Welcome to Reflections of a Buddhist Pole Dancer!



Tuesday, August 17, 2010

What makes a rough day better?

Seeing Eat, Pray, Love with my mom and later, playing on my pole.

Hate to be so darned narcissistic, but, seriously, was that movie meant for me and what I am going through right now? I wish I'd had a pen and paper handy while I watched it. Some parts were hard to hear, and believe me, the tears flowed (or at least I got that squinched-up, ever-so-unattractive, I'm-gonna-cry face a bunch of times!).

I love this line: "So miss him. Send him some love and light every time you think of him, then drop it." My heart heard that one.

Thank you Elizabeth Gilbert. Thank you Julia Roberts. And of course, Thank you, Mom!

Saturday, August 7, 2010

Words to Live By

Love these found in Pema Chodron's When Things Fall Apart:

"Chaos should be regarded as extremely good news."

Or how about this one:

"Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over again to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us."

Any thoughts?

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Unexpected Release

It was the fur that broke me. No more than ½ inch long, bright white canine strands, perhaps 70 of them, stuffed over two years ago into the side-zipped portion of an old wallet that was recently re-discovered.

I took the two quarters and mindlessly unzipped their new residence. The sight of the forgotten fur feleased spring-loaded sadness from the pit of my being.

That Sunday was beautiful. Sunny and unusually warm for February. He arrived on time in his white van—maybe a little late? It didn’t really matter. I don’t remember exchanging greetings but I know he was kind. She was resting on her bed in the bay window, seemingly unaware of the next events though truly knowing what was going on. She was likely grateful for it.

He shaved a small portion of her hind leg so he could inject a drug that would soothe her. The next injection was the one that released her from her pain. It released her from her cancer-ridden body. It released her from her position in our pack. One month shy of 13 years old, Emi, my “soul-dog”, left this reality.

After he took her body away I swept her precious fur – the only physical evidence of her greatness left-- into my palm. Eventually it made it into my wallet. And when I changed wallets, it remained, too sacred to transfer, I suppose.

Now with the new realization of a broken marriage, finding her fur was the release valve to my sadness. Unlike their predecessors, these tears weren’t laden with anger, desperation, or fear. Instead they rolled with the purity of sorrow: ego-free and full of compassion.