yoga, love and marriage

It’s been an interesting journey recently. As usual, filled with a variety of themes. Love and yoga, of course, are constants, but also the idea of marriage. Though each have their particular connotations, they all mean love, they all mean union. Three similar strands woven into my summer tangle.      

For me, it started with an innocent thought after a long separation from the beloved. One that I might have easily kept locked securely in my head, but instead shared quite freely, without inhibition. How at that moment I had wanted to say the words that I had hoped to one day hear from someone that I loved and esteemed, with whom "as long as we both shall live" might not seem like much time at all. Though I hadn't meant to propose, the idea had captured us both. 

The glow of possibility lasted for about a week. That's when a combination of reality and fear set in, causing the entire relationship to scale back into the shadows of undefinability. And though that saddened me, I have to admit that it also appealed to the part of me that is dead-scared of "marriage" and its evil twin "separation."

Because I must love torturing myself, I decided to read Elizabeth Gilbert’s follow-up to her best selling “Eat Pray Love"--which  I reread last summer just as I was going through my own heart-breaking (and as it turns out, heart changing/mending) drama. I obviously have an affinity for good ole Liz!

In “Committed,” the obsessive compulsive (but charmingly so!) writer talks herself into marrying her partner Philippe, who is abruptly ejected from the Unites States, her home country. Since Philippe is Brazilian and the US Immigration is more pragmatic then romantic, Philippe was deported after too many extended stays. In order to continue co-habitating in the US, the couple decide to get married--a horrifying thought for two survivors of tragic divorces from their first marriages.

Gilbert delves into how marriage is viewed in different cultures. How the institution has performed certain functions throughout history, from practical day to day survival, to the fiscal, to community-building. How the expectation of happiness from marriage is relatively new to the scene. How there is power embedded in the act of marriage. How there has been a fight as to who might control this power, from the outlaw of slave marriages to the more recent issue of gay marriages in the US. She makes a pretty good argument on why marriage is an act of great subversiveness, one I liked greatly and one which she favors in the end.

Then I arrived in England just in time to celebrate the ruby wedding anniversary of my friend's parents. The precious red gem is a symbol of great achievement, which suits 40 years of matrimony. It was a low key event, a handful of friends, a lovely meal at a well-appointed local pub, and then champagne, tea and cake at home. The entire day was charming. The sun had come out, the first really nice day since I'd landed. Before lunch, I watched this beautiful older couple excitedly open all their greeting cards, for 40 years inspires many well-wishers, and then give to each other some thoughtfully picked presents: ruby jewelry, a painting admired at an exhibition, a handmade commemorative plate topped with stem ginger chocolate. After lunch, I watched the two cut--in a similar fashion as their wedding day, which was ensured by the comedic best man who made certain all appropriate customs for a ruby anniv were properly observed--into the most moist and drinkable homemade fruit cake, topped with a ceramic groom dipping his bride, a decorative piece that they shopped for together.

For someone like myself, whose parents divorced when I was young, seeing all this is like receiving a soothing, warm balm. It's one thing to contemplate marriage, another thing completely to see it last a lifetime.

Dani and Kalyani's "altar."

Just this last weekend, my new friends Dani and Kalyani got married. Their altar: the dramatic landscape of Ordesa and Monte Perdido National Park in the Spanish Pyranees. Their witnesses: a hundred twenty or so of their friends and family, as well as Mother Nature herself. Theirs is a union steeped in yoga. They met in India just this spring, noticing each other singing to the Devine Mother at the temple at the Sivandanda Ashram in Kerala. They are now, combining dreams, building and running Casa Cuadrau, a beautiful new retreat center in the Village of Vio.

For me, the timing of their meeting is perfect. There was Dani, half a decade, building a house—a foundation for a dream and a life’s calling—which was finally nearly ready. There was Kalyani, at a crossroad, leaving Toronto, pondering her return to Mexico with a desire to start her own yoga project. 

This is what I believe: the goddess, in her infinite wisdom, drew them both towards each other. Both had the intention of sharing deeply. Dani had built a house. But together, Kalyani and Dani will build a home. Together, they bring balance. The masculine and the feminine, shiva and shakti, manifest power and infinite creative potential. Their energies will compliment each other. Their mutual love for yoga and their dedication to share from the heart will light the home fire. With their warmth and light, Casa Cuadrau will grow, and so, I suspect, will they.

All these instances seem intertwined with my own love story this season. There are two story lines, actually: loving myself and loving another, which also intersect/collide accordingly. 

When I was in Madrid last week, I recalled my last trip to the old Spanish city, almost a year and a half ago. I was walking down one of the romantic little side streets of La Latina, telling a friend, who I was swiftly falling in love with, how I didn't have any role models when it came to married couples, how I was determined to be my own role model. And then, caught up in the moment, we kissed.  

I wonder now what kind of a role model I've made since then. Though unmarried, I have certainly welcomed love. I've chased it down. I've given it freely. I've rejoiced at receiving it. I have mourned the moments when it felt as if it were being taken away. I have, on occasion, lost myself in the other, a very very bad habit, I know. I have had expectations. I have been fearful. I have been grasping.

I grew up believing in fairy tales, that there was a charming prince around the corner waiting to save the distressed damsel. When I was older, I began to be fascinated by the concept of soul mates. I was enchanted by creation myths that illustrated the separation of two, the division of lovers, destined to search for one another. All of which reinforced this idea that to feel whole, you had to be in love.

At some point in my adulthood, I gave up on these ideals. In fact, I think I'd given up on love completely. But that day in Madrid and many other days afterwards have changed that.

Over the last couple of years, however, what keeps on coming up for me is that I need to rescue myself. I need to recognize the soul mate deep within. That wholeness is inherent in me, as with everyone. Again, that I need to be my own role model. Concepts that seem so clear and yet seem so easy to forget at the most crucial times. I wholeheartedly believe that if I can keep that self-love steady, then the love for the other will become more fluid, more seamless. And if there is no one particular soul to pour such a river of love into, all is still well.

A couple of weeks ago, Kalyani was telling me about the vows she and Dani plan to share. She explained that she wanted to express how her happiness didn't depend on Dani, nor his on her. Instead, they wanted to share each other's happiness, which was already full to begin with. I guess I feel pretty lucky, the universe seems to once again have my back, sending me role models when I falter at being my own.

For me, this has been this season's yoga, filled with the challenges of connection and the gifts of love. No matter what, it is still love. Love teaches. Love connects. Love lives in all of us.

eating, praying, loving

Its happened a few times now that when I explain that I'm taking nearly a 9 month leave from my so-called life in order to travel back to the US, visit what was home, re-acquaint myself with America, nourish myself with the company of old and new friends, and reconnect with family before launching into a 5 month stint in India, 4 months of it to study at a yoga shala in Mysore I get this response: "So, like Eat Pray Love?" or sometimes, "Like Eat Pray Love!"

Having read the book twice already, I can only sheepishly respond, yes, like Eat Pray Love.

Its been referenced so much recently that I decided to pick up the copy of it that was sitting on my mother's shelf. It was the very first copy I ready 4 years ago, upon the recommendation of my mother. I was going through some major changes. I'd made a huge break from an emotionally abusive relationship. I was healing. And I remember getting so much out of Elizabeth Gilbert's account of that year in her life.

I read it a second time between Mysore and Manila, my tumultuous return to said so-called life after my first two and a half month trip to India. I was going through a shift then too. I had started to gain perspective on my life as it was, on what I really wanted and the disparity between the two.

I love to read. I've always had special relationships with the prose and plays that I love. For me, when a piece of literature is good, it speaks to me. I can relate to it's themes in a nearly cellular level. My body understands it and takes it in. It is like air, food, water, and sleep--which is why I can usually forgo these necessities when engrossed in a book. It feeds me. Plus, I was quite a maudlin kid and books were my escape. I lived in the novels that I read. They made life bearable.

And since, three is a magic number, I've decided to read it again. Gilbert points this out in her book, the perfect balance of a three-legged stool is a beautiful thing, the magic of fine engineering.

This time, the energetic and emotional connections have never been more clear and the parallels to my own life's events are a little uncanny. I know there are new shifts now, though I am still trying to understand it. I'm sad. I'm happy. I'm trying to be nice to myself. I'm free. And I don't quite know what to do with it. So, yes. I guess I am eat-pray-love-ing.

Don't get me wrong, I think, ultimately, anyone who is going through serious life changes will relate to this book. And I don't think I'm anymore special than anyone else. And while I am at this weird crossroad, dealing with my own breakups, heartaches, newly acquired nomadic life, and, yes, freedom I don't think any of the tumult of the last year compares the depth of Gilbert's own story. But still, the similarities are interesting. Its just each time I read this book, I feel like I relate to it deeper and deeper, which is a sign of a really good book.

Gilbert has tapped into three universal themes that will create balance in those who dare to embody them: eat, pray and love. They are like this triple threat. Together, they have serious mojo.

This trip has been touched by discord and struggle, which is really forcing me to identify and seek out what nourishes me, whether its good food, beautiful company of the genuine-hearted, support of friends and loved ones. In so many ways, I've also been more conscious of the devotional aspect of my practice too. But recently, I've really started to pray again. I pray to the sun or to god or to my guru. And, well, love...

Love is trickier than I thought. I am trying to understand my heart. I guess that's why I write about it so much. That's the reason for this blog. There's some kinds of love that are easy for me. Those are bountiful. And then there are others that I struggle with also. There's nothing that I want more. There's nothing that I am more afraid of.

So, here I am, reading about a woman on a journey, just as I am a woman on my own journey, quite possibly the most important undertaking of my life thus far. And Gilbert's tale is a lovely companion, a true friend holding up a mirror. And hopefully, I'll have the vision to see what it is that I need to see, a glimpse perhaps of the real me.

tangents, star wars and silver linings

I was driving up Highland Avenue this evening on my way home to Hollywood where my mom lives when I see Han Solo, Darth Vader and Obi-Won Kenobi walking down the street, the later two with capes flowing in the wind, light sabers on hand. It made me smile, such is street life in Hollywood, colorful, strange and unexpected.

I love Star Wars and the universal themes that stitch the story together. I love the idea of "the force" and how there is a need to have balance between the archetypal opposing forces, light vs. dark, good vs. evil, man vs. machine, etc. Somehow, there is always a balance. And when things are out of balance, disaster strikes until balance between the two can return.

Balance was something I did not have a good handle on today as I wobbled in my some balancing yoga postures. I wasn't surprised, my body usually empathizes with my emotional state. And today, I was feeling wobbly internally too. So much has happened lately. So many changes and challenges.

There have been a few clouds hanging over my head these last few weeks. Some have been dense and foreboding.

Today, the sky has been dotted by clouds. But with each cloud, there is a silver lining.

I feel the sting of harsh words from a close family member. Through the hurt, though, I see more closely the things that are bothering me.

I feel alienated that many I lean to do not understand me, that the way I am dealing with things is different from their value systems. Then I get an email from Saras, a new acquaintance who just read this blog and understands where I am coming from, offering soothing "balm" and a friendly ear. I also receive a beautiful and understanding letter from my wise little sister.

I feel the heaviness of heart and whirl of emotions. From all sides, I've been feeling an assault. My dog dies. My mom challenges me. My open heart bleeds profusely (ok, I exaggerate, but it does trickle so). Then, just as I feel I'm hitting a low, Denise Hughes, a beautiful devi from the Universal Shivite Fellowship retreat that I've been attending, waves me down from my car quite out of nowhere to tell me that the chaos in the world (I'm amazed that she had sensed it, I think I seemed calm throughout the retreat) is also a part of God Consciousness too (our topic for today). It made me cry to hear it!

I feel the loss of a love, but am comforted by a friend whom I know will love me forever.

Its not an easy world. Things are not always as I wish they would be. Each up has a down. There is good, there is bad. But thank goodness that there is a balance in the force, even when we think there is none, its there, in the sidelines, waiting to have its impact. And while things aren't exactly even right now, I know that they are trying to be. Sunlight peeks behind each dark cloud. Where there is darkness, there is also this all pervasive light.

bay area integration

I've arrived home in Los Angeles. I use the term "home" loosely. Its where I grew up. Its where my mom lives. And when I come home to visit her, its here. Even when the apartment changes, its still LA--a topic which deserves it's own article, so complex are my feelings about this city. But I'll get to that later. For now, my thoughts gravitate to the list of friends that must be contacted, get together dates set, connections that I have only a brief time to revisit and tend to, my little desert cacti garden, dry but juicy.

But I know that somehow it will work out, as it has the last two and a half months, which has been absolute magic on the friend front.

The Bay Area, where I was just at, offered the most eclectic web of friends. I felt this interesting convergence of my different parts. My different social groups were all at once validating my presence, I could see who I was through their eyes. With Q, I am sweet college Karen, who she met in '98 when I was her resident. With Cybil and Gwen, I am Kazzie, the spastic balikbayan, American Filipino returning home to the Philippines. With Reggie, I am Kaz, former night owl in the Manila scene. With Deborah and Sharz, I am a fellow yogini and Mysore friend. With Randan, Reggie's beautiful partner, well, aside from a brief encounter 7 years ago, she got to know me for the very first time.

Recently, I've been mulling over this feeling of personal disintegration. There was my island life, my Manila life, my LA life, my life as a poet, my yoga life, my life as a writer. They all seemed so compartmentalized. There was some mingling here and there, but for the most part, each bit felt separate from the other--which I do recognize as a normal occurrence as well.

This last weekend, however, as I traipsed across the East Bay and SF to spend time with this eclectic assemblage of friends, I felt not disintegration but integration. Though these different segments didn't meet each other, they met the same person, me, who I am, the total amalgamation of my sum experiences, habits, personalities.

Most people, if they are objective and fair, will see what you let them. Perhaps, in the past I showed people a few pieces of the jigsaw puzzle out of my own reluctance and lack of self-confidence. I showed friends what I thought they would like about me. I anticipated judgment because I was judgmental of myself. This is hard to admit, let alone write. And to be honest, I didn't really understand it myself until now because as I type this I feel a knot loosen in my chest, a sign that this must be true. (I feel like I should apologize for such poor behavior on my part. It wasn't intentional, I promise...)

But recently, the events in the Pacific Northwest (heart ache induced stress followed by realization and acceptance) have forced some veils to drop. I feel the effects of it. I feel more real and vital, I feel more whole, I feel more certain of the world around me and of who I am. Something shifted. I stopped getting in the way of myself. And since then, I've let myself be. And this is who stepped off the plane in Oakland, the sum total of me, unabridged, uncensored, a little snotty-nosed, a little worse for wear, but wholly totally me.

To those lovely folks in the Bay Area who appeared out of the woodwork to greet me, thank you, I love you. Thank you for being a part of this journey!