lundi 27 décembre 2010

It's Worst Than I Thought

It's worse than i thought. Beware. It's everywhere. This morning on my way to work i was innocently listening to an alternative rock radio station when another bomb went off. Every pop love song is another ego-based trick calling you to look away. Every "she left me," "I'll find another," "I'll get her back when I change" is just another cheap trick to keep you looking outside yourself for "The Answer." Every message outside yourself that says you need to be something different, you need to change, you'll be happy when ....(fill in the blank "your way") is a lie, a scam, a device designed to keep the ego alive. Don't believe those voices, don't believe your own thoughts. Be skeptical. Examine every idea, every belief.

A few nights ago during this holiday season i saw the last twenty minutes of a Hallmark special. The fallen-but-about-to-be-redeemed heroine is at the airport, pleading with the gate agent, "Please you must let me through. Finding him may be my only chance at happiness." (Him being the obvious soul mate though the She didn't realize it until it was almost too late..duh...pause for dramatic effect.) Gate agent pages said soul mate who bursts through the gate when he "feels" his soul mate searching for him. You guessed it. Happily ever after. Puke. Vomit. Throw up now. Don't believe the message that your soul mate is outside of you. This is the trick of the ego to get you to continue looking outside yourself. You will NEVER find him/her because he/she doesn't exist. And this is not necessarily bad news. Be patient.

What is a poor human to do? Question. Question everything. The answers are not that important. The questions are crucial. The ego hates questions. Questions turn the spot light inward. Don't take for granted a single thought you have. Question the meaning of every word. In the above example of our heroine, what does "finding" mean? Who is "him"? What is "only," "chance," and especially "happiness." And if you accidentally come up with an answer, question each word in the answer. Don't just assume you know what you mean. The ego is counting on these assumptions. Where is the falseness in your reasoning? It is there. Search for it.

What you know as reality is actually a giant distraction created by collective egos to ensure their survival. If you look carefully, you will see the subtle (and some not so subtle) messages that there is something wrong with you, that something needs to be fixed, that you will be happy when something outside you falls into place. Every one of these messages are designed to distract you from looking at the true source of dissatisfaction, dis-ease, unhappiness...the mind. The bad news is that you create your dissatisfaction, dis-ease, unhappiness...major bummer. Good news this same you has the power to create whatever you want and i'm not talking about fame, riches, size zero bodies for the females and 10 inch lingams for the males and all the things that pseudo-spiritual, new-age proselytizers promise. I'm talking about a harmony and deep satisfaction with the perfection of Life as it is. It is there. I promise.

vendredi 17 décembre 2010

Warning Romantic Love Is A Scam

Warning. This is heretical. If you believe in romantic love, or want to believe in romantic love or hope romantic love exists, stop. Do not read further. Protect your false beliefs.

Guess what? Romantic love does not exist. Not in Reality. I'm not talking about what you may think is reality. I'm talking about Reality. Not the place that seems real, just like a dream seems real while you are dreaming, and all of the supporting information in that dream state that says romantic love exists, novels, love stories, ads with happy couples, self help books to find the perfect soul mate, Valentine's day. Oh my god, it is a HUGE scam. It is the ego's greatest invention to distract you from waking up, from seeing what is real. "Look for this" the ego says thereby misdirecting your attention. And how many follow this misdirection, millions, probably billions of humanoids. And for how long? Think about it your own life and be kind to yourself, round down.

As a collective society how much time do we put into attracting the right mate, holding on to the right mate, fixing ourselves so that right mate stays and in the end being duly disappointed even if there is a 50 year relationship? We never quite get from our perfect mate (if we are lucky enough to find him or her) exactly what we need. This is the scam. No matter how "right" you do it it will never be enough because it doesn't exist. You will never get from someone else what you need because there is no someone else, there is only you.

But before you hightail it to the nearest cliff (in case you read this despite the warnings) there is a good piece of news. Love does exist. It is possible to have deep meaningful relationships with others. In fact when the illusion of romantic love is busted for the scam that it is something quite beautiful and profound takes its place. It is the difference between nausea inducing romantic love and awe inspiring agape love. And yes, sex still exists.

mercredi 15 décembre 2010

Laughing at mistakes

In great poetic detail, I explained my experience running in Forest Park to my french friend. He wrote back that he has glad that i had such an inspiring run but perhaps i enjoyed the "odeurs" (smells) of the forest instead of the "ordures" (garbage) of the forest. He laughed on one end and i have been laughing for two days about my "mistake" and that has made me think of the joy of making mistakes.

What a comedy of errors occurs when we make a genuine mistake and how much fun it is to laugh at the miscommunication. Communication with others via the word, even under the most ideal circumstances, is an imperfect art. And to take that further and realize the communication within ourselves is also never accurate. Words are place holders. They define the edges. They make the boxes. How can you not laugh when the mind says that something is wrong, or that you need to be fixed or one of my personal favorites, that life should somehow be different than it is.

Words at best are a means to love and at worst a means to cast black magic on ourselves or others. Be wary of words. Know that you are something beyond words. Words allow us to watch ourselves on the stage of our little human life. And one of the best ways to disable the power of words is to laugh because it is only the seriousness, the believing that they are true that makes words rule.

dimanche 5 décembre 2010

No Shortage of Opportunities to Love

Riding on the train, the man across the aisle leaned over and asked, "why are you so happy?" Why was i so happy? How could i explain it to this man in my halting french. I told him it was love. "Oh you must be in love with someone?" "No, not love of somebody or something, just love." He gave me a puzzled look and then had an Aha moment. He said,

"Are you careful with your heart? Do you keep it protected?"

"No, not at all" i replied.


I explained as carefully as i could love was not something to be protected or hoarded or hidden away. Love was something to be shared and given away. My teacher, don Miguel Ruiz, told me many years ago that what makes us feel so good feeling the love pour out of us. Only our simple minds put conditions and restrictions on love. Love knows no boundaries. And a few days later i awoke to this in an email from Miguel:

Be generous with your love. You are never going to be alone if you are
generous with your love. What makes you happy is love coming out of you,
and if you are generous with your love, everyone is going to love you.


The fear to love only comes from the mind that tells us its not safe or we are going to get hurt. But did you ever ask who hurts you...really? Not him or her or them. The "person" that hurts us is the little voice in our head that says we did something wrong, we shouldn't have loved. It puts conditions on love and what is supposed to look like, i.e. what you are supposed to get from loving, the bargaining aspect of love if you will. But if you listen closely to that voice what it is really saying you might hear something like this,

"thank god you loved, because now i can tell you that it didn't turn out right and furthermore i can make you miserable and in your misery you will listen to me even more carefully to avoid the pain that i will promise that you will avoid if you listen to me but i really won't deliver on because whenever you do something from love, which is your nature, so you are guaranteed to slip up from time to time and love, i will punish you for not listening to me and doing what is in your nature and that punishment will cause you to listen to me even more carefully so that you won't get hurt and the result is i'm very happy and you're not." Aie, aie , aie.

One of the reasons i like being here in Paris is because i allow myself to love as much as i possibly can. Life has been incredibly generous with me and i show my appreciation by loving without expectation. It seems ironic to me that the more you love without wanting or expecting anything in return the more love you receive. And my loving is not limited to people. I say i love you to the trees, to the snow, to my very sharp knife and even to the omnipresent doggie caca on the sidewalks---and i promise you there are no shortage of opportunities to love.

lundi 29 novembre 2010

Death by a Thousand Little Sufferings

How many times a day do you say no to yourself? It can be an almost automatic reply to petits desires. You have to go to the bathroom but you make yourself wait. You are thirsty but you don't get a glass of water. You are tired but you won't let yourself take a cat nap. It can be very subtle. Beware of death by a thousand little sufferings.

This past weekend i took a two hour train ride to Le Harve, a ville northwest of Paris on the Normandy coast. There was an exhibit that was highly recommended and after several signs, I said what the heck and was off on a two hour train ride to Musee Malraux. The museum is a very modern building and specializes in the works of Eugene Boudin (whom i fell in love with) and has a nice representation of impressionist paintings.

On my way back, i went to the train station early as there were no assigned seats and i wanted a window seat and perhaps one with a little extra leg room. I walked towards the front of the train (and those trains are long) found a nearly empty car and plopped down in the perfect seat and waited for the train to depart. Literally minutes before the train took off, two different families with a total of three children all under the age of 4 entered the car (plus some other random 5 year old something snuck on with a single parent while i wasn't looking) and viola before you know it i was in the midst of the preschool mania. Now i don't have anything against children especially as i have three of my own but i wasn't prepared for two hours of running in the aisles, asking for food, fighting with siblings which is what was previewed in the next ten minutes.

The train started. I sat there. I really wanted to move, but "i had the perfect seat," "you might offend somebody if you move," "it's not that bad," "suck it up." Those are the voices i heard in my head. "Suffering a little isn't so bad." What? As soon as i realized what was going on, you guessed. I gathered my bag and coat and moved. It wasn't hard. The same perfect seat was available in the next car and i ended up in an engaging conversation with a French policeman nearly the whole ride.

Beware of the tiny sufferings you permit each day. Pain may be necessary from time to time but suffering isn't. Not one bit.

lundi 15 novembre 2010

It All Just Is

The clouds parted, a spot of blue sky appeared, I looked up and said yet again, "thank you" to that unnamed force surrounding me. As the words hung in my mind i began to chew on them while walking through the cemetery. "What was "thank you"? What did it mean? Could i express it differently from just saying the words?" While saying the words has a certain power in and of itself, wasn't there something more to gratitude? Then it dawned on me gratitude isn't a noun it's actually a verb. Gratitude is action.

How could i express gratitude? The first thing i thought was "love your life." But again what exactly does that mean? I keep coming back to this word "acceptance." Accept what is present. Can you accept everything that passes through your life and give it a place in its temporary home? For truly the human experience itself is temporary. Happiness, sadness, jealousy, envy, joy, delight, anxiety, fear, openness, pain, glory. Each of these emotions moves through us...if we allow them. Surely they will get stuck if we offer resistance, tell them to go away or cover them up with "doings". In that place of acceptance, life flows. It is not like everything is blissful all the time. It is better than that. You get to experience everything, ALL
. What a smorgasbord!

Last night I had an interesting conversation with a chanteuse from Lebanon. She kept telling me how difficult life was as an artist committed to singing. She carefully made her case that being a musician was much easier but to sing was nearly impossible. She lamented that she couldn't support herself though her live-in boyfriend, the lawyer, was okay with it. She then told me she would be willing to do other work but it had to be meaningful. As i listened to her stories of, well, let's get right down to it, victimhood, I gently tried to point out the flaws in her thinking. Of course she agreed with everything i said, answering "yeah" and then followed it with an excuse "but." Almost immediately another woman came up to her and asked her if she could take singing lessons from her. They exchanged information. Beaming as i watched Life answer Life, I said "see." And wouldn't you know it she responded with "yeah, but..." She was completely committed to her story of suffering and there wasn't a thing i was going to do to change that. I continued to listen for a few more minutes. I offered no resistance to her reruns of suffering, then dinner was served and we were seated apart. At the end of the evening she came up to me and said she didn't know why she had told me such intimate details about her life but she really just felt much better. I smiled to myself and thought this is acceptance in action.

It's sweetly ironic
: Acceptance of what is, Transforms what is.


Expressing gratitude is making Life your partner, not your enemy. Accepting what is, transforms what is. There is no stagnation. When life is transforming, it is moving, creating. There is a natural flow and rhythm of which you are a part and when you dive into that flow, you understand that you aren't separate from others, from emotions, from experiences. It all just is.

samedi 6 novembre 2010

Your Right--A Life Fully Appreciated

Several years ago i had a major dream. I was at my law school reunion with my closest law school buddies and their partners (mostly wives). Everyone had achieved a certain level of success that comes with practicing one's craft for twenty years; partnerships, district attorneys, federal public defenders. I was the only one who wasn't practicing law. We all took turns explaining our professional lives. And because it was my dream i got to go last. When it was my turn i was extremely embarrassed because i had given up law to raise a family, lived in Barcelona with my children for six months and chased a small brown man (my teacher, don Miguel Ruiz) around Central America and still had no idea of who i was or what i was supposed to do. In my little mind i was a mess but much to my surprise, everyone thought i had the most wonderful life. After my mini-presentation everyone wanted to know how i had "escaped" the law and created such a fantastic life. It was so contrary. In my dream i had this awareness that i had a wonderful life but i also had the awareness that i was missing sooooo much because i wasn't actually appreciating my life.

My how times have changed. I'm sitting in my apartment in Paris on a Saturday night, alone and ecstatically happy. Why? I have no idea. Maybe it was because i spent 4 hours drawing a most beautiful human or maybe it was because i went out with my french friends for coffee after wards, or maybe it was because i cooked the most wonderful dinner for myself followed by a most wonderful dessert bought from the no. 3 bakery in Paris (according the sign posted outside) or maybe it is because the rain is tickling the roof in my apartment and i am a little giddy from that. What matters is that there has been a profound transformation from needing a reason to appreciate my life to not needing anything except what is present to one hundred percent, down-on -my-knees, ecstatically enjoy, appreciate, love my life.

I wish for each person who reads this message to know that a life completely happy for no external reason is not only completely possible, but it is your right.

jeudi 4 novembre 2010

No Excuse Happiness

"There's not much to say about being." Eckhart Tolle. This morning i was greeted with this quote. He went on to explain that being just simply is. As i was in the shower (where i do some of my most profound thinking) the idea of just being kept circulating and it's true there isn't a lot to say about what it is but there is a whole lot to say about what it isn't.

Have you ever had that feeling of supreme, no reason, shit-eating grin happiness? All of a sudden you find yourself in this inexplicable state of joy. The moment before you have the thought "i am happy" is when you are being. Once you start thinking (no matter if it is a "good" or "bad" thought) you are no longer being. Being is that place of silence where everything exists. In my last blog i wrote about the silence under the noise. When i was no longer hooked on translating words or trying to understand another world opened up to me. I called it silence but Mr Tolle might call it being (though i think he may use the term silence as well.)

Being is that place where time stands still, where noises stop, where expansion exists. Most everyone has experienced this at one time or another maybe watching a sunset, playing a football game or while painting (moi.) The question is not so much what is being but for most the question is "how do i quit thinking and just start being?" There are a million answers from "sit in meditation under a tree until you reach enlightenment" to "undergo deep pyscho-analysis," to "drink a bottle of Jim Beam." But the simplest answer i know is pure acceptance of what is. No resistance to Life. Not even if Life (i.e. you) is thinking in this very moment. Acceptance of what is gets you to the present, to being, faster than any methodology, spiritual path or drugs. That being said acceptance is mighty hard for most people. Why? Because we have these puny little minds telling us what we should be doing, how we should be living our lives and every reason right now is wrong. It isn't. Life is NEVER wrong. It may take you (your puny mind) a while (or even your entire life) to figure out. But just reflect. How many times have you thought something was terrible (a job loss, a drunk drive ticket, the death of a loved one, a broken arm) only to look back on the event sometime later and say, "Wow if I hadn't broken my arm, i never would have quit my job and gone back to school." What you thought was so terrible really wasn't. And this doesn't mean there aren't terrible things out there, the death of a friend or family member, an illness; these are challenging things but the one thing Life always does--it continues to create. As long as we breathe, we can create. We can participate in Life.

And that gets me back to the being which is really about acceptance. There isn't a "right" way to live your life, yet most people keep thinking that if they do this or that, or when this or that happens then they will be happy. Maybe temporarily but deep profound happiness, no excuse happiness, no thought happiness comes from being. Try asking someone to describe his ideal life and watch just how many people describe his own life and if you are really brave try asking yourself.




mardi 26 octobre 2010

The Silence behind the Noise

I found myself in an apartment full of French people getting ready for dinner. I had been graciously invited to join the dinner party by the host who was a friend of a friend. I entered the apartment dressed in my fanciest dress, wearing cute shoes (that i had put on just moments before going into the building having walked miles in my pumas to get there.) The wine was free flowing, appetizers served and i struck up an conversation with an actor which proved to be a good choice. His elocution was superb. He spoke slowly and paused for theatrical effect (which allowed me to catch up with the conversation...merci mon Dieu) and i felt like a rock star as i followed the conversation, made appropriate comments, asked questions and generally had a complete conversation. And then we sat down to dinner.

The hosts had conceived the guest list with careful precision: a commedienne (tres connu--famous) along with the actor, two high-end interior architects, a musician who wrote scores for films, his wife the judge (and also the host) and a Polish woman who just enjoyed life or so i was told. With this cast of characters, the dinner conversation was lively, convivial and changing faster than the cars navigating the Etoile (the famous round-about known to test the most harden driver's nerves). I could barely follow a thing and by the time the main course arrived and two glasses of wine had been drunk. Well let's just say the French just turned into gobble-di-gook.

I looked around the table and became acutely aware of how each person was interacting with each other and the group. I began to notice a non-verbal conversation that was nearly as loud as the oral one. The joy and pleasure i received in becoming aware of this non-verbal communication was immense. The next day i began to reflect on that evening.

When we understand a language, our attention gets hooked by certain words and often by habit we have automatic responses. Furthermore we often have a need to voice our opinions or prove ourselves right. But when you take away the words, the automatic hooks, you are left with a pure communication, a heart to heart connection so to speak. I believe that one of the main reasons we "talk" is so that we can connect with others. It is so interesting to see this connection without words, that is to connect in the silence behind the words. That silence is ever present and sometimes words rather than facilitating the connection in silence distract us from fully feeling the deep connection between us all. But once you are aware of that silence it is difficult not to go there because it just feels really, really good. Connecting in silence with others and ultimately with ourselves is a delicious treat. Really, the best dessert.


jeudi 21 octobre 2010

Walking through Death

I deliberately walk through the cemetery every morning on my way to the studio, carrying my art supplies and giant portfolio. No one is usually there except for the occasional maintenance person. The Montparnasse cemetery is big at least according to my standards. There are paved streets and dirt paths throughout, with tons (literally) of marble funerary markers from classic temples to modern sculptures. Founded in the 17th century when some lord was forced to relinquish his lands, expanded in the 19th century and still with the occasional available plot, the cemetery occupies a big chunk of valuable Paris real estate.

The trees that line the streets are big, but there is space between the streets so there are expansive skyline vistas in all directions. It is calm and quiet. Why wouldn't you walk through here on your way to anywhere near? Maybe people don't generally like walking through places where lots of dead people are deposited. For me it is a great reminder of the circle of life. Dates on headstones indicate children as young as 7 and adults as old as 102 are buried here. Lots of people die. In fact we all gonna die. For some reason this comforting to me. I will eventually join the legions of people that have died just as i joined the legions of people that were born. The little me isn't quite so important. Life continues on and on.

And if i'm not so important, then i am free to live big without expectations of who i am supposed to be, or what important task i am supposed to accomplish or even figure out who i am. And what emerges unhindered is this beautiful unique expression of life, in my case, called Kelsey. I adore watching her tramp through life, getting scared, taking chances, experiencing the ecstasy available in everyday activities. I am afforded daily joy and adventure as i never know the twists and turns that Life has mapped out for this particular life form on this particular day. My job is to say yes to Life. Yes to Life on its terms, not mine. So i have formed a covenant with Life. Life is the leader and the little me is the follower. No matter what i am experiencing i know that Life is my partner. Even if is is scary, I say yes. Even if it seems bizarre or irrational i say yes. And the result has been a life beyond my imagination. (Well duh...my imagination, ie the little me, is pretty puny in comparison the imagination of the force that created Life. A much better navigator!)

So i leave the cemetery, having reconfirmed my commitment to say yes and head into the studio where while creating i say yes to the scary strokes, yes to the bizarre ideas (crumple charcoal on paper and draw with your foot while looking at the model...it didn't work so well) yes to the irrational and at the end of every day i come away having spent hours in communion and sometimes i get the additional bonus of a product that rocks.

mardi 12 octobre 2010

Making Change

You never know where you are going to find childlike freedom. I walked into the homeopathic pharmacy looking for some herbs and walked out with elation. Europeans take their homeopathic, i.e. natural, remedies quite seriously. The salespeople are dressed in white coats, stand behind tall counters and wear formidable expressions. I waited in line and approached the counter with my pre-practiced spiel. It mostly worked because the woman came back with exactly what i needed. She told me the price, "huit, quatre-vingt euros." (8,80 euros).

Lately I have been accumulating quite a bit of change because buying things goes something like this: somebody tells me the price of something, i usually understand the first number or two, i quickly round up, grab a bill that will cover the cost, accept the change and throw it into the bottomless depths of my purse. And everyday i make a dozen purchases, a coffee, a baguette, veges at the market, oops more veges across the street, metro tickets, drawing supplies. Well you get the idea. I accumulate a whole lotta change.

My purse isn't so bottomless and change gets heavy, so here was my opportunity to go to the next level in paying for things and make the exact change. I tossed down a 10 euro note and then began carefully counting out the change in 1,2 and 5 centime increments. The saleswoman looked incredulously at me. Quel horreur! I don't think she believed that i was going to count out all of that change. In no time at all, I got to 24, exclaimed "Viola", beamed a proud mother-of-the accomplished-student smile and gave the exact change to her. "Mais Madam, j'ai dit quatre-vingt centimes." You see in French the word for 80 is 4-20s and instead of 4-20s i heard 24. Now it was my turn to think "quel horreur!" No more dinking around, i grabbed a 50, 5 and 1 centime piece, completed my trifecta and handed her the correct change this time. I smiled appreciatively at the clerk. She beamed back the kind of smile that is reserved for special needs children. I laughed and tossed my purchase in my bag.

Oh, to be a child again. It is so much fun to try things, make mistakes and learn something. I think this is one of the great joys of being a child and i think this is one of the great joys of being in Paris. There are plenty of mistakes to be made.

dimanche 10 octobre 2010

Re-committing to Natural Rhythm

First of all, I lied. The next blog, i.e. this blog, is not about how the Unmanifest experiences itself through the manifest forms, i.e. humans (we are so self-centered that if honest most people will admit they are concerned primarily with themselves first and all others second AND this is okay) but rather today's blog is picking up where i left off when i was in Paris because now i am back in Paris again.

After being en route for nine days the traveling endorphins finally wore off. I slept until 9AM and spent the next six hours, eating, internetting, studying French, napping, eating, napping again. Oh joy!

The first six days were spent in London trying to settle Mari into her new home as she is attending Central School of Speech and Drama to study theater. After finding her house, meeting her housemates and noting everything she didn't have (Mom, i thought i should buy a toothbrush here...Really?) we carefully made our plan of shopping attack only to be foiled by a transportation strike the next day. Instead we quickly regrouped and decided to "go green and buy local" (i.e. any shop within walking distance to the hotel) and carried back armloads of blankets, towels, lamps, a closet and yes even a toothbrush. After three days at the hotel, we called a taxi; the hotel plied us with gratuitous good bye champagne and we enlisted no fewer than 4 hotel employees to carefully pack the moving van, oops, i mean taxi. Luckily the driver spoke English, no small feat in London these days, and we seemed to amuse him (thank you champagne.) He deposited us at Mari's new home, a grand old house (with emphasis on old not grand). Mari promptly departed for the obligatory pub crawl and i stayed home to put together her closet and see if i could possibly create a nest for her in the 7 x 9 monk's cell of a bedroom. The next day we spent 7 hours walking, undergrounding, walking and bussing it to IKEA, shopping, arranging for home delivery and in reverse, busing, walking undergrounding and walking home. Still the endorphins were pumping. Dinner with all of her roommates, the visiting parental unit (me) obligatorily picking up the tab for all and then going home to pack for the impending journey the next day. IKEA arrived as we were walking out the door for the underground. Mari was left with cartons of furniture to put together with all of those knuckle busting Allen wrenches and millions of tiny small screws, bolts and washers to sort. She won't have internet for another week so i cross my fingers that she is okay, that she painted her room and that she found a place for her toothbrush. I boarded the Eurostar (the direct London-Paris chunnel train) knowing i could have done a lot more to help settle her and at the same time knowing i did all i could.

"Knowing you could do more and at the same time knowing you did all you can" is something that most of us experience. And in that phrase there is almost a requirement that you side with either "could-do-more" or "did-all-I-could." When you side with "could-do-more" often you experience feelings of guilt, inadequacy, shame and the like. On the other hand, when you side with "did-all-i could" there is a sense of acceptance, of completion. My Spring journey to Paris was about discovering "me". Who was i without all of the labels, mother, business owner, friend, girlfriend, yogini? And secondly how could i treat this human form in the very best manner?

Treating the human form well means loving, respecting and honoring it. Listening to the human, feeding it when it is hungry, resting it when it is tired and engaging it when it wants to connect, create or express. Most people never even think about the human form. The mind is so busy with its virtual reality, its myriad of story lines that it never stops to consider the vessel in which it lives. The human form dutifully performs all that is asked, working when physically exhausted, operating on too much/not enough food and processing all those neurological chemicals released by the brain when nasty thoughts or even pleasant thoughts are present. It is our most loyal subject and yet we rarely treat it with the respect, care and love that it deserves.

Life changes when you change your relationship with your human form. There is a natural rhythm to life when you follow the body. There is an ease about living. Everything seems in its place. Basically you have removed resistance to Life from your life. There are so many distractions in modern living to pull us from the natural rhythm of Life: family, friends, work, hobbies. I think this is why i am back in Paris---to re-commit to my natural rhythms. Oh and nap again.


mercredi 25 août 2010

Tour Guide for God

Several people have asked about the title of this blog and what it means. Tour guide for God (TGFG) is a concept, a point of view borne out of years of experience, observation and self-inquiry. Is it right? Is it the Truth? Is it religion? No, no and no. In the Anosognostic blog I mentioned how we create our own experience of our world through our beliefs and most people have some pretty nasty beliefs calling the shots when it comes to experiencing their lives. We've all experienced those days when everyone seems out to get us, a driver cuts us off in traffic, the waitress spills coffee on us, the bank teller closes her window as we walk up to it. Any time you are feeling the "victim" you can be sure that nasty beliefs are operating.

One of the biggest beliefs that seems to dominate many people's thinking is that they somehow have to live their lives "right". They search frantically for the right job or they get completely depressed in the job they are doing and find a way to numb out. They look for the right person to complete them. They look for the right way to give back. We are told thousands of times each day what is right and what is wrong via advertising, unsolicited advice from co-workers, bosses, friends, family members, even strangers. We all know the myriad of shoulds that pepper our lives. (And if you don't this is a good time for a little self-inquiry. Just notice how many things you do in one hour that includes a should; wake-up, get dressed, brush teeth, eat, sleep, etc. And if your brave try it for an entire day.) And somehow the unwritten agreement is that if i do all the shoulds then i will be rewarded with...happiness, wealth, health, love, etc. But i have come to the conclusion that this thinking is all backwards and it is based on a faulty premise that somehow our job is to figure out who to be rather than be who we are. So where does this TGFG come in?

From my point of view, the world is made of the Unmanifest (Life, God, Universal force, Allah, the omnipotent, etc) and the manifest (humans, trees, animals and every thing that populates our world. I am using God in the sense of ALL not in the sense of the big man with the white beard who sits on a mountain and throws thunderbolts at the dunderheads on earth. And God in its unmanifest form consists of ALL, everything, tous. Well the bad news is that
in this form he can't experience anything because he is everything. So in his all knowing wisdom he separates himself into millions of life forms because in this separateness he is able to experience himself. (He also maintains the ALL status because that is one of the things you can do when you are calling the shots. So he has to "forget" that he is All when he is in his manifest forms.) Y viola, ipso facto, we humans are one of the life forms and most of us have done a pretty good job forgetting who we really are but that is okay because it plays right into the TGFG concept. Humans are particularly nifty life forms because they are in reality giant, supersensitive, feeling machines. The myriad of physical and emotional sensations is enough to keep God creating over and over, day after day for all eternity.

Now imagine that God needs you to experience himself. Without you he is one big all-knowing, all-experiencing, undifferentiated blob but with you he has the possibility to feel and therefore to know himself. This is how God gets his jollies. Imagine that your only job is to feel. The next blog will show you how this works.


lundi 28 juin 2010

Anosognosic

I learned a new word this week: agnosognosic. Basically it means someone who doesn't know what he doesn't know. Initially this word was used to describe people who had lost an arm or a leg and didn't know it was gone or someone who was paralyzed but didn't know they were paralyzed. It is quite an interesting idea to think that we don't know what we don't know. The people with paralyzed or phantom limbs completely created their world to reflect what they knew, i.e. they had functioning limbs. If for example you put a pen next to someone's paralyzed arm and asked them to pick it up they would say that they didn't want to or didn't feel like it, some might even use the non-paralyzed limb to pick up the paralyzed limb picking up the pen. Do you follow? The conclusion was basically we create our own world and during my stay i have had many opportunities to witness this.

Last week i went to the Palais Tokoyo, contemporary art museum in the 8th arrondissement. I was with a friend and as i approached the ticket counter the woman asked me which tariff i would like to pay. Searching quickly, I ruled out senior, child, group. I replied the full tariff. She asked, "are you sure?" I looked puzzled and then she asked if i was an artist. My friend immediately responded "Yes, she is." She asked for proof but i had nothing except fingernails full of charcoal. I showed her my hands--not good enough--(not surprising). Finally she said, "I will give you the professor's discount and a ticket good for six months. I was way ecstatic. As we went to enter the museum my friend said to me, "Wow, she really gave you a hard time didn't she?" I had no idea what he was talking about. Here this French sales attendant just went out of her way to give me a discount after i had said i was happy to pay the full fare. My experience was that this French woman (notoriously known for coolness) was incredibly kind and generous to an obvious stranger. My heart was somersaulting thank yous. And yet my friend had a completely different experience, apparently one based on rudeness and meanness. Who was right? Who cares? Personally I like my experience better so I'm sticking to it.

So if we really are creating our world, that's really good news because it means that we are responsible. If something is happening that we don't like, we can change it (and by change "it" I mean what is in our control i.e. the "like" aspect not necessarily the "event" aspect.)

lundi 14 juin 2010

Calling Me To Wholeness

The finding, the following of the flow of Life has been a big theme for me on this journey in Paris. But what happens when the flow of Life spins, twists and throws you under water? I just found out. Before I wrote about taking the wrong train and getting locked out of my apartment and the ease of finding equanimity in those situations. Once again i found myself challenged. (Perhaps i did such a good job with those things that the gods decided I was ready for the next level. Ha!)

The details are not so important but suffice to say that "love interests" were not going the way my little mind thought they should. Letting go of the final vestiges of a relationship is much like that loose tooth that won't fall out. It is tender. Sometimes you stick it back in the socket and hope it stays there, other times it just dangles annoyingly. I stuck it back in the socket. It didn't fit. It just hurt more.

So here i was in pain. Where was the flow? What was i resisting? All of a sudden i could see my identification with the pain and not the flow. The flow was taking me under water and i was resisting, "No I'm not supposed to be here (i.e. I don't want to feel this). I want to be somewhere else (i.e. I want to feel something different)." Obviously i was losing the battle. Somehow through grace i was able to see that in this moment the flow was turbulent, under water and over rocks. Even though "i" didn't want this, it is what was present. Could i allow myself to be pulled under (ie feel the death, the rejection and whatever else my mind was naming)? Well it was obvious to me that i could continue resisting (it was so tempting) but that resistance only called up more pain. So deep inhalation, expand and surrender. Over and over i had to practice until I found the current or at least was out of the eddy.

I guess what i am trying to say is that the flow doesn't necessarily go smoothly all the time or maybe it does and I am still letting go of little bits of ego especially around those deeply held beliefs about love and what it looks like. Whatever this has been another opportunity to love myself even in the midst of falling into pain. And loving yourself no matter what seems to be the key. Pain really isn't so bad when you don't resist. It moves through the body pretty quickly. Even though i don't see where the flow is taking me (no invitations to exotic places so far) i know that even this is necessary, it is part of the plan calling me to wholeness.

mardi 8 juin 2010

Wined, Dined and Sunshined

I just returned from a marvelous weekend in Arcachon on the sea near Bordeaux. It was filled with good food, good conversation, good wine (bien sur) swims in the sea, picnics at sunset, a climb to the top of the largest dune in France, apertifs on a boat in the middle of the bay, promenades along the beach and through the ville, a short trip to the market y viola 48 hours away from Paris.

I was incredibly cared for by near strangers-patience with my budding french, interest in my opinions, delight in my delight. I felt like a precious flower that was delicately wined, dined and sunshined. When i returned to Paris i was totally high but what really had my juices flowing was how this weekend came about.

Last weekend i locked myself out of my apartment and as my landlord called it a "misadventure" ensued. (See the previous blog for details.) I called my landlord for a key but she was unable to help as she was in Arcachon 700 kilometers away. A few days later she invited me to their home by the sea (because of guilt, feeling sorry for me, who knows?) And i accepted.

As i reflect back on the lockout weekend and the pleasure-in weekend what i notice (again) is that the little mind has absolutely no idea of where Life is flowing. It desperately tries to control the moment by tantalizing us with stories of the past or the future, but truly it is paddling aimlessly while Life whisks us downstream. How many times has something "bad" turned into something great? Or something "good" turned into something okay or worse? The good/bad of the mind is completely irrelevant to Life. By notching up our attention to what Life is providing not the judgment of what is has or has not provided, untold adventures and riches are being offered to us in every moment. This is the only way i can explain the beauty of my life.

There is a magical rhythm of Life gently calling to each of us. While we are free to ignore that rhythm and put our attention all that we don't have (money, friends, family, hot croissants) and diet on the emotions of scarcity, lack, not deserving, anger, Life is ALWAYS offering us another choice. No matter what is happening on the outside world there is an unlimited inner world waiting for our exploration. And in a mixed up sort of way the inner world manifests the outer world. I sit in my French class and listen to my fellow students and sometimes think there must be two different Paris' out there. I am not sure how else to explain the joys and wonders i experience verses the dire experiences of others. (This is no to say that all is happy or beautiful all the time only that i realize the outside circumstances have very little to do with my inside sunshine.)

So I am grateful to have yet another experience not judging Life and trusting it to deliver the adventure of a lifetime called Kelsey.

lundi 31 mai 2010

Freedom from Should Have

All the spiritual mumbo-jumbo about happiness and bliss are just fine when everything is going well but what happens if you get on the wrong train or lock yourself out of your apartment on a Sunday? This weekend i got to find out the answer to both of those questions.

A beautiful Italian friend living an hour south of Paris invited me to visit for an Italian afternoon feast. How could i say no? It was easy she said, take the train to Malesherbes or Melun and get off in Corbeil Essonnes. I checked the map online before i went to the station and it seemed quite straight forward. Got to the station, saw a train for Melun y viola i was on it like a bee on honeysuckle. She said to call after about 45 minutes and she would meet me at the train. I didn't have a map of the train route but 40 minutes into the trip i began to get uneasy. At the next stop i ventured out and discovered there are two trains to Melun, one that goes through Corbeil and yes you guessed it, one that doesn't and i was on The Doesn't. At this point i had no choice but to continue to the end of the line another twenty minutes or so.

I called my friend who in excited anticipation went to the station early and i was going to be late, like an hour late. We talked for a few minutes. There was no drama on her part. No drama on my part. I rode to the end of the line, found an official conductor (my friend warned me that there were three trains that headed back to Paris but only one that went to Corbeil. Find that one.) The conductor escorted me to the right platform (and i was grateful for my elementary french).

As i sat in the train headed toward Corbeil, i realized that i was enjoying immensely the extra view time. There was no second thoughts about "i wish i had" or "i should have", just the sheer joy of watching a beautiful French countryside unfold before me. (BTW lunch was delicious!)

Fast forward to Sunday and i am leaving my apartment for groceries and
on the way out taking the garbage. Grabbing two full bags of garbage/recycling and two empty bags for new purchases, cramming what i could in my purse, i walked out of my apartment and slammed the door shut with the key in the other side of the lock. Unfortunately my door locks automatically and as the door was clicking shut i realized what i had done. Yikes.

Let's see. Landlord's phone numbers are sitting on my desk, not in my purse or telephone. (Note to self put phone numbers in mobile.) It's Sunday and most shops are closed. Then i have a brilliant idea and remember that my neighbors have my landlord's numbers because of the leak from my apartment into theirs a few weeks ago. (Funny how events intertwine.) Luckily they are home. Unluckily my landlord is 700 kilometres away and won't be back to Paris for a few weeks. She offers to call a locksmith warning me that it will be very expensive, but what choice do i have but to buck up the euros or play homeless for a night and then buck a few less euros. I say send the locksmith. She says he will be there in 30 minutes. Two hours later he shows up, "Sorry Madame. I had trouble with the lock of another client." (But by the size of his belly, i think he probably just had trouble leaving the lunch table.) He spent three minutes trying to thrust a piece of sturdy plastic paper between the door and the jam and declared, "C'est pas possible." (It's not possible.) He then said that i would have to get a new lock put on and that would cost at least 300 euros not to mention way more time locked out. "Please," I pleaded with him in my most flirtatious french "Will you try again?" Looking like he was appeasing a recalcitrant three year old he crammed the plastic back into the door jam and shook the door profusely to show me that he was right when "clink" i heard the sound of the key falling out of the lock and hitting the floor. Luckily there is a gap between the door and the floor and the key slid right out. Y viola i was in my apartment.

The fact that the guy was two hours late, that none of his master locksmith skills were used, did not stop him from charging me 100 euros for the inconvenience of a Sunday call. Unfortunately my school girl french was not up to the task of arguing and i doled over the money with nary a thought except relief to back into my nest.

The rest of the afternoon was spent blissfully watching the French Open (how can you not be blissful while being treated to the eye candy of Rafael Nadal?) and making ratatouille.

In reflection what i noticed about both situations was a lack of self-judgment or recrimination. Sure i made some mistakes but as soon as i realized it, I put my little brain to solving the problem (instead to solving me), took the action required and went on enjoying my life including the detours caused by the mistakes. This was brillant. Freedom from should have.

By the way, my landlord felt so badly about me paying the locksmith that she invited me to her "grande maison" on the sea near Bordeaux...and i think i just might take her up on it.

samedi 29 mai 2010

Suffering for Beauty

Walking in the Parc du Champ de Mars (the Eiffle Tower park) i noticed a very cute pair of high heeled sandals sitting under a park bench. It was a warm day, sun shining and a scores of pale Parisiens pursuing tans. Next to the very high heels was a beautiful woman with seven band-aids on her left foot. (I couldn't count the right foot too without being totally obvious.) After having walked miles myself in my practical but cute flat soled sandals for the first time this season i too had a blister on a tender toe. The next morning on the recommendation of a friend i went to the pharmacy and there i discovered the secret of high heels in Paris--a wall of bandages dedicated to blisters. A specialty bandage in every shape or form for every possible shape blister in every possible location on the foot. And please let's put this in perspective: shampoos a half a wall, deodorants a quarter of a wall, lotions a half a wall, ampules (blisters) full wall. I was astonished and then i began to think: "What will we suffer to look good?"

The suffering is not confined to the physical. Clearly woman have physically suffered for beauty: whale-boned corsets, bound feet, Christian Louboutin shoes. (Men too, hair transplants, penile enlargements, steroids.) But how much do we suffer emotionally in the name of appearing strong, capable, loving or even needy in order to attract someone's attention? The masks we wear might be beautiful but they are indeed as painful as as a pair of Louboutin four inch heels. And unfortunately there is no wall of band-aids to provide temporary comfort. Really the only solution is to de-mask.

Luckily for me the blister was small. The bandage cheap. And gone the next day.




mardi 18 mai 2010

Compare and Contrast

A few days ago, I tootled off to meet a new friend at the Grand Palace and see the Turner exhibit. From the loads of people there, a wildly popular exhibit (but i have an idea that most of them were part of some conspiratorial tour group operation.) Turner was a prolific English artist famous for his classic late 1700's early 1800's landscapes. When possible the curator chose to show the paintings side by side with other artists who had painted the same landscape from the same point of view. Imagine two artists sitting on the same terrace perhaps at different times drawing the same vista. It produced an eerie deja vu type of experience.

Since the exhibit i realized that i have curated my life in much the same way. If my life i Portland is one painting, my life in Paris is another. By comparing and contrasting them i get to note the similarities and the differences and a certain detachment ensues. And somehow this detachment from one life or the other (i am not this painting or that) gives me a freedom to be something that is neither painting. Imagine realizing "Oh i am neither the person who runs off to work everyday nor the person who runs off to language school." "I am neither the person who drives a car nor the one walks everywhere." I get closer to the essence of me and metaphorically speaking further away from the distraction of colors, shapes and brush strokes.

It sort of boils down to this: on the one hand there seems to be very little "me" operating and on the other hand a whole lotta "I am" operating. It is a joyous place to leave the little me behind.

mardi 11 mai 2010

Taking Off the Filter

A partial list of things that have made me laugh at loud or at least smile in the last eight hours:

1. My toes tickled into happiness when I slip my feet into decadent sheep wool lined slippers.
2. The feel of water throwing itself at me through the shower head as i sit in my over-sized dog bowl i mean, bathtub.
3. Watching the smile appear on a beggar's face as i look him in the eye, put a armful of respect into his empty cup and say "bonjour monsieur."
4. The rain kissing my face.
5. The taste of dark chocolate with a grenache-syrah wine.
6. Having my head massaged into ecstasy at the coiffure.
7. Blow drying my hair until it feels like a cloud surrounding ma tete.
8. Lastly watching a young man pushing is his daughter in a stroller covered by a clear plastic cover, hearing her make a fuss and as the man took off the filter, y viola a giant smile beaming from her as soon as she could "see."

May we all take off the filters and "see" the joy that surrounds us in every moment.

samedi 8 mai 2010

Just Stopping

One of the most important lessons i am remembering is how important it is to pause, breathe and be completely consumed by the moment. Just now i was standing in my room with the windows flung wide open and allowing myself to be kissed by the sun. It wasn't a long time, maybe three or four minutes but in that eternity--peace, space, expansion were present and fulfilling. Here in Paris there seems to be many opportunities for that. Maybe it is the parks, the flowers, the architecture, the statues or even the people. Maybe it is because i am not in a hurry do something, everything or even anything. When i walk, which is everyday, i see people stopped, sitting on benches, on the quai next to the Seine, pausing at cafes, sipping coffee, smoking a cigarette--just stopping. It is a good remembering for me.

Last night i was at a cafe in Montmartre with some new French friends. The Project is their neighborhood Cheers. In the course of the evening, a prominent, drunk "artiste" stopped to share his incoherent views with these friends, next came the crazy woman "artiste" in her pajamas? spattered with paint and clumps of hair missing, then the cigarette lady less than five feet tall, round with oversized eyes, drooping mouth, bossing all of her clients around and reaching deep into her mystery bag and pulling out specialty brands for known clients. It was like a street cabaret. And i had a beautiful front row seat for the price of a verre du vin (glass of wine). It was so easy to be entertained. Is life like this all the time?

Pause, breathe and be consumed by the feast life is delivering. A beautiful remembering.

samedi 1 mai 2010

French Men and an American Woman

French men seem to have an inborn appreciation for beauty. Is it the centuries of art, architecture and music that they have been exposed to? Does it hearken from the courtly days of royalty? I'm not sure but their sense of beauty clearly extends to the feminine form. If you sit at a cafe you can watch the men watching the women...with no apologies, no surreptitious glances, just full out adoration. The french women have also been trained from an early age to expect this type of adoration AND completely ignore it. So what happens when you add an American woman into this mix? Oh and i should add a happy American woman. This is a typical day.

Early morning on my way to the atelier to draw for three hours. Hair swept back (to keep out of the charcoal), jeans and black boots (because they are the only shoes I have that won't show the charcoal dust), carrying an armload of drawing supplies including a large portfolio to hold the papers, large silver earrings, no necklace (french women wear one or the other but not both...how gauche). Walking down my pedestrian only street on the way to the metro, the Brinks security guy sees me and starts following me with one eye on the road (so he doesn't hit a pedestrian like the Tri-met bus driver) and one eye in the mirror. He gets to the intersection before i do and despite his green light he waits to for me to catch up. He nods his head for me to cross the street (probably so he can catch a glimpse of my backside.) I do and he smiles appreciatively. He has a pick up(?) a hundred feet ahead of me. As I pass his stopped vehicle another smile and a bonne journee madam. Finally the metro.

There must be an unwritten rule for all metros in the world: dourness required for entry. I do my best to comply but its hard not to smile when you are thrown around the car like a go-cart ride and heck i'm in Paris on my way to create. No incidences on the subway (this time...more stories on other days but i am trying to focus on this day). However i leave the subway station and as i am walking to the atelier a delivery man (gorgeous by the way) calls out to me from the other side of the street, "Tres joli, votre sourier est tres tres joli" (very pretty, your smile is very, very pretty). He continues to beam and explain how wonderful it is to see such beauty. I duck into the studio, safe for now.

Later that day i am buying veges for a ratatouille at the local market. I am patiently waiting my turn as everything i want is on "promotion" which means i have to let the man behind the counter pick out my produce. Its my turn. He looks at me. Turns away. (Uh oh is the french brush off? Mais non) he turns back and produces a strawberry for the "very beautiful lady". (This is another good looking thirty-something.) He continues to strike up a conversation about how nice it is to see someone smiling and so beautiful and i am totally flustered and make it out of there with my aubergine, corgettes (zuchinni) and extra peppers because i was too embarrassed to say only one please.

AND the day is still not finished. I make the ratatouille in the late afternoon and head over for the evening admittance to the Louvre to hang with some beauty myself. I find a statue that is irresistible to sketch, so i pull out my pencil and my black moleskine. I am happy as a clam, looking at the shapes and angles, noticed the lights and darks, seeing the relations between the forms contained within the statue when as you can guess, up walks a french man. More glowing accolades for the gift of beauty, some conversation practice and a request for a phone number...denied.

My American friend living in Paris tells me i need to quit smiling. Happy people are presumed stupid people she tells me. Easy targets. But how can i turn off the glow inside? Why would i want to turn it off when i have worked so hard to liberate the joy that lives within? Maybe i need to be a little more selective as to who gets the full force of the light inside. Finally i return home. I feel completely fulfilled-- a day of creation, connection and beauty.

mardi 27 avril 2010

Baby Steps

Think Powell-sized bookstore with Barnes and Noble organization and then double it. That is FNAC une grande librairie. I was picking up yet another French tutorial and a few books on Kashmir-Shiavism (something to read in French) and while checking out, the cashier asked me something, I looked blankly at him, he answered his own question, mais non. I whipped out my credit card (always an equalizer) and as he was processing my card it dawned on me what he said. The cylinders were firing a little slowly but at least they were firing. Asked him if he said blah, blah, he responded mais oui, gave me a big smile and wished me a bonne journee (good day not to be confused with a good journey). Next at the natural food store (yes they have those here) the cashier at the end of our transaction asked me if i wanted some bio bread and i totally understood him in French. No translation. I don't even know all of the exact words he used, but i clearly understood. Y viola! And to top it off on my home two different strangers stopped and asked me for directions in french. I whipped out my plan de Paris and showed them where they were and where they wanted to go. So normal! So French! Baby steps.

mercredi 21 avril 2010

Monsieur Mercedes

Strutting along in my most American outfit to date, t-shirt, tennis shoes and jeans and wearing really great Roberto Cavelli sunglasses (accoutrements are de riguer here) I was on my way to my friend's house for a mobile phone battery. Crossing the wide open Place des Invalides, a ginormous black Mercedes did a 180 and pulled up to me and rolled down the window. A good looking french man began to speak to me asking if i was from here, could i tell him where a certain cafe was. I was completely caught off guard by his charming smile and let's face it the brand new Mercedes. After talking for 5 minutes he asked if i was free in the evening. Bien sur. Would i want to get together later on for a drink? Maybe--i mean yes. Luckily i had some brain cells firing as i refused to get into the car with him but agreed to take his telephone number. A few hours later i decided to call. What the heck? Meet someplace public. Another opportunity to practice french.

No answer. I left a message. He called back about a half hour later and after a series of phone calls we agreed to meet nearby where i lived. He was going to a party at a club near the Louvre and wanted us to go together. How sweet. Could this man really be this charming, this interesting? He lived in Nice and visions of summers on the Riveria began dancing through my head. Wear something cute and sexy was his text. Huh?

Finally we met at a cafe prior to our party rendezvous. We were going to a "couples" club. There to meet his buddy and his buddy's new Ukranian "girlfriend" for some foursome fun. "You like girls?" What? Fortunately we were at a very public cafe, having a very public drink. It took two seconds to understand what he wanted and two more seconds for me to know what i didn't want. He was very casual. "Oh you are charge. We can just look. We don't have to go. Blah, blah, blah." We met at eleven and i was home and safely tucked in bed before the carriage had time to turn into a pumpkin. Just a another petite adventure in Paris.

lundi 19 avril 2010

Surely some talent rubbed off

I stood in line at the Musee Louvre for the evening opening. For a reduced price, 6 euros, and with fewer people, you can have access to the museum for nearly four hours on Wednesday and Friday from 6-9:45 PM (more than enough time to saturate on objets d'art). My intent was to draw. I found a Greek statute and spent nearly two hours, sketching until my tummy was growling, my legs aching from standing (it was the best angle) and light-headedness was beginning to set in. Whew, i thought i would quickly make my way out the opposite way i came in. Ha! By the time i simply walked through the corridors and noted all of the other statues or paintings i wanted to sketch almost two more hours had gone by. (And what happened to the aching legs, growling tummy and spinning head? Disappeared. I am amazed at what happens when i am fully engaged. Some might call it being present, but in that state the only thing that matters is what i am engaged in. I love it when that happens. And it seems to happen most often when i am creating. Creating anything...art, food, love, exercise.)

As an aside i read that if you stood in front of every item in the Louvre for just ten seconds it would take you two full weeks to get through it. I am all about art but overload is overload.

Two nights later i found myself at the Pompidou museum which exhibits modern art. An exhibition of Lucien Freud was showing, I bought myself a ticket 12 euros and seriously considered the annual membership 48 euros which seemed like a steal to me. Another two hours sketching this outrageously fat woman that Freud painted. The proportions were so outrageous that they were a blast to draw--legs the size of tree trunks, breasts the size of watermelons--really--belly the size of the Icelandic volcanic cloud floating over all other organs. Fantastic. After which i treated myself to a book which had a comprehensive collection of Frank Auerbach's work which i adore and then plopped myself on the roof top bar for a glass of wine, olives, almonds and one of the most decadent views of Paris. Ahh...the life.

And finally the next day i went to L'Atelier de Grande Chaumieur to draw the nude figure. This was an amazing find. Four hours of a live model, posing, sketching, sharpening pencils, capturing an essence, missing it, finding that thing every artist hopes to express and then sheer exhaustion. Only then did i realize that my butt was killing me--sitting for hours on end with 100% focus even when i was muddling through my broken french trying to understand the rules and etiquette of the studio. The next day i could hardly walk. But I was gleeful. I had been drawing in the same room as Gaugin, Modigliani, Morher, Delacroix, Manet, Picasso and Cezanne to name a few. Surely some of the talent rubbed off?

dimanche 11 avril 2010

Velib

It seemed so easy. Swipe the American Express and go. There was nothing about daily subscriptions, secret codes and pin numbers. After several minutes of looking befuddled and standing in front of the dispenser with my decoder in hand i asked a handsome french man for some help. Bien sur. He explained that having secured the decoder, i then needed to enter the subscription number, followed by the pin number, followed by the object number. In french the directions sounded like Mary Poppins' tune--a spoonful of sugar to help the numbers get punched in. Y viola i was off--on my Velib that is.

Paris has one of the most progressive public bike systems in the world with thousands of bikes available to anyone who has a credit card or registers with the transportation department. For 1 euro a day or 29 euros for the year you are allowed to rent the bicycles for an unlimited number of trips for the day (or year). The first half hour is free and the next half hour is 1 euro and the next half hour is another euro. The idea is to share the bikes, not hog them. For example you can ride a bike for four hours and it wouldn't cost you a thing as long as every half hour you pop into one of the bike stations, park your bike, do the decoding dance and retrieve another bike. But hog the bike and gets expensive fast. Bicycle stations are at a maximum of 300 meters from each other throughout the city. In theory this should make it very easy to return and retrieve. What i discovered was that there are definitely popular destinations. Near the Jardin des Plantes, i cycled past three stations all full. Finely i stopped and asked a man working on the bicycle ticket dispensers, "Where can i return the bike?" in french and he actually understood me--yippee! He suggested a few possibilities and then i noticed a big map on the dispenser that showed all of the nearby stations. It sort of turned into a treasure hunt--where to find a bike parking? Eventually i found one and gratefully dismounted my wheels. Legs shaking.

Did i mention that the Paris bikes are built like tanks which means you need legs like cannons to propel them forward. My popsicle stick legs were no match for the stop and go, avoid the bus, avoid the pedestrian, circle the cars, trip. And for the number of bicycles in the city there is a paucity of designated bike lanes. I'm sure i broke every rule because i rode in the bus lanes, on the sidewalks, against traffic on a one way street, through red lights (what? that little signal on the side of the road means me?) but no one seemed to mind. I am sure there is a sensibility to the lay out of the traffic in Paris but i am afraid you might need a french gene to understand. For now I'm holding off on that annual pass.

samedi 10 avril 2010

Deliciously at Peace

Sitting in a neighborhood park far from my home, i watched the children playing the usual games, parents and nannies keeping an eye on them, a group of old men playing petanque and a rousing ping pong match. The sun was out. The temperature perfect. A breeze whispered. I had walked about 3 miles before i came upon this picture perfect park, and sitting down felt unusually good. My limbs became heavier and heavier. My seat sunk into the wooden bench. My back relaxed against the wooden slats. I could hardly move. It felt sooo good. I kept sinking deeper and deeper, simultaneously, into heaviness and lightness. And I began to reflect on why i felt so deliciously at peace.

Many times in the past, traveling solo was a way of getting out of my comfort zone, confronting my personal demons of "I am not ..... (you can fill in a host of answers most of which will probably be dead on)". I would feel uncomfortable, lonely, out of place, not belonging. When i was out of my normal routine, my usual habits where no longer there to keep me distracted from that sense of unease (or worse) that comes when a false belief is operating. So obviously the false belief would surface and y viola i would feel like shit.

None of those things are happening now. Sure i can barely speak a word of French or rather i can speak enough to totally slaughter the language. (You should've seen me trying to buy a drawing board and tape at an art supply store. After explaining to the salesgirl that i wanted tape, not scotch tape, this is what i think i said "there is a sort of tape that painters of houses for example use when they are painting the wall and want to protect the wood next to the window." It probably came out more like "there is a sort of tape that pains the houses to use the wood next to the window." After a couple of tries the patient salesgirl said very politely, "Please could you try in English." I did. Found the tape. And left the store muttering to myself the phrase trying to correct the pronunciation and grammar.) I understand almost nothing here and yet i am totally happy.

One of the burdens that i had carried around for years was a deep belief that someone else out there "got IT" and i mean the big IT--an all encompassing everything-i-didn't-know-but-needed-to-in-order-to-be-safe-and-at-peace including what-i-didn't-know-i-needed-to-know. If only i could find that person then i could get "IT" from him (yes there was a predisposition that it was a he who had IT.) So for many years i have been looking for the him who has the IT. Suddenly the spell was broken this winter. (In reality probably not all that suddenly after years of sitting on my can, dreaming, meditating, self-reflecting and thousands of dollars (gratefully spent) to my teachers.) Part of my reason coming to Paris was to put myself in the same kind of situation that i have been in before and see if there was a new reaction or was there the same old fear. So far no old fear. I look around and see beautiful people, people i can talk with, interact with, connect with but i haven't yet seen one person who has something that i don't have. There hasn't been one time when i have wished that i was that person with .....

No, i have been quite happy being myself, just little ole me who loves sliding her feet into her furry slippers, drinking coffee with creme legere in my bed, watching with amusement what motivates the human in this moment (food--big motivator, rest, the outdoors, drawing, writing, hot baths). No judgment. Mostly it is pretty simple and pretty delightful.

mardi 6 avril 2010

Calories for Comprehension

How far will I go to practice French? Apparently pretty far. Yesterday a canvasser stopped me in the street to tell me that he liked the red streak in my hair. In the states i would smile and nod and slip away with nary a word spoke. Here we talked about hair for a while and then he launched into his spiel. At least I think it was his spiel. I nodded a lot, threw in an occasional "oui" and then politely explained that i gave money to Mercy Corps in les etats-unis at which point he smiled and wished me a "bon journee." At the Italian restaurant next to my apartment I ordered a dessert that i didn't even want just so i could talk with the owner/waiter/chef about how he prepared it. Calories for comprehension. At least it was biologique and delicious. Today i spent about twenty minutes talking to the olive vendor about his products from green olives, black olives, french olives, italian olives, tapenade, tapenade with capers, peppers, garlic to olive oil, black truffle oil, white truffle oil, balsamic vinegar, balsamic with raspberries, blueberries, figs. You get the idea.

It costs money to learn another language not just the classroom costs. The key is to maximize every purchase. Ask every question possible, where, when, how and then just pray you have some basic understanding of where the conversation is going. Half the time i don't consciously understand what is being said but i have assigned my subconscious with the task of taking in all of these strange sounds and beginning to create a workable file.

As an after note i was buying wine for dinner with a friend tonight and the proprietor told me i spoke pretty good french. (I think he was just buttering me up so that i would become a frequent customer. It worked i am already trying to think of the wine i want for tomorrow!)

samedi 3 avril 2010

An Angel Arrived

An angel arrived today in form of an old friend, long time Paris resident, ex-pat extraordinaire. My friend Suzan came bearing gifts--a sharp knife, a plan de Paris and a telephone. She spent four hours with me beginning with organizing the apartment and then setting off on the street to show me the ropes--the quincaillerie (hardware store) for hooks, the telephone store for a sim card, the photo store for ID photos for a still-to-be-bought metro pass, the Metro for a temporary 10 ride carnet, ED the super discount post soviet style store that has all the cleaning basics and some food to boot. Along the way we popped into a librarie for Paris weekly and as we sauntered we loaded our bags with fruits and vegetables and pain (bread). Finally she picked out a quaint little bistro to sit down and have some lunch. (How do you tell which ones are good when there are at least 5 or 6 cafes/ bars/ bistros on every block? She told me her cute little terrier, Sindbad made the choice. Yes she is so parisienne that she has her darling little purse dog that jumped inside when ever we went into a food store as dogs are not allowed.)

We sat down to eat and it was a truly authentic bistro. In the neighborhood for decades, with wonderful fresh food in a dark wooded room with a zinc topped bar (even the toilet was the original hole in the ground though with the updated feature of real toilet paper instead of newsprint--ouch.) Suzan started talking to the two women next to us and before we knew it we had recommendations to several other neighborhood restaurants, the name of one of the women and we promised to use her name as an introduction to be served properly. Turns out she was the proprietress of our bistro. Somewhat of a local who's who. Now i know where i will be eating my lunch time meal.

Un peu y un peu things are falling into place.

jeudi 1 avril 2010

Arriving

What struck me as we were taxing to the arrival gate in Paris was the impact of all my past memories of landing in Paris with someone there to meet me. Today no one was there to meet me (not even my luggage--oh well a minor inconvenience...thus far.) I could feel sensation and stories building. And I breathed. Breathed into every cell the sensations that i was experiencing. Not resisting one ounce of emotion. And all sensation passed through me. It was rather like someone had tickled me with a giant ostrich feather from the inside out. Sort of delightful. After making my luggage claim it seemed quite symbolic to walk out of the airport and into my new life with only my purse and a few carry-on comforts.

I arrived at the apartment (small), furnished (what no coffee pot)
, and blessed connected internet. The landlady, her husband and her son (internet liaison) were there go over everything. The husband in a stroke of caring genius made me lock and unlock the front door several times (finicky nineteenth century locks in an eighteenth century building.) Then off to satisfy the growling emptiness in my stomach and begin to stock the non-existent pantry.

After eating and buying a few groceries I was walking around my neighborhood thinking about where to eat dinner later on. It seemed so onerous to have to decide where to eat by myself. I really didn't feel like eating out and just wanted to cook some comfort food at home. And in that moment I saw how I had these very subtle expectations of what my Paris experience should look like. With that realization came all of these other expectations about how quickly i should acclimate, how many friends i should make, how comfortable i should be. What if, just what if I am not supposed to be comfortable or know all the right people and places? What if I was supposed to be all alone with only me for company? An incredible relief poured over me. Where i was, was okay. Simple i know but a profound.