“Music is a moral law. It gives soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and charm and gaiety to life and to everything.” — Plato
On a freezing July day, several years ago, in the high Tibetan plateau, I stood in front of the Namtso Lake. At almost 16,000 feet, it is the highest saltwater lake in the world and one of the most sacred and holiest sights in all of Tibet. It was as flat as a mirror. It lay without a ripple as if time itself had been frozen. The vast expanse of the clear sapphire water reflected the crystal sapphire sky and I couldn’t tell where the lake stopped and the sky started. The only sound I could hear was Aretha Franklin belting out, “Pink Cadillac” on my iPod. In the distance, I saw a nomad family with two small children, both sitting in the lotus position. I took out my earplugs and listened as the children soulfully chanted a Buddhist mantra. I slowly moved closer, bowed to the parents, and bent down in front of the children and gestured to see if they wanted to listen to my music. They immediately held out their cherry-red hands, and their little round faces sparkled in wonder.
As soon as the children heard my music, they began to giggle in a chaotic way; fits and bursts, loud to soft, nothing and then back to loud. I knew their heartwarming laughs revealed that they had never heard music coming out of such a small device, just as I had never heard such chanting reverberating out of small children. Was their experience of chanting more spiritual than hearing Aretha Franklin? From the light radiating from their eyes, I didn’t think so.
Music is one of our most powerful gateways to connect to our spiritual nature, our divine source, as well as to the universe around us and those other divine beings that inhabit it with us. I know of no other medium that can transport us as immediately, on all levels of our existence, beyond the limits of our intellect and physical body to a higher, often blissful and inexplicable state. Music has the unique ability to transform us independently of our thinking mind, to a place uninhibited by the judgments, doubts or fears.
Humans and our music have existed for ages. The oldest discovered musical instruments in the world (flutes made of bones and mammoth ivory) are over 40,000 years old. But instruments and songs may be far, far older. In his book The Descent Of Man, Charles Darwin wondered whether our language abilities had started with singing and if that was the reason for our pleasure in music. By studying fossils, we can establish that once our ancestors had the horseshoe-shaped hyoid bone in the throat in a similar position to modern humans, they would have had the physical ability to sing as we can. That date is over 530,000 years ago!
I won’t claim that all music is spiritual, or rather, created and intended for the benefit of the human spirit. It would be great if it were. As Eric Clapton said when asked if music is essentially spiritual, “For me, the most trustworthy vehicle for spirituality has always proven to be music.” When music delivers spirituality, the effect on us, our thoughts, our emotions, our subconscious, and even our physical well-being can be quite profound.
Just as music has helped rescue me from some of the lowest points of my life, it has been the blissful soundtrack for many of my most loving memories and the rhythm that continues to propel me forward. For me, spirituality and music will never be separated. The more music continues to awaken my higher aspirations and light the path of my inner journey, the more I am inspired to dive deeply into the realms of the magical unknown. If words are the limited language of my mind, music is the limitless calling of my soul.
I love the fall – chilly weather, cashmere sweaters, pumpkin spice lattes, my birthday, bugs have returned to hell where they belong and we have the fall equinox! The fall equinox September 22, 2018, has been celebrated since the time of the Egyptians who built the great Sphinx to point towards the sun on this special day. While many of us have moved away from celebrating this time like our ancestors, it is an important time of balance. During this time of equal parts of sun and moon, we are being asked to find the balance happening in our exterior world, and also what is occurring within ourselves. Knowing that the duality of light and dark exists in us, the equinox calls us to discover a balance between the two. After the great light of summer, we must learn to welcome the depth and the mystery of fall.
The autumnal equinox is the time when the sun makes its golden path across the equator from North to South, and it is this occurrence that causes our day and our night to be equal. The word equinox comes from the Latin, aequi, meaning “equal,” and nox meaning “night.”
At the spring equinox, we were asked to plant seeds, both literally and figuratively, for what we want to reap in the autumn. Now is the time to contemplate and see if we have tended those seeds. Are we able to reap what we have sown with bounty and fruitfulness? Or have we neglected those seeds and are we now looking at how we can make amends?
Although it can be disappointing if we realize the latter is true, equinox makes it easy for us to once again plant the seeds of desire so that they may flourish in the coming months. Because the equinox isn’t only about balance, but also about endings that have to occur to make way for new beginnings. This is actually a wonderful time to start something new, whether it’s a job, educational pursuit, creative endeavor, project or even a relationship. During the coming months we will have long nights and quiet moments with which to nurture these new beginnings so that, come spring, they can bloom radiantly.
While many often see spring as a time of new beginnings, there is something even more extraordinary about starting something new in the fall. It is during this season and the coming winter that we have more time to concentrate and give our hearts to whatever we want to see grow and strengthen over the coming months. I find that there is beauty in new beginnings that start quietly under the darkness of colder months.
So while we are all searching for that balance in our own lives, know that it is never too late to plant new seeds. Because life is a circle, and nothing can truly grow unless it first dies. This doesn’t mean complete and utter endings, but embracing the evolution of change within our hearts, our lives and us. It’s letting go of old ways of thinking and living. It’s reassessing the way in which we look at life so that we can feel free to take on new approaches that would better serve our highest self and the life that we want. Nothing stays the same forever, what comes next is often times better than we can possibly imagine.
Celebrate the equinox by heading out to the desert or out into the woods for a warming bonfire. I am traveling to Mount Shasta, California with my friends Laurel and Tim. We are using this equinox as the opening of a portal to the next stage of our lives. Join us as we raise a glass, build a fire, write a list of all that we have been blessed with, burn words we would like to let go of, and finally, cleanse with hot Epsom salt baths, a grounding earth element which has a strong quality of cohesion. At this sacred celestial time connect the dark and light; the yin and the yang; the masculine and feminine, because if we allow it, life can truly begin all over again in the fall.
“At first I was afraid, I was petrified,”
Gloria Gaynor, “I Will Survive.”
This is the song I was listening to when I received the phone call from my doctor. I don’t remember much about what he said. All I remember were those three devastating words: “You have cancer.” The opening line of Gloria Gayor’s song summed up my exact feeling. Petrified.
After I hung up the phone I made a choice. I knew the opposite of fear was courage. I realized that to get through this adventure I would need to surround myself with family and friends who would not only support and encourage me, but would also help me stay in my joy.
The deep sorrow of any illness carves a hole into our being, but the hole leaves space for joy. Sorrow and joy are a package deal. When one is in your kitchen the other is asleep on the couch.
I learned that joy is everyday magic. It grounds me. It lifts me. It expands my mind and spirit. And I learned that a daily affirmation helped me to stay in my joy. I would look in the mirror at the scars on my face that six surgeries and 64 stitches left and I would say out loud: “My scars are only skin deep. Cancer cannot break my heart, it cannot rob my spirit, and it cannot touch my soul. Today I choose to stay in my joy.”
There were days that were challenging to be joyful. I had a nuclear breakdown when I heard about John McCain’s brain cancer. He, too, had the same kind of melanoma as me, and I wondered if my cancer would spread. Waves of emotion crashed over me. I couldn’t breathe. I went down the street to St. Patrick’s Cathedral and sat in the back row and prayed for John McCain, for me, and for anyone going through cancer. Then I sang – out loud – in the beautiful acoustics of this 103-year-old church, “Let it Be,” which had been my theme song throughout my cancer journey. When I left the church I checked Facebook, and one of my oldest and dearest friends had posted a video of three men sitting in a cathedral singing, “Let it Be.” This confirmed to me that God/The Universe was always speaking to us, sending us little messages, creating serendipities, reminding us to stop and to breathe. Reminding us to believe in something else, to believe in something more, and to remind us that we are never alone. Never.
Last month was my one-year cancer free anniversary. I uncharacteristically did not want a party nor did I celebrate in a grand way. I didn’t buy an expensive item to mark the occasion. Having cancer has changed me.
Surviving cancer didn’t give me a fresh start on life; it gave me a chance to understand what it means to live. It wasn’t a challenge to be dealt with, conquered or overcome. I realized a complex view of myself was required to work through my fears and having cancer has provided me a level of maturity I had never before experienced. I am now weathered, solid, shaped by my sorrow and pain as well as by my success and joys. Cancer is a process that allowed me to open doorways and turn the lights on to the inner rooms of my soul. The gratitude I feel will be burned into my consciousness forever. I will never forget because I will never be the same.
And now the darkness is over. And in its place is the illumination of a bright new path that lights the way for the rest of my life and for the joy that surrounds me. Always.
“Life gravity, karma is so basic we often don’t even notice it.” Sakyoung Mipham
The thing I love most about gravity is that it’s dependable.
I’m clumsy so I fall down. A lot. Gravity keeps me from sailing off into the stratosphere like a balloon. As a fundamental law of nature, gravity does what it does all day. No exceptions and no days off. Gravity isn’t a matter of opinion, and it doesn’t care how you feel about it – gravity doesn’t need you to believe in it for it to be real.
The same is true for a host of other physical laws – from electromagnetism to thermodynamics, the universe is consistent. Scientist take those consistencies and define them as law and explain them with equations, which leads to new scientific advances.
But, there is an important relationship to keep in mind: these equations are shaped by the universe, not the other way around.
In other words, gravity was doing its thing long before scientists began to try to define it. Gravity pulls me down to earth when I fall, not the equations that attempt to define it.
So, when I was recently asked if I believe in “karma” I said the same thing I would about gravity. Karma is not something you choose to believe in, and like gravity, it doesn’t matter whether you do or not, karma happens to each of us without prejudice. Karma knows no gender, no name, and no exceptions.
Karma is a Sanskrit word that means actions, work or deed. Although some people mistake it for fate, karma is different. It has nothing to do with destiny or luck. Karma simply means that for every action, there is a consequence. In other words, lets imagine a jerk, an arrogant, dishonest, troll who cheats on his wife. This jerk is walking down the street just as some workers are trying to move a large piano into a window of a high rise. The cables snap hurling the piano several stories down on top of Mr. Jerk, flattening him. Some might say, “karma.” The jerk deserved it. But actually no. Most of us have a long-standing belief that bad things happen to bad people and good things happen to good people, and we mistakenly call that belief, “karma.”
But, karma doesn’t work that way. The piano falling on the head of the jerk is just a coincidence.
To say that everything is our karma is to commandeer this vast spectrum of causality into a singular, self-centered mind. When we realize the complexity we’re dealing with, we no longer see piano falling as a result of karma, but rather as the product of certain physical causes and conditions. We also no longer fall prey to magical thinking, believing, for example, that by giving away money and being nice, we will get money in return and be showered with niceness. Instead, we realize that when we replace hatred with compassion, or greed with generosity, those intentions will shape the type of being we become, whether rich or poor.
That’s karma.
Although the concept of karma is an imperative law of Buddhism, it’s also a universal truth that we can spot in our own lives. Regardless of our religion or principals, if we look back on our own past we can recognize that karma exists. This recognition helps us to be responsible for the words we speak, our actions and even our thoughts.
In order to live in harmony with the concept of karma, simply live mindfully. Before each decision ask yourself if this action will lead you directly to a positive connection or lead you away from that fulfillment. The law of karma and the law of gravity are easy to understand and both are predictable. All you need to do is try not to trip yourself up.
Patio Door with Green Leaf Georgia O’Keeffe · 1956
In a recent visit to the Brooklyn Museum of Art, I walked past Georgia O’Keeffe’s morning glories and edificial irises and stood mesmerized by a painting that was far more humble, far less glamorous. A wall with a door in it, an expanse of smooth brown adobe centered by a core of a rough black square of absolute negative space.
O’Keeffe liked to paint the same thing again and again, until she had penetrated it to its essence, unraveling the secret of her attraction. The flowers, the blowsy petunias and jimsonweed, were superseded by New York cityscapes and then by cow skulls and miscellaneous animal bones, surreally aloft over the clean blue skies and dry hills of New Mexico. This was the landscape that unlatched her heart, and it was during her time there in the 1930s that she began to obsess over the wall with a door in it, located in the courtyard of a tumbledown farmstead in Abiquiú, New Mexico. First she bought the house, for $10, a process that took a full decade, and then she set about documenting its enigmatic presence on canvas, creating almost 20 versions. “I’m always trying to paint that door – I never quite get it,” she announced. “It’s a curse the way I feel – I must continually go on with that door…it fascinates me.”
The attraction was a mystery, and yet walls and doors figure large in the story of O’Keeffe’s singular life. How do you make the most of what’s inside you, your talents and desires, when they slam you up against a wall of prejudice, of limiting beliefs about what a woman must be and an artist can do? She didn’t kick the door down – hardly her style – but instead set her considerable canniness and will at finding a new way through.
I see classic patterns, which generate archetypal sacred symbols in O’Keeffe’s work especially the door, the sacred center of her home. Though this dwelling may not be a publicly recognized sacred structure, it serves as the center for O’Keeffe.
Guided by her own intuitive response, almost possessed, O’Keeffe paints this archetypal symbol. The door represents the notion of metamorphosis and transition, a passage from one place to another, between different states, between lightness and darkness. The act of passing over the threshold signifies that one must leave behind materialism and personality to confront inner silence and meditation. It is abandoning the old and embracing the new.
Doors hold the essence of mystery, separating two distinct areas, keeping things apart. There is a barrier, a boundary, which must be negotiated, before the threshold can be crossed. The mysterious beyond is hidden from sight by the closed door, and some sort of action must be taken before the other side becomes visible and available to us. The closed door is full of potential, for anything might lie beyond, as yet unknown and unseen.
At the age of 96, Andy Warhol, another creator of a purely American vernacular, interviewed O’Keeffe. She told him about the landscape that she most cherished, her home and, the wild expanses of New Mexico. “I have lived up there at the end of the world by myself a long time. You walk around with your thing out in the field and nobody cares. It’s nice.”
From the beginning, New Mexico represented salvation, though not in the wooden sense of the hill-dominating crosses she so often painted. O’Keeffe’s salvation was earthy, even pagan, comprised of the cold water pleasure of working unceasingly at what you love, burning anxiety away beneath the desert sun.
Elegance shares a border with crankiness, independence with selfishness, and O’Keeffe was by no means a saint. But without O’Keeffe’s sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued, exacting presence, chaos loomed. She made it happen, that simple door was anything but, and in painting it, she was opening a door to a new kind of American art, a new kind of woman’s life. “Making your unknown known is the most important thing,” she said, “and keeping the unknown always beyond you.”
