“You don’t own a TV?”
“No, I haven’t had one for over twenty years.”
Incredulous silence.
It is by conscious choice I don’t own a TV. Tom Hopkins, real estate trainer extraordinaire, “sold” me on the idea at a seminar in the 1980s. He made a visceral point about “Garbage in, garbage out.” What we put into our minds and hearts is vitally important, not only in sales, where enthusiasm and a positive attitude are essential, but also in our lives. He accomplished this by manipulating our emotions. First, he presented a colorful multimedia slide show featuring beautiful nature scenes accompanied by uplifting music which elevated us into a state of joy and euphoric contentment. Then he held up a small cassette player blaring a “newscast” report about a stepfather beating his little boy for calling him “daddy” while excitedly reporting a success at school. “Don't call me daddy. I’m not your daddy,” he declared. Tom slammed the cassette player down on the stage floor, smashing it into pieces. Horrified, the room of 500 Realtors fell silent. We crashed emotionally. Then he asked us how those two experiences made us feel. In the discussion that followed, Tom asked us if we really wanted to start each day and go to bed each night with daily doses of negativity – murder, mayhem, car wrecks, arson, natural disasters. I did not.
As a metaphysical thinker, I believe I will know whatever I need to know whenever I need to know it, so it has proved to be true for me. Information I need comes to me in different ways – through people, magazines, overheard conversations at the right place, right time. There is no limit to the number of ways by which information can reach me. I read a national news magazine once a week to stay current on world events. I am quiet and contemplative by nature, so the peaceful solitude of a TV-free home has balanced my people-oriented careers. I don’t need the companionship of noise or distraction. I read.
My first alarming interaction with the hypnotic, mesmerizing power of TV occurred in 1975 when my son was a few months old. Placed on the living room floor in his Infaseat while I worked in the kitchen, he changed from gurgling baby actively playing with his hands and feet into a motionless zombie within moments of my turning the TV on. I was shocked. What was that about??
Now I am ready to own a TV again. What heralded this great transformation? Friends. Connection. Cultural context. It started with three dear friends addicted to “DWTS” (“Dancing with the Stars,” for the uninitiated) who wanted to interact with me about the show. I was clueless. Like crack dealers on ghetto corners, each one offered a free “hit” to get me started. “Come over for dinner, and we’ll watch it together.” Then I got involved with the performers, their lives, their stories, their challenges, their growth and sharing the experience with friends. Connection. Cultural context. It spread. Soon I was sampling "Ecstasy," "PCP," " 'Ludes," "H," hopelessly hooked on "The Bachelorette," "Bones," "Castle." Then there was Oprah's 25th and final season....you get the picture.
During my six-month migration from Santa Barbara to Albuquerque, I’ve had four different addresses, living with friends along the way. Each friend introduced me to a new substance of choice: “NCIS,” the Food Channel’s “Top/Master/Iron Chefs,” “PBS’s Masterpiece Theatre.” I have always managed to participate in world events through TV: Princess Diana’s wedding, then her funeral, Obama’s election and inauguration, the Japanese earthquake and tsunami, Osama bin Laden’s assassination. This connects me into the grid as a world citizen. I’m ready now, when I buy a home in New Mexico, to own a TV again. I’m aware of its impacts and willing to be responsible for its gifts and detractions.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Blurbs from the Burque
- Last week, the Alibi, (for what, I don’t know yet), the Burque’s free, weekly, local Arts & Entertainment newspaper, featured “Survival Guide 2011: ABQ Danger Map” for living here.
"Albuquerque is a tough little piñon. Mastering Albuquerque takes street
smarts. If you want to thrive, first you have to survive."A two-page map was ever-so-helpfully coded to show the neighborhoods with the highest number of registered sex offenders, most arsenic in the drinking water, greatest concentration of dangerous dogs, most homicides, property crimes, violent crimes, worst intersections, bicycle deaths, red light cameras. Superfund sites are marked in red. There is an icon for “Corporate Coffee”(see next entry).
- Corporate Coffee: “Beware the coffee! This is the very McDonald’s where, in 1992, Stella Liebeck ordered a 49-cent cup of joe and then spilled it on her lap, resulting in burns, a successful $2.8 million lawsuit and a flood of hacky jokes from every two-bit comic in the country. Although most people have heard of the case, many don’t realize that the coffee was so hot (180 -190 degrees) that Liebeck suffered third-degree burns requiring a skin graft, or that McDonald’s had refused to grant Liebeck’s initial request for just enough money to cover her medical expenses. Regardless of your take on the lawsuit, we recommend that if you buy coffee anywhere, you avoid holding the cup between your legs while driving.”
Sunday, August 21, 2011
“A New Light on Tiffany” (Culture is Alive in “Duke City”)
Before the Tiffany lamp exhibit at the Albuquerque Museum of Art and History closes permanently tomorrow, I toured it for the second time this week with a docent. I wanted to bathe in the beauty of it. Breathe in the creativity of it. Immerse myself in the time of it. Savor it. And I did. What an exquisite experience. Curated beautifully, the eighty lamps glow from within through opalescent, translucent glass shades, beckoning across dimly-lit rooms. Come close. Look. Appreciate.
Not only did our small group engage with the beauty of art, we also entered the world of New York in the early 1900s, the lives of Clara Driscoll, manager of the Women’s Glass Cutting Department at Tiffany Studios, and the Tiffany Girls. Previously unrecognized as the artist, Clara was identified in 2007 as the master designer behind the leaded glass lamps. Her round-robin letters to her mother, sisters and aunt included sketches of her projects. The signature piece opening the exhibit is one of several dragonfly lamps based on Clara’s original design. Dragonflies, heads down, wings connected, circle the bottom edge of the lamp shade. Droplets of water, clear, colored jewels of glass, rain down above them. Louis Comfort Tiffany sent one to Paris for an exhibition. They refused to display it without crediting the designer. Had letters and the Paris exhibition not revealed Clara’s identity, Mr. Tiffany, her employer, would have been credited with her work. The exhibit shines “A New Light on Tiffany,” the role of Clara Driscoll.
Clara was inspired by nature. The lamps depict peonies, daffodils, wisteria, poppies, geraniums, nasturtiums, butterflies and spider webs among apple tree blossoms. Glass for vivid red poinsettias was the most expensive because its production required the use of gold.
Tiffany lamp bases, cast in bronze, were also inspired by nature – twigs, branches, lotus pods. Since New York was not yet completely electrified, early lamp bases were oil containers; later ones accommodated electric cords.
Tiffany’s primary focus was making stained-glass windows and mosaics. The lamps were an afterthought, created from leftover pieces of glass. Lamps were sold for $200-$600 at a time when a new Model T could be purchased for $500, the average annual wage for a man. Today, Tiffany lamps can command $100,000 apiece. Clara earned a top wage for women, and more than men, as manager of Tiffany Studios - $35 a week. Subsidized by the wealth of Louis Tiffany’s father, the glass business operated at a loss then went bankrupt in 1937. The silver division continues to this day.
Intimate details about Clara’s life and times were reflected by a display of clothing worn then, white shirtwaists, long black skirts, and a new type of bicycle women could ride in that garb. The docent’s passion for and knowledge of her subject revealed newfound freedoms for women who could not yet vote but could work, as long as they were not married. Once married, they had to quit, a frustration for Clara after she trained them.
After an hour-and-a-half immersion in Clara’s world, soul fed, I realized for some the creation of art is a necessity. Tiffany lamps emerged from the love Clara Driscoll and Louis Tiffany had for art, the beauty of nature and the joy of self-expression. Tiffany’s family wealth supported those for their own intrinsic value and the pleasure they gave others. This extraordinary experience cost me $2, a surcharge to cover the cost of insurance and transportation for the exhibit. For the Albuquerque Museum of Art and History, the exhibit was also a non-profit venture, shared with the community out love and appreciation for beautiful art. I saw parallel applications to my own life and writing. Albuquerque was the only city in the country, beside New York, to host the Tiffany exhibit. When I asked the docent why that was so, she replied, “Because we have a very persistent curator.” Albuquerque is named after a Spanish duke and his city in Spain, so one of its nicknames is “Duke City.” Culture is indeed alive and well in “Duke City.”
Not only did our small group engage with the beauty of art, we also entered the world of New York in the early 1900s, the lives of Clara Driscoll, manager of the Women’s Glass Cutting Department at Tiffany Studios, and the Tiffany Girls. Previously unrecognized as the artist, Clara was identified in 2007 as the master designer behind the leaded glass lamps. Her round-robin letters to her mother, sisters and aunt included sketches of her projects. The signature piece opening the exhibit is one of several dragonfly lamps based on Clara’s original design. Dragonflies, heads down, wings connected, circle the bottom edge of the lamp shade. Droplets of water, clear, colored jewels of glass, rain down above them. Louis Comfort Tiffany sent one to Paris for an exhibition. They refused to display it without crediting the designer. Had letters and the Paris exhibition not revealed Clara’s identity, Mr. Tiffany, her employer, would have been credited with her work. The exhibit shines “A New Light on Tiffany,” the role of Clara Driscoll.
Clara was inspired by nature. The lamps depict peonies, daffodils, wisteria, poppies, geraniums, nasturtiums, butterflies and spider webs among apple tree blossoms. Glass for vivid red poinsettias was the most expensive because its production required the use of gold.
Tiffany lamp bases, cast in bronze, were also inspired by nature – twigs, branches, lotus pods. Since New York was not yet completely electrified, early lamp bases were oil containers; later ones accommodated electric cords.
Tiffany’s primary focus was making stained-glass windows and mosaics. The lamps were an afterthought, created from leftover pieces of glass. Lamps were sold for $200-$600 at a time when a new Model T could be purchased for $500, the average annual wage for a man. Today, Tiffany lamps can command $100,000 apiece. Clara earned a top wage for women, and more than men, as manager of Tiffany Studios - $35 a week. Subsidized by the wealth of Louis Tiffany’s father, the glass business operated at a loss then went bankrupt in 1937. The silver division continues to this day.
Intimate details about Clara’s life and times were reflected by a display of clothing worn then, white shirtwaists, long black skirts, and a new type of bicycle women could ride in that garb. The docent’s passion for and knowledge of her subject revealed newfound freedoms for women who could not yet vote but could work, as long as they were not married. Once married, they had to quit, a frustration for Clara after she trained them.
After an hour-and-a-half immersion in Clara’s world, soul fed, I realized for some the creation of art is a necessity. Tiffany lamps emerged from the love Clara Driscoll and Louis Tiffany had for art, the beauty of nature and the joy of self-expression. Tiffany’s family wealth supported those for their own intrinsic value and the pleasure they gave others. This extraordinary experience cost me $2, a surcharge to cover the cost of insurance and transportation for the exhibit. For the Albuquerque Museum of Art and History, the exhibit was also a non-profit venture, shared with the community out love and appreciation for beautiful art. I saw parallel applications to my own life and writing. Albuquerque was the only city in the country, beside New York, to host the Tiffany exhibit. When I asked the docent why that was so, she replied, “Because we have a very persistent curator.” Albuquerque is named after a Spanish duke and his city in Spain, so one of its nicknames is “Duke City.” Culture is indeed alive and well in “Duke City.”
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Reiki Dog
Mac is an extraordinary dog, a golden-Lab-colored Chow with a fluffy, curved tail, thick coat, pointed ears, black tongue. Most exceptional are his liquid-brown eyes, full of presence and intelligence. With them, he makes prolonged eye contact. My friend, Evelyn, says, “Once you get ‘the look’ from him, you’re his.”
During my recent migration from Santa Barbara to Albuquerque, I stayed with Evelyn for a month. At breakfast one morning, Mac looked dolefully up at us with mucus-streaked eyes and a crusty nose. He was off his chow, no pun intended. Evelyn expressed concern about Mac’s health, and, especially, the potential for a veterinary bill. She and her mother live on a restricted, limited income. I thought I might be able to help.
Just before leaving Santa Barbara, I completed Reiki 1 training in hands-on, energetic healing. Students are encouraged to begin by practicing on themselves, friends and family members. I thought I could do some Reiki on Mac. We had become friends, and he would come to me frequently throughout the day to be petted. The next time he came to be petted, I sent Reiki energy through my hands. He immediately swiveled his head around, looking me directly in the eyes. He recognized as soon as I touched him that this was no ordinary petting. Then he totally cooperated with the healing. Whenever he had “enough” energy in one spot, he moved so my hands would not be there. Then he took a few steps forward or backward so the placement of my hands would be where he wanted them. I was amazed at the nonverbal, cooperative interaction between us with full awareness in both of us of what was happening. The next day, Mac was better. Within a couple of days, he was well again. I was really pleased with the result of my first use of Reiki, other than on myself.
During my recent migration from Santa Barbara to Albuquerque, I stayed with Evelyn for a month. At breakfast one morning, Mac looked dolefully up at us with mucus-streaked eyes and a crusty nose. He was off his chow, no pun intended. Evelyn expressed concern about Mac’s health, and, especially, the potential for a veterinary bill. She and her mother live on a restricted, limited income. I thought I might be able to help.
Just before leaving Santa Barbara, I completed Reiki 1 training in hands-on, energetic healing. Students are encouraged to begin by practicing on themselves, friends and family members. I thought I could do some Reiki on Mac. We had become friends, and he would come to me frequently throughout the day to be petted. The next time he came to be petted, I sent Reiki energy through my hands. He immediately swiveled his head around, looking me directly in the eyes. He recognized as soon as I touched him that this was no ordinary petting. Then he totally cooperated with the healing. Whenever he had “enough” energy in one spot, he moved so my hands would not be there. Then he took a few steps forward or backward so the placement of my hands would be where he wanted them. I was amazed at the nonverbal, cooperative interaction between us with full awareness in both of us of what was happening. The next day, Mac was better. Within a couple of days, he was well again. I was really pleased with the result of my first use of Reiki, other than on myself.
Wildfire! (AKA Psychic Conversation with a Dog)
Mac is an extraordinary dog, a golden-Lab-colored Chow with a fluffy, curved tail, thick coat, pointed ears, black tongue. Most exceptional are his liquid-brown eyes, full of presence and intelligence. With them, he makes prolonged eye contact. My friend, Evelyn, says, “Once you get ‘the look’ from him, you’re his.” We didn’t begin our relationship with his laying his head in my lap several times a day to be petted. We started with his lunging toward me against a choke chain, ferocious barking and aggressive defense of his territory. Repeated commands of “Mac. No. Friend. Friend. Friend,” gave me access to Evelyn’s forest home in the White Mountains of eastern Arizona where she lives on a secluded acre of ponderosa pines at an elevation of 6500’.
Evelyn and her mother were among 30,000 people evacuated in the June 2002 Rodeo-Chediski Fire, the worst in Arizona history with 720 square miles burned until the recent Wallow Fire surpassed it at 841 square miles. For two weeks, while camping out in a gymnasium, Evelyn and her mom didn’t know if their home or her hair salon would still be standing on their return.
During my migration from Santa Barbara to Albuquerque, I stayed with Evelyn for a month while five wildfires raged through drought-stricken Arizona. We watched them on the news each day. It was a little unsettling. But not as much as walking out the front door to my car to discover a towering pyro-cumulus cloud of heat and smoke nearby. When I drove to the post office, a neighbor reported the fire was eight miles away. Winds were carrying it away from town. Power to the entire town was shut off for the firefighters’ safety.
Evelyn’s 93-year-old mother is on oxygen 24/7. No power, no oxygen machine. Evelyn switched her mom to a portable oxygen tank, and we all moved from the hot, no-longer-air-conditioned house to the front porch. Evelyn, who is subject to heat stroke, began to flush. Down in the valley, Phoenix was having triple-digit temperatures. One day it was 119 degrees. The mountains are about twenty degrees cooler, but still hot. When dusk came, the oxygen tanks were checked and found almost empty. “We need to go to a hotel in Payson,” Evelyn said. “You can stay here.” With Mac. With her three cats. In the dark, without power. At an isolated mountain property. Near the fire. When they left, Mac ran, agitated and whining, through the house, looking for them. Kerosene lamps provided light for reading. Front and rear security screen doors were locked, but the doors themselves were left open as the only source of ventilation. My bedroom door would need to stay open, leaving me accessible to Mac’s nocturnal wandering. He never hesitated to nose open the bathroom or bedroom doors to inquire into my activities.
I called my friend Marge, a retired librarian in Ventura, CA with a new passion for communicating with animals. She agreed to “talk” with Mac. While reading pet-expert Laura Stinchfield’s blog, she learned animals communicate in pictures. Soon after our conversation, Mac calmed down, lay down and fell asleep without a care in the world. I slept without interruption through the night, bedroom door left open. The next day Marge explained when she communicated with Mac, she found out he was afraid. He could smell the fire. She told him I would protect him and keep him safe from the fire; he was to protect me and keep me safe from intruders. She explained to Mac that animals can calm themselves and told him how. She told him I needed my own space so I could sleep. That’s exactly what happened. Marge was thrilled with the success of her first effort to communicate long-distance with a pet.
The power came back on at 1:30 a.m., the firefighters extinguished the blaze, Evelyn and her mom returned. The wildfires continued to burn, making 2011 “Arizona’s worst-ever wildfire year,” according to the L.A. Times.
Evelyn and her mother were among 30,000 people evacuated in the June 2002 Rodeo-Chediski Fire, the worst in Arizona history with 720 square miles burned until the recent Wallow Fire surpassed it at 841 square miles. For two weeks, while camping out in a gymnasium, Evelyn and her mom didn’t know if their home or her hair salon would still be standing on their return.
During my migration from Santa Barbara to Albuquerque, I stayed with Evelyn for a month while five wildfires raged through drought-stricken Arizona. We watched them on the news each day. It was a little unsettling. But not as much as walking out the front door to my car to discover a towering pyro-cumulus cloud of heat and smoke nearby. When I drove to the post office, a neighbor reported the fire was eight miles away. Winds were carrying it away from town. Power to the entire town was shut off for the firefighters’ safety.
Evelyn’s 93-year-old mother is on oxygen 24/7. No power, no oxygen machine. Evelyn switched her mom to a portable oxygen tank, and we all moved from the hot, no-longer-air-conditioned house to the front porch. Evelyn, who is subject to heat stroke, began to flush. Down in the valley, Phoenix was having triple-digit temperatures. One day it was 119 degrees. The mountains are about twenty degrees cooler, but still hot. When dusk came, the oxygen tanks were checked and found almost empty. “We need to go to a hotel in Payson,” Evelyn said. “You can stay here.” With Mac. With her three cats. In the dark, without power. At an isolated mountain property. Near the fire. When they left, Mac ran, agitated and whining, through the house, looking for them. Kerosene lamps provided light for reading. Front and rear security screen doors were locked, but the doors themselves were left open as the only source of ventilation. My bedroom door would need to stay open, leaving me accessible to Mac’s nocturnal wandering. He never hesitated to nose open the bathroom or bedroom doors to inquire into my activities.
I called my friend Marge, a retired librarian in Ventura, CA with a new passion for communicating with animals. She agreed to “talk” with Mac. While reading pet-expert Laura Stinchfield’s blog, she learned animals communicate in pictures. Soon after our conversation, Mac calmed down, lay down and fell asleep without a care in the world. I slept without interruption through the night, bedroom door left open. The next day Marge explained when she communicated with Mac, she found out he was afraid. He could smell the fire. She told him I would protect him and keep him safe from the fire; he was to protect me and keep me safe from intruders. She explained to Mac that animals can calm themselves and told him how. She told him I needed my own space so I could sleep. That’s exactly what happened. Marge was thrilled with the success of her first effort to communicate long-distance with a pet.
The power came back on at 1:30 a.m., the firefighters extinguished the blaze, Evelyn and her mom returned. The wildfires continued to burn, making 2011 “Arizona’s worst-ever wildfire year,” according to the L.A. Times.
Monday, August 8, 2011
It's Not Easy Being Green
My friend Evelyn is all things FROG. She collects them. For as long as I’ve known her, she's identified with them, but I’ve never known why. Frog plates, platters, planters, soap dish, sponge holder, spoon rest, wind chimes, door sign. Even the plywood street directional sign is cut in the shape of a frog, painted green and points the way from the road to her forest home. Her front door sign proclaims, “Welcome to our (you-know-what-on-a-lily) pad.” The doorstop warns, “Beware of frog.” She named her hair salon Madam Frogge’s, yes, with two g’s. Why? Because she loves them so much? Clients gifted her with even more frogs for her collection.
Evelyn is outrageous. She always has been. At 72, she still has bright red hair and a raucous laugh. She’s hard to miss. As a child, she had psychic abilities that made her straight-laced Mormon and Baptist family extremely uncomfortable, especially when they saw wild birds perch on her daughter’s outstretched arms in the garden. Evelyn’s family tried in vain to squish her flamboyant uniqueness out of her. She remains indomitable, fully self-expressed. I love that about her.
Recently I spent a month at her home in the White Mountains of eastern Arizona while relocating from Santa Barbara to Albuquerque. It was the third of my four addresses in six months. One afternoon as she cooked our main meal, I asked her, “Evelyn, how and why did you ever get interested in frogs?” “Oh, it was in the sixties, I was at church, and the minister mentioned frogs in his talk. I was feeling particularly green and warty at the time, and I thought, ‘You know what? Green, warty frogs need love too.’ ” My heart opened to her in great compassion after this intimate sharing although I've known her for 26 years. Her story prompted me to think of Kermit the Frog singing, “It’s Not Easy Being Green.” It’s not easy being a human being. Evelyn takes care of her 93-year old mother who is on oxygen 24/7 and bent over with osteoporosis. Evelyn has had two rotator cuff surgeries and one partial shoulder replacement with another to come (a “hairdresser” ailment, like “tennis” elbow). She’s had the heartaches and losses that come with being human, and, yes, sometimes she’s green and warty. Now, when that happens, I think, “You know what? It’s not easy being green.”
Evelyn is outrageous. She always has been. At 72, she still has bright red hair and a raucous laugh. She’s hard to miss. As a child, she had psychic abilities that made her straight-laced Mormon and Baptist family extremely uncomfortable, especially when they saw wild birds perch on her daughter’s outstretched arms in the garden. Evelyn’s family tried in vain to squish her flamboyant uniqueness out of her. She remains indomitable, fully self-expressed. I love that about her.
Recently I spent a month at her home in the White Mountains of eastern Arizona while relocating from Santa Barbara to Albuquerque. It was the third of my four addresses in six months. One afternoon as she cooked our main meal, I asked her, “Evelyn, how and why did you ever get interested in frogs?” “Oh, it was in the sixties, I was at church, and the minister mentioned frogs in his talk. I was feeling particularly green and warty at the time, and I thought, ‘You know what? Green, warty frogs need love too.’ ” My heart opened to her in great compassion after this intimate sharing although I've known her for 26 years. Her story prompted me to think of Kermit the Frog singing, “It’s Not Easy Being Green.” It’s not easy being a human being. Evelyn takes care of her 93-year old mother who is on oxygen 24/7 and bent over with osteoporosis. Evelyn has had two rotator cuff surgeries and one partial shoulder replacement with another to come (a “hairdresser” ailment, like “tennis” elbow). She’s had the heartaches and losses that come with being human, and, yes, sometimes she’s green and warty. Now, when that happens, I think, “You know what? It’s not easy being green.”
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Ayni
Why on earth would I go to Peru three times when I could go to China, Bhutan, India, Greece, New Zealand or other exotic places? Simply, because I fell in love with the land and the people. Seeing Peru’s Sacred Valley surrounded by majestic peaks made me cry. Carol Cumes, innkeeper of Willka T’ika (Sacred Flower) Garden Guest House in the Sacred Valley near Urubamba, explains it this way: “Consciously aware of it or not, people come to Peru to reconnect with Pachamama (Mother Earth) and their love for Her.” I do have a deep love for the Earth. My given name, “Terranda,” which was also my mother’s name, means “She walks the Earth,” or “Earthwalker.” The root word terra, means Earth, and “anda” is a form of the Spanish verb andar, “to walk.”
Walking the Earth while traveling in Peru, I learned about the Quechua (indigenous people of the Andes) and their practice of ayni. What is ayni? Ayni is the exchange of living energy, reciprocity, giving and receiving. Ayni is in everything everywhere. Ultimately, ayni is love. For millennia, the Quechua people have practiced ayni with Mother Earth and with each other. Their survival depended on it. To honor Mother Earth, the Quechua give prayers, offerings, celebrations, music, dance and ceremonies to Pachamama. In return, they receive Her acknowledgement of their love and appreciation as bountiful crops.
In their daily lives, the Quechua practice ayni by helping each other. “Today for you, tomorrow for me.” We will plant your fields today, tomorrow, we will plant mine. We will harvest your crop today, tomorrow we will harvest mine. Today, we will build you a house. Tomorrow we will build one for me. Their word for the marriage relationship is sirwanakuy (to serve one another). Giving and receiving love equally in balance – isn’t that a great basis for relationship? It serves both people. Like the figure-eight symbol of the universe, of infinity, of the divine, ayni is giving and receiving in a balanced way. It is true partnership.
Listening between the lines, you can detect the values inherent in ayni. Trust: We build your house today. I trust once you have yours, you will help me build mine. Integrity: We can each be counted on to keep our agreement. Mutual benefit through cooperation, respect, shared power, true partnership. Survival in harsh conditions, in isolated mountain communities at altitudes over 9,000’, depended on it. People could not make it on their own. They had to cooperate as a community to survive.
Today everyone’s survival depends on practicing ayni. In terms of global warming, whether we live in cosmopolitan, affluent San Francisco, Paris or Calcutta, we live in one world. Polluted air in Bejing is breathed by people in Santa Barbara. When we are out of balance, and ayni is absent, we get in trouble.
Think of our consumer society, corporations, Wall Street. Think of Enron. Think of mortgage companies…the sub-prime mess. Today for me…today for me…today for me, me, me, me, me. You’re losing your house because your interest rate went up and you can’t make your payment? Oh well, today is for me. My fourth-quarter profits are up. I’m going to exercise my stock options before people find out those loans will default and the stock price goes down. Today is for me.
Any place there is rainforest destruction, disease, war, poverty, giving and receiving are out of balance. Ayni is absent. “Where’s the love?” becomes more than merely a catch phrase. There is no love there. By working in partnership, we can rebalance the Earth and ourselves. Survival of life on Earth depends on it. There is one energy field – everything is connected – what we do to others and the Earth, we do to ourselves. The Quechua have held the consciousness of loving cooperation for thousands of years. It is time for us to join them.
What can one person do? What could Gandhi do? In his book, Assault on Reason, Al Gore tells about a woman who asked Gandhi if he would speak with her son and ask him to give up eating sugar. She was worried about his health. She knew her son respected Gandhi and thought he would listen to him. Gandhi told her to come back in two weeks, and he would tell her son not to eat sugar. She brought her son back. After Gandhi told her son not to eat sugar, she asked him, “Why did you wait two weeks to talk to my son?” “Well,” Gandhi replied, “first, I had to stop eating sugar myself.”
Like Gandhi, if we want the planet to be more balanced, we have to practice balance ourselves. Are your work and play balanced? How about your checkbook? Mine, at the moment, is not. If we want war to end and peace to prevail, we need to be calm and content in our individual lives with our families, coworkers and within ourselves. Are you fighting your weight? Do you struggle with getting to sleep? Is it any wonder these things are in the world when they are within us? As within so without. When we do the necessary work on ourselves, we are doing it for the entire planet. That helps. It’s nice to know that as we work on ourselves it is making a bigger difference – not only in our own lives, but also in the world. It’s time to take responsibility for shifting our individual consciousness so the collective consciousness can shift. We can remind ourselves as we practice, “I know who I am makes a difference in the world.”
Walking the Earth while traveling in Peru, I learned about the Quechua (indigenous people of the Andes) and their practice of ayni. What is ayni? Ayni is the exchange of living energy, reciprocity, giving and receiving. Ayni is in everything everywhere. Ultimately, ayni is love. For millennia, the Quechua people have practiced ayni with Mother Earth and with each other. Their survival depended on it. To honor Mother Earth, the Quechua give prayers, offerings, celebrations, music, dance and ceremonies to Pachamama. In return, they receive Her acknowledgement of their love and appreciation as bountiful crops.
In their daily lives, the Quechua practice ayni by helping each other. “Today for you, tomorrow for me.” We will plant your fields today, tomorrow, we will plant mine. We will harvest your crop today, tomorrow we will harvest mine. Today, we will build you a house. Tomorrow we will build one for me. Their word for the marriage relationship is sirwanakuy (to serve one another). Giving and receiving love equally in balance – isn’t that a great basis for relationship? It serves both people. Like the figure-eight symbol of the universe, of infinity, of the divine, ayni is giving and receiving in a balanced way. It is true partnership.
Listening between the lines, you can detect the values inherent in ayni. Trust: We build your house today. I trust once you have yours, you will help me build mine. Integrity: We can each be counted on to keep our agreement. Mutual benefit through cooperation, respect, shared power, true partnership. Survival in harsh conditions, in isolated mountain communities at altitudes over 9,000’, depended on it. People could not make it on their own. They had to cooperate as a community to survive.
Today everyone’s survival depends on practicing ayni. In terms of global warming, whether we live in cosmopolitan, affluent San Francisco, Paris or Calcutta, we live in one world. Polluted air in Bejing is breathed by people in Santa Barbara. When we are out of balance, and ayni is absent, we get in trouble.
Think of our consumer society, corporations, Wall Street. Think of Enron. Think of mortgage companies…the sub-prime mess. Today for me…today for me…today for me, me, me, me, me. You’re losing your house because your interest rate went up and you can’t make your payment? Oh well, today is for me. My fourth-quarter profits are up. I’m going to exercise my stock options before people find out those loans will default and the stock price goes down. Today is for me.
Any place there is rainforest destruction, disease, war, poverty, giving and receiving are out of balance. Ayni is absent. “Where’s the love?” becomes more than merely a catch phrase. There is no love there. By working in partnership, we can rebalance the Earth and ourselves. Survival of life on Earth depends on it. There is one energy field – everything is connected – what we do to others and the Earth, we do to ourselves. The Quechua have held the consciousness of loving cooperation for thousands of years. It is time for us to join them.
What can one person do? What could Gandhi do? In his book, Assault on Reason, Al Gore tells about a woman who asked Gandhi if he would speak with her son and ask him to give up eating sugar. She was worried about his health. She knew her son respected Gandhi and thought he would listen to him. Gandhi told her to come back in two weeks, and he would tell her son not to eat sugar. She brought her son back. After Gandhi told her son not to eat sugar, she asked him, “Why did you wait two weeks to talk to my son?” “Well,” Gandhi replied, “first, I had to stop eating sugar myself.”
Like Gandhi, if we want the planet to be more balanced, we have to practice balance ourselves. Are your work and play balanced? How about your checkbook? Mine, at the moment, is not. If we want war to end and peace to prevail, we need to be calm and content in our individual lives with our families, coworkers and within ourselves. Are you fighting your weight? Do you struggle with getting to sleep? Is it any wonder these things are in the world when they are within us? As within so without. When we do the necessary work on ourselves, we are doing it for the entire planet. That helps. It’s nice to know that as we work on ourselves it is making a bigger difference – not only in our own lives, but also in the world. It’s time to take responsibility for shifting our individual consciousness so the collective consciousness can shift. We can remind ourselves as we practice, “I know who I am makes a difference in the world.”
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