It Can Be Easy. . .

As I look at my printer sitting in a box on the floor by my desk, I need to know, "It can be easy." It can be easy to hook it up and have it work after it sat in a Ventura, CA storage unit for a year, jostled its way across three states in a moving van, froze during a snowy, overnight stay in Flagstaff, AZ in winter at an elevation of 7,500' then finally landed in Albuquerque. I haven't actively practiced knowing, "It can be easy," for a long time. I used to practice it when I managed a real estate office in San Clemente, CA. Every time agents would come up to me with long, convoluted explanations of the problems in their transactions, I would smile and say, "It can be easy."

It didn't help that a top-producing, hysterically-funny former attorney in the office thoroughly enjoyed entertaining himself and regaling his audience with fascinating tales about the Gordian knots in his transactions. Untying them engaged his intellect and helped him avoid the boredom of mundane sales. I still remember an escrow in which his client, also an attorney, had to write a personal check to his lender so they would review his short-sale file (loan balance higher than sale price). The lender wouldn't accept a check drawn on their own bank, where the client also did his personal banking. This event provided a wealth of material for humorous episodes in the ongoing drama. My only concern was that the new agents, enthralled by the tales, had eyes big as saucers while listening. My only defense was to shrug my shoulders and say, "It can be easy." I said it so often, I believed it. The top producer and I had almost identical transactions: both of us represented attorneys; both transactions were short sales; both sales occurred in the same area, at the same time, in the same market conditions. He had a bank that wouldn't accept its own check, and mine was easy. I laughed when I realized mine was easy because I had been saying, "It can be easy." So it was.

As an aside, just for fun, the former-attorney top producer had his own personalized sign riders made and used them as door prizes to lure other Realtors to come see his listings on broker preview day. Instead of the usual “Pool,” “Ocean View,” or “Price Reduction” riders, his said, “Seller Will Take Less,” “Original Carpet,” “Geological  Problems,” or “Unpermitted Repairs.”

I should have known I was going to have to start practicing “It can be easy” again. Last Friday, an Albuquerque Realtor friend of mine had her first colonoscopy scheduled. I offered to pray for her. “Teach what you need to learn.”

Thank you, Terranda, I am not at all worried.

      Great! But it could also be a positive experience! : )

This is amazing but if a colonoscopy can be a pleasant experience this really was. The care was superior and everything was normal. The doctor actually said that my colon was boring!

      I was "praying knowing" that your procedure would be one of grace and ease.

Some of my “It can be easy” thinking must have rubbed off, because today, one week ahead of the deadline, I finished the required manuscript pages for the writing workshop. Now if I can only get that #$%^& printer to work!

Do You Think I Know What I’m Doing?

Do you think I know what I’m doing?
That for one breath or half-breath I belong to myself?
As much as a pen knows what it’s writing, 
or the ball can guess where it’s going next.

                                                                                            - Rumi                

Laughing, laughing, laughing, I listen to Gangaji speak spontaneously about Rumi’s poetry with interviewer Chris Mohr on the CD “A Love Secret Spoken.” One of my favorite CDs, it is available on Amazon which describes it this way: “The combination of Rumi's passionate verse followed by Gangaji's clear, sutra-like commentary is a marriage of two wisdom mirrors, eight centuries apart, each having the extraordinary capacity to reflect and express the inexpressible truth. Here is an open invitation to discover yourself as love itself, alive and present in the heart of all being.” The two of them delight in this verse, laughing at themselves as they talk about the idea so beautifully expressed, and it becomes one of my favorites.

Rumi’s expression of this truth especially resonated with me as Grant and I began his journey with melanoma together in 2009. We had no idea where we were going. We still have no idea where we are going. Although we have some clear intentions! I believe we always live on the edge of the unknown, and it is so terrifying, we become experts in denial so we can feel like we have some control as Life flows through us. The paradox is that while we have no control, we are also the creators of our lives. I don’t know about you, but I certainly am having fun. It is entertaining, and certainly not boring.

In working on The Caregiver’s Journey manuscript this week, I have surrendered to and immersed myself in writing, to the joy of kairos, the sense of timelessness in which creation takes place. Some of the writing is nothing short of miraculous – how a car accident I was in a year before Grant was born prepared me for his illness thirty-five years later. How could I possibly have orchestrated that? Do you think I know what I’m doing? I wrote about companioning a dear friend, driving her to UCLA, going to radiation and chemotherapy appointments with her before her death from skin cancer a year before Grant was diagnosed. I would then do the same activities with him.

I didn’t really know what I was doing yesterday either when I went to the We ART the People’s 10^th annual arts and crafts fair in downtown Albuquerque’s Robinson Park. It was  sponsored by the off center community arts project which reaches out to the homeless, disabled and disadvantaged to provide them with supplies and an opportunity to create art. There was a giant puppet and samba dance-n-drum parade. There were magic acts, fortune telling, face painting, group art making areas for both children and adults and over one hundred folk arts and crafts vendors selling everything from hand-painted silk scarves to handmade birdhouses. Also featured were a costumed storyteller, a jazz belly dancer (go figure) and two musical performance stages. It felt like Santa Barbara's Solstice. The colorful and charming fortune-telling booth captured my attention, especially when I saw the sign reading 50¢.

Rainbow pinwheels spinning in the wind and fluttering, multicolored mylar streamers looped from post to post created a waiting line in front of the mystical, brightly-colored, fabric-draped booth. A belt of coins hung above the fortune teller’s window. A faux-crystal ball perched on the roof. The fortune teller’s name was “Carma.” Who could resist? When it was my turn, she held out a round, clear-glass fish bowl filled with playing cards, inviting me to choose one. The organizing artists had pasted stamps and hand-written labels on them. Selecting one with my non-dominant hand, I chose the nine of hearts. It read, “News from afar.” “I am a nine of hearts in The Cards of Your Destiny,” I told the fortune teller. “I am too,” she replied. It is the card of Universal Love. We were off to a good start. The card was mine to keep or do with as I pleased.

Next, she reached down into a basket full of boxed oracle cards to select a set. When she asked which one I’d like to use, I said, “Use your intuition.” She chose the Universal Wisdom Cards, shuffled them, fanned them out, and offered me one. I selected the “Magic Tree” card. She read me its meaning: “It is time for you to release the creative power within you. You are an artist of light. You have the power to create happiness, abundance and joy. Make your intention clear, for the universe is always listening and responds to all your words and thoughts. Be clear as you create the life of your dreams.” The star in front of the magic tree on the card reminded me of the star-filled sky I wrote about last week. News from afar, indeed. “God winks,” my neighbor Judy’s daughter calls all these seeming coincidences. It’s okay if I don’t know what I’m doing as I move forward into the unknown. Guidance will be provided. Confirmation of divine order, reassurance, comfort, support will accompany me along the way. God winked again this morning as I pulled out of the pool parking lot after aquacise. A bumper sticker on the car next to me said, “Move confidently in the direction of your dreams.”

Awesome!

A friend emailed this awesome NASA photograph this week. You must see it. It is Shiprock, the red rock formation sacred to the Navajo people, against the star-filled night sky extending to the far reaches of the Universe.

http://apod.nasa.gov/apod/image/1208/monumentvalley_pacholka_1387.jpg

For me, it represents synchronistic guidance letting me know I’m on track. A thread connects events in a previous blog post - wanting to see Shiprock in person for some time, then unexpectedly reading about it in a novel followed by receiving the photo. When there is a recurring theme, it tells me to pay attention, it’s not by accident, there is communication taking place. Trust the process. I wasn’t sure whether to entitle this week’s blog entry Inspiration from Meditation, Writing About Writing, or Awesome.  By choosing the last one, I can cover all three because this week I have received inspiration about writing through meditation, and it’s awesome. The photo confirms access to universal information.

Very visual, I often “see” things in meditation. The Virgin, or Our Lady, of Guadalupe, joined my guides and teachers this week. That seems totally appropriate because I’ve begun writing the manuscript of A Caregiver’s Journey: Supporting an Adult Child with Cancer. She is very important to those who live in New Mexico. Her appearance indicates she is here to mother, or nurture, me as I write about a mother and son dealing with melanoma. She is here to mother the book by imbuing it with her essence. Thirty to forty pages of manuscript are due at the ABQ Writers Co-op by September 24th. I am immersed in writing. It is a journey into the unknown. Many decisions need to be made about structure, chapter names, what to include, where to start. Guidance and confirmation about being on track are always appreciated. At the end of the meditation, Guadalupe held the completed book up in outstretched hands, offering it, emanating light, to the Universe. It looked like the photo of Shiprock against the starry sky.

I awoke at 4 a.m. Friday morning to jot down three pages of ideas about how to structure the book. Judy Allen, my professional artist neighbor, stopped by to visit. She just accepted a position as an art teacher at a private school on the Navajo reservation, near Shiprock. Judy told me she was guided to find a book she owned on her shelf, one written by Hugh Lynn Cayce, Edgar’s son. He didn’t start at the beginning. He started in a foxhole in the war – the moment of his greatest doubt and fear. I told Judy I had just started A Caregiver’s Journey in the middle of the story too – in the wilderness – where I don’t know what to do or where to go. We noted the similarity and knew it was confirmation. Oh. I’m on the right track. The title of Cayce’s book? Faces of Fear: A Practical Guide to Overcoming Life’s Anxieties. God does have a sense of humor. Trust the process.

Trusting the process characterized a Labor Day weekend road trip of five hundred miles on two different outings through the wilds of New Mexico. The first part was south to Las Cruces for the night, trusting lodging would be available, signs would be posted, the way found to the world-famous Hatch Chile Festival in the small agricultural community known for growing not only chiles, but also onions and pecans. A red-roofed store on the way into town was covered with drying chiles. We noticed them the second time we drove by because two men were up on the roof raking them. Over 30,000 people attend the festival at the small, local airport. All things chile from pottery, cookbooks, Christmas ornaments and ristras (long strings of drying chiles) to green-chile marmalade are for sale. Large cups of watermelon, cantaloupe, jicama, cucumber and mango spears were offered with freshly-squeezed lime juice, salt and, of course, chile powder. “Red or green?” is the state question. You are having chile. What kind would you like? Road tripping in New Mexico demands trust, and a sound car. There are no call boxes in the vast emptiness. Cell phone service is spotty. The ninety-mile stretch of waterless desert, just north of Las Cruces, part of El Camino Real, is called Journada del Muerto, Dead Man’s Journey.

The second part of the road trip was west toward Grants, (yes, that’s right!) New Mexico, to the Acoma pueblo, or “Sky City,” for feast day. The pueblo is built on top of a 367’ sandstone mesa. The countryside is replete with beauty and unique rock formations. Standing in line for the shuttle to the top, I found myself engaged in conversation with a woman on her way to visit relatives living in the pueblo. By the time we arrived, I knew everything I needed to know – how to find the dancing in the main plaza, roasted corn, best tamales, must-see Spanish church and even what to bring as a gift on my next visit – a can of coffee. Not having a television for almost twenty years, I lived knowing “I will know whatever I need to know when I need to know it.” And I did. If the uni-verse is “one-song,” or vibration, connecting everything, then there are myriad ways information can reach me. I can relax and trust the process. Awesome!

A Visit with Annapurna

This shaggy dog story all started with a “stolen” tomato, which led to a squash, which led to soup, which led to Annapurna, which led to a woman of purpose dedicated to passion, integrity and service. I feel like a bloodhound sniffing the trail of life through a forest hoping to find an interesting, enlightening story. Let me begin at the beginning.

Until recently, I had never grown a tomato of my own. When Costco had tomato plants for sale, I bought one. Since New Mexican spring nights can include below-freezing weather, or even snow, I put the plant out in daytime sunshine and brought it in on frosty nights. A gardener-neighbor said the plant was unhappy in the pot and wanted to be in the ground. She offered to plant it. I accepted. I watered it twice daily for months. It rewarded me with such a perfectly beautiful, round, red tomato, I took its picture. The next day it was gone. I posted a note. The following morning I heard a knock at my door. It was a consolation visit from Betty, my 93-year-old neighbor and her home health aide, Deena. Deena said, “I brought you some tomatoes from my garden,” handing me a plastic bag of three. As they sympathized with my loss, I felt very fortunate to have such neighbors. A Realtor friend suggested a raccoon might have taken my tomato. I prefer to think that. A few days later Deena gave me a huge spaghetti squash and a large butternut squash, also from her garden.

I’ve always had good intentions about trying the recipes in my vegetarian cookbooks, but they led to . . . nowhere. I found a recipe for butternut squash soup in the Chopra Center Cookbook: Nourishing Body and Soul. A friend gave me the cookbook so long ago I don’t remember which friend it was or on what occasion. The recipe called for exotic ingredients I didn’t have. Hot on the trail, the bloodhound sniffed out garam masala, tamari, and Bragg’s Amino Acids at a local health and produce store. The curried soup was flavorful and delicious. I had some for dinner and froze some for fall.

On a road trip a month ago, a friend and I stopped for lunch at Annapurna, an organic, vegetarian restaurant in Santa Fe. They offered cooking classes. We knew they also had two locations in Albuquerque. Sniffing through Albuquerque’s independent weekly Alibi last week, I saw classes would soon begin. “Annapurna," the Sanscrit name for “Goddess of the Harvest,” originally meant “full of food.” Although the restaurant founder’s name is Yashoda, she is Annapurna to me. Shoulder-length black ringlets, striking Indian features and smooth café skin emanate a timeless presence. Yashoda personally teaches the ayurvedic cooking classes in a patio classroom adjacent to her restaurant. The introductory class of the series was Saturday. I went. Yashoda presented an overview of the three doshas, or body types, four seasons, five elements, six tastes, seven chakras, eight houses, nine planets and how important it is to be in harmony with them for health. She discussed food in relation to times of the day and the body’s natural rhythms. Everything in her restaurant is made fresh, from scratch, every day including chai, made from black tea and spices, not a just-add-water powdered mix.

During the interactive class with six students, Yashoda’s life story and philosophy were revealed. Trained as a C.P.A., not knowing how to cook, she decided she wanted to open a restaurant with food prepared as it was for her while she grew up. Her husband didn’t support the idea. Divorced, with no money, she found banks would not finance a vegetarian restaurant in a town without one. She now has three locations and just purchased a building of her own. Yashoda spoke passionately about “healings” people have reported from learning to eat the kind of healthy food she serves. She no longer does business with one supplier who carries a product containing undisclosed wheat. She is adamant about not taking the “customer’s dollar” then feeding them “poison.” Her passions and prejudices carry emotional energy. Her integrity is apparent. I was touched and moved by her commitment to be of service to others by providing healing food without compromise. She told us if we were serious about the ayurvedic path of food for health, we would go home, empty out our refrigerator, pantry and cabinets and start from scratch. It could be a full-time job. Meeting Yashoda, hearing of her journey, let me see how many different ways there are to offer love and service to the world. I suspect there are just as many ways as there are people.   

"Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food."  - Hippocrates

Jetty Jacks

In the middle of the bosque, the forest parallel to the Rio Grande, seventeen-mile bike path and large irrigation ditch, there are rows of large jacks. Like toys for giant children, they are made of eleven-or-twelve-foot-long steel beams and laced together with cables. Marked on the trail map by XXXXXXXs, they look just like that. Relics of the past, no longer needed since the river has been “channelized” to prevent flooding, they were installed in the floodplain to capture debris rushing downstream. These “jetty jacks” reminded me of a humorous lesson from a spiritual teacher about thoughts moving through the mind, and they helped clarify my resistance to finish reading a book.

The spiritual teacher, Val Jon Faris, was a high-school graduate with five PhDs in the school of life. He produced events with Werner Erhard, was a protégé of Buckminster Fuller, studied with Swami Muktananda and worked with both a Zen master in Japan and a Hawaiian kupua, or shaman. Incredibly present, awake, aware and skilled, Val Jon was not only extremely intelligent, but also had a great sense of humor. He used a box of Kleenex as a visual aid to illustrate a point about the working of the mind. Pulling one tissue from the box, holding it from the center, he moved it up and down, like someone waving a hankie at the queen, while it traveled from left to right. It was a thought, happily traveling through the emptiness of mind – until – his other hand reached out, captured it, and made it his own. He inserted the end of the captured tissue into his right ear. Another tissue, pulled from the box, followed the path of the first – until – it too was captured, the end stuck in his left nostril. Left ear and right nostril soon followed, a captured tissue hanging from each as Val Jon grinned. Thoughts just travel through mind, the universal mind, of which our mind is a part, since we share the same energy field. Like clouds moving across the sky, the thoughts pass through, unless we stop them, capture them and make them our own, like jetty jacks stopping debris as it moves downstream. When we capture thoughts and make them our own, we are stuck with them, and they influence our lives. We sit there, oblivious, with a big grin on our face, Kleenex sticking out of our ears and nose. 

I had a close call with wearing Kleenex in my nose and ears this week when I found myself resisting reading Pulitzer-Prize-winning author Chris Hedges’ book, Death of the Liberal Class. “It’s depressing,” I told myself. A thought. Would I capture it and claim it as my own? Certainly, the 2010 book is about the rise of the corporate state at the expense of the working middle class, the poisoning and pollution of the ecosystem, dismantling of the democratic state, decimation of the manufacturing sector, looting of the U. S. Treasury, waging of imperial wars and the gutting of laws that protect the interests of ordinary citizens. Why would I read it in the first place? 

I respect Hedges’ perspective as a New York Times journalist for fifteen years, many as a war correspondent, his knowledge of history, literature and philosophy and his ability as a writer. He documents what he writes about and details our current social, economic and political ills. I’ve never been a student of history but am happy to benefit from the insights of someone who is. As a graduate of Harvard Divinity School, Hedges believes in the power of love. In fact, he ends his book, War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning by saying, “… love, in its mystery has its own power. It alone gives us meaning that endures. It alone allows us to embrace and cherish life. Love has power both to resist in our nature what we know we must resist, and to affirm what we know we must affirm. And love, as the poets remind us, is eternal.” 

I decided to finish reading Death of the Liberal Class once I had a larger perspective. I saw it as part of the unity or oneness that is. There is a lot of duality thinking in his books: corporation/population, haves/have nots, Republicans/Democrats, power elites/working class victims. Even his conclusion that we need to resist implies duality. Resist what? The darker aspects of ourselves? There is nothing to resist if there is only one, just clouds moving across the sky of universal mind. “I will resist resisting!” I proclaimed in my morning pages. Then I grinned. Morning meditation offered a different perspective: “Do not resist (and thereby enter the world of duality).” Love and accept everything. Practice nonattachment and non-reaction to the world of duality, the world of appearances. “…if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light (Matthew 6:22)." Don’t grab that Kleenex and wear it in your ear.

The First “V”

This morning the first “V” of Canada Geese honked overhead on its way south. I’ve known change is coming. Even though change is always in process, there are times when enough of it accumulates that an energetic shift occurs, and I feel it. The morning glory fence is on the wane with fewer blooms and more scraggly yellow leaves. Sometime in August, I usually feel a nip in the air announcing fall. As a fall person, a student and former teacher born in September, I associate fall not only with harvest, but also with the excitement of new beginnings. New crayons, pencils, books, lessons.

In the garden, sunflower buds atop rough, hairy stalks grow larger daily. Clearance from the orthopedic surgeon this week to return to aquacise will alter my daily schedule. Real estate practice is calling my name - three potential clients showed up, and I attended a computer class at the association office.

I’ve read several books in the last two weeks unlike anything I usually read: American Fascists: The Christian Right and the War on America, Empire of Illusion: The End of Literacy and the Triumph of Spectacle and War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning, all by Chris Hedges. I was prompted to check them out of the library after seeing Bill Moyers interview Hedges. It intrigued me that Hedges was not only a Pulitzer-Prize-winning journalist for the New York Times, but also a graduate of Harvard Divinity School. He and Bill Moyers were discussing the difficulty of taking a moral stand in a corporate environment. After fifteen years of working for the New York Times, Hedges was fired for denouncing the war in Iraq. I was shocked by some statements in his books. “AT&T and GM rake in approximately 80 percent of all porn dollars spent by consumers.” (“Annual sales in the United States are estimated at $10 billion or higher.” – Empire of Illusion, p. 58).

“Why am I reading this book?” I questioned. I reminded myself I’d just had a parallel experience while reading Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather, a story about the first Catholic bishop appointed to New Mexico. Then too I asked myself, “Why am I reading this book?” The answer came in the final ten pages when Cather described the importance of Shiprock, a large, red rock formation in the middle of the desert, and explained why it is sacred to the Navajo people. I’ve been drawn to go see it in person for some time now. More than two years ago, a Spiritualist medium told me I would be photographing and writing about sacred places all around the world before they disappear. Could this be the first one? I don’t know. Sure enough, the final ten pages of Hedges’ book knocked my socks off, and the last line stabbed a knife in my heart: “Tolerance is a virtue, but tolerance coupled with passivity is a vice.” Earlier in the week two political canvassers knocked on my door to discuss civil rights and environmental issues. I did what I’ve always done. I got rid of them as quickly as possible as politely as possible. And I believe in both their causes. I was devastated by the truth Hedges’ quote reflected about me. How will it impact my life? I don’t know. A Santa Barbara friend and I connected deeply and unexpectedly over Chris Hedges’ work. Why? I don’t know.

The ministerial team at my church is speaking on The 5 Love Languages: The Secret of Love That Lasts by Gary Chapman. I deeply respect and appreciate the ministers’ transparency and authenticity when they share in their talks how the lesson applies specifically to them. I’ve always needed teachers who share the good, the bad and the ugly, warts and all. It helps me relate to them. I purchased the book and cried when I read the following: “The emotional need for love must be met if we are to have emotional health.” (p.33) And “…life’s deepest meaning is not found in accomplishments but in relationships.” (p.40) Three years ago at a seminar on Understanding Men, in front of two hundred women, I declared a heart’s desire: “Before I die, I would like to love a man exactly as he is and be loved exactly as I am.” I believe that’s a daunting statement for anyone, let alone someone my age. I’ve been divorced for twenty-nine years. I’ve always enjoyed my own company and time alone, which I’ve never experienced as being lonely. But once my son and friend returned home after post-surgery caregiving, it was hard for me to adjust to being alone again. I miss my friends and family and have been feeling lonely. Will my relationship status change? I don’t know.

This week a dear friend who is a minister submitted a letter of resignation after serving her church for nine years. She told her congregation, “Spirit is leading me toward something that wants to be born. I don’t know what it is. Spirit will take me where I belong. Spirit will be with me wherever I am. With Spirit’s strength, I can do anything. It can only be good and greater good.” Embracing change, moving forward into the unknown, is a journey of faith. 

Branches of the Siberian Elm on my back patio toss in the wind, thrashing the green, saw-toothed leaves. Windchimes clang. The sky darkens. Monsoon rain streaks my windows. Change is in the air though I don’t know what it is. Morning glories fade. Sunflowers prepare blooms. Hummingbirds will leave. Sandhill Cranes and Canada Geese will come, stay, go. And it will snow.     

“Who you are speaks so loudly I can’t hear what you’re saying.”

“I find it fascinating and refreshing you have such a good spirit about this, especially so close to this incident happening earlier today. You’re not accusatory. You’re not angry. You are inviting people to come in, and I think that’s amazing. I just can’t thank you enough for doing that. And again, I applaud you for it.”

          - Don Lemon, CNN newscaster to Rajwant Singh, Chairman of Sikh Council on Religion and Education

Lemon interviewed Singh after a mass shooting took seven lives during the Sunday service yesterday at a Sikh temple in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. The interview revealed Sikh beliefs and practices as well as their spirit. Lemon commented on the fact that the Sikhs had prayed for the shooter as well as the victims. Singh explained that every prayer ends with “Oh, God, please take care of everyone. Every human being is your child.” Singh expressed the desire that “we all come together as a nation and a community and take a lesson from it and support each other.” He invited all Americans to join Sikhs at a temple next Sunday for a meal. “This is our tradition. We want to share our love and feelings with each one of you.” Singh went on to explain every Sikh male has the same last name. “Singh,” means “lion,” and represents being fearless in any situation. All females share the last name “Kaur,” or “princess.” The shared-name practice is to bring people together in equality. “That is a concept we honor deeply in our faith.” The equality of all people, devotion to one God and service to community are the main tenets of their faith.

“Who you are speaks so loudly I can’t hear what you're saying,” said Ralph Waldo Emerson. Who Rajwant Singh is speaks loudly. Once again, just two weeks after Aurora, the light has an opportunity to shine in the darkness. It shines through Don Lemon’s interview and appreciation of Singh. It shines through Americans outpouring love and support for the Sikhs. It shines through the Sikh women serving in the temple kitchen by preparing the community meal. It shines through the policeman shot nine times who directs his colleagues to help those inside the temple. It shines through many others, including Valarie Kaur, a documentary filmmaker.

In the first hate crime after 9/11, a Sikh man, mistaken for a Muslim, was gunned down in front of his gas station in Mesa, AZ. Valarie Kaur, whose family knew him, dropped out of college at the age of twenty, spent the next ten years filming the stories of Sikh Americans and produced “Divided We Fall,” a documentary film which examines hate crimes against them. One hundred years ago, her grandfather emigrated from India to California’s Central Valley where he farmed but was not allowed to own land or become a citizen. Valarie studied religion and law at Stanford University, Harvard Divinity School and Yale Law School where she now directs the Yale Visual Law Project. Interviewed on CNN after the temple shooting, Kaur said, “Americans are not ignoring violence against the Sikhs and are rallying in support. This time something new happened. The whole nation paid attention. Thousands of people posted messages of love and support in the face of unspeakable tragedy.* Today and in the days to come, I believe Americans are hungry for the next step. We are ready to come together in a groundswell of healing, hope and renewed commitment to a world without violence. We are ready to come together in true national unity." Who Valarie Kaur is speaks volumes. 

This time something new happened. Attention was paid. Love and support were offered. Are we approaching critical mass and a paradigm shift as light is added to light, love after love expressed? "Who you are speaks so loudly I can't hear what you're saying." What is who you are saying to the world? What is your next step?

*You can add your message at www.groundswell-movement.org at the bottom right of the page.