Cranky Optimism

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2 Years Ago

October 16, 2017 by Jess Filed Under: Thoughts Leave a Comment

I was looking through my spiritual diary from my time at the ashram. My heart hurts for the girl who wrote those pages. She was covered in dust and cobwebs, sickly, weighing under 100lbs, and directionless. There were weeks when she couldn’t even speak, having literally lost her voice from swallowing all the things she actually wanted to say, all the questions she had. Poor thing. So confused.

Despite all that, I’m actually grateful for my time there, mostly because I think it brought me so much closer to my current practice and relationship with Spirit. If I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t be where I am now.

This is one of my favorite memories of that time. I’m so glad I captured it in writing. It’s a nice reminder that even when it feels like we’re surrounded by darkness, Spirit is watching and knows right when to enter the room.

* * *

 

Every day now I clean the windows. It’s a nice practice and in my personal sadhana outside of the yoga center, I do similar things. Cleaning away the dirt every morning, knowing that the dust from the day will settle back down, and the next morning i’ll do it all over again. it’s worth it to get the unfiltered sunlight in.

One of the biggest changes was to get rid of all of the private business cards that people left along the wall near the door. They were the first thing a person would see upon entering, and they had nothing to do with yoga, with our center, or spirituality. Not to mention, they were covered in dust. I just had this feeling that the first thing one should see should be something more powerful and moving than that.

But what?

After cleaning and rearranging, there was this blank spot on the wall right near the entrance. I spent a few days trying to figure out what to put there. I decided on a mirror– it would reflect the sunlight and brighten up the room.

But as I was on the computer about to order the mirror, I got overwhelmed with another wave of emotion, and began crying. It’s like my response to being in such a repressed environment is to just burst into tears randomly.

After a few minutes I looked up and realized there was a woman standing in the doorway. Embarrassed, I called out to her, telling her to come in. She approached the desk, holding something in her arms. With a big smile, she turned the parcel around and revealed the most beautiful charcoal portrait of Swami Sivananda. The image is a famous one, but there was something about *this* drawing. It seemed alive.

“My friend was a doctor. He grew up in South Africa. When he was young, he went to India and studied with Swami Sivananada. But Swami Sivananda told him that he had spent too many lifetimes as a monk, and that he should go be in the world this time. So my friend moved to the US and became a holistic doctor. He had this portrait of his SadGuru above all of his clients. He died last year, and his daughter was so distraught that she was going to throw this away. But I found you guys online, and decided to drive down here and give it to you. He’d want you to have it.”

I didn’t know what to say. I kept asking her if she didn’t want to keep it herself, but she just shrugged and said that she felt he’d want it to be at a center where people studied Swami Sivananda’s teachings.

It fit perfectly in the spot that I was trying to fill. It was 2 days before Guru Purnima.

I placed a small white flower under the picture, and a candle. The flower did not wilt for 3 weeks. 

America

August 12, 2017 by Jess Filed Under: Words 1 Comment

I gave you all and now–
Now, look what you’ve done to it.
What once were the best minds,
Now dirty drunk with apathy bloat
Broken bruised like fallen apples
Tumbling blissful down
DC streets at dawn.

I always said you had a problem.
Should’ve listened to Uncle Allen years ago,
He saw this coming.
Don’t laugh this is serious.
I’m serious.

They’re building walls to keep those fucking Mexicans out.
Either that or they’re building walls to keep those fucking Texans in.
America, watch what you say:
Canada is listening.

They’re hanging nooses at UVA.
I’m just waiting for the South to explode.
They’re shooting children in Sanford.
I mean Dallas.
I mean Cleveland.
I mean Columbus.
California is burning.
I said,
New Orleans is still under water
And it’s only August
It’s dreadful.

America, You’re sick.
And I can’t afford to help you.
Your health insurance stopped covering you
When you dropped out of Yale.
Maybe you should stop writing and
Get a real job.

I’m not going to say you’ve got an aggression problem but
You’ve got an aggression problem.

America, watch what you say.
Canada is listening.
Watch what you say.
The Feds are listening.
Maybe we should’ve hugged you more as a child.

America your flag has been upside down since 1965.
Get yourself together.
When will you stop standing on your head?
I’m sick of your insane demands.
I will not subscribe to white Stepford culture
So just back off with your SUVs and your pearl earrings and your
Ivy league smart-ass banter.

America, I know it’s not your fault.
We’ve got a classic case of identity theft.
A fat-cat con-artist stole your credit card,
Hacked into your twitter account,
Left your public services for dead.
We’ll get you out of this mess somehow.

America, watch what you say.
Canada is listening.
America, watch what you say.
The Feds are listening.

America, watch what you say.
Our children are listening.
Our children are listening.
Our children are listening.

Get it together.
Your history unwritten is spread by the mouths
Of painted poetry sprayed on the side of
Abandoned subway cars in Manhattan

It’s all there:
A history of revolutionaries and martyrs.
A history of great thinkers and anarchists and visionaries.
A history of entrepreneurs and prophets and communists
And union workers and feminists and civil rights activists.
Of people knowing the difference between having freedom
And being free but dumb.

America, your children are talking to you
They’re trying to help.
Are you listening?

America, what will you do next?
History isn’t in the past
It is actively written every moment.
Are you going to allow them to speak for you
In 140 characters or less,
Even though they’ve never known you?

Are you going to allow them to write your story
With the same pen they use to balance their checkbooks?

America choose your words carefully,
The whole world is watching.

Late Night Sonnet

July 30, 2017 by Jess Filed Under: Words Leave a Comment

He dreams in colors heartbreakingly bold,
And shares images with her sleepy mind.
Of fruits crimson and flowers sparkling gold
And of all the wonders he left behind.

Barefoot and voice hushed he tells her his dreams
Painting pictures with words in midnight air.
He takes her through real and fantastic scenes
Describing hues, both exotic and fair.

Oh how she wonders what tonight will hold
What inks he will color upon her eye.
And if on this night she will be so bold
To finally set free her choking sigh:

– What colors should I wish my self to be
So someday you will wake, dreaming of me?

Philadelphia International Airport

June 20, 2017 by Jess Filed Under: Words Leave a Comment

Look at her:
Adventure forward and future free.
There are times I recall,
That girl was me.

Bodhi

May 12, 2017 by Jess Filed Under: Words Leave a Comment

I have named my unacknowledged emotion “Bodhi”.
I carry him around, strapped to my chest
Wrapped in saffron silk cloths,
And feed him pomegranate seeds soaked in honey.
He cries a lot and I don’t know how to comfort him
Without smothering.

When he dies I will not mourn his death
But will ignite candles in his honor
To serve as a constant reminder:
that which burns also gives light.

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