt Shasta, called "spiritual leaders" and tour guides living there, then investigated everything we were told. 

Some of what we were told felt prickly; a few were clearly selling tours; and some we talked to were downright incorrect. One person gave us useful information about dry conditions and fire hazards and said, "Go to the Visitor's Center before doing anything else."  That was worthwhile!

Panther Meadows Springs

For decades we've read all the stories about sightings and vortex energy spots and "beings" appearing here and there on the mountain. Those things are still very important to many who visit the area as they clearly want to see or feel that which they've read about. But we left all that behind as it was no longer relevant to what we wanted to experience. We decided to visit the mountain without guides or any preconceived ideas and allow Mt Shasta to speak to us On Its Own Terms. This is that story.

The town is about 7 miles to the trail-head of the mountain which dominates the skyline. The town is very small with not much to show for such a major destination. We used the Best Western as a base for the surrounding area because of its location and convenient restaurant. Especially as most restaurants in town were closed by the time we came down the mountain. 

With the map provided by the  Visitor's Center and a small guide-book created by local shops as a form of advertising we set off on our own expedition.  After passing

Grandmother Ponderosa

a few campsites we walked well-marked trails leading up the mountain. Its year-round snow covered face looms over all approaches like a watchful guardian. 

The climb is demanding but spectacular. At 7,500' the trail opened to an extraordinary meadow filled with brilliantly colored flowers. The border of the meadow was surrounded by tall firs and pines. It was like stepping into an Impressionistic painting and becoming part of the scenery. With no one else around we reverently breathed the serene pure feelings of Panther Meadows in homage to the mountain. Then we heard the sound of running water and soon discovered it was a spring bubbling above and below the meadow. The Native American Wintu tribe believe humans first bubbled into creation at this spring. It was easy to agree with that because the meadow made us feel we'd stumbled upon the water kingdom in the Garden of Eden.

Everything on the mountain felt immense, historical, grand in scope, and waiting to tell a story. As we continued to climb the mountain we entered groves of towering 180' Ponderosa Pines. They grew in circles with the long dead great-grandmother tree stumps standing witness to the newer growth of daughter and grand-daughter trees. Respecting the burnt out shells of the ancient trees, we placed stones found at their base into a circle and entered a meditative communion with the trees. The sweet smells of the trees carried on the winds of the air kingdom as we gently chanted to the glory of what they had been and what they'd left as a legacy.   

Spring Source

We continued to climb above the tree line, meeting only one or two people on the trail. Eventually we entered the domain of the lava fields of volcanic stone deposited over centuries of eruptions. Here the mineral kingdom was displayed in its most base condition. Fire and explosions had formed the mountain with the deposits of rocky stones leaving a visible imprint of the power of earth, creation, and destruction. The now cold stones left a crunching wide path across the face of the mountain begging for visitors to reflect on what the fire kingdom had created there above the tree line. We did.

This visit to Mt Shasta was a reverent tribute. So, what did it share  with us during those days on the mountain? As if aware that someone was really listening, it conveyed its 593,000 year old life story. Observant of what it was showing, we

Lava Fields

experienced its extremes in temperatures - warm below and cold above. We felt the heat retained in the enormous boulders we leaned on even as the air cooled us. We drank ice-cold water from its pure springs while butterflies danced around us. While walking its many trails it shared its violent volcanic past while regaling us with its present peaceful beauty. In its groves and meadows and lava fields it told us stories of death and resurrection and death again. It reminded us of the ever changing cycles of nature and that nothing is permanent. And it suggested that in this natural cathedral, all the history of the earth could be found, including the arrival of humans from its watery depths.

We met the mountain on its own terms and were well served in what she revealed: The majesty of life, death, rebirth and continuity!

      

Jo Mooy - May 2014    

By Her Grace

By Her Grace 

When you've been with a loved one a long time you think you know everything about them. You're quite sure there's nothing left to learn about the person. Then

Teaching @ Women's Retreat

'life' tosses some curve-ball causing you to pause in the daily routines you share and look at the person in a completely new way. It happened to me when Patricia suffered her second retinal detachment in three weeks requiring a second emergency surgery.

This surgery was much more complicated and painful than the first and the instructions for her recovery period considerably more difficult. This time she had to lie face down 24/7 for ten days. She was allowed a five minute break each hour to stand up or walk around (face down) to relieve the stresses on her back. And, she had to endure a regimen of four different eye drops every few hours, some which painfully burned the beleaguered eye.

Throughout the endless days of her face-down recovery I watched how she reacted to the current challenges in front of her. She accepted the routine as necessary so she would "not have to do this a third time." I already knew she had inner strength and fortitude and would bring those qualities to bear during this ordeal. But I learned so much more. Especially that this was a woman who not only talked the talk, but walked it in a disciplined manner.

Leading Meditations

Most everyone reading this knows she's an accomplished meditation leader. You also know her as a selfless spiritual teacher and dedicated energy healer. I watched as she summoned every one of those resources that she teaches so well, and used them hourly in her personal healing process. Unable to read, she asked me to load her MP3 player with the 10-day discourses of Sri Goenka who taught us Vipassana meditation. Face-down at the dining table or a massage chair donated by a friend, she listened to his uplifting talks each day for a few hours, recalling for me the insights she was relearning. She used those insights as lessons in personal healing or perseverance.

Never a belly sleeper, she had to spend each night on her stomach, face down. I saw her deal with this added challenge in a most relaxed manner. With the theme of Living a Conscious Life from our recent Women's Retreats still fresh in her mind, she invoked what she'd been teaching to so many women over those weekends. Once again she turned on the MP3 player to listen to her own recordings of Yoga Nidra practices as she went to sleep. Sometimes, she'd fall asleep at the "third finger of the right hand" and wake up three hours later hearing her fourth Yoga Nidra recording.

During the ten days she was face-down I learned about her remarkable grace, patience, calm, and caring. Caring that I was doing all the work! Caring that the healing emails that she received daily for those in need would be placed in the Reiki Prayer Box and sent out to the Healer's Network. Caring that those who were praying for her or sending get well cards were personally thanked. Her patience with

Thank you, Steve Jobs

her current situation also had no limits.  (If I'd been in her place I'm not sure I would have handled this as gracefully as she was.)  For she never complained; never once bemoaned the experience; never levied blame; and accepted it all with poise and grace. Even her humor was intact when she commented one day, "This must be what the nuns meant by offering it up."

I also learned about her resilience and ever-present technical abilities. She tried watching TV with one good eye by looking at the screen through a mirror; except the TV image was upside down. She gracefully lived with that for several days. One evening, I attempted to ease her hours of boredom by describing a magnificent sunset occurring over the lake. Using the mirror to see the sunset she had a brilliant insight. Directing me to move the massage chair from facing the TV to facing the opposite wall, she had me position a larger mirror on a chair. In short order she'd figured out that by turning her back to the TV, the mirror now showed the image right side up. She thanked the Universe for the beautiful sunset that allowed her to now watch TV right side up for a few hours a day. This technical insight was followed by another. Sitting at the glass dining table, her head down on a pillow, she discovered she could see through the glass. With that, she actually thanked Steve Jobs for inventing the flat tablet so she could check her emails with 

Can't keep a good woman down!

an Ipad propped on her lap.

 

Watching her lie face down for so many hours I asked her what was she thinking about during this time.  She said, "Many things.  But mostly this has caused me to stay in the present moment.  I see patterns on the floor that I never saw before. I feel a breeze coming in the window that I may have been distracted from before - so I pay attention to the breeze. I found that I'm simply staying in the present moment - no where else."  She continued, "I'm grateful for what happened because it's made me appreciate more the gift of vision, the gift of seeing differently, and the gift of perspective."

John Lennon said, "Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans." That happened to us.  Those "Life" conditions that we experience or endure are the real markers of a person's character. Because, they hone the qualities that make us humans. And in the throes of adversity, the realindividual is created and known. With new eyes of respect and awe, I witnessed the radiance of Patricia emerge from a potentially calamitous condition and resolve itself,By Her Grace.

 

Jo Mooy - April 2014