Nomading

May 19

An auspicious day. On May 19, 1973 I wrote: “the doors have opened and Light streamed in.” 40 years later and I’m still seeking.

Apr 7

Next year’s nomading adventure

Mar 6

Slow Fast

“It is essentially a period of meditation and prayer, of spiritual recuperation, during which the believer must strive to make the necessary readjustments in [her] his inner life, and to refresh and reinvigorate the spiritual forces latent in [her] his soul. Its significance and purpose are, therefore, fundamentally spiritual in character. Fasting is symbolic, and a reminder of abstinence from selfish and carnal desires.” Shoghi Effendi, Directives of the Guardian

The intention I set for Fast in the year 169 B.E. ending March 20 is RESOLVE. In Ann Mcgovern’s children’s book folktale version, Too Much Noise, an old, bearded man seeks answers to solving the noise problem in his aging farmhouse. When he follows the advice of a wise sage to bring in all sorts of animals (cow, donkey, sheep, hen, dog and cat) in his house one at a time does he realize exactly how noisy his farmhouse can be. To then solve these new unintended consequences from a fix that fails, the old man releases the animals only to return to the sounds to which he originally complained. Ah, quiet!

With the absence of teaching in my life I fast from food with ease. I am empowered to focus on my intention without distraction. I spiral down and through and up and down the rabbit hole in a messy entanglement of past/present/future meanings assigned to my resignation from teaching (again) without retirement (again) and returning to the northern New England seacoast from the high desert while STILL living a nomadic life in someone else’s house and someone else’s furniture. For me to RESOLVE my present condition I need to readjust in my interior landscape and rock my gypsy soul with gusto if I’m to refresh and reinvigorate.

RESOLVE at present means to me to embrace the tension inherent in my paradox: my longing for the comfort and familiarity of HOME + my desire for detachment to all material things + my inclination to nomad, AND to embody, with grace, the impermanence of my short journey here (I will die…as have a few friends this month) and the longevity of my spiritual nature. Without the animals making additional noise (not teaching) I’m able to ask questions, listen and live into the answers.

Meanwhile: we confirmed our verbal contract to sell our house to a neighbor and to sign a contract next week at the exact moment a dear friend in Hawaii emailed with an invitation to rent his funky house on the water in Maine while we build a small, efficient solar home. Only half way through this year’s Fast and I RESOLVing. Also, booking my flight back to NM in April to visit the mesa, friends and market for stones.

Espero que we could talk today. Coffee, my place. No fumes, mi amor. Tu sabes how much I miss you. Not your birthday or anniversary time. Why are you ever present en mi corazon these days? #colombiana

Jan 21

Jan 8

Breaking the Silence: Unwanted Endings and Unplanned Beginnings

December 17, 1950: For more than 30 hours Cecilia Manrique de Salazar Kaplan labored, sick with toxemia, to birth me while a blinding blizzard raged in a small neighborhood hospital in Queens, New York.

December 17, 2012: I live (an internal/personal) life similar to how I was born. Struggling to go and not wanting to leave. Yet I live (an external/professional) life promoting and facilitating change and transformation. Therein lies the perceived irreconcilable conflict of my human condition.

I have been unable to write these six months since our return to New England from New Mexico. Sure, I have talked myself silly about ecosystem and cultural shock: adjusting to summer green, yellow autumn leaves and fluffy white snow, and to white faces. Absolutely, I have loved rebuilding relationships and reuniting with family. My granddaughter, Mabel Moonshine, is the light of my life. Spending time with her and being of service to her parents, Kate and Julian, is deeply rewarding. No question, having a studio and making/selling jewelry is fulfilling. That my heart still aches from losing our beloved dog, Una, that my NM belongings sit in boxes in our garage as there is no room in our rented Maine house, that my lifelong “career” in teaching and research is fragmented without resolve, I have remained as silent (in writing) as the snow that fell one stormy December day.

Today, I conquer the (my) Perception that clouds (my) Reality. Today, I embrace ambiguity and transcend place. Today, I break the silence about my unwanted endings and unplanned beginnings. Today, I return to the blogosphere.

Aug 15

No where but in New Mexico do places like this exist. One of four buildings (Ancient Way Cafe, the Old School House Gallery and a feed store for humans and animals), our NM friends Pam and John run this little oasis. Unlike Portsmouth, NH with at least 3 choices of coffee shops on every block, Inscription Rock provided meaningful conversation as well as jewelry, weaving, books, coffee and treats. At least 100 miles round trip, many travel from Gallup on weekend for a Tai Chi class at the Gallery, dinner at the Cafe or conversation with Pam and John. John, a graduate of the program in which I taught, is a Special Educator on the Pine Hill rez in the day and a finger pickin’ guitarist at night. Pam’s gig is in the health field (you are either a teacher in schools or a healer of sorts at IHS, Indian Health Services in this pocket of the Southwest) and runs the shop. The drive out of Gallup and through the Zuni Pueblo, while long, always brought peace. The travelers, local or passing through, contributed to stimulating conversation. And the coffee, it goes without saying, inevitably left a buzz—enough to get us back to Gallup.

HEADING OUT OF DODGE or…MOVING MOUNTAINS OF THINGS..AGAIN

“If you want to live a happy life, tie it to a goal, not to people or things.” Albert Einstein

We planned to leave Saturday morning and even had plans to say goodbye to some friends who were out of town. But when death disappears a loved one it’s permissible, I think, to change the rules. We heard tell of an outdoor bluegrass concert at Inspiration Rock Trading and Coffee Co. in El Morro 50+ miles southeast of Gallup and decided head out of Dodge a day earlier than anticipated. With the bigger ticket items already packed in a shed to go on a truck we would share with other friends leaving Gallup the following month, we threw everything into the Westy and car. Separate and in silence, we left Gallup.

The answer to questions I posed of my life at this time and connected to my incomplete relationships and projects in Navajo Nation eluded me. Heart heavy, even the questions evaporated into the parched and dusty air.

Aug 13

The temperature shot up to the high 90s. She wasn’t eating and for a few days I presumed it was from the heat.

By the 3rd or 4th day, I contacted our breeder. “Normal to stop eating in high heat?” “A Portuguese Water Dog not eat under any circumstances? No way.” I wasn’t surprised as this little creature could eat more than her body weight if given the opportunity despite her no grain, quality raw food diet. Off we trotted to the vet the last week of June on the day of my second to the last class. Tail wagging happily, she eagerly entered Cedar Animal Hospital on the north side of town in Gallup. The first thing our vet noted was soreness in the stomach region and ordered x-rays. We left her, I returned to my office, met with students, planned what would be the final class of my teaching career, packed up more books in boxes we’d send back to NH and waited for a call back from the vet.

The call came. Mass in stomach, perhaps a tumor on the spleen. Schedule surgery tomorrow. If malignant, euthanize.

How does one make a decision to take the life of their beloved in a day’s notice? Especially when packing up after 3 years eleven states away and preparing to teach one’s last class, possibly forever?

Next day: blood tests indicate off the chart white blood cell count. Let’s try antibiotics for a few days. Brought her home. Gave her love. Cooked sweet potatoes and rice which she ate. She perked up to her usual sweet puppy self. Maybe she’ll be ok, we reasoned. Let’s continue the drugs. A few days later, we brought her back in for another blood test to assess the effects of drugs on her infection. Alas, elevated white blood cell count. Time for the inevitable. Exploratory surgery.

That evening: How to spend what might be the last evening and night with a pet? What do you do? Especially when the last might not really be the last. It’s just exploratory surgery, after all. We did all we could do: take a ride on a solar powered golf cart up and down the alleys of Gallup on a warm summer night.

Next day: A true test in defining a world view. Was our cup half full or half empty? Were we saying good bye or good luck? Is life really a crap shoot or a series of predictable events? Are Matters of the Heart the Luck of the Draw?

It was like any other morning to start, although I would teach my final class and our dog would be cut open to reveal a benign or malignant tumor. Una went to the vet and I went to my office. I met with students for advisement as she went under the knife. Anesthetic kept her pain at bay while I winced in agony. One more hour before my final class began the second dreaded call came. Liver cancer. Pressing on her stomach. Too much to remove. The most humane action, the vet said, would be to take her life. They could not in good conscious put her back together and send her home to die a natural death. How could I argue?

Students arrived. I sent them home after an hour. I am eternally grateful that my children and granddaughter are alive, healthy and happy at this moment in time. That night on June 28 when I ended my teaching career, my heart broke when we lost our Una, the sweetest, most loving, endearing four-legged I have ever had the privilege to know, love and care for.

Within two days, we left Gallup.