Showing posts with label Religion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Religion. Show all posts

Saturday, March 22, 2014

On a Sultry, Southern Sunday


I’m a Southern girl.

That means I always send thank you notes, order white gravy with my biscuits and often depend on the kindness of strangers.
Oh, and I never touch myself (as Anastasia Steele would call it) “down there.”
OK…maybe that last one is a bit of lie.
You see, in the South, that kind of thing was never talked about—especially with girls. Good girls simply didn’t have those urges. It was sort-of “damning by omission.”
Now boys on the other hand: according to the church, they needed to control themselves.
So imagine my confusion at age 12 when I…well…needed to learn to “control myself.” I felt sort-of like a freak. Why I was afflicted with this “boy issue.” And honestly, why was it such a bad thing?
Years later in college I finally realized the truth about female sexuality. The late night chats about what kind of porn girls liked, TV shows with vibrator jokes and the official angsty college-girl icon, Tori Amos, lifted the veil from an otherwise obscured understanding of my own body and sexual tastes.
But the shame was cemented inside of me.
I was, as many would say, a late bloomer. I was 19 when I gave my first blowjob and 21 when I first had genital intercourse. There was no tangible reason for why I chose to refrain from sexual exploration during my teen years other than to say, “I had better things to do.”
But I think some part of me had tamped down my desire as a pre-teen in order to save myself the secrecy and embarrassment I often felt before, during and after I touched myself.
Now, several years later, as I share pieces of my erotic journey through fiction and poetry in my new book, I am reminded of how very innocent pleasure is and how the archetype of the Virgin is a sovereign being, her body belonging to no one but herself.
Below is the Virgin’s poem, based on my own experiences of erotic awakening, my adolescent faith in Jesus (for whom I still feel deep reverence) and the conflict that often arose between the two.
On A Sultry Southern Sunday
On a sultry southern Sunday
Hazy honeysuckle in the heat
Christians soldiers fan themselves
With folded programs for relief
The preacher, collar stained with sweat,
Says, “Turn to Psalm 23.”
Daddy glances towards the acolytes
But I’m not where I should be
I’m lyin’ down in greener pastures
Inviting a quickening breath
Restoring a sad, scarred soul through
My valley of the shadow of death
Bring those quiet waters
To a rolling, raging boil
Let my fingers do the prayin’
Anoint my head with palm oil
Break your rod, keep your staff
Hungry hands need to feed
And your wafer-scrap holy bite
Leaves me writhing in hollow need
And after the shepherd’s spoken
The flock, freshly blessed,
Head to brunch to gorge their guilt
In feasts of righteousness
They’re born and bled to hide behind
The good book of the past
Tissue thin leaves won’t cut their skin
When they turn the pages too fast
But on a sultry southern Sunday
When I’m upstairs all alone
It ain’t no low-swung chariot
Comin’ for to carry me home
VIEW THIS ARTICLE ON ELEPHANT JOURNAL 


Friday, March 16, 2012

The Wisdom Behind Yoga Sex Scandals: Evolution, Cults and the Death of Guruism

Mike Myers in The Love Guru
Also published on elephantjournal.com under the name "The Cult of Personality: Sex, Evolution & The Death of Guruism"

Yes, yes, yes…another article deconstructing the John Friend/Anusara yoga sex scandal. But not really. My focus is less on Mr. Friend specifically and more on the bigger picture and forces at play. Like any painful episode in our lives (and any pleasurable one for that matter), I try to look beyond the circumstances, avoid playing the ‘blame game’ and peer into the heart of what’s happening on a deeper level and, hopefully, discover the lesson to take away from the experience.

The title of this article is not meant to make light of recent events. During my time as a yoga teacher, I knew many good people who taught in the Anusara style and they positively influenced me. I am sorry for those who are suffering the loss of their spiritual foundation and wish healing both for them and for Mr. Friend. Elena Brower, one of the former senior level teachers of Anusara, put it eloquently in her recent article in the Huffington Post when she said, “Now I stand for forgiveness, and the possibility that John can deliver, one by one, the necessary well-wrought apologies. That he can true up his past and truly heal -- in honor of his family, his school, his teachers, and his students.”

When the story first hit mainstream media, William J. Broad of the NY Times proposed that it was Hatha yoga’s ability to heighten sexual experience by making the “pelvic regions…more sensitive and orgasms more intense”, as well as its original intention to “speed the Tantric agenda”, that lead to a myriad of sexual indiscretions in the yogic world. He goes on to rail against ancient Tantric practices, noting that “the rites of Tantric cults, while often steeped in symbolism, could also include group and individual sex. One text advised devotees to revere the female sex organ and enjoy vigorous intercourse. Candidates for worship included actresses and prostitutes, as well as the sisters of practitioners.” To suggest it was some sort of spiritually-induced Viagra that lead to Mr. Friend’s unmaking is (how to put this tactfully) dumb as hell. (Side rant: Seriously dude. Thanks for contributing another layer of shame to our already closeted sexual expression, especially that related to feminine desire).

Maia Szalavitz from Time challenges his argument, stating that many men in positions of power, from John Kennedy to Newt Gingrich (neither of them yoga gurus), have used their status as a means to commit sexual impropriety. She concludes by noting that the issue at hand revolves less around uncontrollable arousal and more around “men, women and power.”

I lean heavily in favor of Ms. Szalavitz’s perspective on the issue with one minor adjustment: I think this goes beyond sex and money and men and women and is simply a matter of power—specifically of people choosing to give their minds over to someone or something outside of themselves so that they don’t have to think or wrestle with difficult decisions. Some people also choose to hand over their power in an effort to gain approval and to feel like they belong somewhere.

Why do we do this? For all the noise we make about our ‘freedoms’ and ‘rights’ and how we want to be ‘masters of our own destinies’, we tend to choose bondage more often than not. The bottom line answer is FEAR. We fear the unknown, and so we make up excuses as to why we don’t need to venture out into it. We fear our own power and the level of responsibility that comes with that, and so we make up stories about how we are victims and how ‘other people’ have left us powerless. We fear that which we can not explain, and so we make up gods or adhere to oversimplified dogma to make sense of it all. We fear being alone or cast out of society, and so we morph ourselves into people so far removed from who we really are in order to feel loved and accepted.

I say all of this not out of scorn or condemnation, but in utter compassion. I can understand why we do these things, for I have done them many times myself. It keeps us feeling safe and sane. It’s a way to get our immediate needs met. It’s a survival mechanism.

And it is evolutionarily outdated. There was a time when most human beings’ daily focus was to survive—like for real. As in, we were going to freeze to death or be a hungry lion’s dinner if we didn’t build a tight shelter or make some serious weapons. The daily grind didn’t consist of a bagel and a subway ride to the cubicle, but of hard labor in the hot sun and a 3-mile-long walk to the closest water source. So when weird, mysterious shit happened, like eclipses and droughts, and someone told us the way to protect ourselves was by following some code or set of rules, we did it because our lives were on the line. Not many people had the time to focus on figuring out scientific phenomena, since the majority of the day was dedicated to serving the basic needs of food, water, procreation and excretion. And if we questioned the status quo, we faced the possibility of banishment, which wasn’t just about hurting our feelings, but could be a death sentence. The family unit was our tribe—our protection against outside threats. Homeostasis kept us alive.

Fast forward a few hundred years and up a few levels on Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. Now we don’t need to hunt and gather for our next meal—we can just pick up the phone and call the local Chinese delivery guy. Clean water flows from indoor taps just a few feet from where I’m sitting. Heating and air conditioning keep us from dealing with harsh climates. We can hop on a plane and arrive (relatively) comfortably anywhere in the world within twenty-four hours. The world is connected in ways we have never experienced through the internet and knowledge is shared in the click of a mouse. We find Toyota, Apple and Coca-Cola even in the poorest of countries.

Yes, I am aware that a startling number of the world’s population continues to live in abject poverty. However, this is not for lack of resources or technology, but is a result of the very fear of which I speak. This fear that tells us food and love and money and sex and safety are scare. This is the fear that drives our greed, our hoarding, our need for approval, our instinct to kill the competition, to cling to homeostasis and color within the lines. The fear created by what Seth Godin calls the ‘lizard brain.’

And the way we often appease the lizard brain is by finding a home for its fear within structure and sticking to that. Giving over responsibility for our thoughts and our psychic growth to something outside of ourselves. It’s a lot easier (and less messy) than actually thinking for ourselves and making big, public belly flops while trying to discover our authentic voice. But soon we begin to identify with this external structure and even idolize it, looking past any warning signs that may suggest that the façade hides a lack of integrity. And, to me, it is this identification, idolization and dependence on validation given to something outside of ourselves that makes something a ‘cult.’

When most people think of a cult, the images that usually pop up are of secret sex clubs, human sacrifices, spaceships and Kool-Aid induced mass suicides. And in Mr. Broad’s NY Times article, he was quick to dismiss the validity of Hatha yoga based on his judgment that it was a spin-off of a ‘Tantric cult.’ However, my belief is that we are surrounded by thought-replacement machines—many have simply passed the tipping point of social acceptability, and so we give them names like religion (the Bible tells me so), media (CNN tells me so) and celebrity (Paris Hilton tells me so). You have people addicted to diet cults (Atkins says I can’t eat this), beauty cults (I have to have this kind of mascara/haircut/designer outfit) and political cults (I will only vote for this candidate because he/she is Republican/Democrat/Libertarian/Green).

You get the idea.

And there exists a certain breed of people just as insecure and afraid of their shadows as we are. But their way of managing the lizard brain is through surrounding themselves with worshippers to make up for their lack of self-confidence. Whether the number of ‘devotees’ be one or one million, it doesn’t really matter. In Brooks Hall’s recent elephantjournal.com article, she quotes The Guru Papers: Masks of Authoritarian Power by saying that a guru is “a metaphor for anyone who manipulates under the guise of ‘knowing what’s best’ for them, whether leaders, mothers, or lovers.” She goes on to say that since many of us grew up in authoritarian homes, we had to depend on some ‘other’ to make decisions for us and consequently are “crippled by self-mistrust.”

And this is why it is so common for us to turn a blind eye to our own personal ‘cults’ when we know in our deepest core we are living a life out of integrity from what we really want. Our desires are clouded with this self-mistrust, lizard-brain fear and samsaric grooves so deep that we don’t even think to question the status quo.

Please note that I am not saying there is anything wrong with any of the aforementioned groups. We also don’t want to throw out the baby with the bathwater. Jesus had some pretty cool things to say. Media keeps us relatively well-informed of current events. Wanting to wear the latest designer dress doesn’t make you a mindless, Barbie-automaton. And I do hope that the wisdom within Anusara yoga finds its place. But it is when we abdicate our power and personal authority to these ‘cults’ and to the ‘gurus’ that run them that things get dicey. The band Living Colour put it perfectly in their song ‘Cult of Personality,’ when they sang “You gave me fortune/You gave me fame/ You gave power in your God’s name.”

And now, in a totally transparent moment of irony, I am going to quote the Buddha. He says, “Believe nothing, no matter where you read it, or who said it, no matter if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense.” This is a teaching that resonates deeply with me on many levels. First it acknowledges the Buddha’s own humanity. He doesn’t claim to be one ‘who knows best’ and levels the playing field by standing next to his students, rather than reigning supreme over them. Second, it creates the space for multiple perspectives and for the possibility that all of them are equally valid (which, for me, is a huge indicator of spiritual evolution). And finally, it offers us the freedom to experiment with life. Rather than taking what we see and hear at face value, we now have permission to go out, test it, make stupid-ass mistakes, learn and create—for it is oftentimes in our ‘mistakes’ that we make fantastic discoveries beyond our imagination, which contributes to the evolution of humanity.

And so, this is our challenge as a species. To grow. To evolve. To think for ourselves and ask the tough questions like “Who am I?” and “What do I want?” And it will be through this rigorous inquiry (and very many dark nights of the soul, no doubt) that we can begin to walk more confidently through life, ok with who we are and without the need to try to force others to be something they are not. Then, hopefully, the prevalence of ‘cults’ and ‘gurus’ will fall away. We will simply see each other as people and things like yoga and religion and culture won’t be ideologies we fight over, but edges we are curious to explore. Teachers won’t be omniscient gods we worship, but ordinary human like us who maybe a have a different perspective and a few extra years of experience. We will participate in a free exchange of ideas. If a teaching resonates with you, great! Add it to your toolbox. If not, drop it. It may not serve you, but it might prove invaluable to someone else on their journey.

Ultimately it’s up to us whether or not we choose a life of freedom or of bondage. Freedom is certainly not an easy pursuit (I am certainly far from achieving it), but it seems the only satisfying way for me to live now. Each day I meet my fear and each day it is a practice to listen to ‘the one who knows’ who lives in my heart. But if each of us begins to play for our own personal freedom, then maybe the gurus of old will no longer need to act like they have all the answers, but can offer true guidance inspired by Living Colour’s words, “You won’t have to follow me/Only you can set you free.”

Sunday, July 10, 2011

The Cancer of Hopelessness: How one crazy dude and two rock bands whacked me from despair

I’ve been rather low these past few days with this feeling of “why bother?” I can work hard my whole life and will it really make a difference? Am I just a dreamer who has lost touch with reality? Who cares about my selfish little dreams when there are people on the planet who are starving, being beaten and mutilated, and who don’t have the freedom to speak their minds? Shouldn’t I just shut up and be thankful for all that I have?

Well, no. First of all I know that all that talk is just my fear and my shame around asking and receiving what I want. Those voices provide a strong argument for me to NOT do the scary, hard work of being an advocate for the dreamers and the optimists and for the people who believe that if I touch just one life today, even anonymously, then that will be “enough.”

Technology is advancing at an exponential rate. Will social progress come along for the ride and bring issues like gender equality, global poverty, religious freedom and environmental conservation to light? To my surprise (and despair) an overwhelming number of people I know do not think so.

There seems to be an all-pervading cancer of hopelessness that is seeping into our culture and keeps us from living our natural state of joy, grace, pleasure and abundance. It disguises itself in many forms. There are those who sit back and say “There’s never gonna be peace anyway, so might as well let the bastards blow each other up.” Another group may say, “That’s happening over there. It doesn’t affect me. I’ve got my own to take care of.” And then there are others who are aware of what’s happening but get stuck in their anger, righteous indignation, and separation from humanity. “How dare THOSE people shit all over the planet and ruin it for the rest of us.”

We’re all stuck. For every tweet that goes out to topple the repressive regime in one country, there is another self-serving group waiting to grab power. For every step forward, it feels like we end up twenty steps back from where we started. We are all living life as fast as we can in the hopes to die number 1.

And yet…I can’t help but return full of hope. There is something in me that won’t let me quit. Call is purpose. Call it orgasm. Call it the silly dreamer sickness. Yes, we are bombarded with images of despair now more than ever. But that is in fact exactly what we need to take the first steps towards healing. GLOBAL AWARENESS. 100 years ago, someone in a third world country would not have even known that riches exist for someone like him. Now he knows it’s possible. A woman who is forced to hide her sexuality in an extremely oppressive society now knows that somewhere in the world exists a place where she could express herself. A gay kid trapped in the reddest of red states now knows that somewhere is a place where his love will be legally honored. And we can no longer turn our eyes away from the truth that another person’s pain is our own. We can now put a face to the “global issue.”

Awareness leads to possibility which leads to hope. And hope is what keeps us alive in the darkest hours. Yes. It’s gonna get messy at first. Anytime you start airing out dirty laundry, the resentments will spill out all over yourself and others. In fear we try to hold onto them and cast them onto others in blame. It may feel safe and comfortable in the moment, but that’s the easy way out. The path sustainable change is to recognize those resentments as unexpressed desires, take responsibility for them and ask for forgiveness from those we have hurt along the way. Only as the old energy passes through us are we able to clear a space for the frozen pain to melt and the wounds to heal.

A final story: I walking home this afternoon. I had my ipod on. Beautiful day. I was just starting to emerge from the feeling of hopelessness that had being weighing me down when out of nowhere: WHACK! This homeless-looking man passes me and (intentionally) hits me hard on my upper arm. I stand there. Shocked. People are staring at me with looks of confusion and concern. One girl asks “Are you OK?” I touch my arm to check for bruising or blood and nervously laugh. “I’m fine,” I say. I turn to look at my attacker and he is mocking me. The way I touch my arm. The way I am laughing. As if I am some stupid bitch. Again, I am shocked. I can see this man is clearly unstable. I drop into him and feel not anger, but a deep sadness at how far gone he is. What amounts of pain must he have experienced that he must completely check out of life in order to cope? I turned away and kept walking. One man looked at me and in solidarity said, “What a douche.” But I didn’t feel like dismissing the attacker. He was alive and real, just like me. I softly said, “He’s obviously not in his right mind.”

I continue on and notice a deep welling in my throat. Hmmm…hope. Is there any hope of help for him? And if not, what about the millions of others around the world? If hopelessness is right here in my neighborhood, how the hell can I even think to be of service to those around the planet? I feel the despair creep back in.

And that’s when the universe steps in. At that moment Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” starts to play on my ipod. OK, I know. It feels like a moment out of cheesy movie. But as I turned the corner onto empty Newtown Rd, the tears began to pour out of me. I suddenly had this rush of gratitude. Of remembrance. Oh yes, belief and hope are who I am and I am here to walk through the shadows to help others see what is possible. That there is life on the other side. That dreamers are not unrealistic fools. The crying overpowered me. My heart cracked open in the middle of the street. And then (just when I thought it was over), Ben Harper starts up next with, “When She Believes.” Now if that ain’t a sign from beyond, I don’t know what is. The tears start up all over again. Cleansing, sweet, open, grateful. I am finally in communion with that part of me that knows I am exactly where I need to be in this moment.

Next time I see that guy, I am going to say, “Thank you for waking me up! May your journey bring you freedom. There is hope yet.”

Photo of artist Aaron Bohrod's painting Dreams. Courtesy of SIUC Museum.