The Beginning of the End

I have now learned that our long-held desire to leave New Orleans is being fulfilled. I've accepted a position in upstate New York and will be moving early this summer. We have an amazing opportunity and believe that this will be a place to put down roots and pursue our deepest wishes.

And yet, it's so sad to think about leaving. Such grief comes as no surprise. What I didn't see coming though was the guilt. This is probably a reflection of tremendous self-absorption and the harboring of a false belief that my being here has really mattered. It's not an uncommon post-katrina sentiment that I have heard so many people struggle with for 2 1/2 years - stay or go; get on board or get off the boat; do I belong here or somewhere else? Does my work and my life contribute to the transformation of this city? Imagine an entire community wrestling with such big questions; it's been an existential crisis of a fairly grand scale. And now mine is finally resolved.

Can you love someone and hate someone at the same time? Is this a sign of a relationship that is probably not very healthy? It seems perfectly natural to personify New Orleans as an old lover. S/he is a loving and caring person full of great beauty, creativity and laughter. But, s/he has also been neglected and battered and is full of grief. S/he has seen too much. Because of this, s/he sometimes treats people around her very poorly. I'm sorry we have to end this; I hope we can try to be friends.

From Adrienne Rich

While doing some research this afternoon, I ran across this powerful passage from feminst poet, Adrienne Rich. It comes from her book Of Woman Born. It was a reminder to me of how important the contributions of radical feminism are to issues of personal and social transformation. What she is getting at - owning our selves and actualizing our interconnected relationships with everything in the world - seems relevant for anyone.

“I know of no woman – virgin, mother, lesbian, married, celibate – whether she earns her keep as a housewife, a cocktail waitress, or a scanner of brain waves – for whom the body is not a fundamental problem: its clouded meanings, its fertility, its desire, its so-called frigidity, its bloody speech, its silences, its changes and mutilations, its rapes and ripenings. There is for the first time today a possibility of converting our physicality into both knowledge and power…We need to imagine a world in which every woman is the presiding genius of her own body. In such a world, women will truly create life, bring forth not only children (if we choose) but the visions, and the thinking necessary to sustain, console, and alter human existence – a new relationship to the universe. Sexuality, politics, intelligence, power, motherhood, work, community, intimacy, will develop new meanings; thinking itself will be transformed. This is where we have to begin”

A New Year

Recently, somebody mentioned that the passing of the new year was just another day to her. She's right, of course; it's a day like any other. And, it is an arbitrary day at that; the Chinese New Year is in February after all, but our society has determined it to be Jan. 1. And yet, the time of the new year has special significance because this is a time when people resolve to do something in their lives differently. Even people who don't make formal new year's resolutions, I suspect, secretly try for a new direction in their lives. This new direction is always positive - doing something healthier for themselves, being more compassionate to their partners, recycling more, whatever it is. I've never heard of anybody having a New Year's resolution to do something destructive to people or engage in activity that would be unhealthy, like, "This year, I hope to smoke 2 packs a day rather than 1."

What I see is that the new year is a call to mindfulness; people are willing to give attention to something that they may usually be mindless about. We are able to see some of our delusions and have some awareness of our direction. Breathing deeply, we vow to try. Even if our new awareness and attention are only fleeting and we've already lost our direction by Mardi Gras, we had a moment of awareness. And that's really lucky.

Outside Santiago, Chile

In the summer of 2006, I found myself trying to drive in the city of Santiago, Chile, on the other side of the equator. Somehow renting a car by myself in a country where I had only basic language skills seemed like a big deal. I had a driving map of the city/region (barely comprehensible) and tried to find a road that would get me out of town. I found myself driving in circles trying to fit in with local drivers by weaving in and out of traffic maniacally. I could not seem to find the road that would get me to the outskirts of town where I could head to what I knew would be the promised land of mountains, streams, flowers and trees. After stopping to ask for directions I was more confused than ever. I felt trapped in this sprawling urban hell (a recent theme for me) and was on the verge of tears. After close to 2 hours of pure persistence, I found a way out; I was free.

Unlike in the city of Santiago, in the country, one can actually see the mountains, being free of the thick smog that envelops the city on most days. Wandering around the windy roads among the infrequent, nestled mountain homes, I found myself quite unexpectedly at the Cascadas de las Animas, a rustic "resort" with cabins, hiking, waterfalls, and a lovely little restaurant on site. Realizing that I had read about this place previously, I quickly decided that this was my heaven on earth I had been seeking. There seemed to be few, if any, other guests and I would have the place virtually to myself.

It was the kind of experience that one would hope would last forever. Though it was winter there, flowers were blooming. My cabin had a kitchen and fireplace and I set out out immediately to start a fire to warm things up. I went to the local store and bought some food - rice, vegetables, eggs and a bottle of Chilean red wine. I took my first hike and I marveled at the quiet. All the hiking trails seemed to lead to the waterfalls so I found myself heading towards them. The power of the water rushing down from the snowy mountain was intense and loud; and yet, infinitely quiet. I explored the grounds photographing flowers, and making friends with some of the country cats. I ate some memorable soup at the multi-windowed restaurant that included Tibetan prayer flags flapping in the mountain wind.

Later that weekend I would sit, and chant, looking toward what I took to be the most inspiring of the mountain peaks. And that's when it seemed like that mountain really spoke to me, like I was being called. The mountains would heal and teach me, it seemed to be saying. I don't think it was the wine speaking. Since my return, I've been working to heed the call; I'm trying to find my way to the mountain. It's a literal and figurative journey for me. I think I'm closing in. More to come on this front.

Bayona

Bayona is a New Orleans restaurant in the French Quarter in a 200-year old Creole Cottage on Dauphine Street (the name of the street when the Spanish controlled Louisiana was Bayona; hence the name). Last night we had a sublime dining experience there - beautiful scallops, quail in a molasses sauce, mango-coconut flounder, banana-chocolate torte, mango-lime ice cream. There are no words, of course, for what we experienced, as we shared our dishes with each other and were transported to different places with each new flavor. Living in New Orleans has truly awakened in me a deep love for food; the possibilities of transforming the earth's gifts into something that can bring joy, satisfaction, health and enlightenment to people is exhilirating. Our dining experience was humbling, uplifting, and fostered a kind of intimacy that few other things could have.

The award-winning chef of Bayona, Susan Spicer, who has a new cookbook out, was in the lobby last night. As I watched her, with her apron and headband on, signing one of her cookbooks, looking like a real iron chef, I thought that she must be truly gifted and incredibly hard-working. Thanks for a memorable night.