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In a number of things I write, I will refer to ‘reading the signs.’  I guess this can sound kind of mysterious or occultish to someone who is not inside my brain, so I will explain what I mean by that.  ‘Reading the signs’ can also be called ‘noticing what the Energy is doing.’  Some examples:

A few years back, I was in the middle of fighting my disease, PNH, at the same time as running around crazy working  a high-hours, but very healthy for me yoga job.  My car started having trouble.

PNH is a disease where your red blood cells break down inside your body prematurely and get peed out.  That is why it is called (for you latin-lovers) paroxysmal nocturnal hemoglobinuria.  Usually the pee is red in the morning. 

Therefore, in order to not die from anemia you have to get blood transfusions periodically.  Back then, it would take about 3 weeks for my hematocrit (the measure of red blood) to go from 30 down to 20.  Then I would get another transfusion to bring it up to 30.  (40-50 would be normal).  Managed this way, it wasn’t really life-threatening, but definitely not a good sign.  I was leaking blood.

About the same time, my car started leaking oil.  Not able to spend the money to stop the leak, I found I was able to manage the problem by just pouring more oil in the car ever 2 fillups or so.  Again, not life threatening, unless I forgot to refill the oil; then the engine would seize up and it would be over.   Both I and my car had a situation where there was a balance between in and out.  We both had a net out flow, that required a periodic in-flow to compensate.  If the in-flow did not keep up with the outflow, then the overall measure in the tank would drop and we would risk serious consequences.

The thing that makes it not just coincidence is that I was learning about energy at the time, how our bodies are affected by our energy, and how things in our life respond to our energy as well.  Living things tend to react to our energy (being attracted to us when our energy is good, for example), but inanimate things we interact with a lot tend to resemble our energy.

Seeing what was happening with my car and my body helped me notice something subtler that was happening in my body at that time.  My thoughts had given up on life (I think this is why I got sick) and began being pulled toward death.  Once I got sick and was ostensibly trying to get better, my mind was having a hard time finding a foothold in the world.  I didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing here, what I was supposed to be putting my energy into. 

My thoughts, then, were not being focused into a purpose, or into my getting better.  They were trapped up in big lofty questions about general meaning and purpose in life.  Because my energy had nowhere specific to go in the world or in myself, it was leaking out.  My thoughts, my life-energy, my blood, my car’s oil – all were leaking.  I had to find a way to stop the leak in my energy before things would get better in any of it.

A while later, I had a transformative experience where I listed all the things I wanted to do IN THIS WORLD before I died.  I hadn’t figured the big questions out, but I put some value on the time here on this Earth and made a list of things to do before I left it:  Travel to Argentina and learn to Tango, have kids, give a kickass speech.   I got really excited about this list, and suddenly was motivated to really tackle my disease.  I finally had at least some purpose to MY life.

The next time I saw my doctor, my blood numbers had miraculously shot up to 36.  And instead of dropping down in three weeks. This time it held steady for 2 years.  I had figured out something about how to change my energy.   And everything changed after that.    (my car had a transmission failure in the course of selling it, but that’s another story)

Example 2: (this one is shorter)

I have this bottle of shampoo.  It has been pretty much out of shampoo since I came home from Boston last August.  Three weeks after coming home I thought I was squeezing the last shampoo out of it.

I bought a different shampoo.  But I didn’t throw the old shampoo away.  I wanted to make sure I had gotten ALL of the shampoo out of it before I tossed it. 

Every once in a while, I take a break from the new shampoo and go back to the old one.

And every Single Time, there is more shampoo to be squeezed out of the old bottle.

Every time, it sounds like the last bit.  I squeeze enough to use for that day, then put it back upside down to let it keep dripping down, just in case.

I have been doing that now for nine months.  I have a neverending bottle of shampoo.

That in itself is weird.  But I also have this razor.  I brought it back from Boston, one of those buzzy ones that has a battery in it and vibrates when you shave. 

The battery light started flashing on me when I was back in Boston, and it died for me once I think early after I got here. 

I shave maybe once every 4 days or so. 

Every time I pick up the razor, the battery starts up.  Most times, while using it, the battery goes dead.  I have thought I would have to change that battery now for eight months.  But it just keeps working.

Now, my car again.  May car has a strange problem.  One time, driving at night, it died in the middle of the road.  It was at an intersection.  It wouldn’t start, all these cars had to drive around me.  My brother Mike had to come and he and three strangers helped me push it to a nearby parking lot.

The next day, our friend, Rick, came to help me troubleshoot what was wrong with the car.  I tried to start it.  It started right up.  I drove it home.  We couldn’t find anything wrong. 

It drove like that for quite a few months.  The other day, when I was heading to church, it wouldn’t start again.  I tried to get the thing started for 45 minutes.  It would turn over, but just not fire.  I called my brother, who knows a lot about cars.  I didn’t have time to try the things he mentioned.  I borrowed Mike’s car.

Today, I had to go somewhere.  I got into my car.  It started right up.  As if nothing had been wrong.  Just like the battery that won’t die, or the shampoo that won’t run out.  Just when you think its done and some drastic change will be needed, all it takes is some time, and the thing just takes care of itself.

So what’s the energy doing in this case?  Well, for me, I know my life habit has always been to push things to the limit.  Often I overdo it.  My style of working is that I run myself down.  Its as if I’m running near empty, most the time.   I have trouble sleeping unless I’ve collapsed of exhaustion.

What all these things are teaching me now, what the energy is saying, is that sometimes I just have to have patience, slow down a little.  And often the things I was anxious about just take care of themselves.

That is what I have been learning, too.  In the course of starting my own business, there are plenty of opportunities to overdo it, work too hard.  Not easy when you have a girlfriend you love to spend time with and a sick Mom you want to be there for.

But what I am noticing is, usually, the best method of dealing with an overwhelming workload, a stubborn job I have to turn out, etc, is to take a break.  Just when the pressure is the worst, go out and play some basketball.  Take the afternoon off.  Stretch, make a good meal.  Catch a movie or hang with my bro or AM or mom.  I used to not be able to escape the pressure.

But what’s happening now, is that most the time, when I am taking a break, I get a text message or email.  Oh, the deadline’s been moved back.  Oh, something else happened so we don’t need that right away.  Or the space gives me some clarity and when I come back to work it gets whipped out.

So, reading the signs, or watching what the energy is telling you.  Is it us?  Is it God, or a message from the outside?  I really don’t know.  At times it seems like either. 

But what I do know is, when you have something that stands out to you, a little bit out of the ordinary for the world or for your life, and then you see a similar thing happening with something else, and again, pay attention.  Usually something is going on there which, if you figure it out, will help you a lot. 

Happy noticingJ

1.    What are some of the elements that lead to world's problems: e.g. famine, wars, terrorism, diseases, economic collapses, instabilities, financial crises, and global warming?

The heart of the world's problems, of what separates the world we have from the world that is possible, in some ways stems from a law of physics.  Momentum, which guides the trajectories of physical particles, also manifests within human lives and bodies, leading us sometimes to see no further than what the world presents us with currently, and often to follow the tried paths of habit rather than acting on the insights that we know will bring us greater health and happiness.

The work it takes to reach and sustain a new energy level in our personal lives is not encouraged in our culture.  We are addicted to outside answers, which leads us to channel our resources into products that present themselves as shortcuts to happiness, and engenders a culture of blame for our problems.  Everything from corporations to elected leaders to privileged individuals receive the credit for our global misfortunes.  Thus we exist within a culture of severely disempowered individuals, who cannot see beyond the fast-paced lives to which we have enslaved ourselves to recognize ways in which our own choices might both make ourselves happier and allow our abundant resources to be shared with others to make the world at large a better place. 

2.    What are some of the contemporary complaints that people have?

Our complaints reflect how wide a picture we have expanded our minds to take in.  The majority still complain about effects felt within the circles of their immediate lives: about how little money they make, how little time they have, how busy they are, about general unfairness in the world, about the weather; this type of complaint reflects a general attitude of scarcity, and will pass with a change in perspective or in circumstance.  A broader variety of complaint identifies imbalance in the world.  Concerns about violations of justice, double-standards in our leadership, economic inequality, and global climate instability take in a bigger picture, and are able to connect some of the problems we see in our personal lives to larger trends.  We all catch view of this bigger picture at times, however seeing the imbalance in broader contexts will make the average individual feel even more disempowered, and so we will tend to minimize our exposure to this perspective unless we have a way to feel we are making a difference within it. 

The deeper complaint, however, which lies below all of the above complaints, is a feeling of general unhappiness, emptiness, or lack of meaning or purpose in one's life.  We rarely confront this complaint until life forces us to look honestly at ourselves.  However, it is the most important root of all our other problems, which will never be solved until we realize our power to realize happiness and the life we desire from within ourselves, independent of external influence.

The goal should be to shift from an era of complaint to an air of responsibility.  Once we accept responsibility not only for everything in our personal lives but also for the ills we see in the world, then complaining will fall away, along with our global problems. 

3.  What is missing in the world?  The question is open to many interpretations.

The world is out of balance.  The labels we give to what is missing will change depending on what part of the picture we focus on.  However, it is important to recognize that all things are connected, and a move toward balance in any part of the picture is a positive change for all parts of the picture.  Thus, our personal efforts toward bringing balance, health, freedom, and positive vibrations into our lives are not meaningless; to the contrary, they are the key to freeing up the rest of the system to change. 

Of course many changes on a systemic level might help individuals wake up to their own power, and to the inherent meaning of our lives.  Leadership that teaches positive responsibility rather than making false promises of security; corporations that pursue policies and products that promote harmony and health for consumers above superficial distractions; and religious institutions that encourage authentic spiritual experiences rather than the blind acceptance of dogma will all go a long way toward healing our planet.

However, behind each of these changes will be individuals – coming together in groups or acting alone – who awaken to their power and choose to recognize the meaning in their lives through hearing and taking action on what their hearts call them to do.  Whether on a large scale or small, it is through acting on the opportunities to make changes in our contexts, where God has placed us, and finding that guidance through trusting our intuition rather than waiting for external validation, that our institutions will change – rooted in transformed individual choices, and resulting in the altered flow of resources and priorities that will restore the world to balance.

questions asked as follow up to ATHGO Global United Nations Forum, May 2007.

copyright 2007, Andrew Varyu

www.andywrites.org

*

the three I hold
have fears from old
and you, O lord,
forgive them.

We hope so fast
that in our grasp
the future'd pass
as given.

A trembling heart,
When pierced by doubt
May bleed a pool
to drown in.

We, floating on
that surface pond
at last know Your
dominion.

Our Father be,
three come with me.
Our rain becomes
a shelter

Absent Love,
We fall to dust
and lay before
our Maker.

Grains of sand
pass through our hands
as we pass through
your healing.

Hope and help,
when done ourselves,
betray our lack
of feeling.

For Yours alone
can bring us home
and fan the tears
once fallen.

andy varyu
2007

I am a tool. I thought it was love, but I realize now I was used. 

By God.

I explain…

Walking with his arm around her, he silently thanked the wind that bit at both their collars: it had given him excuse to put his arm around her.  And here, strolling along the moonlit Charles half-embracing the woman who had kept him up three nights in anticipation, he felt like he was fifteen.

His heart soared.  He looked down at her, more than a foot shorter, and remembered the buxom figure that had pressed up against him as they waltzed, laughing, in the carnivelesque mosh-pit the first night.  They had then only just met.

A friend of a friend who had long wanted them to meet, the arrival of Natasha had been eclipsed by Crystal, foretold as a model for the yoga catalog who was excited to meet him as well.  For the first hours the group spent together, he barely noticed Natasha.

And she hardly seemed to care.  She was adamant about one thing however: seeing the World Inferno Friendship Society, the circus-punk band who happened to be playing at the club he took them to on their first weekend away from the Ashram in more than a year.  That night, as yawns and Long Island Iced Teas circulated around the bar booth, he got up to move to the soul music coming over the loudspeakers; a few from other tables joined him, to hoots and hollers.  The others plotted how to get home.  Natasha plotted how to get the bouncer to let her into the sold-out show.  At the end of the night, they were simply the last two left with any will to party.

As they cheek-kissed that first night before she boarded the bus, he felt unexpectedly tickled.  The laugh continued to tease his lungs on his walk home, and his brain danced with strange images of innocent love as he laid in bed; he hadn't felt this way since high school!

And as if in high school, it felt like no small triumph to be with her now on her last night – well past midnight, having outlasted the others again – alone, finally, as he had hoped, on the long walk home.

He spoke easily after they smoked something from her bag: "I feel the strangest thing… I feel, like giddy inside.  I feel this pure innocent joy, walking with my arm around you.  I don't remember feeling this way since I was a teenager."  His eyes probably sparkled as he said this, though she wasn't looking up.  Her smile, though, as she looked out over the river, was a good sign.  He hadn't crossed any lines.  "That's really sweet." She was touched.

And looking down at her – the way she carried her head proudly and balanced, like a peacock taking in a conquered world – he was reminded of someone.  He had been seventeen.  On a trip to Holland, he met Catherine.  The accent with which she said her name would resonate in his brain for a lifetime.  She had only spent time with him twice, but he was so enamoured he wrote an eight-page letter on the flight home.  Two weeks later his sentiments were reciprocated by a letter from the Netherlands – also eight pages long.  Love letters sailed across the Atlantic the next four years.  12 years after their initial meeting, he hosted Catherine in New York.

The stardust in his brain and soul now reminded him of that first youthful affair.  How strange!  Just when he thought he had become jaded to love.

"Most guys I meet are more jaded," she said, on queue.  The conversation twisted and turned like the path through the trees along the river.  He basked in the unexpected joy, wondering if she would come home with him. 

Something she said then caught his attention:  "Yeah, I saw a tarot reader once and she told me I have a lot of passion inside to create things, but that its trapped inside this shell or something and I don't do anything with it."

His brain started clicking as it had hours earlier on the dock, when his interpretive-dancing brain cells tried to explain linear algebra to her.  He looked down again and saw clearly now, through the fog of his brain, to her energy body, as sometimes happened.  Her description helped him see it: a fiery core smoldering, as if molten, inside a hardened outer crust.  Suddenly this compelling and unreasonable attraction made sense…  Like gravity, a powerful and dense energy core acts like a tractor beam to energies outside.  Their mutual friend described a similar admiration for Natasha.  It made sense that he would fall so hard for this person, who had no remarkable qualities to speak of – who hadn't engaged him in interesting conversation once or shown signs of interest for that matter, who was attractive but not stunning.  He was being pulled because of his sensitivity to this core, which others might not notice through her thick crust.

A strange realization then dawned on him, like his brain yawning.  This was a pattern: he loved unconditionally, unreasonably, only women who earned it not at all through their qualities or actions.  In fact, most of the women he had fallen completely for in his lifetime had treated him in many ways badly, had been on the surface unremarkable. 

He never noticed their exploitation of his affection; so complete was his rapture with them.  Erin he had loved for three years continuously in high school while she dated others.  Melissa also trapped herself with unworthy men as he relentlessly pursued.   The Catherine of Holland was completely out of reach for their early years, and the reality of her marriage and the birth of her children hardly phased the way he felt.  (Only when she divorced did he begin to feel conflicted). And lastly, though hardly least, his fiancée – another Catherine – had failed to impress his mother and friends… left him for another man and returned after 3 months, in which time his conviction about her never wavered.  He believed in their purpose together long into the rocky months before she cancelled the wedding, just 19 days before it was to happen. 

There was a theme here.  Each of these women did absolutely nothing to earn his absolute affection.  He latched onto them with the conviction of a televangelist and refused to take no for an answer.  And they all shared the same, strange imperviousness to his charms.  (The pattern had actually given him a complex in early years about having only asexual appeal.)  Their minds channeled into prescribed paths, as if they lived out a script to which fate or upbringing had bound them.  Nothing he tried in years of loving them, mostly unrequited, could sway them from the course of life they saw ahead of them.

Only in hindsight – ten years later in some cases – did they reach back out to him, perhaps realizing how rare and precious the kind of devotion he offered had been.  So long after his utter infatuation had dissolved back into the fabric of life, he had something different to offer them: something of the energy he had been channeling all along – perhaps a wisdom, a bright spirit, an electricity – only now divorced from the attachments and expectations of love.

He saw this as funny.  Why him?  Why always this kind of person?  Why so much raw passion with no root?  Spying again his bubbliness and the beauty in his arm, he sensed that she was affected; his innocent excitement had flattered her, opened her mind a little bit. 

…Perhaps there was a reason behind all of this unreasonable love?

And dawning on him was a huge open mouth, a roar the shape of the milky way, the whole universe laughing in a cosmic joke:

This had not been love.  This had been God using him to reach someone unreachable.

It was a character type in all of them, which he could not verbalize so much as feel the energy of.  And just now, God had revealed to him that it was not personal.  His undampened capacity for passion, for caprice, for conviction over the unproven made him a unique tool.  The power of his mind focused energy on those he obsessed over, like a magnifying glass etching concentrated sunlight onto paper.  God was using him to burn holes into hard shells.  This is why he had come to idealize the strong, steely woman, self-possessed and without need of outside gratification.  That image of strength always turned out to yield to soft cores underneath: his conviction was unshakable about the beauty he fixated on finding inside of them.  But perhaps such strength was not ideal; it was rather the barrier God was using him to burn a hole through.

But now he saw he did not have to attach to these people.  He could just be honest to his heart, enjoy this flow.  He didn't have to interpret it as fate, or a love "meant to be."  Perhaps this had been his mistake for a long time. 

Perhaps we don't have to love the way hollywood, disney tells us to.  Maybe soulmates is not what its all about.  If you are the recipient of unearned admiration, perhaps just soaking it in - as these women did from me - is precisely the right response.  God telling us we need to let ourselves be loved a little bit more.  Accepting that energy deeper into our self-concepts, our souls.

Maybe he did not have to turn the power of these feelings into projections of futures together.  Just as physical attraction - when we are brave enough to follow it with openness - often leads us to greater outcomes than physical union.  Maybe more love than we think is designed for this: to open us more, to move energy inside of us - the same as healing.  Is this why so often love stagnates after this healing love has been accomplished? 

Is this why we are warned to enter a life of marriage only with God's blessing, and with God's ongoing guidance?  Otherwise, the initial healing is soon accomplished, and we are left wondering what to make of the rest of our lives together.

Perhaps instead he could love, in submission, just that he was God's.  That love would come through him as it did now – just as any other fortune or pain – without warning or explanation.  That there was a grander design than God would reveal.  And yet this small revelation liberated him from years of pining that had fermented to crusts of failure.  In this liberation, love flowed through him more strongly; he did not fight to channel his feelings or her responses toward any target.  He let God take it forward.

He walked on, now joy encased in bigger joy.  Not only did he feel carbonated inside, he could allow this to flow now without guilt or fear of missteps or repercussion.  God wanted this to come through him. 

On the street where she was staying, he asked if she wanted to come back to his place again.  Her answer, that it would ruin tomorrow's plans, rang false.  He dug. 

"Well, ok.  The thing is, I kind of might be seeing somebody.  I'm not sure really, but I might be."  And then, the affirmation.  "I'm not saying it wouldn't be nice…"

Animated by the flow coming through him, he persisted.  "Well, if you're not coming over, we could at least kiss.  See what it feels like.  No commitment." 

Some more demurring, gestures toward the apartment.  "Well at least I can walk you to the corner."  And there, they did kiss.  Their tongues danced without pretense.  As fresh and new as a first.

Abruptly, she started back down the block. Not looking back.  He danced to the corner, looked up and down the block.  Finding the streets empty, he wheeled and shouted down the 2am street, "There ain't no cabs…"

She turned.  Louder, this time: "I'm just sayin, I'm here and there ain't no cabs."  She stared.  From the distance, he could not tell if her look was incredulous. Annoyed?  But she did start back toward him.  Approaching each other mid-street, under streetlights through trees newly bloomed, he announced.  "This feels like a movie, right!  Meeting in this wide street in the middle of the night?  Don't you expect the credits to roll or something?"

"My coming back doesn't mean anything," her hushed voice insisted.  "I just came back to keep you from waking the whole neighborhood up."  And yet he detected a tone of thrill underlying her shell.  Together they walked back to a desolate Mass Ave.  She slunk back against the lamppost, hands jammed in pockets, sternness barely covering bemusement.

"Well, we got time to kill, what should we do?"  He moved in and they kissed some more.

"My, you are persistent, aren't you?"

As his mouth chased her around the pole, she announced from his shoulder. "Oops, looks like a cabJ" 

He lingered, moved toward the cab, kissed her more in the open door.  She declined to join him.  He settled at last, entered and directed the cabbie.  As they 360'd, he looked out the window for her. 

This time, she was watching after him.  Smiling.  And waving. 

And that, he had to admit, was all he had needed.

andy varyu, 2007

.

i feel so good.

the grass around me vibrates with the greenness of life. The sun shines from within each blade, the secret truth that reveals itself only most perfectly in dreams: all life carries the sun. my head lays on her belly, and in perfect comfort we share words, sometimes with me turning over to look fondly on her kidding face, revealing the dazzle that lives in my eyes between us, only in this most perfect of worlds, the comfort of a dream fulfilled.

how can it be so perfect? yes - first, it is the absence of restlessness. anxiety has abandoned my body so that a long, dwelling summer afternoon can be inhaled without intrusion by the stray, unformed thought and body sense, of something to be done. Comfort and peace. I can feel them here wtih her. It must mean that my body yearns not for attention, for I attend daily to it, throughout the day; care for my body lives as my way of life. I inhale the imagined memory of having worked out in energy-circulaitng martial arts that morning; and of walking to this spot with her feelilng my energy in my body and, by feeling it, circulating it consciously through the walk and the breath - a consciousness present but not distracting from each perfect moment with this hill, these draping leaves from trees, with her. I am alive and present, aware of a total absence of imbalance.

how can it be so perfect? Where is the devaluation of this sort of down-time, where is the nagging sense of more important work i am neglecting? Yes, it must mean I am actively engaged in this throughout the week - and that global warming is on its way to being solved, and people being healed, that processes are running their course even as I indulge in this beauty of life on Earth, the cause of it all, processes set in motion through partnerships and actions taken the week before. My life is being lived well, and this moment purely adorned by the beauty of nature and my love's heart is cradled in the confidence that this kind of life, and all life, will go on.

but where is my discomfort sharing intimacy with another? How does all this external beauty and personal contentment also allay the anxiety I usually have sharing my heart with another? how can it be so perfect? I feel and search, and discover, yes, we have come to an understanding, through long unfolding of ourselves to each other, through a history of assuring smiles just when fears threatened to invite themselves back in, through healed mistakes enough to plant the knowledge that our hearts cherish and protect each other, even when our actions occasionally forget to. It means I am happy with her, I have not settled, but rather climbed up into the dream hung on that sweet southern accent always knowing the right thing to say. It means, more importantly, that she is happy with me, too, and with her life, and that I trust that.

Somehow even money anxiety dissolves in this world. This does mean, doesn't it, that the work my heart has called me to of leading the saving of the Earth has been recognized and duly appreciated. It means I have not sold myself short, that my path has led me to heal and claim the balance of what I give. The actions of my heart pour into the world, and I no longer shy from the influx of the tide returning. the perfection of this moment is built on the peace I have made with this balance; energy out, energy in. So the beauty outside is able to reproduce within me, and the harmony of nature meets my mind free from worry, unattached to passing thoughts, as light as clouds floating by.

Perhaps in the way of the long, slow caress that the summer breeze waves over the long grass, we make love. And it is without hurry, and without the fear of scarcity that so many drained slumbers have instilled. Perhaps I have found a new way to move my energy, or perhaps the perfection of this cultivated life has created abundance in me, and wisdom of choice, and preference for actions that always grow the energy in my lower center. It must mean also that the disease has escaped from my bones into my past, and that strong blood courses fully through me now once again. For when we complete this act of connection, I am standing, and feeling my body for what it wants next, and that is a cool plunge into a deep, nearby stream. descending in the pool, I am at once cleansed and released, from the beauty of a summer afternoon, back into the beauty of my soul quiet, at peace. From the purity of this restored state, I notice her plunge in next to me. We play with the innocence of young children.

As our bodies run back home to nourish themselves with clean food and relax into evening, I enter the dream again. All is the same this time, but now the eyes that dazzle from deep in our two brains tickled by existence turn to meet the young ones, one boy and a younger girl, both of them brown-haired, though we both are blond. Their shrill committments to joy turn to giggles as they enter arms that sweep them to flight. Sensing the perfect, my brain shuffles through images of children tossed high in the air and back down into caring arms, but passes on this uncertain excitement. Instead, my two hands cradle my child, one on her belly and one on her back, as she darts and turns, accelerates and swoops, experiencing all the thrill of freedom in the universe without leaving the warmth of loving hands.

The home we return to is perfect, the office I sit at to record a dream has windows clear as crystal, and clean lines of sight to the valley and foliage beyond. Something of this is my picture of perfection, but something of it is also cold, despite my warm partner and fabulous children - reminding me of a cold from my youth.

This is not the world - of isolation, in a large, cavernous house, a voice nags me - that can be considered perfect in the future. Where is the life, the community, the face-to-face and human touch of the lives with whom we interweave, and are not separate from? Suddenly, the halls teem with bodies, voices, movement, smiles; flash-bulbs of light flutter in my brain as it transitions to a shared community of family, friends, collaborators on a project larger and yet singular in all our hearts. And then I find peace. This is the home to return to. We are making this perfection together.

Afterword;

A dream and a picture, chosen from a healed body, found as perfect for the first time this night, instead of stress from thoughts of obligated next steps which may have been prolonging my weakness. I dedicated my hour long healing and my twenty-minute dream to my Sangha, who sat twenty minutes away across Cambridge, whom utter exhaustion and throbbing temples upon rising had kept me from joining in body. Yet, I remembered the philosophy that healing was not only for oneself, but also the benefit of the sangha, and felt the connection to their circle as I sat, observing the final ten minutes of class, in meditation.

Why had a dream never been so perfect before? I considered our readings on internalized oppression, on 12-step programs and my own workaholism, and saw a deep manifestation of my own loneliness, in a mind that had never been comfortable dreaming of perfection. If I can not dream it, how can it be? In such a matter-of-fact way, I could see the ways that many of my problems were contained within me.

"...I can slow down a bit. It means that I can do only what I can do, one day at a time. It means that this is good and that it is enough. There will always be others in this and other generations to carry the load with me, or for me, if I can do no more." On this day, ironically, when I could not join the sangha, when the need for healing confined me to my home, it was my connection to the sangha, to the intentional gathering around processes of healing, that helped me define my own healing space and time in my home. The fact that they had gathered for this purpose gave me the strength and intention to more directly pursue healing within my time of reduced health than I had been doing otherwise. Though my problem may be "one of isolation, or disconnection from right relation," the spirit has been feeding me - through enticing promises of relationships more balanced than I have found so far, in life or in dreams - an appreciation that "healing will be with one another, in community and connection."

*quotes by Carter Heyward, 1992

*sangha = members of a class led by Kwok Pui-Lan, Episcopal Divinity School, Spring 07.

*  *  *

Andrew Varyu

My Brother, who smoked, picked me up from the yoga studio.  The smell floated in with his entrance.

"You smoke," my headmaster observed.

"Yeah, I know...  I should quit."  My brother felt suddenly extra self-conscious in this environment of healing.  He had heard it before from Mom, from many.  He looked down.

"No!"  Said the headmaster.  "Enjoy your smoking!"

"What?" asked my startled brother.

"Please, enjoy your smoking."

"Why?" --Incredulous.

"Because, when you smoke, you hurt yourself one time.  But, when you punish yourself for it, you hurt yourself a second time.  So, if you are going to smoke, at least enjoy it."