Womb Space

Last weekend I attended my very first Buddhist-meditation retreat with my home-community, Insight Meditation Center of Washington (IMCW). Each year IMCW sponsors a Women's Retreat, and this year I was fortunately enough to be part of the Retreat's most diverse gathering yet. It was located in lonesome and remote New Winston, Maryland, among rolling hills and farmland. Me and my new partners-in-crime, Gretchen, and Pabitra (all beautiful folks of color) took the scenic route through rural Maryland to our destination, which we were especially glad we reached--all things considered.

I didn't have any expectations for the weekend nor did I have a particular intention for practice. I only knew a few things: seventy or so women planned to attend, a majority were either queer or women of color, we would engage in Noble Silence, and we would be meditating, a lot. Each expectation was met.

We had a simple schedule. Noble Silence began after our first sitting meditation on Friday; sitting and walking meditation on Saturday punctuated by a few non-meditative activities, like yoga, group interviews, and sacred circle dancing; and Sunday was reserved for a final sitting medtiation, small and large group processing, and goodbyes.

I had shared with friends before I left that I was not intimdated by the silence. The idea--silence all weekend--really bothered some friends of mine. That is something that you wouldn't do voluntarily without being offered large sums of money. Others thought expressed admiration but assured me that they couldn't do it themselves. Over the past year my life's narration has unfolded inside my own head. I spent much of my time in silence either reading, listening to music, writing, etc, but alas, Noble Silence is a different sort of thing. When engaged in Noble Silence you forbear any thought-provoking activity, such as reading, listeing to music, writing, so that you are truly within yourself.

It dawned on me: this is serious.

I also learned post-retreat that eye-contact or other gesturing is also disfavored. Oops. I should have attended that Beginner session. At least if I offened anyone I did not hear about it on Sunday.

Overall I enjoyed the retreat and gained a few important insights. I admit that the experience did not come together until Sunday when we talked to each other about what had just occurred. This was really our first and only opportunity to wholly commune with other participants during which time I found much in common with seemingly different women. In fact, a very nice older white woman paid me a compliment at the end of our small group talk. She told me "You are beautiful. I mean, you have a beautiful face." I felt beautiful at that moment. Thank you, Adrienne :)

A common Buddhist allegory is about "making an island onto yourself." To practice mindfulness sometimes it is necessary to take a sacred pause in which you can close your eyes and envision yourself retreating to your safe, private island. Well, over the weekend, I felt like I was on an island, but more of a Gilligan's. I was shipwrecked so that the prospect of other life inspired me.

I found that Noble Silence paired with our restricted activity nearly drove me mad. I reached a breaking point during our pre-dinner sit around 5pm. There was little I could do, however. I sat there rather helplessly, impatiently. My meditation awareness went as far as I was very much aware that I was uncomfortable. My eyes began scanning the room. I found a flame upon a candle, and I just stared. I must have continued staring because my mind went somewhere else. I wasn't thinking or dreaming, instead, I went within myself searching to see what was left. Then, sit was over. Forty-five minutes passed. I had one of my most probing and emotional sitting meditations in some time. What a lesson! Actually, I should say: what lessons! (It reminded of our pre-breakfast sit which was another positive experience for me. I had become nauseous during meditation. After a few moments I decided to simply "sit" with it. Acknowledge and embrace the pain knowing that it would pass. It did. Another valuable lesson.)

Another important insight is that when I hand-supreme a tangerine I need to do so with the flesh facing down. I had several seeds flying across the silent dinner hall never to be found again. If I hit someone I would have infringed on so many teachings simultaneously! (Of course, I'm kidding. That is Wrong Thinking. If I had hit someone and they did not suffer too much I would have been taught quite a few things, including how to deal with mortal embarrassment within sangha.)

I also enjoyed sacred circle dancing. I love dancing and expressive, emotive dancing is even better. We weren't exactly in a drum circle but synchronized stepping to "Hindu" music bound by pinkies was surprisingly fun.

On late Sunday morning all three of us packed up our things, and returned to all the things we knew. A funny thing? I felt the retreat's most potent effects on Monday morning. I was able to wake up a few minutes early to do some yoga poses. I stretched my hamstrings, inner thighs, and pec-muscles where a lot of my stress resides. I was more clear-minded throughout the day. I was very mindful. My practice only grew stronger throughout the week. My third-eye seems much sharper. I can attribute my deepened mindfulness to the retreat, which is nice because my year-long intention is to cultivate my mindfulness practice.

So when I checked off "attend retreat" on my list of "2009 Commitments" taped to my tall drawer I knew that there was a great deal of power behind that stroke.

It should be a good year.

The Slender Sadness

"The Japanese have an expression that seems to capture the sense of pathos that is at the heart of our all too human dilemma: mono no aware, "the slender sadness. Simply by living we take life...

Treating our bodies and the bodies of others as precious stuff is not so easy, driven as we are by duty or desire, fear or confusion.

We are called to be honest about the struggle most of us face daily in living a wholesome life."
--Foreward: The Road is Your Footsteps by Joan Halifax in For a Future To Be Possible / Thich Nhat Hanh


Since reading this passage nearly a week ago I have felt the slender sadness. It is not a crushing feeling, nor a haunting one. The slender sadness I know is bittersweet, consuming, and in many ways, comforting...

I can best describe it as this.

On Thursday (Jan. 19) our law school community celebrated Martin Luther King, Jr.'s life with a commemoration program. The program consisted of two parts: a community "I Have A Dream" speech citation, and an address by Prof. Perry Wallace entitled, "Civil Rights: Openings and Challenges."

Dr. Wallace had led an impressive life. Today he is an American University Washington College of Law faculty member, specializing in environmental law and corporate governance. He claims many academic distinctions. He is probably best known, however, as a legendary collegiate basketball player. Prof. Wallace was the first black Southeastern Conference (SEC) player on Vanderbilt's all-white basketball team. He played, and he played very well, perhaps to some people's dismay, despite player and fan ire. Later he went on to Columbia's law school, and earned his law degree in 1975.

He shared this observation during his speech. Prof. Wallace attributes his cultural literacy abroad (his ability to immerse himself into new places overseas) to growing up Black during the Civil Rights Era South. His sensitivity--learned deferrence and humility--acute listening--are from his life-long experience of being a foreigner in America. He was a Black American who was estranged from his very home; he was treated as a foreigner in a familar land.

Prof. Wallace knows the slender sadness. Where he was denied the home he inevitably found elsewhere. Where there was spoiled soil, he sought the a stronger light.

His remark stayed with me while witnessing the impending Weekend Celebration here in DC. The joy around me is contagious, for which the reasons are numerous. If you stand still in the cold Washington air you can absorb the hopefulness, the happiness, the hollowness.

By hollowness I mean what Buddhists describe as one of the Three Liberation Doors--emptiness. A willingness to embrace anything that comes with the understanding that there is no separate self. We are One.

Certainly ahead of us are very difficult times, but what Barack Obama, and other hopeful people offer, as we stare into deep darkness, is an irrational courage. I am encouraged. We are as encouraged as we are afflicted. We celebrate, and we struggle, together. We are living the Dream.

Have a beautiful weekend, everyone!

My Southern Road Trip

I went from Columbus, Ohio to Columbus, Georgia in an ol’ southern pilgrimage and as a follow-up to Understanding in Three Acts. It was time to visit my Georgia-family who raised me for six months when I was a year old. Days when I enjoyed a cloth-diaper and bottled ginger ale (legitimately). I was obviously well-loved.

I packed a week’s worth of things, including food, and got in the car with Norfolk as my destination. Norfolk, not quite as southern, but it is where I entered the New Year with Julian and Jenn. I even had a little bit of bubbly that had a little bit of an effect—I fell soundly asleep.

I embarked on January 2 (Friday) after staying in Norfolk for another day. I looked at my car, my walnuts, and my ipod, took a deep breath, and prepared for 12 road-tripping hours.

I drove. Drove. Drove some more. Continued driving.

Then I made a stop at none other than South of the Border. Who, after all, can deny hundreds of miles worth of signs about Pedro? Pedro needs me! And after six consecutive or so hours of driving I needed Pedro. Plus Jenn essentially dared me to throw away my pride and make a visit. 2009 may be the Shameless Year. (South of the Border is the kitchiest place probably ever.)

I arrived and I began searching for a suitable souvenir for Jenn. Hat Shop? No. Ice Cream Shop? No. Hotel. Big No. Africa Shop? Absolutely. I admittedly was skeptical, since, after all, South of the Border is a parody of its Mexican self. I only hoped that I didn’t see the sales-clerks in Kunte-Kente cloth. As it turns out there was a sizeable carved art collection (including masks) supposedly from Kenya and Cote de Ivoire. I selected a stone box. Once satisfied with my choice I did what any reasonable person would who found themselves inside world’s most hyped crapshoot.: I went to the arcade. I had to stare down the 7 year old who was coveting my Skee-ball tickets. (I’m actually not serious—you would never receive all of your entitled tickets there.) I ended up discreetly leaving my tickets at a racing game. Perhaps a disappointed child can redeem them for a plastic parachuter.

South of the Border is located just when you reach the South Carolina border. I made it to Augusta, Georgia (just at the Georgia border). I stayed overnight at the Clarion Suites prepared to drive four hours to Columbus for my family weekend. (How do you know you’re from a southern family? You have about eighteen relatives to call assuring them that you’re doin’ alright : ) I arrived the next morning (Saturday) to my Auntie Roslyn’s home where Courtney (my cuz) greeted me.

For the Woody-Howard-Cary family tree (that I now know). I have three great aunts (Auntie Roslyn, Rea, and Nay) who have four children among them (cousins Shamar, Shamice, Roderick, and Courtney; the latter two are Roslyn’s children; and Auntie Nay has no children). As with most families there are half-siblings, unknown children, and shot-guns marriages, but unique to southern families, we don’t talk about any of ‘em. I was happy to patch the family history together best I could.

I hadn’t seen my cousins during my adult life so I had no expectations. But damn. They were all real cool—two cousins are artists (musician and cinematographer). Cousin Courtney (the cinematographer) knew everything about everything, particularly films. We bonded over boutique foreign films all weekend. His worldview was too big for little Columbus.

I made the most of my weekend stay. Our conversation staples were law school and more so, veganism. Of course I prepared my explanation in two parts. First, I don’t eat meat (hmm) and second, I didn’t eat any dairy (uh oh). No animals or by-products. And yes, that includes fish. Veganism, as it turned out, was a hit! Even if it was not fully understood, folks appreciated trying to smart-up their southern food lifestyle. Sure, you can enjoy a few cans of beer or scotch, with your barbeque, but your day should also include a fistful of almonds, and an extra helping of greens. (By the way, I had the yummiest tomato-corn-okra salad by Auntie Rea—their side was my very tasty meal.)

On Sunday night, in particular, we ate, talked, and were merry, southern style. Everyone came over, shared the latest about town and neighbors, and punctuated our conversation with fits of roarin’ laughter. Life is hard but you gotta laugh about it. Better yet I was able to have a heart-to-heart with Auntie Roslyn. She shared her opinions about her life, relationships, and family. We even talked about our respective faiths, in which she related to me a Christian lesson and I related to it with a Buddhism one.

One of best things were my Auntie’s reaction to my “new look.” On separate occasions, each Auntie spotted me, inspected me upon first glance, had me turn around, and patted my bottom, mentioning that I had lost most of my booty. (It’s true.) Each said I was skinny but that I still looked healthy. If I ever have their disapproval I’ll know something is wrong.

I had a grand time.

Monday morning it was time to return. DC is the place with which I am familiar, but Columbus felt like another sort of home. Georgia (and the South) are where my people are from. I also have people in Ohio but I honestly feel more deeply connected to southern life, most likely because my regional identity is most tied to Virginia. In this celebratory vein I was sure to pick-up five cases of Foise (Georgia hot sauce) for my mother at the Phenix City, Alabama, Piggly Wiggly, and peach salsa in Gaffney, South Carolina en route to Norfolk.

I’m back in DC fully satisfied about re-establishing connections, and re-cultivating roots with folks who love me, and who always have. No other place I could be so embraced, so unconditionally. A rare find.