Year Two, Week...9!

Last week I finally broke down and bought the 7 Volume set of the Caraka Samhita, considered to be the oldest text on Ayurveda. Watching the price of it rise and fall on Amazon was getting to be like watching the stock market (though I've never done that).

The end of the first trimester is in sight and as a class I think we're going to collectively breathe a big sigh of relief when it's done. There will be fewer classes during the next two trimesters (7 or 8 instead of 12) and most of them will be focusing intensely on Ayurveda, not branching off into other subjects, however relevant and interesting they may be. Our Dean assured us on Thursday night that this is an "accelerated" program and we're not expected to grasp every bit of information coming at us right now. The real learning, she said, will come when we start to practice.

And practicing I am. The house is more lab and library than home. Last Sunday, after making the ghee and initial dough ring I talked J through giving me a Netra Basti. He did a nice job of sealing the inside and outside edges of the dough to my skin (with warm water and fingertips) and the ghee didn't leak through the 20+ minute procedure. And he managed not to spill a drop of it when he took the ring off at the end.

The next day my eye felt worse, but on the second day it felt much better. I'm still struggling with the dryness and burning however, and will start adding another treatment - Triphala Eye Wash - to my regimen as soon as I procure some cheesecloth to strain the Triphala Tea through.

We made our own Nasya oil in class this week. Nasal administration of medicines works not only on the sinuses but on the nervous system as well, as lipids can more easily cross the blood-brain barrier due to their subtle quality.

From this study on the use of nasya for treating "frozen shoulder" syndrome:

Acharya Vagbhata has stated in the classic texts that the ‘Nasa hi shirasodwaram,’ (the nose) is the easiest and closest opening for conveying the potency of medicines to the cranial cavity...

The myelin sheath is the first covering of the nerve fiber and neurolemma the second. The myelin sheath is composed of lipid material. The blood–brain barrier is highly permeable for lipid substances and substances that are fat-soluble. Therefore, these substances can pass easily through the blood–brain barrier and can exert their actions.

For our nasya-making experiment we used simple essential oils as our "medicines" though nasya is usually made up of a blend of both decocted herbs and oils. From the 10 or 12 available I chose Tulsi and Rose oils in a base of fractionated coconut oil, sunflower oil and (a bit) of sesame oil. Sesame oil is the most penetrating and lubricating but has a strong scent of its own that can overpower whatever it's mixed with if one isn't careful. Tulsi and Rose oils both have an affinity for the heart, so I think of my personal nasya as a snack the heart of a bhakta. It is quite sweet and soothing to the senses. I use it just after climbing into bed, after I've rubbed Bhringaraj oil on the soles of my feet for grounding/relaxing (works like a charm) and Jatamansi essential oil on my forehead for "digesting" trauma and grief (also works like a charm).

For a student of Ayurveda, there is nothing like snehana — oil.

From the eyes, nose and heart I will move up now to the brain. Today for one of my final projects I made a Brahmi-Shankapushpi Kalpa, which is a mix of these two powdered herbs (I used about 2.5 oz all together) cooked in ghee and sugar with a bit of cardamom powder and saffron. Both of these medicinal herbs are said to be good for memory-enhancement and cooking them in a Kalpa brings in the added benefit of the ghee, which again has an affinity for the nervous tissue and builds Ojas, the finest essence of digested food, impressions, thoughts and emotions that provides us with our immunity and overall vitality. Physically, Ojas is cytoplasm, albumin and globulin. According to my Charka Samhita, above, “Ojas is the first thing created in the body of all living beings”

I've only seen Kalpa made once, and wasn't sure how oily or not oily it should be before taking it off the flame. Mine seemed too oily with ghee, and in an attempt to dry it out I overcooked it somewhat, giving the sugar a slightly burnt flavor. Ah well, it is still quite tasty (we can't seem to stop eating it) and luckily I'm not being graded on having a perfect final product but rather on having learned something during the process. Which I did: don't overcook the Kalpa.

Traditional medicine making is something I hope to pursue while in India - I think one has to spend time one-on-one with a knowledgable medicine maker. This year is more of an introduction, but it has been enough to spark my interest in learning more. 

And finally, this Friday was my second week in a row of being "lead" practitioner at student clinic. Since there are no more first year students left to see we are not open to the public, which really shakes things up because suddenly you have a perfect stranger sitting in front of you — one who may know absolutely nothing about Ayurveda — and you are about to discuss everything from their sleep habits to their bowl habits and ask questions that perhaps they have never been asked before.

Also, you are always looking for the root cause of their imbalance, and 99% of the time that cause is going to be emotional in nature and buried under layers and layers of protective coverings. One needs to step delicately.

Before this week's clinic I posted the following on my Facebook page:

The night before I'm scheduled to see a client in student clinic it's interesting to reflect on the fact that out of ALL the places they could be on that day, and ALL the people they could be with, they're destined to end up in a room with me for the better part of a couple of hours. I feel that there must be something only I can offer to them and that only they can teach to me — which helps me feel a lot more confident about the day to come.

I was quite surprised by how many people responded to my musing - there were lots of "thumbs ups"and supportive comments. But I really believe that it's true - and the funny thing about this week's clinic is that the day before I openly stated in class that if I were to "specialize" as a practitioner it would be in "geriatric" Ayurveda (which is one of the 8 traditional branches of this medicine.) A couple of hours later I found out that my client for the next day was going to be a 78 year old woman — a pretty old demographic for our clinic.

I have much more to say about the depth of clinic experience, but will save that for another post. I will say that this week I correctly read all 14 of the pulses I'm expected to know at this point (there are many more to come). I could not only feel whether a particular organ's energy was weak/strong but correctly felt which elements/dosha were active in that organ. I also correctly assessed the client's deep birth pulse (prakruti) and superficial vikruti pulse, which tells us about where one's health is currently. My supervisor, a master of the pulse herself, was both surprised and impressed when she came in to take the client's pulse and discovered that our findings matched. But she wasn't as surprised and impressed as I was. Impressed that my Teacher was somehow able to impart this knowledge to me in the course of a week (everything about my pulse-taking abilities changed during the Pulse Intensive last June) and surprised that I was able to access the knowledge when I needed it, in spite of feeling somewhat flustered and self-conscious.

I'll leave off with a spread from my Guna (Qualities) Journal, due next week. I needed a creative project so I illustrated mine and wrote simple entries about each of the 20 main qualities we focus on in Ayurveda...

Gratitude

Tonight a Great Horned Owl came to visit at sunset. The last of the season's crickets were chirping from the dried grass, the many small birds whose cheerful company we enjoyed all day had just taken shelter for the night in the Junipers. The moon above was half full and soon Sirius, the dog star, will rise flickering in the sky.

J and I spent the Thanksgiving holiday quietly, despite having several generous invitations for dinner. Any of them would have been pleasant but I chose instead to spend the morning curled up on the couch studying, the afternoon hiking with J, and the evening making squasharoni and fresh cranberry-ginger sauce, which we ate by the cedar-and-pinion stuffed wood stove.

The holidays still bring with them a pressure to do something "holiday-ish" whether I feel up to any festivities or not. This year I really have to listen to my body and psyche, both of which need rest, silence and time for reflection far more than they need additional movement and conversation.

Increasingly, it seems, I need these things.

Though I promised a concerned classmate I would "do nothing" this weekend I am of course studying. That doesn't really count as a "thing," does it? I've been reviewing notes from lectures my Teacher gave late last year because I'm afraid (and frustrated) that we aren't being brought back up to speed fast enough, and soon he'll be here to teach. I hesitate to use the word "expectation" but no doubt he'll arrive with some hope that his second year students are ready to fully receive what he has to share. But my God, there is so much to be known and I would rather live with no knowledge of these things at all than to have only some undigested half-knowledge that I mistakenly think is the truth.

Remember that "gratitude" is the word I chose for this suddenly waning year. Today I'm thankful for all the years I was a Thanksgiving guest at my family's loving table, as well as for the years I had the chance to play hostess and pour my love into the preparation of food and the creation of a homey holiday atmosphere. I'm thankful for this opportunity I've been given to study, learn and pursue my heart's interest - an opportunity that not many people are given and even fewer take. I'm thankful that whatever simple, quiet way the holiday ends up being spent is satisfying - is quite enough, really. I'm thankful even for the exhaustion I feel, which is making me more passive, receptive and silent than I normally am. This is not necessarily a "bad" place to be — quiet, hardly moving, alone and unfolding.

I am too alone in the world, and yet not alone enough
to make every moment holy.
I am too tiny in this world, and not tiny enough
just to lie before you like a thing,
shrewd and secretive.
I want my own will, and I want simply to be with my will,
as it goes toward action;
and in those quiet, sometimes hardly moving times,
when something is coming near,
I want to be with those who know secret things
or else alone.
I want to be a mirror for your whole body,
and I never want to be blind, or to be too old
to hold up your heavy and swaying picture.
I want to unfold.
I don’t want to stay folded anywhere,
because where I am folded, there I am a lie.
and I want my grasp of things to be
true before you. I want to describe myself
like a painting that I looked at
closely for a long time,
like a saying that I finally understood,
like the pitcher I use every day,
like the face of my mother,
like a ship
that carried me
through the wildest storm of all.”

― Rainer Maria Rilke, Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God

Fifth Week, Second Year

The photos for this post don't really match the text - it's all just a random mishmash of the past week. Which has included...

Rats.
Not rats is in, "Aw, shucks, ghee-whiz, darn."

Rats as in rats. Pack rats, specifically, who are famous in these parts for moving into the engine compartment of cars, which may afford them some warmth if the vehicle was recently driven and then parked. Car engines are also home to many delicious wires, which are apparently factory insulated with a vegetable-oil-like substance, which attracts rats. Brilliant. 

I took my car in for an oil change on Friday and sure enough, the technician found a nest in/against the air filter. Ugh!

I used to wonder every time I drove by a neighbor's house why the hood of her car was always open. Now I know — keeping the hood open is one (possible) way to deter rats from seeking shelter in one's engine. The technician also suggested mothballs, peppermint oil and "predator urine" (does that include my own?) but I may give one of these things a shot as well. 

Ptergium.
I thought the whites of my eyes were vascular and a bit yellowish due to high Pitta— and they are. But for the past few weeks they've also been unbelievably tired, dry and painful. I've been blaming the long days in front of white boards, books and computer screens and not taking the time to take care of myself. However, a quick eye exam by a classmate (and then teacher) revealed that my right eye has gone beyond irritation and developed what we believe is a ptergium, a non-cancerous growth that starts in the of the clear, thin tissue (conjunctiva) of the eye. Ptergium are often slightly raised and contain visible blood vessels.

I've been treating it with gel drops during the day and at night a drop or two of castor oil before bed - so far, so good. I don't know if the vascularity will ever go away completely but the stinging has subsided. Next I'm going to try Netra Basti - warm ghee in the eyes - with swimming goggles instead of a dough ring, which is time consuming and which I would have to train J to make.

Here's an example of what that's going to look like...kind of...

Vijnana.
In Sanskrit, ajnana is ignorance ("a" being a negative prefix). That's what I came to Ayurveda with. Jnana is knowledge. That's what I've been trying to develop over the past couple of years. And "vi" is a prefix that intensifies the noun in accompanies. So vijnana isn't just knowledge and wisdom but an intimate, practical familiarity with something to the point of being able to carry it through in daily affairs. That's what I hope this year's 700+ hours of clinic work will provide - an actual working knowledge of Ayurveda in which it comes out of the textbooks and into my head for practical use. For the next two Fridays I'll be lead practitioner with fellow students as support. I feel pretty confident, provided I can figure out the piles of paperwork required for each intake and stick to the schedule - one hour for the interview, 20 minutes to come up with recommendations and discuss them with a supervisor, and I believe 40 more minutes to discuss/explain those recommendations to the client. We then finish up clinic with Grand Rounds and discuss our cases. It's actually pretty fun, if this past Friday was any indication. Of course I was a support person so the stress was off.

If you're local, the above prices are phenomenal for a consult and follow up and I'm really pleased to be associated with a clinic where Ayurveda is being offered so affordably. And it will only get better - if you see me (or another 2nd year student) in the second and especially third trimesters we can offer more in terms of services including herbal formulas, marma, lepa and external basti treatments. The more I learn the more I can offer, and everything is closely supervised.

Meanwhile, I pass the weekends studying at home, both reluctant and too tired to go much beyond the couch. When I'm not actively studying I'm either thinking about studying or feeling guilty for not studying, so it's easier to simply devote my entire attention to school and Ayurveda and let the rest of the world go on without me.

But, over the course of the past week winter arrived. Though the days are still sunny we had an 18 degree night/morning last week and last night there was a light dusting of snow which rapidly melted. We haven't buttoned the adobe up yet and there are a lot of leaks where cold air comes in. We haven't ordered our cord wood either, though we have some left over from last year when we lived in the much more energy-efficient and well-insulated casita. This kind of chilly living in a place with lots of "character" seems to be a theme for me. I swear the place where we finally "settle down" again (if we ever "settle down" again) is going to have 2 foot thick walls and the biggest Rocket Mass Heater you've ever seen, with a heated masonry bench like this...

Until then, here I am, doing my dharma in the high and increasingly dry and chilly winter desert.

Higher Education

As we head in to mid-terms next week, yesterday was devoted to our final official clinic training before we begin to see clients next week. For the remainder of this first trimester we will be teamed up in pairs, one person as the lead practitioner and the second as an observer/support, and seeing first year students, their close friends/family and some staff members. So far I have managed to get the ideal time for my clinic shift - Friday afternoon. But this may change next trimester.

It has been very intense. J has been sick for about a month with a horrible cough and I feel I've been fighting becoming ill myself with various degrees of success depending on how stressed or tired I am on a given day. And usually I seem to be quite a bit of both.

Part of our clinic training on Friday was to get in groups of three (assigned) and run through a short version of an intake in front of one of the supervisors, most of whom are Doctors of Oriental Medicine in addition to being Ayurvedic Practitioners. This even included going out to the reception area to greet our mock client, introducing them to our supervisor and co-practitioner and showing them where the tea station/restrooms are. I wasn't expecting to be doing any role-playing and couldn't believe how rattled I felt. Luckily I was assigned the last spot in our group to play the part of practitioner and could get a feel for what was expected while playing both patient and support for my classmates.

My "client" presented with chronic digestive issues (slow digestion) and I think that I did well with my line of questioning, including asking about the regularity of his bowel movements with a poker face. When I asked to take his pulse I could actually feel it, which was certainly a relief as that is one of the most important aspects of diagnosis in my opinion. We had about 10 minutes for this process - normally an intake is an hour long. We then had to immediately come up with some ideas for how to tackle the issue - something we would normally leave the room to mull over for a whole whopping 10 minutes, then consult with our supervisor over for another 10 before returning to the client to give our recommendations. This is where my nervousness blanked me out a bit, but the supervisor seemed happy with my performance and from there we went back to the main classroom to get our lab coats, name tags and a pen light.

I think the hardest part of this year so far is not feeling like I'm at my Teacher's school for various reasons - the biggest being, of course, that he is simply not here until January. Last year we began with a nice pre-recorded orientation/welcome video from him and continued watching his lectures for three nights a week through the entire first trimester. There was even a puja to begin the year. This year there has been no trace, even onscreen, of the Teacher I came here to learn from. Instead there is a great effort underway to expand and intensify the program, though we are already the largest and most traditional/intense school in the US. I'm a serious student and I appreciate that the program is rigorous and that academic standards for it are being raised all the time. But most people's decision to come to this particular school are based on much more than that. Most people come here to be in the healing presence of my Teacher.

When I look around and experience too much of the "sharp" and "hot" qualities that arise when there is too much striving for excellence without the "oily and cool" qualities of humility, compassion and love to balance them out, I worry about what the future will hold. Anyone can become intellectually brilliant if they apply their mind and throw their ambition into it, but who is willing to go beyond learning and manifest a brilliance of the heart, surrendering ambition and loosing their very self in love and devotion? That's my idea of higher education, and there's no school for it.

Medicine

Pippali Milk Decoction

With the exception of the Sitopaladi (which is for J's congestion/cough) these are the makings of a milk decoction I'm working on today (see photos below) for an Herbal Preparations class project. I've named it "Uma's Chill-Out Pitta Pimples Milk Decoction" and it will be targeted to skin inflammation. 

While the above may look like a greasy, fried treat (scallops?) it's actually Shatavari Kalpa. Easily absorbed and digested, Kalpas are subtle medicine, capable of working on a deep cellular level that most herbal formulas will take longer to reach. Despite smelling like candy (there's ghee, date sugar and cardamom in the mix) the taste of this Kalpa is pretty bitter thanks to having Shatavari as a main ingredient.

Neem, Turmeric and Manjistha powders being made into a skin-soothing oil.

The above mixture cooked down and being strained through Muslin.
Once cool the coconut oil will be added.

This is yours truly receiving a Kati Basti treatment in class, in which a dough "swimming pool" of sorts is built over the sacrum (this placement is obviously a bit high, which I requested for the sake of modesty) and filled with warm medicated oils. Bastis can be placed over organs, the spine and even over the eyes (called Netra Basti.) I wish I'd remembered to get a photo of my eye looking up from beneath its swimming pool of warm, golden ghee — that was last week's class.

Both our Medical Ethics class and Clinic Trainings for the past few weeks have focused on the often difficult realities (and legalities) of being a practitioner and working with a wide variety of clients who are hurting in some way. I was pleased to hear that our public clinic at school offers consultations with second year students for $20 ($15 for a follow up). As I've mentioned to some of you, working in a pricey health spa where only upper middle class and wealthy people have access to Ayurveda is not my intention for the future. However, one has to keep in mind that New Mexico is the poorest (or second poorest, depending on the survey) state in the country, that domestic violence is extremely prevalent here, as are drug and alcohol abuse. We are being prepared for a variety of scenarios including mandated reporting of abuse and STD's and suicide prevention.

Some of my younger classmates are feeling overwhelmed by all of this "heaviness" and unsure about continuing on. My mom once told me — probably more as a way of rationalizing it to herself than to me at the time — that perhaps the reason I was drawn to rather 'dark' experiences as a young adult (and she didn't know the half of it) was so that I could be helpful to others later on and able to fully empathize with and understand them. As usual, she was being intuitive. When a survey was passed around in class asking us to rate from 1-9 which "delicate client situations" we were least/most comfortable with I realized that I had personally had either a lot or a little experience with almost all of them.

At the start of last year I looked at some of my younger classmates and questioned. Why had I not discovered this path earlier, like them? Why had I spent so many years hanging around in bars instead of doing yoga, belly-dancing, traveling around the world and finishing a degree like they had? But I wouldn't change one moment of my path and the life lessons it's taught me. Because now, after coming through the other side of all that and learning over these past five years to quietly settle my prana, I can sit in front of someone and understand where they are, where they've been and where its possible for them to go. Yes, on the surface life feels very heavy. But underneath the heaviness there's only light. My job as a practitioner is to help the client uncover it. That's the best medicine I can offer.

Welcome New Year...

When J and I went to the Indian Market to stock up on tea, spices and fresh ginger last week we found they'd created a couple of colored sand rangolis outside their door,

in honor of Diwali and the New Year.

Autumn...

Sunset at the funky adobe.

Looking down towards the spring and garland of Cottonwoods across the street.

The ever-blue sky above the funky adobe.

Home for the weekend!

Thanks for the photos, J!

First Week, Second Year

Oh my.

One thing I can say after week one of school: second year is nothing like the first. Not only is the schedule intense, the amount or reading is intense as are the overall expectations (including my own). I've spent every night this week reading for hours after school and before bed and still needed to put in long days of studying this weekend. And I'm still not caught up.

However, the program seems like an excellent blend of traditional/Indian and modern/Western training. An MD now teaches both PathoPhys and Western Physical Assessment, a huge improvement over last year. We'll learn the art of conducting an ear/eyes/nose/throat exam, learn how to test the 12 cranial nerves and reflexes, listen to the heart/lungs and recognize normal sounds from abnormal, palpate the organs, take blood pressure...

Equally hands-on will be our Ayurvedic Applied Skills class, where we'll administer treatments like netra basti, shirodhara and abhyanga, and our Herbal Preparation class in which we'll be learning how to make everything from medicinal ghee and herbal milk decoctions to medicinal wine and ginger/lime pickles.

Our Research Techniques class is taught by a woman with a doctorate in Cell and Molecular Biology who is also an Adjunct Assistant Professor in the Department of Biochemistry and Molecular Biology at Georgetown University School of Medicines - whew. She is almost frighteningly smart. The class, so far, feels a bit over my head but as Ayurveda sloooowly becomes more integrative with Western medicine my Teacher specifically wanted a Research class offered so that we will be able to communicate effectively. Even though it's dry and very academic in nature, I appreciate his foresight in providing it for us.

Meanwhile, Medical Jyotish (one of the more traditional/Indian classes, for sure) is like learning the rules to an extremely elaborate game in which the players are the planets and constellations, the game board the 12 houses of one's Vedic birth chart, and the pawn the person whose chart one is reading. Did you think there was such a thing as free will? Jyotish thinks otherwise. We live under the influence of celestial bodies, in the same way the ocean is pulled by the moon.

Medical Ethics/Practice Management is the place for me to (attempt to) shine in front of the Dean of Education, who teaches it. This weekend I already began my mid-term project, interviewing various professionals and practitioners in the medical field and asking them who their "difficult" clients are and how they deal with them - I can't wait to see their responses.

At the end of the week a classmate approached to tell me I seem to have changed drastically over the course of the summer.

"You're absolutely exuding confidence" she said, and suddenly I realized that she was right — I'd spent the first week speaking up a lot in every class and had even volunteered to lead the opening chant in PathoPhys, since the teacher is unfamiliar with Sanskrit.

Something has changed.

Finally, since all second year students, staff and faculty are required to be certified I completed my CPR/First Aid training class this past Friday, spending a good portion of the day trying to bring this dummy back from the brink of death...

Now off to bed. Week two is about to begin. My Teacher returns in 78 days. Today, his last in London after a week-long seminar, he rode a bike for the first time in 40 years...

Apparently he is doing just fine as he continues to travel and teach. Jai Ganesh.

There is Nothing to Worry About

It’s rigged — everything, in your favor.
So there is nothing to worry about.

Is there some position you want,
some office, some acclaim, some award, some con, some lover,
maybe two, maybe three, maybe four — all at once,

maybe a relationship
with
God?

I know there is a gold mine in you, when you find it
the wonderment of the earth’s gifts
you will lay aside
as naturally as does
a child a
doll.

But, dear, how sweet you look to me kissing the unreal:
comfort, fulfill yourself,
in any way possible — do that until
you ache, until you ache,

then come to me
again.

— Rumi

Incidentally, after my post about feeling not so excellent, something rather excellent happened and I was given the job of Room Monitor for my Teacher's lectures come January when he returns. This will require coming to school an hour before class (which is exactly how early I arrive anyway), setting up the chairs, back-jacks, exam table and examination instruments, taking attendance, greeting clients who are coming in to be examined in front of the students, jumping up to erase the whiteboard in between topics, and otherwise fetching whatever is needed.

It took great restraint not to jump up Price-is-Right-style and run screaming to the registrar and the Dean sitting by her side to grab my time sheets, job description and key agreement from them when my name was announced.

"EEEEEEEK! YEAH! I'M THE ROOM MONITOR!!!!" 

No, that would have seemed...excessive. Instead, I composedly thanked them both and hoped my face revealed how honored and excited I felt - lots of people had signed up.

They could not have known that I've already been counting down the days 'till class begins on January 5th (86) but perhaps the powers-that-be have noticed me sitting like a sentry in front of the classroom's locked door and hour before class. Or perhaps someone has noticed how often I can instantaneously pull whatever's needed from my handbag like a rabbit from a hat - replacement pen, rose spray for an overheated client, water, tissues. I've seen my Teacher do a double-take when he spots me holding out what he hasn't yet asked for. Perhaps someone's noticed I seem to know a lot of the outside clients who come for week long detox (ashram friends from back East) and can often be found hugging them in the parking lot.

Or perhaps it's the Universe's reply to me, the natural continuation of an unfolding story in which I'm continuously cast in the role I most want but never actually expect to get.

To that conversational, compassionate Universe I composedly say, "thank you.

To you, friends, I say, "EEEEEEEK! YEAH! I'M THE ROOM MONITOR!!!!" 

Photo: "Fear Not" mudra in the Delhi airport, 2012.

The Vicious Dogs of Fear

My last post reminded me of this story from our camping trip this summer.

J and I had just set out on our second major hike in Colorado this summer, our destination Green Lake, nestled in between Mt. Ruby and Mt. Owen at around 10,000 feet. The sun was shining, the clean mountain air providing the perfect amount of crispness to the day, a few hardy wildflowers were still sharing their color with the golden, waving grasses and the rocky peaks above us beckoned.

We were aware, as we hiked, that we would encounter sheep, herds of which are grazed on National Forest land. We were also aware that there would be dogs - both Great Pyrenees and Border Collies - to guard the sheep from predators. We thought nothing of it.

That is, until a pickup truck full of middle-aged hikers came slowly lurching down the rocky trail/road and stopped to warn us that the dogs were "vicious" and to be careful as we climbed.

We had actually just reached the start of the sheep, the first few looking so cute and innocent with their woolly coats and gently clanging bells that I'd proclaimed this combination hike/petting zoo "the best ever." I love sheep.

But the ominous news of the vicious guard dogs immediately diverted my attention from what was - bucolic perfection along the hiking trail - to what could be - horrific, bloody death/mauling in the remote mountains. As the trail became steeper and the sheep...thicker...I silently wondered if we should abandon the trek altogether. Then, as our brains tend to do when we feel threatened in any way, I began to get defensive.

What right did someone have to graze their sheep on National Forest land anyway? How dare they allow their vicious guard dogs to harass hikers! Were my taxes paying for this nonsense?

Then I began to devise my plan: I'm going to write the Colorado Congressman as soon as we get home! If I get bit I'm going to sue the government! 

Meanwhile nothing, really, had changed. Same reality, different mindset.

We reached shimmering Green Lake hours later without incident, though we'd been glancing around for the dogs the whole time. It wasn't until we were on our way back down that J finally caught sight of the nemesis.

"I just saw two of the dogs!" he warned, catching up to where I'd wandered down the steep, rocky trail. "They saw me and started running up, but I told them to go back! I don't think they kept running but I'm not sure...don't panic, but let's go."

We grabbed handfuls of rocks to defend ourselves with and started to run, warily glancing back over our shoulders as we did.



As we began to descend so did the sun, edging towards the peak of the mountain. The herds of sheep grew thick. Not thick as in dozens but thick as in many hundreds if not over a thousand sheep. And the sheep, being not so bright, were as scared of us as we were of the dogs who guarded them. To make things even more interesting, it seemed that the sheep had decided to move en masse to greener pastures for the night and suddenly the one long trail back down to civilization was clogged with bumper-to-bumper sheep as far as the eye could see — and as we came up behind us they began to stampede, bleating and throwing up clouds of dirt - which no doubt was sending an unmistakable sheep-message to the vicious guard dogs,

"BLEEEAH! HELP! WE ARE BEING STALKED BY HIKERS! BLEEEEEAH!"

Tinkle tinkle. The sound of the sheep's traditional bells was suddenly sounding more portentous than pastoral.

Our choices now appeared somewhat limited:

• Continue down the mountain behind the bleating sheep and be attacked by dogs
•  Forsake the livestock-clogged trail and bushwhack our way down the mountain via a wilderness so rugged hikers sometimes disappear and are never found.
•  Wait to see if the sheep would leave the trail on their own (or at least walk down it a little faster) and then proceed, potentially as the sun was setting. In mountain lion country.

The last option seemed the most prudent so we ducked off the trail and hid behind a giant downed tree, stones in hand, waiting for the dogs. Most of the sheep, as we hoped, continued down the trail in a great clanging, bleating, pooping wool parade. Some, less nervous or motivated, grazed in the grass alongside the trail. After a little while it appeared we could continue on down from a safe distance.

J was first to reach the trail and I was slowly making my way through the grass myself when I caught sight of something white, fluffy but not quite sheep-like out of the corner of my eye. It was laying down and...licking itself? 

It was one of the vicious Great Pyrenees, who had apparently been laying only 20' feet away from where we'd been hiding behind the tree. The dog was completely unimpressed by our presence, and when I pointed it out to J he called it over. She came with tail wagging - an old mom dog. She was hardly worthy of being stoned. We dropped the rocks.



The next dog we came across farther down the trail ran away when we called him. We shook our heads and laughed.

This is what happens when we let our fear of the unknown run wild, allow our gruesome visions to gather en masse along the trails of our imagination. Sure, it is good to be aware, prudent, even cautious at times. But sometimes sheep are not wolves in sheep's clothing. Sometimes they are just sheep.

But I don't feel excellent.

HOLD THE IDEAL: If a man with an IDEAL makes a thousand mistakes, I am sure that the man without an ideal makes fifty thousand mistakes. Therefor IT IS BETTER TO HAVE AN IDEAL. Never mind the failures; they are quite natural, they are the beauty of life, these failures. What would be life without them? It would not be worth having if it were not for struggles. Where would be the poetry of life? Never mind the struggles, the mistakes. So never mind these failures, these little backsliding; HOLD THE IDEAL A THOUSAND TIMES, and if you fail a thousand times, make the attempt once more.

— Swami Vivekananda

Orientation required only a couple of hours spent at school yesterday and already I was up all night, my mind racing. My insomnia was partly due to the energy of the place, partly due to inspiration and partly due to sheer terror (oh yes, and partly due to a piece of the wood ceiling falling on my tent just as I began to relax and nod off at 4am. Apparently bugs aren't the only reason to sleep in a tent inside the house). I arrived back at school this morning rather bleary-eyed, a huge red spot already appearing on my nose after 2 months of clear skin (and, I might add, relaxation in my very narrow comfort zone).

This summer we were having lunch at the ashram when my Teacher suddenly looked up from his plate and inquired if I was coming to second year.

I casually assured him that I was.

Are you kidding? I wanted to ask.

He set his fork down and clapped his hands.

"Yaaaay!" he exclaimed brightly, his reaction unfeigned. "Excellent students like you should continue. You had distinctions...high marks."

You would think that continuous encouragement from one's mentor, coupled with the actual reality of having achieved high marks this past year would make me feel unstoppable going in to second year. Let's not forget to add that most people don't even get the chance to speak with him one-on-one for very long, let alone have lunch with and assist him.

I should feel excellent, right? I mean, what more do I need? God him/herself to come with flowers and accolades?

And yet I find myself more nervous going in this year than I was last October when school began. Last year there was at least the mercy of cluelessness about the intensity of the program to come. This year I know. I sat in on clinic appointments and Grand Rounds with second year students and watched them sweat and scramble to arrive at both a logical (and approvable) samprapti (stage of disease progression), cause and chikitsa (treatment) in 10 or 15 minutes. I heard about the practical oral exam, done with a "real live client" added to the mix and I am trying to envision myself palpating someone's liver with my cold, clammy nervous-because-it's-exam hands in front of my Teacher and the Dean. God help me! I'll be lucky if I know what end of my client is "up." 

Maybe it was the arrival of the daunting second year Study Guide at orientation today, the sight of 153 more questions that I now know are only the tip of the iceberg in terms of what I could be asked during oral exam. Once I could actually open last year's study guide without feeling nauseous I obsessed over it all year. And now...has begun again and I'm terrified that I've forgotten everything that I worked so hard to learn and commit to memory last year. 

I mean seriously. Where is it? Will it come back?

Maybe it was the arrival of the schedule, the sight of 8 and 9 hour days on top of the commute I'm now questioning the logic behind. Maybe it was the news that whatever clinic shift we are assigned come early November will be ours for the remainder of the year, making for either a 13 hour day (not including the drive) on Thursdays or, no more two day weekends if I don't score one of the precious Friday slots. Let's collectively cross our fingers, ok? Not only no more two day weekends, but no chance to attend any of the Intensives with my Teacher all year, a substantial loss in my book.

Maybe it was the news that a 3rd year is in the works, that after year 2 the graduate clinic program is a further 6 week commitment of time and finances, that after that there will be a new residency program...and this doesn't include the 6 week internship in India.

How will I know when I'm done? Will I ever be done? Will I ever be done enough to be employable? Will I be sane enough to be employable by then?

Maybe it is because it feels like there is so much at stake with one year down and so much sacrificed to follow this call - though I understand loss is historically part of a process like this.

Maybe it is because it means so much to me to take both the clinical and spiritual aspects of this practice on — not just sufficiently but brilliantly. Amazingly. As dazzlingly as my Teacher has, and so completely that someday somebody will hear the teacher's accent in the student's speech, as Rumi writes. I would love to remind you of him someday. I would love to remind myself of him, so none of us can forget for a moment how much light, knowledge and compassion one human being is capable of holding and sharing.

In essence that is the ultimate goal and it's one I haven't kept hidden from my Teacher, pledging a kind of devotion, focus and surrender to the path ahead that I wouldn't dream of pledging to another endeavor. "I know what I'm proposing will take discipline" I wrote him last summer after a particularly strongly-versed proclamation of intention. 

Discipline? It could very well take 10,000 more lifetimes of doing countless things I don't feel capable of doing and learning endless things I'm convinced I'm too stupid to comprehend, all the while zit-faced and overtired.

And yet there is this inexplicable resolve that promises to lead me through every one of those 10,000 lives, occasionally even slowing down to walk beside me. It's all either very poetic and mystical or crazy - or most likely both, since poets and mystics aren't exactly renowned for their "sanity" in terms of living in "the real world."

So no, crazy or not, I don't feel "excellent" going in. I feel overheated and scared and kind of resistant about being dragged farther and farther out of my comfort zone. But I guess behind that I feel hopeful, because I will most assuredly show up for class on Monday morning with my new pens and bag full of textbooks and with some faith that feeling excellent will come with time, the way it did last year when I was chanting sutras and presenting my client in front of the class, the way it did when I was assisting my Teacher this summer. 

It is apparently a lesson I have to continuously relearn, but is it ok to hope that someday it sticks and I don't have to keep asking, where is it and will it come back?

Prem

Before leaving Western MA again this summer J and I stopped for a fill up at a familiar little station not far from our house. The sun was setting, the wind had picked up and two rusty metal chairs sat empty outside the door. In 2010 the owner died quite suddenly of a heart attack, leaving me bereft at an already dark time. Somehow the three of us - he, his wife and me - had formed a close bond after I showed up for gas with my little red Ganesh sitting on the dashboard. Somehow that bond seemed to comfort us all.

Not long after he died I'd brought his widow a Ganesh like mine, only slightly larger. She'd been so angry and distraught at her loss I was afraid she would lose her faith. She'd cried when I handed him to her and scolded him gently with her finger. Why? Then she put him on the shelf behind the cash register in place of a photo of her husband. She cried every time I came in for gas, which made it harder and harder to show up.

Ganesh was still there this summer, as was she, standing behind the counter. Her face filled with a range of emotions when she looked up to see me - it had been well over a year. We spoke for a while about the day her husband had called her from the kitchen to see the Ganesh in my car, and then embraced for a long time, both crying again as if 4 years hadn't passed.

Prem is her name. It means "love."

J looked on. He had just watched similar scenes unfold with women at the ashram.

"I feel like wherever you go you are surrounded by moms," he said as we were driving away. 

Cardinal Medicine

Sure, it may all be "scenography for a drama whose set is constructed by the limited capabilities of our five senses" as I wrote in my previous post, and yes, I understand that we are definitely not our clothes (have you seen this video series "What's Underneath" yet?) However, I do still enjoy satisfying my sense of sight with occasional new additions to my wardrobe. Like these, currently en route from India. Free shipping, great quality and all told I spent less than $200.

Perfect for our modest, professional dress code at school and for next year's return trip to both the ashram and to India.

Speaking of the ashram, I wore the bright canary-yellow color number below while on retreat this past summer. It was Thursday, the day of Jupiter in Vedic tradition. At school lots of us have fallen into the habit of wearing the "planetary color of the day" meaning the classroom is a sea of green on Wednesday, red/pink on Tuesday, white on Mondays. Thursday is the day for yellow or orange, to honor Jupiter/Guru. But yellow has always been difficult for me — at least it has been since I wore yellow jeans to a Halloween party in 7th grade and wet my pants with fright in the haunted house. So... usually I opt for orange, a color I wear so much of people ask me if I'm considering becoming a swami/sanyasi, a renunciate. Obviously the color of these new wardrobe additions will go far in convincing them otherwise. Even I'm not altogether convinced. I don't think swamis can wear prints though.

On this lovely Thursday morning I felt safe assuming that the ashram would be ghoulie-free and pulled on my Blazingly Bright Cosmic Canary Sunshine Yellow Kurta in the tent - no mirror in which to second guess myself - and made my way through the quiet morning woods towards the dining hall. It was the first wearing-of-the-yellow since the great pants-pissing incident of 1980-something.

Somewhere along the way, perhaps when I caught a glimpse of what I thought was the rising sun in the lake and realized that it was my clothing, it occurred to me that I could be seen from a great distance. Like, from outer space. This suddenly made me feel  incredibly self-conscious and I was considering hiking back to the tent to change when a couple of fellow early-risers approached and began to rave about the the color and how fantastic and cheery and striking it was and where did I get it...

"I was actually thinking about changing." I admitted sheepishly. "I think this is...too much."

Oh no, they replied. Please don't do that! It's stunning! It's perfect!

Well. Ok then.

I think I mentioned in an earlier post that one of the themes of our trip back East was the constant presence of one of my favorite birds, the cardinal. Cardinals greeted us at each campground, serenaded us by the pool at Wolfies in Ohio, and were definitely in residence at the ashram as well. I think it's funny, looking back, that the "message" of the flashy red cardinal is said to be one of confidence and leadership. 

"The cardinal tells you that you can handle it, and to believe in yourself. It is important to be proud of yourself for your abilities or for the things you have achieved. The cardinal’s bright red feathers and cheerful song call attention to him wherever he goes and this power-packed bird can teach you how to express your truth, develop confidence and walk your talk."

This turned out to be the theme of the retreat for me as I rather self-consciously eased into the role of assisting my Teacher over the course of the week, vacillating between feelings of being confidently destined for the role and completely unworthy.

On this day of Jupiter I opted to keep the bright yellow kurta on, and as I was making my way up the hill from the dining to the lecture hall after breakfast I spotted a small rectangular scrap of paper on the ground. It was one of those Yogi Tea labels with intriguing fortune-cookie-like messages, like "your head must bow to your heart."

I couldn't resist stooping down to pick it up.

"Be proud of who you are." it suggested. I laughed and slipped it into my purse.

"When a person with cardinal medicine steps onto a spiritual path there will be no turning back. Everything else in their life will seem insignificant. Extra care must be taken here to insure personal happiness, particularly in the area of one to one relationships. Balancing spiritual ideals and physical pleasure will need to be instated in ones life so harmony on all levels is known."

And so it goes, and so it goes
and where the path will lead -
nobody knows.

But I will probably be nicely dressed when I arrive.