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Today I had the privilege of teaching seven breast cancer survivors. They had asked me to present nutrition information to their weekly group hosted by a local regional medical center. I did my best to provide a summary of how to eat optimally, how to conceptualize and create, very practically, a pattern of best nutrition.
[If interested, please read my Nutrition piece on the right hand side of my Writing page on www.eldermuse.net.]

From the moment I walked into the meeting room and was greeted by the first woman there, I knew that I was not dealing with an ordinary group. As they kept arriving and talking, I was struck by their honesty and forthrightness in dealing with their struggle with mortality.
They are dealing with the matter-of-fact reality of women having to drastically change their priorities, their attitudes about themselves, about how they look, how their bodies appear to the world, about care of themselves, about care of loved ones now, and after; about interfacing with an entire medical community which they’d heretofore never even considered maybe never even knew existed

They have each spent a good chunk of their lives keeping appointments which no one truly believes they will ever have to make. They have chosen to place their lives in the hands of medical doctors who they have come to love and trust. Some have always or newly loved God and are using Religious Faith to heal. Some have totally embraced the fact of loving themselves, living day to day, attempting to not think of the future. Some of these women understand the need to live life consciously, deliberately, lovingly, with gratitude and appreciation, with awe and wonder and joy, daily. Marilyn told me that this is how she lives. Marilyn shines.

Each is coping with everything the typical middle aged or older woman faces, everything that goes wrong, that can go wrong, in our ordinary lives, getting into the world, interacting with the world, dealing with spouses, family, friends, work, chores….they face what everywoman typically faces, plus they top this off with the daily recognition of loss.

I shared what I know about eating to keep us whole, eating to help mend the world, eating with love for our bodies, eating for joy and flavor and pleasure. I attempted to summarize hours of what I would want to tell them in too short a time.

Thus I realize as I write about seeing these Amazing Women that I want to return regularly to be surrounded by women who are dealing with some of the deepest feelings a human will ever have.

Last Friday, October 15th, I visited the new home of L.A.’s Museum of the Holocaust. I arrived later than I’d wanted, and stumbled upon a talk given by a Hungarian survivor, Mary Bauer. Sitting amongst a handful of other listeners, I soon felt her words stir my mind, my heart, my deepest feelings. I was in tears within minutes of hearing her speak. I heard her words, spoken with the distinctive Hungarian/American accent so familiar to my ears; but I also took in her entire being. Her dress, attire, demeanor, hair, eyes, skin; she was very beautiful, well groomed, elegant. She spoke eloquently, almost matter of fact about her experience of Hell. Her story was a familiar one, echoing facts I knew, emotions I knew would come. I found myself totally captivated. She survived the time in Hell with her mother at her side.

After the talk, I stayed to hear her interact with another survivor from Slovakia who came up and introduced herself. They had both been in Auschwitz, the Slovakian woman having arrived several months later, in November, vs. Mary’s arrival in April 1944. Mary wanted to compare their numbers, so they both read their numeric tattoos, and watching this made me weep again. A third survivor joined in, his tattoo also showed, and he spoke Hungarian.

The fact of hearing Hungarian, the poignancy of the stories, seeing these three amazingly beautiful souls still alive and bearing witness to Hell on Earth, all this continued to flood my heart with immense feeling.

As the Hungarian man turned to leave, I went up to him and told him, “Koszonom hogy it vagyol” (Thank you for being here) and took his hand and kissed it, saying, “Kezit Csokolom” (I kiss your hand) which is the highest sign of respect for a Hungarian. Then Mary turned to me and held my hand; I bent down, again saying, “Kezit Coskolom” to kiss her hand. We chatted, with her still holding my hand. Her warmth and grace continued to captivate me. She complemented me, telling me how young I look, how good my skin looks, the things that a Hungarian woman would see and comment freely upon to another woman. Her frankness, honesty, vulnerability, warmth, sincerity, strength, genuine ease in herself – all made her compelling.

I left her presence upon her commanding me (in Hungarian) to speak with the blonde with the long hair at the counter to find out when she would next present at the museum. She wanted to see me again, not lose contact, telling me in Hungarian, “I have two sons and neither of them speak Hungarian. You can be my daughter.” I started towards the counter, but halfway there I turned away and sought refuge in the adjoining exhibit hall. I found a far wall to crouch near, buried my head and sobbed. The feelings were immense. As I cried, a man walked by, slowed his pace, and briefly stopped to gently touch my shoulder in comfort. I was grateful for this stranger’s touch.

I have been teary, emotional, feeling tremendous gratitude for my life, for the perfection in my life, for my ability to feel such depth of love, joy in my soul, for my decision to convert to Judaism, for the bliss I feel when I hear the ancient Prayers recited on Shabbat, when I read the words to these Prayers, when I hear the singing, the songs on Shabbat. I cry, I feel my heart is flooded. All of this, coupled with my deep feelings of love for Helena, the woman who months ago captivated my heart; and I feel full to bursting. Helena meets me, she matches me, she teaches me, she surprises me. Converting to Judaism too feels so wonderful, evokes such depth of love and awe that I’m constantly having to wipe away tears of sheer gratitude and joy. Am I truly so very fortunate to have these encounters with living History, in Temple, at the Museum, these encounters with Love, with God?

One of the stories that Mary Bauer told especially touched me, and now as I write, I feel an opening as to why it touched me so deeply.

In the mid-60’s, after not seeing her mother for fifteen or so years, her mother was able to visit Mary in Los Angeles. Mary had married, moved to the U.S. in 1951 (she would have been about 22), restarted her life and had two sons. The boys were in their early teens when they saw their grandmother for the first time. Mary and her mom went to see some public performance and it so happened that Los Angeles Nazi’s, in full uniform, interrupted the performance. Seeing the Nazi’s so upset Mary’s mother that she wanted to leave the United States immediately and return to Hungary. “I will not stay here. Under Communism I never once saw a swastika, and here with your freedoms I see one!” She and Mary fought, yelling, screaming (and as she told the story, she looked at me and said, “As Hungarians do…” and I laughed with knowing) and her mother returned home. They never saw each other again.
Mary concluded the story by telling the audience that to this day her oldest son will not speak to her; he blames his mother for him not having a grandmother.

And here is the gift:
I realized, no I FELT, viscerally, in every fiber of my being, FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE, the immense depth of my loss of never seeing, never knowing, never never never being held, never loved by ANY of my grandparents.

A small bee got trapped in my home this afternoon. It buzzed around my desk as I sat writing at the computer. I knew I couldn’t leave it in my house, else it would be trapped by the closed windows from our latest spate of rain and cool weather.

I opened my front door and the sliding door to the balcony, and followed the bee to the window it had chosen as its escape route. But this window was screened and I literally couldn’t take the screen off to allow her flight to freedom; so for several minutes, with a thin yet sturdy piece of paper, I attempted to corral her away from this window, towards the open balcony. To no avail. She was much too fast. Each time I was able to have her begin to crawl onto the paper, and slowly glide the paper towards the balcony, she sensed the change of direction and quickly zoomed back to the screened window, buzzing furiously. I’m quite sure she was nervous and angry, but I wasn’t of being stung.

Next I tried to trap the bee into a cup, with the paper holding her inside. The first attempt failed, as I didn’t have the paper fully covering the cup’s opening. She was again back at the window. The second attempt was Successful!!!

I now walked confidently onto the balcony, lifted the paper and expected her to fly quickly away. But she crawled to the edge of the cup and just sat there.

I was fully vested in this little bee’s life, only wanting longevity for her and her clan. I am terribly aware of the devastation of bee colony collapse plaguing our world and I certainly do not want the onus of a bee’s death on my conscious. And I happen to like bees; I’ve had a lifelong fondness for these rugged, essential workers since my youth.

As I waited for her to fly off, I had the sinking feeling that I’d somehow injured her. I was close enough to see the intricacies of her body, her precious little legs grasping the edge of the cup, the distinct dark brown stripes on her body, even her thin pointed face. I prayed that she was not harmed by my maneuvers. Was she just resting after the effort and frustration of attempted escape? Can I even begin to fathom the mind of a bee? Certainly not. So I blew gently to encourage her to fly, and fly away she did!

These few minutes of my life given to help save the life of another were precious to me. Even if the soul saved was that of an Apoidea.

Am I to believe that an entire liturgy exists which reflects my feelings for God/Goddess/Divine; which not only reflects my feelings, thoughts, heart’s longings, soul’s deepest desire; but expresses these thoughts, longings, desires in a form which sings to my ears, fills my heart with joy, creates a flood of emotion in my being drenching me with extreme joy and bliss; tears spilling down my face. Am I to believe that such a body of words exist?

I’ve read Rumi and Kabir and felt the same joy, transported to a place deep in my heart, longing for God. But I’ve not had the experience of reading Rumi with a group of people, with music, with tradition, with ritual. I’ve sung soul stirring Bhajans in Satsang and was also transported to a place of bliss and joy, tears too drenching my face. I’ve experienced strong group Devotion. I absolutely love how it feels.

And this is exactly why I am converting to Judaism. Here in one service, one place, every place where I am, where I turn my eyes, gaze at creation, ponder the truth of the workings of my mind, every place I consider, all conditions of humanity, every consideration of thoughtful substance, love, awe, praise, devotion, all this and more I find in the Prayers of Judaism.

When I first went to Erev Rosh Hashanah services I wasn’t sure what I would find. Immediately I felt at home, amongst people who I knew, who I recognized as my own, my kin, family. I felt I belonged. I loved every minute of it. I cried for the two hours hearing music and prayers which felt so much a part of me that I was frankly shaken with wonder.

And I continue to be shaken with wonder each and every time I experience Services. Each time I hear the singing and prayers, each time I read the words to these prayers which have been repeated for millennia, I am transported to the deepest part of my being. I am shaken with wonder and awe. I am reading what my soul already feels about God/Goddess/Divine. Here in Prayer, God is Adonai, Eloheinu, Melech Haolam, Ruler of the Universe, Ahavat Olam, Everlasting Love, Adonai Echad, Adonai is One.

Here are the first two prayers of the Reform Siddur, the Reform Prayer Book, the Mishkan T’Filah:

We are called unto life, destiny uncertain.
Yet we offer thanks for what we know,
for health and healing, for labor and repose,
for renewal of beauty in earth and sky,
for that blend of human-holy which inspires compassion,
and for hope: eternal, promising light.

Baruch atah Adonai.
M’kot nefesh kol chai.

And

Tell them I’m struggling to sing with angels
who hint at it in black wrds printed on old paper gold-edged by time.
Tell them I wrestle the mirror every morning.
Tell them I sit here invisible in space;
nose running, coffee cold & bitter.
Tell them I tell them everything
& everything is never enough.

Tell them I’m davening & voices rise up from within to startle children.
Tell them I walk off into the woods to sing.
Tell them I sing loudest next to waterfalls.
Tell them the books get fewer, words go deeper
some take months to get thru.
Tell them there are moments when it’s all perfect;
above & below, it’s perfect,
even in moments in between where sparks in space
(terrible, beautiful sparks in space)
are merely metaphors for the void between
one pore & another.

It is the majesty of the words, the beauty of the string of thoughts, the captivating ideas, the expressions of love, faith, joy, sorrow, pain, compassion, understanding of the all too Human Condition we All suffer, the placement of these prayers in History, in the context of a People who have suffered dearly, deeply, yet who continue to see Beauty in each and every moment. It is ALL of this and more that I am In Love with Judaism.

I went to Temple services for Eve (Erev) of Rosh Hashanah. The first time since I was a kid, when I went with my father to the big Temple on Fifth Avenue, NYC. Then, I remember sitting next to him in wonder and awe, watching, listening as the men in their blue and white prayer shawls, Tallits, black suits, beards, peyes, swayed their bodies back and forth reciting prayers in Hebrew. Even as a child, the solemnity of the prayers pervaded my soul. And too I felt special, cause for some reason, my father took me, the youngest, not my two older sisters.

I’ve been to other Jewish services, mostly Passovers or Sukkot, in Mendocino County where the “Temple” was some one’s home, or the rough beginnings of a Jewish community center lovingly carved out of a smallish, oldish 1950’s Redwood Valley home. Totally informal, jeans, no ties, northern California hippie casual where the beards on the men were not accompanied by peyes and the women floated with home prepared cakes and breads in long skirts and slacks.

Wednesday night was the first time since I was a kid to experience a Real Temple, with several hundred members, all dressed up, suits, nice dresses, makeup, lipstick, all reciting prayers, singing, swaying in tune with the men AND women on the alter, near the Ark.

And it felt like I was back home. Like coming home.

Tears began early on and continued streaming down my face for most of the two hours.

What I loved the most was the exquisite beauty of the prayers. The exquisite sentiment expressed in each prayer, loving, praising, recognizing, honoring The Unknowable, The Eternal One, Adonai, Shekinah.

It’s just lovely to hear and to read:

“Love God with all the power of your heart,
with its yearnings, its passions,
with all you hold dear in life
and with the fullness of what the world gives you.

Seal these words upon your heart
that their sacredness may permeate your being,
coursing through your veins,
melting body into soul.”
Written by: Rabbi Rami Shapiro, adapted by Ellen Steinbaum

I decided to attend this year’s services after much deliberation. I wanted to experience what a sacred gathering of Jews would be like. Experience it again in my life, because I have certainly felt the Wonder and Awe of Jews praying together before. In truth, I am addicted to the Wonder and Awe of groups praying, meditating, walking a labryinth, singing, together, for the Love of The Eternal, The Divine, The All, The Unknowable.
I have felt this in not all, but certainly many groups throughout the years, Jews, Sikhs, Satsang, Buddhists, and Christians.

I wanted to feel it again. Feel the GROUP CURRENT, JUICE. There is a profoundness, an overwhelming joy and wonder, soul shaking awe and communion of my soul with this Force of Love, and it becomes powerfully magnified when I can share this with others.

Three months to the day since I last spoke my heart to the Universe, digitally, in this Blog form. I am slowly re-entering the reality of my southern California life after being gone, traveling for the past three months to amazing, beautiful places; being amongst a reality other than what my life had been for several years since significant death. The death of Margaret, my wife, partner, love of my life, soul mate; and the death of my dear sister Lexi, who was my heart.

I am coming back, coming home, slowly still, from repeatedly experiencing the BEST of what human beings are, can be, value and practice in their too short lives.

I am coming home from the daily beauty of newness, wonder, awe, curiosity and delight of places and people.

June in Europe; July and August traveling the most beautiful highways to Michigan and back. I have turned 62 this summer and earned my Senior Pass to all of our National Parks and Federal Recreation Lands! What joy! I am exhilarated to be alive and in good health.

I have driven my trusty Roadtrek, Sophia, “Sophie” [the Goddess of Wisdom] over 7,000 miles this summer. Each day I traveled with bliss and joy in my heart. My last night on the road, after an over 100 degrees day, in Las Vegas, without electricity, a refrigerator running at 60 degrees, a hot and weary body, and I KNEW I was totally ready to come home.

I am home, and just wish to say HELLO right now.

I have seen and experienced SO VERY MUCH; almost all beautiful people, families, helpful and honest, and mostly fun to talk to, find out about, study, imagine their life, observe. My eyes and brain are filled with sights, experiences, assurances of people who do not harm me, or others. These are who I routinely meet. This is what I routinely observe. I am always Thankful of meeting good souls. I talk to people when I stop in places; I ask questions in an interested way, I want to hear what they have to say. So I talk to people and almost always go away feeling whole and complete and better for the meeting. Take Scotty in Cedar City Utah who has rehabilitated himself from a life of pain and doom to one of hope, love, honest and hard work. My heart flooded after leaving this young man. He was all of 23 already with a lifetime of pain.

I have seen beautiful, historic, sacred places, sights, objects, in St. Petersburg, Moscow, Warsaw, Cracow, Auschwitz (here too I found beauty, but only by looking up, to the sky and purposely, very purposely looking for the wonder that I can always behold in the sky, even here, as anywhere else….so I looked up and compelled myself to find beauty), Prague, Berlin, Schlangenbad, Paris, Chartes. One entire month, June, in Europe. One month of city to city adventure, discovery, seeing architectural, human beauty, eight to ten hour walking, exploring days.

Then home and on the road in Sophie with my twelve year old Border Terrier, Reilley. The best Doggie Dog in the entire world. Almost nine weeks and over 7,000 miles in all. To Crescent City, a redwood kingdom of California and then onto the Michigan Women’s Music Festival via Grand Tetons, Yellowstone, highway 90 through Wyoming, South Dakota, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, Michigan’s western shore. Visiting and observing family: uncles, cousins, second cousins. Learning more about who I am, who I am related to. Then back through Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Colorado, Utah, Nevada, and finally southern California home. Stopping in National and State Parks.

Most days I drove five/six or more hours. I saw new places, people, plants, sunsets. I cooked for myself, ate good food, stopped as I wished, sang songs, listened to great music, danced, hiked, swam, and generally felt at peace and great joy while being in this Dear World. I gave myself days off just resting, playing my saxophone, reading, walking, relaxing, enjoying.

Driving from Capitol Reef National Park in Southern Utah, highways 12 and 24, and I fall madly in love with this state. The summit peaks at 9500 elevation only to pass miles of lightening and thunder storms which turn into a snow storm; August 15th and it’s snowing!
The snow coincides with a fairly level summit, which opens to the delicious sight of Aspens, their green leaves dancing, shimmering on white bark…gracing this road.

I saw a lifetime of Beauty in the space of twelve weeks, June to August. This travel has been near sheer joy, daily loving my life, pinching myself at my good fortune, feeling Gratitude and Love. Loving many, many; and, loving one woman in particular. She provides me the space to think, feel and give voice to my Being. She continually causes me to feel joy, feel good about myself, about her, about our interactions.

My heart has been enormously full. My life is truly blessed and I’m aware of this.

Back home, today as I shopped for my produce and tea, a very slight twinge of the way I used to feel the past few years came over me: a slight twinge of loss, longing, sadness. A coming home, again, to a life of my own creation. A life alone, with ALL choices my own. Again establishing patterns, habits, routines in a home without a motor, without four wheels; 950, not 60 square feet. I come home to the reality of carpet moths, work, commitments, obligations, choices. A reality I alone create.

I am so ready to daily interact, share, love, touch… another.

In the New York Times this morning, a quote from the British traveler Patrick Leigh Fermor who in 1933 walked the length of the Danube from its German head to the Black Sea:
“I lay deep in one of those protracted moments of rapture which scatter this journey like asterisks.”

For me,this journey is LIFE, and I lay in a protracted moment of rapture…..

Today my heart sang when she saw
the envelope
containing
absinthe green
handmade paper
carefully folded
sheltering
three delicate
perfectly dried
still vibrant
deep orange
perfectly shaped
one with seed still
fragilely attached
California poppy petals

eldermuse.net April 27, 2010

I love that she too has a sense of history, significance of the past, in all of the pasts’ aspects that we, 20th/21st century folk, can conceptualize. I love that her sense of history is immediate, real, enacted daily in small, routine tasks. There is a wonder-fullness of watching someone feel so very comfortable doing similar things as you do, in so very familiar ways. The unconscious mundane movements which connect us to our past. These self-care things repeated thousands of time in our long lives. These things which a woman loves to see another woman do. And I include cooking as part of this rhythmic repletion of things women do over and over daily to maintain normalcy, a semblance of peace and routine in their lives. She not only possesses a significant sense of the past, she embodies the past.

And I have a deep love of the past, of attempting to understand how people before me lived, thought, created, died. I love imagining how women managed their lives, the things they took for granted juxtaposed with what I take for granted. She helps me see and remember these things, with her. I see my past in her knowing of her past.

We figured out how the Australian Aborigine women discovered the fact that emu fat helps decrease inflammation. The old women were sitting around the fire, sharing a delicious, very fatty piece of emu tail which dripped down their fat coated talking mouths and onto their hands. As they readied themselves for sleep, they smeared the fat from their lips onto their entire face working it in, and likewise rubbed the grease from their hands into hands, arms, body, even each other if there was extra. Noticing how good they felt with emu fat rubbed on into themselves, they rubbed it on their infants, children and all loved ones. They grew in their knowing that emu fat rubbed in feels so very much better than no emu fat in on or around one’s body. They moved easier, had less pain. They knew this surely and made a point of telling their daughters, their children, their loved ones what they knew and so it was easily passed on.

We tasted and smelled and looked closely at wild ones growing tall and beautiful, yellows, purples, pinks millions of miracles sprouted from the dirt and sand from the bone dry ground displaying the munificence of the Divine.

We tasted and appreciated food cooked and prepared and served one to the other, back and forth, easily, with kindness and generosity of deed and thought. And the food was delicious and plentiful.

The conversation too was deep and thoughtful perfectly balanced with delicious and plentiful silence.
And she could dance, oh she could dance and have fun, fun, fun sustained and plentiful.

I am appreciative and grateful and giving this accounting of my heart in total fullness and Mudita. In appreciation of the gifts of another and joy in their richness and plenty. Joy in their attributes and successful life. Joy in the appreciation of the joy in my heart.
…eldermuse.net…
April 18, 2010

I catch myself saying, Oh Thank You God/Goddess/Divine/Master Ji/Kwan Yin/Shiva/Brahma/Ganesh/Amma, often in the day.
Just now as I walked down my stairs, I caught a thought of something I could do to make my life easier, work smoothly, gently. Just as it entered my consciousness, almost immediately after, I offered up Thanks for allowing me to have the thought and felt Gratitude enter my consciousness.

I am Grateful for the utter gift, the ability to have to feel Gratitude in my heart.
It has come to pervade how I see my life.
My only part in its creation was asking for it, and it was given. I asked for Joy to enter back into my life, I asked for the ability to love my life again.
Conscious Gratitude expands this Joy.

Giving, feeling, having Gratitude for small, tiny, everyday things which happen, which go smoothly, which make my life easier, conversations, interactions with people which work, which feel good, which leave me Whole.
This awareness of Gratitude has been going on for at least the past year.

Prior, I was too depressed to see the value of my life without Margaret my wife/partner/soul mate who died too suddenly January 3, 2006.
Prior, a year or so ago, I often wished to end my life.
Thankfully it remained only a wish-thought and nothing more, never graduating to actual behavior.

For at least the past year, daily, often several times each day, I give Thanks for something which has just happened which allows me to make my life easier, work smoothly, feel my Humanity and Oneness with other people, with the Divine.
Often the thing I give gratitude for not only affords me the seconds it takes to feel, and give Thanks, the thing I am grateful for often elicits such sheer and total Joy in me, that I let out a squeal, often several squeals of pure glee!
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

I have fun back in my life, and with fun, I have music, and doing, creating, interacting, teaching, watching how my life is unfolding, conscious of the unfolding. Conscious and relishing this last twenty or so years of my most rich, full and wonderful life.