Baby I love your way...

When I was in junior high school, I was in love with a girl named Rachelle. In fact, I was so in love with her, that when she broke up with me, I cried like a baby. Well, technically, she broke up with me after I confronted her about making out with my best friend Francisco, but who’s really keeping track? She remains the only girl I ever cried over. Oddly enough, one of my biggest regrets in life was telling her that I thought the song she dubbed "our" song was stupid, before I had really listened to the lyrics and let their simple, yet powerful meaning sink in.

I remember the night it happened, no not when I saw her making out with Francisco behind the gym, although I do remember that day as well. I mean the night she called me and told me to turn on the television. I remember talking to her while the video to "Baby I love your way" by Blue Mountain played in the background, the bright glow from the t.v. screen casting shadows across the room that danced to the music. She told me to listen to the song, and that she had decided it was ours. Before the song had even ended, I told her that it was stupid and that we should pick another one. I don't remember exactly why I thought this, or what my alternate suggestions were, but what I do know is how much I've grown to love this song, and how every time I hear it, I think about how much I regret hastily showing my disapproval to someone who was expressing something so heartfelt and loving. I of all people should know how meaningful songs can be.

When I was nine, my mother passed away from breast cancer and one of the ways I would comfort myself would be to play Smokey Robinson's "Just to See Her" on my older sister's record player. I would lie in her bed listening to the song over and over again until I had cried myself to sleep. I guess I thought that if I recited the lyrics to the song enough times, that I would be granted the opportunity to see her again, as not being able to say goodbye was a huge point of contention in my life for a long time. Both songs share such simple affirmations, but represent extremely powerful sentiments.

As I drove home tonight from a friend's house, a familiar song played on the radio. I sang out loud to it as I normally do. Moonlight had already tucked the city in, and the night's cool breeze flowed through my hair. Street lights projected long shadows across the pavement that reminded me of that regretful night. The gift wrapped nostalgia brought a smile to my face. I'm not sure why this one memory is seared so vividly in my mind, or why it has left such an indelible impression. I just know that I won't ever take such a moment for granted again. Interesting how life chooses to teach us sometimes isn’t it?

Double-edged Pen

One of the things I love about writing is that I get ample time to choose the right words and combination of words that most accurately express how I feel or what I’m thinking. In school, when a teacher mentions an essay, I smile confidently while most of the class responds with grunts and whines of disapproval at their unfortunate luck. I relish in the opportunity to write, while those with the gift of gab would prefer extemporaneous speech.

When you’re speaking, there’s no reset button, no redo’s, or take backs. Once it’s out, it’s out. (More painfully so of that almost invisible spray of saliva that somehow escapes us on rare occasion) Sometimes, you can clarify, elaborate, or elucidate, but once the vibrations of your initial utterance take form, there’s no going back. Since there is a greater degree for misinterpretation and poor selection in regards to words that are spoken on the fly, I often choose to write to someone instead, particularly, if there are feelings involved. However, there is a lot to be said about verbal and non-verbal feedback that you miss out on, like the telling nuances of facial expression and body language. Also, not being there to explain something they might have misconstrued, and not finding out immediately how they feel about what you wrote is a part of the trade off. In either case, choosing your words wisely is an understatement.

For as far back as I can remember, I’ve always written poetry. Eventually, it became a form of catharsis, a way to release emotions. Over the years, it stuck with me and was my solace in times of emotional uncertainty or turmoil. When I am inspired or passionate about something, I am compelled to write. Words are how I interpret my own sensory data about the world around me, and a way to share that information. Interestingly, there is an aura of vulnerability, a window to the soul that is opened when pen meets paper, and stays that way long after the candlelight is extinguished, or the glow from the monitor fades.

Writers are an interesting lot. We write for many reasons, and while many of us write for ourselves, there is still a desire for reassurance, admittedly or not. Just as with any other art, writers want to elicit emotion, persuade thought, inform, or to know, even in the smallest way, that they are appreciated. We want to know that our toil was worth it. We want validation; a modicum of recognition, whether a knowing nod or a pat on the back. It isn’t easy to get in front of a group of people to talk, but with practice, you can master all the little skills that come naturally to us during regular conversation. When you speak, you can be whoever you want. You are the gatekeeper and can choose to reveal as much or as little of your true identity, peeling back the layers with slow and deliberate action, or ripping them off like a band-aid. However, written words provide a direct portal to your essence, a window to your being...they are a giant aquarium that passersby can look through and point with wonder.

The Help

I recently had a conversation with my dad about my last blog post. He mentioned that most of it was over his head, but what he did share was that he remembers back to the three years he spent in seminary, when he had to meditate for an hour and half each morning. He remembers how grounded it made him, but he also recognizes that he was young and inexperienced. He explained that they were encouraged to meditate on specific things, but weren’t told exactly which ones. My father feels that had he meditated later on in life after garnering more experience, he could have benefited more. What stood out to me in those words was that even though he claims to not fully grasp the deeper layers behind meditation, he is fully cognizant of its power.

According to Deepak Chopra, meditation is not just about reaping the therapeutic benefits of slowed breathing, improved immune function, and melting stress. Meditation is more about going within, or tuning into one’s self. Quieting the mind is about accessing the gap between thoughts, which is the gateway for tapping into the field of pure potentiality, and ultimately accessing infinite creativity and imagination. Furthermore, through meditation, one learns about the power of intention that orchestrates its own fulfillment, which many refer to as the law of attraction.

What I think Dr. Chopra was describing, in a rudimentary way of looking at it, is that the more we meditate, the more we harmonize our consciousness. We think more clearly, we de-clutter the deluge of thoughts we have each day, we learn to let go of our egos, and allow the universe to unfold as it will. It’s kind of like running a defragmenter on your computer. It runs more efficiently and smoothly. Through meditation, we are allowing ourselves to run at optimal levels. I think people are misled by the idea that one can change his or her life simply by thinking positively. This is a way how people often interpret what happens to them when they meditate, but positive thoughts alone do not manifest happiness. In fact, Dr. Chopra believes that holding on to that idea too tightly may just cause you more stress. 

For me, besides the obvious physical benefits, what I get most out of meditation is detachment and surrender. Firstly, I get to take a step back from life’s hectic pace and detach myself from thought, feelings, judgments, and expectations. I guess, I do to my mind what I help other people do to their body, which is relax it. Surrendering is letting go of the ego’s illusory control and recognizing that life will show me what I need to see when I’m ready to see it. There is a greater plan at work, and I can either spend my time uselessly fighting the current, or joyfully enjoying the waves. 

Transformers

Sometimes I feel as though I lead two lives. While I’m at work, I’m tapped into the mother ship. My heart and soul naturally gravitate towards the Center’s vortex of healing and nurturing energy. As though a monk’s apprentice, I am ever diligent and mindful. My body speaks to me, I listen. I hydrate, I meditate, and make conscious efforts to nurture my vessel with healthy and powerful sustenance so that I can not only facilitate my own transformation, but be ever present and grounded to help guide others through their own journeys. Being a massage therapist is hard work. Being a conduit for divine energy, guiding others towards healing, and holding space for those who must navigate uncertainty and change, adds another layer of demand on my body and its resources no matter how gratifying my efforts may be. Needless to say, I too need to replenish and rejuvenate in order to provide the best possible atmosphere for my guests.

However, when I am too far to feel the gravitational pull of the Center’s energy, it seems as though I unplug from the matrix. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t engorge on fast food, engage in voodoo, or moonlight as a serial killer, I’m just not as mindful towards ensuring mind and body balance. I still work out, feed my mind, and generally eat healthy, but I feel I still leave a lot on the table in regards to optimizing my body’s processes and guiding my spirit towards greater fulfillment. Ideally, I’d like to be eternally in tune with the universe’s plan. I don’t necessarily mean that I wish to know exactly the path that lies before me, because let’s face it, that would be boring, but I definitely want to be more acutely attentive to its voice.

How does one go about this you may be thinking? Well, I intend to follow another piece of advice I usually give my guests who visit the center to undergo Panchakarma, a powerful process of purifying the mind, purging the body of built up toxins, and increasing vitality. What inevitably happens, is after people have overcome some challenges, healed themselves, or simply replenished their batteries, they go right back to doing the things that brought them to us in the first place. We are only human, yes. And all of us, even the most mindful and transcendent souls, eventually need to rid the body of toxins and blockages. However, the idea is not just to heal enough to get back into the ring, but to incorporate lifestyle changes in one’s life until it is realized that one doesn't have to be in the ring at all.

I find that so many of us approach life in this manner at times. Our minds create the perception of struggle. Our egos immediately manifest an attitude of having to overcome, to be victorious. Before we know it, it seems like we are exchanging blows with the universe. I don’t think I need to tell you who really wins do I? Well, in my case, let’s just say I’m glad that heavily padded gloves are involved.

What I usually tell my guests before the they ride the waves of bliss back from whence they came, is to take at least one thing they learned while with us and commit to integrating that one thing in their life until it becomes a habit. Forget changing your entire way of life overnight. It can be done I’m sure, but such drastic changes are unrealistic and unfulfilling. Take small bites. Chew. Meditate for ten minutes every day, take up yoga, or make a vow to give up frozen foods. Whatever it is, tackle small endeavors and revel in achieving them. I’m going to start meditating with more frequency. I find that my writing tends to go to another level when I do. At times, it feels that inspiration looks for me, instead of the other way around. Sometimes, I even conjure something clever, funny, or inspiring. Joy and abundance are rarely achieved by climbing a mountain, but more often by smelling the flowers along the way. See, it’s working already.

Rise of the Planet of the Apes

I watched the new Planet of the Apes movie last night, and I must say I was quite pleased. As a fan of the originals, I was highly anticipating the remakes. Even though I am not a fan of James Franco (I feel he is a little monotone and limited as an actor), the movie was still an excellent prequel to the rebooted series.

There is a considerable amount of action, but what was most fascinating to me was the intense psychological undertones at play. I don't know if being a communication major had much to do with the that particular observation, but it was rather amazing in the way that communication was portrayed in this movie. If you have ever watched a show on chimps or monkeys on National Geographic, then you will definitely appreciate the subtle non-verbal communication within the film. The premise, as the title of the movie implies, is basically the story of how the apes became intelligent and overthrew the planet staking claim as the dominant species. The movie's protagonist, a Chimpanzee appropriately named Caesar, is exposed to a drug that boosts intelligence and allows the brain to repair itself. The drug was created by Franco's character as a cure for Alzheimer's, and is given to chimpanzees for testing.

After undergoing a significant amount of abuse, from both humans and his fellow apes, Caesar plots his escape from captivity as well as positions himself as the leader of the simians. Although all of the apes are computer generated, they are remarkably realistic looking, and their facial features accurately captivate the broad range of emotion and thought processes capable by apes and humans alike. I was particularly impressed with the methods Caesar implemented upon his own kind to establish hierarchy, and ultimately his superiority.

In short, I think The Rise of the Planet of the Apes, was a great summer movie. I generally scoff at the length of today's movies, but I thought that in this instance the extra time was well used and was appropriate for the development of the story. However, any longer, and the movie would have overstayed its welcome as the film's plot is linear and obviously predictable. I would recommend that parents heed the movie's viewer rating, as there is a considerable amount of violence. Monkey see, monkey do. Now go watch it!

Short Circuit

I did something yesterday that I'd never thought I'd do...I bought a netbook. I know, I know, I did try to make it as masculine as I could. I got it in black, doused it in cologne, gave it a spiked collar, and put skull and cross bones stickers all over the cover. Somehow though, I still don't think it's enough. In the end, I'm still carrying around a mini computer. Handy, but not handyman-ish, if you catch my drift. Similar to dudes at the dog park with a Yorkie or toy poodle. You can have all the muscles and tattoos in the world, but you can't make that shit look cool. Well, maybe Mickey Rourke can, possibly Mr. T., but not the average guy. Thankfully, I'm not entirely average...just half a cup.

Anyway, I mainly bought it because my laptop is a little unwieldy and the battery life sucks. I have to plug it in everywhere I go...making me feel like I'm escorting a patient with a dialysis machine. This smaller version of my laptop has 9 manly, labor-intensive hours of battery life. Essentially, I can write all day. I also got the netbook so that I might be more inclined to write, and so far, my plan is working beautifully. However, my life is never without the one two punch of cosmic irony and comedic entertainment for the Gods. As I sat down at a local internet cafe with my organic fuel and my petite lap top with grandiose plans of creating some literary magic, another patron removed his cell phone from his pocket to make a call. He didn't answer his phone mind you, but proceeded to make a call...to his grandfather. This man appeared to be in his late forty's, which puts his grandfather in...oh, I'd say hard of hearing age. Consequently, he had to yell at his relative during this painstakingly long conversation about travel plans to Salt Lake City, Uruguay, and failed plans of a home restoration project. I know more about his inconsiderate douche than I'd ever want to. I think it's cool to use your phone at a cafe where people are reading, having breakfast, and pondering the meaning of life, as long as  it is brief, or quiet, or both. Otherwise, take a walk Jack.

As I was smiling at the universe for my auspicious serendipity, another gentleman sat at nearby table that didn't seem to agree with today's news. It's not unusual to be privy to the occasional verbal display of government disapproval under one's breath, but apparently, this guy was devoid of volume control and appeared to have Tourett's. So, on one side, I had inconsiderate phone guy speaking loudly about nothing important, and disgruntled, Tourett's guy voicing his displeasure with the world on the other. I half-expected a construction crew to chime in with a jackhammer. And you wonder why I don't update my blog more often.

Morning Glory

So, I woke up at 7:30 a.m. this morning. Now, I realize that for many of you this may be a common practice, and may even be a lifestyle preference. However, for those of us who work in the dark cavernous bowels of a spa, and who have a genetic predisposition to laziness, this time may as well be when Satan comes to Earth with legions of demons and proceeds to possess people’s souls. At least it would explain why so many people are grouchy in the morning.

Interestingly, however, what I do find when I’m fortuitously awoken around this time, is that I am amazingly productive. I know, I know, how more paradoxical could I really be? Lazy and productive. Talented and unmotivated. Look, I don’t make the rules, and quite frankly, I had nothing to do with the ingredients that make up this tall cup of enigmatic, sexy, chocolate, deliciousness…I just play the game like everybody else. 


In any event, life is not without its little ironies. That's what makes it all worthwhile right? So, in the truest fashion of blatant epiphanies, I realized that midnight may not be my muse after all, but her sister who I call the Dawn Duchess. Not as fickle or as mischievous as her sultry twin, the Duchess apparently keeps inspiration in her back pocket like a folded twenty you find after slipping on a pair of jeans before you go out. Pure awesomeness. I've cleaned, done laundry, had breakfast, scanned the headlines, birthed an idea for a poem, AND started this post all before the time I usually curse my alarm and wipe the sleep from my eyes. I feel energized and my hands are a blur. I'm back in the saddle baby! Well, at least until my espresso wears off...