A political path to inner peace

The cold is biting. In that--you thought you were packing for the beach but instead the humidity is snow--kind of way. It's cold in the unfamiliar sense. Not that I haven't known cold, freezing, tundra-like settings. Old man winter and I had six long years to get to know each other when I lived in Boston. You could say we were intimate. But this is South Carolina. For those of us who come here to escape, old man winter is an unwelcome guest in this land of hospitality. But it's Christmas, and we're cozy by the fire on the inter coastal waterway. Boats pass, birds call, and, according to my brother and nephews, the fish are biting. We've kayaked down the Wambaw River through 1,000 year old cypress trees. We've explored Fort Sumter, where the first shot of the Civil War rang out (General Anderson and 86 Union soldiers defending the port of Charleston before surrendering to the Confederate army). And we've come upon hundreds of wild ducks in the Sant

All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well. Julian of Norwich Revelations of Divine Love

December can be a tough month.  Winter sets in, darkness descending on day as if it has any right to the five o'clock hour.  Back off, nighttime.  I'm not finished wearing my sunglasses yet.  Oh, and winter clothes?  I much prefer you in boxes under the bed, thank you very little.  Yes, I have been a victim of S.A.D. in years gone past, but this winter, I've resolved to be a fighter.  With that in mind, here are my weapons of winter war, aka things to love in December: 1. The musical delight of Sarah Jarosz , with the energy of early Nickel Creek and the velvet voice of Sarah McLaughlin.  2. " CleanFlame "--fake firewood made from 100% recycled cardboard boxes.  It lights easy, burns long, and doesn't require Paul Bunyan and his blue ox, Babe, to cut down several trees in order to keep me warm. 3. My grandfather's memory, summarized beautifully by the Times-Picayune here . 4. Yoga.  Any kind, at any hour, even if it means leaving climate-controlled

One of my favorite mantras since returning from Bhutan is "breathing is awesome!"  Some of you have heard me say it aloud, and it's certainly made appearances in this blog.  No, it may not be a traditional mantra (along the lines of omni mani padme hom or "honor the jewel of the lotus"), but I think the reminder is just as important. It's just this: the breath is always there.  You don't have to pay for it, you hardly have to exert any additional energy to capture it, and it is instantly effective.  I wish I could say the same things for my other favorite stress relievers...wine, chocolate, yoga.   Not so much. But the breath is your silent, ever present friend.  It does not leave you in times of stress or sadness.  But it is an underestimated, undervalued, often-ignored friend.  Poor guy.  When was the last time you took a deep breath?  Do it right now.  Doesn't that feel awesome?  Now give yourself a high-five for appreciating your "frien

Today is the first Saturday in a looong while that I've been in DC.  Which means it's also the first Saturday in awhile that I've been able to attend my favorite yoga class, taught by my favorite teacher (aside from my sister, of course). So, I'm in class this morning, feeling extremely grateful and pleased with myself for making it there in the first place, and for creating this space in my life to reflect and take care of my body.  It is no small feat these days, let me tell you. After a series of rapid vinyasas, I'm hoping that my audible breathing is more an indication of my mastery of Ujjayi breath rather than being out of practice.  Then Faith (our teacher) invites us to move from warrior three (balancing on one leg with the other extending out behind you) to eagle pose.  Oh god.  Cue unyogalike dread.  Eagle pose is not my friend, insofar as poses go.  It involves balancing on one foot while wrapping the other leg around the calf, and also doing a simil

My grandfather died in his home at the age of 88.  He was surrounded by his wife, four children, a handful of grandchildren and loved ones.  When he opened his eyes for the last time—just minutes before his last breath—my mother was standing on a chair, shouting and waving her hands.  “Dad, it’s me!  We’re okay!  It’s okay!”  A life fully lived, with only despair and joy pulling at the edges of the final passage.   As mom shouted on a chair and my sister held GrandSam’s hand, I was walking across a golf course in Kenya.  I glanced at my blackberry, nonchalant one moment, melting onto the green the next.  Salty sobs on African soil.  I was in Nairobi.  They were in New Orleans.  I felt the distance in my bones.  His departure was crushing. *** I met the man known as Dr. Sam Logan six years ago in Nicaragua.  Of course, I had known him my entire life—GrandSam was the only grandfather I ever knew.   But I didn’t know the depth of his being, the true parameters of his identity, un

As I mourn the loss of my grandfather, I found this reflection particularly beautiful ...  To deny the changeableness of life is like fancying a motionless sea, which can only exist in one's imagination.                         Bowl of Saki, December 6, by Hazrat Inayat Khan Commentary by Pir-o-Murshid Inayat Khan: If one studied the transitory nature of life in the world, how changeable it is, and the constant craving of everyone for happiness, one would certainly endeavor at all costs to find something one could depend upon. Man placed in the midst of this ever-changing world yet appreciates and seeks for constancy somewhere. He does not know that he must develop the nature of constancy in himself; it is the nature of the soul to value that which is dependable. But is there anything in the world on which one can depend, which is above change and destruction? All that is born, all that is made, must one day face destruction. All that has a beginning has also an end; but i