1/22/07 - .love.heart.ear.mouth.heart.love.

I've moved into a new apartment, and except for a few suitcases my new room is completely empty- white walls and a dresser. When the last of Ali's stuff was moved out I realized I had been given a chance to start from scratch- to design this room completely, and not just with whatever hodgepodge combination I could find on the sidewalks this time.

This place is home. And I want it to feel that way- I have been living in my head and wandering about all my life, and now I want to live in a home- in a place created by the relationship between my head, and my heart, and my hands.

My head was swimming with ideas. In order to focus, I thought it would be a fun game to find the right object and to design the whole room around it.

At first I thought to design it around my antique Oscar Schmidt autoharp, which I love, but its colors are dark and I knew I wanted the room to feel light. I want to feel cleansed and clear-headed when I walk into it. I want to feel compelled to read and write and make music and things when I'm in it, and also to do absolutely nothing.

So I let my mind wander in search of this thing.... what was I looking for. I closed my eyes and thought about our meditations in Maui. I thought about how in our meditations we are asked to place ourselves in our most comfortable space, the space that brings you peace. To think of the temperature of it, and the way the environment looks and smells and feels. I thought, 'I would like to create that space that is in my head.'

My thoughts wandered to the beautiful silk paintings that Kutira had mounted all over Kahua in the Opua house and the Dharma house. They had been handpainted, each of them, in ornate detail by monks in Tibet and mounted on silk brocades.

There was something truly flooring about them. They were amazing to look at for hours- tiny, intricate brushmarks laid down on silk in the absent-minded but conscious wanderings of meditation. What were they called... I couldn't remember, and decided to Google it.

I found out they were called thangkas, and were made mostly in the 18th and 19th centuries. I wanted to find out how much one would cost, so I typed in 'thangka' on eBay.

There were a few for sale, most of them either terribly expensive, or badly painted. And then I found this one-

- and something in me exploded in excitement because I knew she was the one who would inspire my space. The white golden tara. Old, smudged, and perfect. She is the 7-eyed goddess of purity and transcendental wisdom. She grants fearlessness, patience and peace.

I bought it at 10pm last night for $26.99. Tara is my new roommate.

My first thought was to create a mural on all four of my walls inspired by the thangka. When I thought about murals, I thought about a short film I had seen:

I liked the way they worked together, constantly creating and destroying the images. The video is a time-lapse of a week's worth of painting, and so inspired by that I have decided to give myself exactly one week to paint the mural, starting yesterday. I plan on allowing whoever would like to participate to work on it as well- we'll see how it grows. I have been thinking of little else, and it's bringing me an immense amount of joy to think about it and to work on it. The creative process is completely exhilarating when you reconcile it with your Truth- where a blank canvas was once intimidating- I always felt stressed out trying to think of what to do with it- it is now like a gift to be opened. My walls are filled with infinite possibilities for expression, and I'm realizing that if I let my mind wander, it will always know where to go. Last night I was drafting the first part of the mural on my wall alone in the apartment and listening to music, dancing around and having a fine time. When my roommate came home, she was quite distressed over her new boyfriend; she likes him so much that she seems to be losing her self-confidence and also her faith that he likes her. I was listening to her get so angry and frustrated about expectations and 'should's, and every lover's struggle to overcome jealousy- and I could see where her pain was coming from, but I couldn't tell her 'you just have to trust, even though it might hurt'. Right afterward my friend Alexia called me sobbing; she has taken on two good jobs and makes a lot of money and lives in New York. She has, on the outside, all the material indicators of success: she is good at her job as a modeling agent, writes screenplays for a Greek TV show, good looks, and so on. But she is cripplingly image-conscious as a result of her job and generally miserable from the fatigue of trying to satisfy the expectations of her 12-year-old self to become a famous writer. I could see where her pain was coming from, but I couldn't tell her 'you need to find the real you underneath all that, and release yourself from the expectations from days when you didn't know so much about yourself as you do now. And then you will know what will make you happy, and nothing else will matter.' A few minutes after I hang up with Alexia, Amanda calls. She never tells me if something is wrong because she is brave and tries to be strong and think things through first. But because we share a supernatural bond I can tell when she is troubled. I wish I had listened more closely to the tone of her voice before spouting off excitedly about my solitary walks around the city, and how I love it, and how I feel like for now, Boston is really, truly my home. I noticed afterward and she told me she was back in Maui, and awestruck and adjusting. I remember a conversation I had with her once when we were both feeling a little blue and lost. She told me she felt a bit down, like everybody does sometimes- only on top of that, she felt guilty. Because she felt down in paradise. I had these moments when I was in Maui too, and I feel for her because it's one thing to be down; it's another thing to feel that bad and then to feel like you have no right to on account of your environment. And I could see where her pain was coming from. But I couldn't tell her, 'You can feel blessed in a wretched place, and cursed in paradise- your environment can influence, but is not the source of joy and sorrow.' Why can't I tell them? It's not that I couldn't, it's just that I know they already know. I have been in their shoes, and felt what they feel- just like they have been in mine. We know that things will pass and clarity will re-surface. But this doesn't change the fact that sometimes we just feel jealous, or insecure, or guilty. It is during times such as these that we catch glimpses of the relationship between the god and the human in us. The relationship between knowing and feeling. The relationship between the Truth and being. At first I sat and listened to first Rachel, and then Alexia and found myself getting frustrated. I wanted to show them and tell them those things they already knew, and that they didn't need to stress so much and feel so bad. I wanted to point out how silly they were being, and didn't they know these things? "I'm sorry," I said to Alexia, after yelling at her to pull herself together and realize how strong she could be. "I don't mean to get so angry with you. I just love you and I know you know better than to hurt yourself like this, and I get frustrated." And she said, "I know you love me. I just need you to listen because I don't want to fall apart alone." Because I love them as I love myself, I sat and tried to think about what they need. They did not need me to tell them something they already knew. Knowing these things are True is important... but it's something different than experiencing Truth. It is the difference between learning, and realization. It's like reading everything there is to know about piano playing, versus playing by ear- learning by tapping away awkwardly and painfully at the keys until you start to get a sense of the relationship between your fingers, and the sounds, and What Feels Right. You can learn to play all the sheet music in the world with knowledge and practice, but to speak fluidly from the soul- more fluently than with words, even- you have to Be it. You have to Be heart-hands-fingers-keys-soundwaves-ears-heart. As if the piano were part of you. As if it were like your legs, and you were an infant learning to walk. I love them and I want to help them. I thought if I loved them then I should try to take away their pain and confusion. If I could only get them to learn the Truth of the matter- but who am I, in all my frustration and impatience, to teach them about unecessary bad feelings? It's not about learning, anyway. It's about Being. Taking away their suffering and pain would be like wishing they were deaf, dumb and blind. We know it hurts, but like fear, it is neither inherently good or bad- it is an experience of Truth. A sensation. It is reaching out and feeling, and touching, and understanding. And so I realized something that I already knew- that there was nothing I could do, because there was nothing TO do- because it wasn't about action, either. After all this frustration, I realized that all they needed was for me to love, and care, and listen. To Be there. Just that. That is all. Which is effortless, because I just do. How does this (seemingly) obvious realization come into Being? I realize this only after a lot of frustration, and blowing up at friends, and pain for myself and others. I realize it through experience. Love-heart-mouth-ear-heart-love. I realize it in my bones, like it is my legs and I have learned to walk. Where is the mind in all this, and knowing? It's like a diver perfecting his dive. It's like an archer perfecting his aim. While at first these actions take an excruciating amount of conscious effort, at some point the mind steps aside in reverence to the effortlessly calibrated perfection of experience.