Last Thursday was the eighth anniversary (Yartzeit) of my grandmother's death, a woman who very much impacted my life and with whom I was quite close growing up. My mother (her eldest daughter) had suggested that we children and grandchildren do something "meaningful" to mark the day, to honor her memory.
Not coincidentally, the Universe gave me a slow Chiropractic work day, and I was able to look through letters and journal entries from the time immediately before and after her death, which in turn gave me a burst of almost overwhelming creative energy, which I used to channel into photography and creative writing.
The day of her funeral, eight years ago, I wrote the following in my journal:
"There is a whole life in this house, from large details like her car to small details like her basement office organization, her color coordinated towels, her books. How does one dismantle a life? How does one distribute and incorporate it? Everyone keeps saying that her legacy is us, her grandchildren, we are the proof that she did something worthwhile, that each of us carries her within us. Why can't she be here to see it, I feel like everyone has a time, and this was not hers.
What will people say about me when I die? What will be my legacy?"
In speaking to a friend today, a woman aware of my issues at being single and childless in my late 30's, she challenged me with that exact question: What is my legacy? Can I say that I am an inherently worthwhile and important person, regardless of the standards imposed by society or by my family? Why do I exist?
For now, I have a sufficiently unconvincing answer, with the only fact on the ground being that I EXIST. I would even venture to say that I exist for a reason, and that I have faith that the Universe and its Higher Powers generally knows what it is doing. But I cannot answer the "Why," and it terrifies me, because I am afraid that if I explore these answers and possibilities, I will not like what I find. Perhaps it will come to me in a dream.
I do, however, have an opinion on the subject, and it starts with the classic philosophical question, if a tree falls in the middle of the woods and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? And actually, my answer to that is a definitive NO; hearing, like the other five senses humanity has been programmed with as part of their genetic package, is dependent upon relative perception. While the sound and the loss of a tree in the middle of a random forest will most definitely impact the Greater Universe - in keeping with the principles of Chaos Theory - if it has not been perceived by another, it gets lost.
To apply that theory on a micro level, I assert that I am in fact a worthwhile person, deserving of love and being in a loving relationship, and I assert that I value my own company. Ultimately, I wonder if I count, if I leave no trail behind me when I die, genetic or otherwise; if there was never one person in my life who loved me unconditionally, who wanted to be my husband and raise a child with me not out of obligation, but out of eagerness and interest and a desire to grow old with me. Surely, the heavens will cry when I leave this Earth, and somewhere in the cosmos there will be a ripple, but will any human miss me or remember me?
As a child, fame and global recognition represented my idea of meaning and legacy in life, I would not be considered a success until I had been featured on the front page of the New York Times for saving humanity, or until at least one of my works of art was hanging in the Metropolitan Museum. That template has dramatically shifted, I do not need nor want to save the world. Right now I want and need intimacy, physical and emotional, the knowledge that for at least one person on this planet, I am their first and most precious priority. You can argue that it means that I don't love myself 100%, or that I err in using an external measure of my worth, but I am human living in a society of other humans. Robinson Caruso had it much easier.
I don't know how to express or explain that feeling of total acceptance, except to say that I received that affirmation from my grandmother, and that is a large part of the reason why I miss her.
I close with a Celtic sonnet that someone read to my family when they visited the shiva house, eight years ago, and I dedicate this poem to my grandmother, and to myself, that I may have a long, fulfilling and happy life, and will have left it a better place for my being there.
Grieve not
Nor speak of me with tears
But laugh and talk of me
As though I were beside you.
I loved you so
"Twas Heaven here with you.
Showing posts with label vision quest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vision quest. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Monday, October 8, 2007
Rabbis, Reiki, Idol Worship and Wall Street
Or: "Sea Monkeys Invade New York, Possessed Wigs Attack Unsuspecting Heads"
I received today from a colleague an online article about an Ultra Orthodox Rabbi named Yitzchak Fanger, who had previously held the titles of Reiki Master and Buddhist Priest. The article describes his vision quest to India after the army - a typical journey for many non-religious Israelis - where he discovered spirituality and religion (someone else's religion), and after a series of non-coincidental miraculous events, returned to religious Judaism and Israel and to his family.
I am of course pleased for him that he has found satisfaction with his life and has reconciled with his upbringing, but have issue with his rejection of his Reiki training. He tells the story of his million dollar Reiki clinic, and how one day a group of Ultra Orthodox women wished to study with him, and insisted upon a "Certificate of Kashrut" (The Rabbi Stamp of Approval) before they could begin the class. He went to his local Rabbinic Authority, and this supposed community leader told Fanger that not only would he not issue any Certificate of Approval, but that Mr. Fanger must close his clinic immediately - the source of income for him and his entire family - because the teachings and techniques of Reiki were based in Idol Worship.
The now born-again Rabbi Fanger complied immediately, and concludes his interview by saying that he now has six children who are worth more than any of the money he made as a Reiki Master helping clients, and that his life as an Ultra Orthodox Rabbi gives him everything he needs. (Because now someone else is footing the bill...)
I performed half of my Chiropractic internship with the Ojibwe/First Nation (that's American Indians to the politically incorrect), and they told me a story about the four original peoples who were placed on this planet by a Higher Power: the White, the Yellow, the Black and the Red. Each was given a heritage of healing which specifically addressed the energies and the history of their color, so to speak, and only recently have the medicines and their techniques become mixed.
I have always operated under the credo taught to me by one of my first mentors in Chiropractic School, "more tools for the toolbox": the more I study and the more techniques I gather into my consciousness and daily routine, the more I can help each person who comes into my office. When I work on a patient, I use up to eight different systems, both Western and Eastern, thus providing a more complete and effective treatment that last longer than traditional care. I don't need a Rabbi, untrained in medicine and in the real world, to tell me what I can and cannot provide for my clients, especially since he would probably tell me to stop treating men, as they insist that it is improper for a woman to be alone with a man and touch him. Never mind that I am a doctor, a professional, and never mind that my father, also a Chiropractor, takes care of the wife of the Bostonner Rebbe, and her husband doesn't seem to have a problem with them being alone in a room for treatment.
Several years ago, a group of Rabbis in America declared that natural hair wigs - worn extensively by Ultra Orthodox women and costing up to $3000 a pop - could not be worn because some of the hair came from Indian women, who practice Idol Worship in their own religion, thus their hair was tainted and impure. All over the world, a flurry of wig burnings ensued, with families who cannot afford to feed and clothe their children burning these items of Evil, and buying synthetic wigs in their place. The Jewish wig merchants with their Certificates of Kashrut certainly did well on that venture.
Until the Rabbis recanted and decided that if anyone had not yet burned their wigs, they need not. And to fill the void and to fill certain merchant's pockets, they instead declared that the water in New York was contaminated with microscopic lobster derivative bugs, and that all proper Jews must immediately buy a high end water filter system (from a proper Jewish vendor, of course) to eliminate the dreaded impurity. Upon which Ultra Orthodox seminaries, largely supported by external donations so the men can sit and learn all day while their wives work several jobs, installed the best systems possible, and happily their Talmudic students are no longer infected by micro-organisms that only their spiritual and religious mentors can see.
To quote Alanis Morisette, "It's all about the money." (It's all about the dumb, dumb dumbe de dumb.)
Religion does indeed fill the need of controlling the masses, and the rich historical heritage of despots, cult leaders and con men can be proud of the application of their theories among the Ultra Orthodox.
I received today from a colleague an online article about an Ultra Orthodox Rabbi named Yitzchak Fanger, who had previously held the titles of Reiki Master and Buddhist Priest. The article describes his vision quest to India after the army - a typical journey for many non-religious Israelis - where he discovered spirituality and religion (someone else's religion), and after a series of non-coincidental miraculous events, returned to religious Judaism and Israel and to his family.
I am of course pleased for him that he has found satisfaction with his life and has reconciled with his upbringing, but have issue with his rejection of his Reiki training. He tells the story of his million dollar Reiki clinic, and how one day a group of Ultra Orthodox women wished to study with him, and insisted upon a "Certificate of Kashrut" (The Rabbi Stamp of Approval) before they could begin the class. He went to his local Rabbinic Authority, and this supposed community leader told Fanger that not only would he not issue any Certificate of Approval, but that Mr. Fanger must close his clinic immediately - the source of income for him and his entire family - because the teachings and techniques of Reiki were based in Idol Worship.
The now born-again Rabbi Fanger complied immediately, and concludes his interview by saying that he now has six children who are worth more than any of the money he made as a Reiki Master helping clients, and that his life as an Ultra Orthodox Rabbi gives him everything he needs. (Because now someone else is footing the bill...)
I performed half of my Chiropractic internship with the Ojibwe/First Nation (that's American Indians to the politically incorrect), and they told me a story about the four original peoples who were placed on this planet by a Higher Power: the White, the Yellow, the Black and the Red. Each was given a heritage of healing which specifically addressed the energies and the history of their color, so to speak, and only recently have the medicines and their techniques become mixed.
I have always operated under the credo taught to me by one of my first mentors in Chiropractic School, "more tools for the toolbox": the more I study and the more techniques I gather into my consciousness and daily routine, the more I can help each person who comes into my office. When I work on a patient, I use up to eight different systems, both Western and Eastern, thus providing a more complete and effective treatment that last longer than traditional care. I don't need a Rabbi, untrained in medicine and in the real world, to tell me what I can and cannot provide for my clients, especially since he would probably tell me to stop treating men, as they insist that it is improper for a woman to be alone with a man and touch him. Never mind that I am a doctor, a professional, and never mind that my father, also a Chiropractor, takes care of the wife of the Bostonner Rebbe, and her husband doesn't seem to have a problem with them being alone in a room for treatment.
Several years ago, a group of Rabbis in America declared that natural hair wigs - worn extensively by Ultra Orthodox women and costing up to $3000 a pop - could not be worn because some of the hair came from Indian women, who practice Idol Worship in their own religion, thus their hair was tainted and impure. All over the world, a flurry of wig burnings ensued, with families who cannot afford to feed and clothe their children burning these items of Evil, and buying synthetic wigs in their place. The Jewish wig merchants with their Certificates of Kashrut certainly did well on that venture.
Until the Rabbis recanted and decided that if anyone had not yet burned their wigs, they need not. And to fill the void and to fill certain merchant's pockets, they instead declared that the water in New York was contaminated with microscopic lobster derivative bugs, and that all proper Jews must immediately buy a high end water filter system (from a proper Jewish vendor, of course) to eliminate the dreaded impurity. Upon which Ultra Orthodox seminaries, largely supported by external donations so the men can sit and learn all day while their wives work several jobs, installed the best systems possible, and happily their Talmudic students are no longer infected by micro-organisms that only their spiritual and religious mentors can see.
To quote Alanis Morisette, "It's all about the money." (It's all about the dumb, dumb dumbe de dumb.)
Religion does indeed fill the need of controlling the masses, and the rich historical heritage of despots, cult leaders and con men can be proud of the application of their theories among the Ultra Orthodox.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Daily Routines
When I run out of new books to read, which happens frequently in my house, I return to several favorites, and have recently re-read The Little Prince by Antione De Saint-Expupery (known as Saint - Ex to his friends). Every time I read this book, I notice another line, another description that speaks to me in a way that I had not noticed the last 100 times I read the book. This particular version of the book is special to me as well, it was once part of my grandmother's library and she had marked off various passages that spoke to her; when I read this and come across her notation, I feel that she is with me in the room.
Around page 39, Saint-Ex describes the Little Prince's daily routine on his small planet:
"He carefully swept his active volcanoes. He possessed two active volcanoes and they were very convenient for heating his breakfast in the morning. He also had a volcano which was extinct. But as he pointed out: 'You never know!' So he also cleaned out the extinct volcano...The little prince tore up...the last little baobab shoots...and watered the flower, and then prepared to place her under her glass dome."
The book itself presents a parable of love and attachments, and the importance of appreciating what and who you have in your life. If I were to document my standard morning, it would go something like this:
"She woke up before her alarm, because there was a 14 pound cat sitting and purring on her chest. All attempts to read the morning paper were in vain. She gave her cats T-U-N-A and then fed the street cats outside, who waited not so patiently for their breakfast. Then the water in the bowls needed to be changed, and the excess water was given to the little plant on the porch. The computer, turned on, was checked for email and spam, and then she set up the files for her office that day, before taking a superficial shower. The more substantial shower was to be taken after the one kilometer swim."
We humans revel in our routine, the safety of knowing that certain things must be done, that certain actions recur consistently day after day. I experience a certain peace in waking up in my own bed and running through my morning without thought; and yet, there should be days where responsibility can be chucked out the window, where the world does not collapse into chaos if you switch things around a little, ignore a few items on the list.
It seems I must acquire that skill set, although at the end of The Little Prince, he abandons his quest in the desert and returns to his flower, to his planet and to his beloved chores.
Perhaps he took his cue from TS Eliot, who wrote:
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started,
And know the place for the first time.
Around page 39, Saint-Ex describes the Little Prince's daily routine on his small planet:
"He carefully swept his active volcanoes. He possessed two active volcanoes and they were very convenient for heating his breakfast in the morning. He also had a volcano which was extinct. But as he pointed out: 'You never know!' So he also cleaned out the extinct volcano...The little prince tore up...the last little baobab shoots...and watered the flower, and then prepared to place her under her glass dome."
The book itself presents a parable of love and attachments, and the importance of appreciating what and who you have in your life. If I were to document my standard morning, it would go something like this:
"She woke up before her alarm, because there was a 14 pound cat sitting and purring on her chest. All attempts to read the morning paper were in vain. She gave her cats T-U-N-A and then fed the street cats outside, who waited not so patiently for their breakfast. Then the water in the bowls needed to be changed, and the excess water was given to the little plant on the porch. The computer, turned on, was checked for email and spam, and then she set up the files for her office that day, before taking a superficial shower. The more substantial shower was to be taken after the one kilometer swim."
We humans revel in our routine, the safety of knowing that certain things must be done, that certain actions recur consistently day after day. I experience a certain peace in waking up in my own bed and running through my morning without thought; and yet, there should be days where responsibility can be chucked out the window, where the world does not collapse into chaos if you switch things around a little, ignore a few items on the list.
It seems I must acquire that skill set, although at the end of The Little Prince, he abandons his quest in the desert and returns to his flower, to his planet and to his beloved chores.
Perhaps he took his cue from TS Eliot, who wrote:
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started,
And know the place for the first time.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Rosh HaShanah Thoughts
In my head, I imagine the following encounter, and no, this is not the wind-up for a joke:
A Muslim, a Christian and a Jew all die around the same time, and are brought into the room with the Big Kahuna, to review the accomplishments of their lives.
They all immediately start clamoring, asking "Was I right?"
G-d asks them in return, "What do you mean? What do you think it means to be 'right?'"
And the Muslim justifies his actions of jihad by citing the Koran, and the Christian justifies his actions based upon the New Testament, and the Jew justifies his actions based upon the Torah. After all, in order for each to be right, the others must be wrong.
G-d laughs, and explains, when all three fail to understand, their faces fallen and confused.
Each of us is born into a specific set of conditions, a particular color of the skin, a particular race and religion; a two parent home, a single parent home, an orphan; wealthy or poor, educated or uneducated; healthy or sickly and weak. In each lifetime we live, every reincarnation, our temporary existence on planet Earth is meant to teach us something, to refine our soul. If we don't learn the necessary lessons this time around, and live a life of regret and waste, we come back, again and again. Our Karma will most certainly bite us on the Gluteus Maximus. And once we have almost achieved the pinnacle of our understanding, we choose to return to Earth not as punishment, but as a facilitator, to help along others who might need some nudging.
The Universal Power created all human souls, and all the intelligence in the world of Nature, and all the phenomenon that we cannot see nor possibly understand fully. We are all equally loved and all equally expected to (quote Spike Lee), "Do the Right Thing."
Here lies the essential question, after your current term in this collection of life experience, did you leave the world a slightly better place than when you entered? Did you treat all people and all living beings on the planet - most importantly, yourself - with honor and respect? When you woke up in the morning, could you look yourself in the mirror, or were you ashamed of your activities and behaviours of the previous day? Did you take full advantage of the gifts and strengths that you were granted, and did you actively work on your weaknesses?
Did you lead a life balanced between service and joy?
I wish everyone a sweet, happy and healthy New Year.
Peace out, and Stay Super.
A Muslim, a Christian and a Jew all die around the same time, and are brought into the room with the Big Kahuna, to review the accomplishments of their lives.
They all immediately start clamoring, asking "Was I right?"
G-d asks them in return, "What do you mean? What do you think it means to be 'right?'"
And the Muslim justifies his actions of jihad by citing the Koran, and the Christian justifies his actions based upon the New Testament, and the Jew justifies his actions based upon the Torah. After all, in order for each to be right, the others must be wrong.
G-d laughs, and explains, when all three fail to understand, their faces fallen and confused.
Each of us is born into a specific set of conditions, a particular color of the skin, a particular race and religion; a two parent home, a single parent home, an orphan; wealthy or poor, educated or uneducated; healthy or sickly and weak. In each lifetime we live, every reincarnation, our temporary existence on planet Earth is meant to teach us something, to refine our soul. If we don't learn the necessary lessons this time around, and live a life of regret and waste, we come back, again and again. Our Karma will most certainly bite us on the Gluteus Maximus. And once we have almost achieved the pinnacle of our understanding, we choose to return to Earth not as punishment, but as a facilitator, to help along others who might need some nudging.
The Universal Power created all human souls, and all the intelligence in the world of Nature, and all the phenomenon that we cannot see nor possibly understand fully. We are all equally loved and all equally expected to (quote Spike Lee), "Do the Right Thing."
Here lies the essential question, after your current term in this collection of life experience, did you leave the world a slightly better place than when you entered? Did you treat all people and all living beings on the planet - most importantly, yourself - with honor and respect? When you woke up in the morning, could you look yourself in the mirror, or were you ashamed of your activities and behaviours of the previous day? Did you take full advantage of the gifts and strengths that you were granted, and did you actively work on your weaknesses?
Did you lead a life balanced between service and joy?
I wish everyone a sweet, happy and healthy New Year.
Peace out, and Stay Super.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Ten Year Anniversary
I gave up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be the team Chiropractor for the Boston Bruins, in order to fulfill my dream of living and working in Israel.
Since moving here, I cheered as the NASA shuttle lifted off, carrying Israel's first astronaut, and mourned in shock as Ilan Ramon and his crew died upon their return. I have gone to Sinai on a vision quest, and scuba-ed in coral reefs in the Blue Hole. I have helped a patient through her pregnancy and have cried for that same baby girl, who was murdered by a Palestinian sniper. I have eaten at the table of an accomplished Israeli lawyer and her family, and have paid a shiva call when their 20 year old son died tragically and unnecessarily in an army training exercise, right before Passover. I have met friends for coffee at Cafe Hillel on Emek Refaim in the German Colony, the same place where a young bride was killed by a suicide bomber, the night before her wedding. I have gone to the open market at Mahane Yehuda and feasted - both visually and physically - on the array of colors and tastes and human encounters at the fruit and vegetable stands. I have waited in line with friends to snag tickets to the Sting concert in Tel Aviv.
Living here has allowed me to accomplish certain personal goals as well, I received my purple belt in karate; reconciled with my biological father, with whom I had lost contact for many years; had my first black and white photography exhibit, and recently finished writing the first draft of two books that have been floating around in my head for the last twenty years. The Type A woman I was, growing up in The City, has been replaced by a self-aware, relaxed person who is fun to be around.
I am continually amazed by the ability of the Israeli people to speak their mind - much like some New Yorkers I know - and to pull together when challenged. The rudest driver on any other occasion can place personal needs aside for the Greater Good, especially during periods of war.
I have also paid my dues to society, I serve on the Executive Board of the Israel Chiropractic Society, working toward the advancement and awareness of our profession in this country, and all of the Middle East. Once a month I walk around my neighborhood in a police uniform, carrying an M1 rifle that was manufactured before my mother was born, touring the area as a Civilian Guard. Last summer I served as a Chiropractor with my colleagues at the Maccabia, treating Jewish athletes of the highest calibre from all over the world. I am also a member of the Society for the Protection of Jerusalem street cats, and in fact inherited one of my rescues.
I arrived in Israel in 1997, single, with no family or support system, armed with idealism and a Phi Beta Kappa pin. I was so sure that my high levels of Hebrew and my desire to be a true Israeli would allow me a seamless immersion, that I would be accepted as a full member of this society. It took me six years to not be ashamed that most of my close friends were Anglo Saxons, that I much preferred reading the New York Times on line than plodding through the Hebrew papers; it was faster and took less effort. I realize also that dating Israeli men presented a particular challenge, with a tremendous gap in the dating culture. Stated simply, most English speaking men I know will treat me with respect and equality, in the way that I was raised.
I will openly admit that it has been a tumultuous ride, in 2001 at the start of the second Intifada I was almost killed by a sniper's bullet. And I will always speak Hebrew with an American accent. I am still single, and I am most ready to share my life with a spouse and become a mother. But I grew up in a Zionist home on the East Coast, any political discussion around my parents' or grandparents' table revolved around the Jewish State; which American presidential candidate was good for Israel, which Jewish charities were most worthwhile. It was most natural for me to move here, and it feels joyous to be able to celebrate ten years of this transition in my life.
Since moving here, I cheered as the NASA shuttle lifted off, carrying Israel's first astronaut, and mourned in shock as Ilan Ramon and his crew died upon their return. I have gone to Sinai on a vision quest, and scuba-ed in coral reefs in the Blue Hole. I have helped a patient through her pregnancy and have cried for that same baby girl, who was murdered by a Palestinian sniper. I have eaten at the table of an accomplished Israeli lawyer and her family, and have paid a shiva call when their 20 year old son died tragically and unnecessarily in an army training exercise, right before Passover. I have met friends for coffee at Cafe Hillel on Emek Refaim in the German Colony, the same place where a young bride was killed by a suicide bomber, the night before her wedding. I have gone to the open market at Mahane Yehuda and feasted - both visually and physically - on the array of colors and tastes and human encounters at the fruit and vegetable stands. I have waited in line with friends to snag tickets to the Sting concert in Tel Aviv.
Living here has allowed me to accomplish certain personal goals as well, I received my purple belt in karate; reconciled with my biological father, with whom I had lost contact for many years; had my first black and white photography exhibit, and recently finished writing the first draft of two books that have been floating around in my head for the last twenty years. The Type A woman I was, growing up in The City, has been replaced by a self-aware, relaxed person who is fun to be around.
I am continually amazed by the ability of the Israeli people to speak their mind - much like some New Yorkers I know - and to pull together when challenged. The rudest driver on any other occasion can place personal needs aside for the Greater Good, especially during periods of war.
I have also paid my dues to society, I serve on the Executive Board of the Israel Chiropractic Society, working toward the advancement and awareness of our profession in this country, and all of the Middle East. Once a month I walk around my neighborhood in a police uniform, carrying an M1 rifle that was manufactured before my mother was born, touring the area as a Civilian Guard. Last summer I served as a Chiropractor with my colleagues at the Maccabia, treating Jewish athletes of the highest calibre from all over the world. I am also a member of the Society for the Protection of Jerusalem street cats, and in fact inherited one of my rescues.
I arrived in Israel in 1997, single, with no family or support system, armed with idealism and a Phi Beta Kappa pin. I was so sure that my high levels of Hebrew and my desire to be a true Israeli would allow me a seamless immersion, that I would be accepted as a full member of this society. It took me six years to not be ashamed that most of my close friends were Anglo Saxons, that I much preferred reading the New York Times on line than plodding through the Hebrew papers; it was faster and took less effort. I realize also that dating Israeli men presented a particular challenge, with a tremendous gap in the dating culture. Stated simply, most English speaking men I know will treat me with respect and equality, in the way that I was raised.
I will openly admit that it has been a tumultuous ride, in 2001 at the start of the second Intifada I was almost killed by a sniper's bullet. And I will always speak Hebrew with an American accent. I am still single, and I am most ready to share my life with a spouse and become a mother. But I grew up in a Zionist home on the East Coast, any political discussion around my parents' or grandparents' table revolved around the Jewish State; which American presidential candidate was good for Israel, which Jewish charities were most worthwhile. It was most natural for me to move here, and it feels joyous to be able to celebrate ten years of this transition in my life.
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