emotion

Elegy For The Arctic

I think this is one of the most moving things I’ve seen in a long time. I’ve always believed that musical notes hold their own energy. They go from ink on a piece of paper to an instrument that translates them into sound. Sound that reverberates and rearranges every molecule they touch.  The air, animals,nature, our cells—think about it—it can bring us to tears. Watch what they do to the ice around him as he plays.

Enjoy your weekend.

xox


At the request of Greenpeace, award-winning Italian composer Ludovico Einaudi created an original masterwork titled “Elegy for the Arctic.” He performed the piece while floating on a platform in the Arctic Ocean, with the towering Wahlenbergbreen Glacier (in Svalbard, Norway) slowly melting in the background.

In this SuperSoul Short, Einaudi’s soul-stirring composition provides a somber soundtrack for a majestic yet fragile ecosystem in crisis.

Read more: http://www.oprah.com/own-super-soul-sunday/elegy-for-the-arctic#ixzz5iH7oCAjV

Ima Hugger

I walked into the gym bright and early, trying to beat this oppressive heat wave at its own game.
I like to sweat on my own terms.

Just inside the opening to the room where they keep the torture devices, weight machines, I spotted a young, ginger haired man wearing a loud purple t-shirt with the words Ima Hugger on the front. It took me a minute to figure out if that was a persons name, some obscure fraternity babble—or a mission statement.

Just one look at the guy’s cheerful, bubbly demeanor assured me it was the latter
.

“Oh mah gawd, I’m a hugger too!” I declared, arms outstretched.

“Incoming!” That’s the warning my husband and I give each other when unexpected hugging breaks out.
It’s only polite.

Speaking of polite, I know people who say it’s rude to hug someone without their permission. Seriously? Get over yourself.
I see you looking at the ground or pretending you’re on the phone. Trust me when I say that I can read your body language and I’ll never force myself on you. You are probably an introvert. I’m Kryptonite to introverts.

Besides, no one likes to hug a corpse.

Anyway…I digress…

Completely taken aback and drenched in sweat, (which is not a great combination) My new ginger-pal put down the handles of the heavy, stainless steel, arm-stretchy thing he was pulling as exercise, and we came together in an awkward public display of affection among strangers.

“Sorry, I probably smell,” he cautioned as we patted each other on the back like we were dislodging large chunks of food that had stuck in our throats.

“That’s okay,” I replied. “I’m about to peel the paint right off these walls with my odiferous-ness!”

We both laughed. So did the old man on the rowing machine.

As ginger-hugger turned around to resume his workout, he stopped for a second, his face awash in nostalgia.
“You know, I miss that. Nobody hugs here.”

“Here, like at the gym?” I asked because he was right about that. That only happens at the fancy, pick-up joints on the Westside that masquerade as gyms.

“No. I mean, I’m from the east coast and we hug it out—ALL THE TIME.”

“Seriously?” I said, finding it hard to believe that the hard scrabble, city folk on the east coast hug more than here in LaLa Land.
We even have a reputation as tree huggers.


Case in point. Here is my brother on a recent visit to LA hugging my tree. It’s genetic.

“I’m from LA, born and raised”, I said, “But when I’m in a foreign country and I say to people “Bring it in—I’m a hugger”, everyone, and I mean EVERYONE says “Oh, you must be from California!
I’m pretty sure it’s the only sentence I know in Mandarin.”

“It’s true!” he insisted. “Maybe it’s strictly a LA thing and it doesn’t bode true for the rest of California?”

“That could be it,” I agreed. “A lot of LA acts like it is way too cool for school.”

“It’s a virtual No Hug Zone“, he chimed in.

We both nodded in agreement. So did the lady on the stair-stepper thingy that you will NEVER catch me on.

He went back to his arm pulling and I mounted the elliptical apparatus like a boss.
But I couldn’t help but feel a little sad about the Hugging Ginger’s LA experience. I wanted to apologize for our aloofness and fear of showing affection.

After my heart rate came down to something sustainable, and I had beat the urge to vomit—I realized the aversion to hugging was just a phase. It’s not the locals who are afraid to hug, it’s the transplants. The beautiful people from Peoria and Poughkeepsie who have all found themselves here and are unaware of our customs. I know they worry about looking cool and fitting in so I’m sure hugging was one of the first things that they crossed off their list. After they threw away their crocks.

But then somebody like my beautiful, Hugging Ginger Man comes to town and breaks the mold.
I love that. Don’t you?

To all of you huggers out there…
Carry on,
xox

We Don’t Only Cry When Things Are Sad — Jason Silva Saturday

“The moment we cry in a film is not when things are sad but when they turn out to be more beautiful than we expected them to be.” – Alain de Button

Ha! I love to keep you guys on your toes! Look! It’s a Saturday morning with Jason.

I have such a fond memory of a ride on the motorcycle in Italy, on a road between Pisa and Lucca, that was so sublime in its perfection; in its unexpected beauty; that it moved us both to tears — simultaneously.

What moves you to tears? Weekends?

Have a great one!
xox

Devotion – With A Side Of Emotion

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DEVOTION

de·vo·tion
dəˈvōSH(ə)n/
noun.
1.) Love, loyalty, or enthusiasm for a person, activity
synonyms: loyalty, faithfulness, fidelity, constancy, commitment, adherence,allegiance, dedication.

2.) Religious worship or observance.
synonyms: devoutness, piety, religiousness, spirituality, godliness, holiness, sanctity
“a life of devotion”

3.) Prayers or religious observances.

Devotion. What does that mean to me? What does it mean to you?

As a Catholic I thought I had an idea; but the edges have blurred and I’ve been left to define it for myself.

This is an interesting time of year.
It’s ripe with the energy of endings; and new beginnings.
Deaths and re-births —— figuratively and literally.

We can practice our devotion inside this energy of change with Easter, Passover, the full moon, eclipses, and all other assortments of ancient and new age cosmic rites of passage.

Take me for instance; I am sitting as I write this, in a pew, basking in the warm glow of stained glass, inside of St. John The Baptist De La Salle Catholic Church— the church I grew up in — the church of my youth.

The one where I whiled away hour after hour of my childhood.
Some in innocent devotion, kneeling with sweaty little girl hands piously folded together, fervently praying my little girl prayers and later, in a pre-pubescent stupor, stifling yawns during my eight years there in the late sixties, early seventies.

Now, I’ve gotta tell ya, this retired Catholic is finding it…surreal to be back here, and I have to make this snappy.

I could spontaneously combust if the powers-that-be realize I’m here, or the light from that stained glass baby Jesus hits me just right.

All kidding aside, recently my Catholic roots have been calling me. Their siren’s song running lightly in the background of my life.

It all started when I began burning Frankincense incense in the mornings. I attempted subconsciously to counteract its effects by simultaneously playing a Buddhist chant, with mixed results — that smell to me, still to this day signals Lent.
Then I noticed, lo and behold it is exactly that time of year. Hmmmm…

That smell transports me back to Stations Of The Cross, a ritual of remembrance of the worst day in the life of Jesus Christ.

As a little girl I loved rituals.
The smells, the cool, dimly lit ambiance, the notes played on the organ that resonated inside my chest and head, and the drone of the priest’s voice. They all conspired to “send me” to another place and time. (still do).

As I write this there is an actual organ rehearsal happening right this minute. Sending me…

Yet, even as that devout little girl I had a hard time wrapping my brain around commemorating the days leading up to someone’s horrible, torturous, barbaric death and THAT little kernel of doubt right there started my life as a seeker.

Devotion as religious observance.
I sat with my dearly departed father Friday in another church much closer to my home, (that now makes it twice in one week, a personal record as an adult).

We sat together devoutly, he with his invisible hand on my knee to keep me from bolting during Stations Of The Cross, the first one I’ve sat throughout since eighth grade. It was faster and much…dryer than I remembered.

And no fragrance of frankincense — a crushing disappointment.

Still, I sat with my dad on the tenth anniversary of his passing; in church; during Lent; and only one of us made it out alive…barely.

I’ll tell anyone I did it for him, but truth be told, that experience was calling ME.

Devotion.  

To others?  To a practice?  To a cause? 

I think we can all relate to that.

How about…

Devotion as Love and loyalty, enthusiasm for a person or an activity.

To tradition.

To family , friends and matters of the heart.

To times past.

To ritual.

To the planet.

To sacred places; temples, sanctuaries, churches, nature, Sephora, the bakery.

To whatever sends you and floats your boat.

To kindness and courage.

To mala beads, crystals, chanting, yoga and meditation.

To ancient childhood memories resurfacing.

To triggers; Smells. Sounds. People.

I’m getting a bit misty eyed over here.
It must be a combination of the lousy organ music (he just needs more practice), and fact that my fifty-seven year old butt is currently seated on the same hard wooden bench that my innocently sweet, but always questioning, seven-year old butt sat.

Devotion to change.
I used to believe that religion and spirituality were mutually exclusive.
One told you no, the other said… perhaps.

Call it old age, or just a general unclenching of the fists that happens naturally over time; but I’m finding myself more and more belonging to Team Meh where our motto is: “Well, that’s not my thing — but good for you!”

Devotion to Neutrality or I’m in a Switzerland State of Mind
Daily I struggle with judgement. I know, it’s just me.
I’m striving to be for more things than I’m against.

I feel like after this week I can move the Catholic religion to my neutral list. At last!

Some people hang out in groovy cafes and write.
I sit weeping in Catholic Churches.

Who knows what’s next?

Can you explain devotion? What are you devoted to, I’d love to know.

Happy Easter & Passover my loves,
Xox

Let’s All Create Diamonds Instead

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You must never allow something that happened to you to become a morbidly treasured heirloom that you carry, show people, put back in its black velvet pouch and then tuck back into your jacket where you can keep it close to your heart.”
~Augusten Burroughs

Same topic. Wounded-ness. Forgiveness. Healing.
Seems to be in the air these days.
Everyone’s got an axe to grind.

What if one day you took that pouch out of your jacket pocket and diamonds spilled out instead?

How could you tell your sad little story when all you held in your hands were…diamonds? Not your morbid heirlooms, just beautiful crystals forged under pressure from the blackest of coal.

What if your heart had transmuted your sad stories into diamonds through the alchemy of forgiveness?

What if we all refused to enable each other’s wounds?
Because we were so dazzled by the diamonds we found there, in our pockets. We could finally see our stories transformed into the gems they really are.

THAT is the power of forgiveness my loves.
Let’s all make diamonds…

Xox

What are you going to take out of the black velvet pouch and turn into a diamond today? Tell me about it?

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Allowing Joy To Enter

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Pain can only feed on pain. Pain cannot feed on joy. It finds it quite indigestible.
~Eckhart Tolle~

You will touch joy and suddenly realize that you have never felt joy because it requires abandon. It grows from gratitude and cannot exist where there is mad cynicism or distrust.
You will touch this joy and you will suddenly know it is what you were looking for your whole life, but you were afraid to even acknowledge the absence because the hunger for it was so encompassing. 

—Eve Ensler, In the Body of the World

Loose your fear and touch joy today…..Happy Sunday!
Xox

Hi, I’m Janet

Mentor. Pirate. Dropper of F-bombs.

This is where I write about my version of life. My stories. Told in my own words.

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