Blazing all chambers, my heart is supple, radiant. (an intention for 9-11-11)

On September 10, 2001, I prepared to go to bed with a particular trepidation that soured my mood, making me tense and worried. I reached for my rose quartz crystal, an angular specimen rough and unpolished, that I had purchased at a shop in Basalt, Colorado. The proprietress of the shop had been instrumental in this purchase for she had said it was the stone that could best help me open my heart chakra, to enhance my instinct towards love and understanding. I'd had that stone for 10 years.

So that night, the 10th of September, 2001, I decided to make a simple intention for myself. I laid back upon the bed and placed the crystal over my heart chakra, breathing quietly and trying to quell my troubled mind. What worried me was this: I had not spoken with my ex-novio in 364 days and the next day, September 11th, 2001, would mark a one-year anniversary of silence between us. Of course, I both marveled at and regretted this astute observation. Why would I have chosen to remember this unpleasant historical marker, and how doomed did I need to feel, realizing that the next day might bring uncomfortable distress, unsatiated longing, and sorrowful tears?

With the chakra in place, I began a slow and deliberate mantra that went something like this: You will not spend tomorrow crying about this. You will allow love to flow through your heart chakra, there will be no blockage of love due to pain, regret, sadness, or anger. Keep your heart chakra open, and continue to feel, continue to love. Your heart is so much more capable than you realize, and you must forgive, accept, and move on in an eternal rhythm--love. Love. Just love.

I must have fallen asleep with this, because there was restfulness in my body. Until, until the next morning when there was a sharp, urgent knocking on my front door. Rising quickly, I found my mother in tears on the front steps, urging me to turn the television on. She sobbed loudly, while nervously repeating, "We've been attacked. We've been attacked." Everything after those words became a blur of incredulity, dismay, shock, and dread. I saw the video feeds, the live reports, the ongoing and incessant pundit analysis, the broadcast of national chaos. I turned to the internet for more information, updates from friends, poignant poems recently penned, and horrifying photo images. The events of that day so consumed me that it wasn't until after 5pm, while driving around in a stunned stupor with my friend Carol, that I realized I hadn't eaten at all.

And then, a day or two beyond that, after the post-911 world had found its feet and asserted its profoundly-changed character on the history of humanity, I realized that I hadn't thought about my broken heart, my ex-novio, and the last phone conversation we had ever shared. In fact, he was completely pre-empted on September 11th, 2001, and I cried no tears for him. My rose quartz crystal intention had worked. I'd gotten what I'd asked for. I went to bed on September 10th, hoping to banish suffering from my heart. And woke instead to a changed reality, a profound historical moment, and an utterly unfathomable new challenge for my heart and the hearts of all people.

Tonight, I have my rose quartz crystal next to me, as I prepare for a night's sleep. A new and different anniversary will be marked tomorrow. My crystal stone is small, fits easily in the palm of my hand. But I wish it to be powerful enough to soothe your heart, your mind tomorrow. Tomorrow and tomorrow's tomorrow. I want us to move on, move forward, with heart chakras open, inspired by clarity of thought and unfettered by denial or enmity. If we must cry, then let us cry to release the tension, let go the sorrow. But let us not be stuck in a misery that prevents advancement towards unity and peace.

As my friend and fellow poet, Richard Loranger, wrote in a message from Brooklyn that fateful September of 2001, "Let us all practice utmost discernment and kindness in all our actions."


Wishing you a beautiful restful night and a day and future of growth, wisdom, and love.

A Special Visitation

A bright orange and brown butterfly flitted close by as I worked outside this evening. At one point, it flew up to my ear, and its beating wings sounded shockingly loud--stunning me for a few seconds. A minute later, it landed on the top end of the rake I was using, and so I spoke to it. Already, I had the strongest feeling that it was the spirit of Rigoberta Menchu's mother come to direct me to action. As it kept its place on the rake handle, pulsing its wings open and closed, open then closed, I asked it: "What is it that you want me to do? Tell me what it is I should do." All I could conclude is that she wants me to protect her daughter, that I am to help her be safe.

Hanging out with Green Tara for New Year's Eve

I spent the evening last night with the Green Tara.

What I mean is that my friend Shara and I participated in an all-night New Year's Eve meditation retreat at the Kadampa Meditation Center in Arlington, Texas. It was both the first time for us to visit this Buddhist center and the first time for us to try doing a spiritual retreat to ring in the new year.

The focus for the retreat was the Green Tara, the Buddhist symbol of universal compassion and empathic practice. So, Shara and I arrived at the Center just in time for the potluck celebration meal, which had followed the first chanting/meditation session. Not to worry, there were many more such sessions to come, scheduled at 3-4 hour intervals. We had been (according to an email invite I'd received) encouraged to bring sleeping bags so that we might nap in between the sessions. And we did just that.

After eating, we washed our dishes in the communal kitchen and chatted with a few acquaintances that happened to be there for the first time as well. We removed our shoes (a Center requirement) before entering the sanctuary, which was a spacious bright room with plush white carpet and comfy cushioned chairs. I took advantage of the ample space in the back area to stretch my aching neck and shoulders, and soon noticed a guy over to my right doing some yoga work too. It was very quiet and peaceful, though the sound of laughter would break out regularly, as folks of the community chatted in the dining area and outside vestibule.

It soon came to be obvious when the 11pm chant/meditation session was to begin. Shara and I had been apprised as to the procedure of the sessions by a friendly practitioner named Tom. While others chanted and sang the prayers from memory,
the apparent newbies such as myself read directly from the booklet provided for use. I found my mouth getting drier and drier, as the lines we sang were rapid and wordy, in English peppered with Sanskrit and Tibetan words. Staring at the beautiful array of deity statues and ornamentations, and the offering table covered with lit candles, I felt content to bring in the new year in a humble, introspective fashion rather than in the loud, smoky din of a bar or music venue. (Last year, I spent the entire new year's eve night alone, sicker than ever, watching almost the entire BBC mini-series adapted from a Charles Dickens novel.)

By 1am, the chanting was done and the Geshe (teacher) called out "Happy New Year," which prompted everyone to stand and share New Year's hugs and greetings. My friends Be and D'Zyne stepped over to chat and embrace; it was wonderful to see them here--also as first-timers to this Center.

Folks began laying their blankets and sleeping bags along the back wall and also near the front of the sanctuary, and the lights were soon dimmed for this sleep break. Shara and I went out to the car to retrieve our sleeping things and soon joined the others, bedded down for a few hours until the next chanting session, which was to start at 3am.

A gentle whispered wake-up call was issued near my head. "We start in 10 minutes," spoke one of the community members. I roused myself, feeling my mouth all chalky inside, wishing that I'd remembered to bring a toothbrush. In a beautiful wordless choreography, all the once-sleeping people were now up, lighting candles, turning up the sanctuary lights, and finding theirs seats on the floor or on the ample-seated chairs. Shara kindly brought over two blankets, so we could each cover our shivering legs.

Once the session at 3am began, my mind stopped drifting and became attuned to the communal intention, as well as my specific and personal goals. To be clear-minded (not merely sober, but also keenly aware) and thoughtful, with a dedication to rouse what needs to be roused, but to tame, regulate, and simmer the sorrows, doubts, and worries that distract. It was a tough session, staying awake to repeat prayers in a melodic chant, and my thirst seemed a huge obstacle to getting through this experience. But I've been thirsty before, and obstacles are usually temporary, so I plowed through, sometimes merely whispering occasional words rather than forcing myself to keep up forcefully strong. For inspiration, I let my eyes wander over the visage of the Tara statue. Her outstretched right leg, the mudra (spiritual gesture) formed by her fingers, and the shiny headdress on her slightly-bowed head.

Such practice brings out hope in me--a hope to somehow emulate and radiate the characteristics and internal features of spiritual strength and engaged Buddhistic persona. My striving is gentle, as I realize I am not perfect and that I don't have to be "done" or transcendent today.

I am just grateful that I have successfully turned the corner to a new year and will work intentionally to use every day of the next 365 that I might be blessed to live to accomplish good works for the benefit of all and for the betterment of my internal self.

Before the 6am session started, Shara and I rolled up our sleeping bags and blankets, put on our shoes, and headed out into the dawn and into 2011. Searching for pancakes and coffee, having found a most beautiful serenity at the Kadampa Center, lit on the inside.