Gaia Community: Kaius Maximus' Blog

Just a couple great quotes

http://kvz.gaia.com — Sun, 15 Feb 2009 23:31:46 GMT

"I'm not sure Gandhi would consider lap dancing civil disobedience." -Anderson Cooper

"A man may fail a thousand times, but he's only a failure once he blames someone else." -J. Paul Getty

"Show me a man with both feet on the ground and I’ll show you a man who can’t put his pants on." –Arthur K. Watson

Tags: quotes, wisdom, failure, Gandhi, Anderson Cooper

Feminist Reversal?

http://kvz.gaia.com — Sat, 17 Jan 2009 05:10:56 GMT

I went to visit my high school English teacher today, Mary Redclay, at Palisades High School in southern California. She was a pivotal influence in my life during my sophomore year eighteen years ago. And her classroom hasn't changed a bit. Pictures of Nelson Mandela and Gandhi are on the walls next to bumper stickers that say things like "Question Authority".

Over the course of her lunch break, our discussion went from recent films we had seen like Lagaan, and God Grew Tired of Us, and Sleeping with the Enemy, to the changing dynamic of American literature today. How we are leaving grammar in the dust in favor of poetic lryicism.

But the thing that struck me deepest was our discussion about teenage girls today, and their incredible unempowerment. I was again railing on the weak and unsophisticated main character of "Twilight", and how she always needs to be rescued by the man in her life who is a Stanford grad, hot, star athlete, and classical composer. And Mary pointed out how exemplary of our culture it is that every teenage girl relates to this unempowered female.

Mary said, "In my day we were fighting so that the doctors wouldn't shave our pubic hair before we gave birth. Now the girls shave their pubic hair to match their panty lines."

I said, "Now, I'm not a feminist, but I really feel that things are swinging the wrong direction here."

"Of course you are a feminist," she said.

"No, I'm not. I love men."

"Oh that's just a publicity rap that the media spun on femininsts, focusing on the man-haters. You are a feminist. You've always been a feminist."

Really? Can I claim that? A teacher who has known me since I was fifteen said I was always a feminist. Have I been that divorced from such an important identity trait that I never realized it before?

But it's not about me. It's about the unseen unequality that is re-surfacing in the young people. History is repeating itself. These young girls are giving guys blow jobs right and left, but the guys aren't returning the favor. The men are back on top. Literally.

Why are the girls in America lacking from such poor self-esteem?

That's my question.

I only know my story. I didn't want to play guitar, I wanted to be in love with a guitar player. I didn't want to paint, I wanted to be in love with a painter. I repeatedly found artistic men to love, projecting onto them my entire creative impulse and then falling in love with it in them.

My muse is not easy. He's furious. His power of voice is not some pretty Greek lady in diaphanous gowns speaking perfect Attic Greek. He pounds me like an angry ocean on the high bluffs. And oh, it is beautiful. But certainly not easy. I had to turn my back on the fantasy of love in order to find myself. To practice my own art. And then to learn what love means.

Where are the women these girls can look up to? The women with a relationship to their own souls. It ain't Paris HIlton.

I want to be a role model for them; a woman with a relationship to her own soul. A woman who has made endless sacrfices for her dreams, her art, her passion. This life doesn't just hand you anything. You must cultivate your craft. You must dedicate time, energy, passion, drive, service, study, and massive commitment energy to it. And then wait, and practice, and wait, and practice.

That's important. In fact, practice is the single MOST important aspect of life that I know. You must practice anything to become fluent in it. The self-discipline of practice is th sum of my 33 years to date.

I am a feminist. I am for women in power. But I am not for women in power mimicking men. True feminine power comes from truth, love of people, culture, family, and self, as well as love of beauty, art, communication, and care for the down-trodden.

What is happening to our teenage girls that they have lost their power?
I'm so deeply concerned about this. Where to begin to create the change. My sermons are stories. I pray with a pen in hand. That by example we may turn and go another way.......

Tags: story, feminism, feminist, teen, power, teacher, practice, women, leader, leadership

Are blue whales really blue?

http://kvz.gaia.com — Sun, 05 Oct 2008 01:28:44 GMT

A few years ago, someone asked me if I had to go to prison for one year, and I could only bring three things, what would they be. After much deliberation, I came down to:

1. A pen

2. A ream of paper

3. my bed

This is of course, assuming I could bring both my cats with me as a given. And I could call my mother every day.

But I was rethinking things lately, and came up with:

1. my computer

2. a netflix subscription

3. my iphone

Geeze. What a confession. Can I still bring my bed?

Then I thought, wouldn't it be cool if there was a Bookflix? I mean, there's so many books I want to read, and to have them all sent to my door for a monthly subscription would be like heaven.

But then, I guess there's wear and tear, and shipping, and ok, it's not such a great idea.

I know, I know, there already is a Bookflix. It's called, the Library. But is it me or does the library just seem so high pressure? I mean, I LOVE libraries. I wrote a novel about one. But there's due dates, and late fees, and time in the car to get there. I adore University libraries. Public libraries kinda make me feel like I could get in trouble for sneezing.

So, today I was thinking, well, if I did ever have to sit in one room for a year, what would I want to do when I got out?

I like that question a LOT better. It really focused me on bliss. And the list that came out of it made me happy just thinking of the possibilities:

1. See an East Coast autumn (will do Oct 16th!)

2. See the aurora borealis

3. Visit the pyramids on Santa Cruz de Tenerife, Canary Islands

4. See a blue whale.

5. Have a child, maybe a few

6. Sail the Greek islands reading the Odyssey.

7. visit Ireland and see if I can find kin

8. send my friend Jack to Ireland so he can be happy

9. Take a trip with Heather

10. read the complete works of Shakespeare

11. Kiss a first edition copy of my published novel

12. Make love on a sailboat

13. Teach writing workshops in pretty places

14. love a horse again

15. listen to a choir of children sing Christmas songs

I guess there should be something of a man in there.... but then, I have to keep some things secret, don't I?

I really hope to spend my life helping people, helping the planet. Sometimes I get overwhelmed, wishing i could do more.

It was sad that Paul Newman died this year, but what an inspiration! He did so much good for people. Whoever said acting wasn't noble? How beautiful to be in a position to help so effectively. He inspires me.

I'm happy to say I will see my first East Coast autumn in a few weeks. As a scorpio, I am a child of autumn. It's my season. I sure am sad to see summer go, but I'm looking forward to the hues, the chill, and the light.

Keep checking back. One day, I will let you know if a blue whale is really blue.

Tags: autumn, wish, list, blue, whale, Paul Newman, writing, novel, children. help

Ode to the Amazing Health Benefits of Kefir

http://kvz.gaia.com — Mon, 01 Sep 2008 02:24:39 GMT

Well, I thought I'd tried it all..... and now, ten years after beginning my search to cure my health problems, I have found my miracle.

For a health nut and yoga teacher, I have suffered from the most endless array of health issues out there. Chronic Fatigue, impaired thyroid and adrenal function, stomach pains, acne, and incapacitating menstrual cycles just to name a few.

And so, I have dedicated myself to my health year after year, trying everything from ayurveda, chiropractic, acupuncture, yoga, nutritional therapy with endless supplements, and eventually hormone replacement. I went from alternative to allopathic, and finally just gave up.

Everything disappointed me..... until this month.

I looked in the mirror three days ago and said, Oh my Goddess.... who is that healthy, radiant woman? Is that me? My skin, glossy and clear. My eyes, gleaming. My energy, boosted and open. My complaints? None.

Little did I know, I discovered a magic potion last month..... a probiotic called kefir.

I did not even realize kefir's amazing health benefits when I started drinking it. I just thought it was a yummy blueberry yogurt drink.

And then suddenly, a little over three weeks later of drinking kefir every morning, and occasionally at night, I am aglow. I am a new person. My dream of feeling healthy, after all these years, has been realized.

I've always known that I had a compromised gut. I was born with a genetic abnormality of a very thin stomach lining, and possibly holes in the lining. Rather than operate, we waited to see if my body would heal.

Growing up, I remember having intense stomach pain after eating until I was about eight years old. Long term effects of the condition were not really something I thought about. Little did I know that gut issues affect the entire system. If your gut is off, it throws everything off. The gut is like the soil in the garden. If it is off, nothing grows.

But of course, it would make sense, that my body has for years been dealing with difficult digestion. That ultimately, I was suffering from mild infection month after month, year after year, and food allergies, and stomach pains every other day.

More than anything else, I was sad about my lackluster skin. It just would never shine and look healthy, and I was often broken out. My body always looked like it was fighting something..... but what? No doctor I ever saw could help me. My body felt like a war zone, my immune system always fighting something. I was exhausted with it all.

Till now. My endless search for health, and thousands of dollars later, I accidentally stumble upon the most incredible superfood out there. Kefir is my miracle cure. Effortlessly, my body has repaired itself overnight. I look healthy... and I FEEL AMAZING.

Kefir contains loads of tryptofane as well, that sleepy substance in turkey you feel after Thanksgiving dinner, it soothes your nervous system. Also, it contains probiotics that actually populate your digestive tract, vs. yogurt which just bolsters the fauna that is already there. Plus kefir is amazing for your immune system. It's also great for chronic fatigue.

I don't know much about astrology, but I'm a rabbit, or a cat, and we are supposed to have really delicate digestive systems. Maybe there's some truth in it all. I just know I am so grateful right now, to have ended a ten year search for what is ailing me, thank you God, Goddess....... and kefir.

Definitely try it! You can grow your own grains, or pick it up at the healthfood store. I like the Lifeway brand.

Tags: chronic fatigue, acne, kefir, immune system, immunity, health, cure, skin, energy

Open letter to Stephanie Meyer --author of the Twilight Saga

http://kvz.gaia.com — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 01:14:13 GMT

Dear Mrs. Meyer,

As a novelist myself and avid reader, I was intrigued to discover your Twilight Saga for teens, and, always one to be curious where energy in our culture is flowing, I was excited to check it out.

But I was just as quickly disappointed.

First let me say that your characters are fabulous. They are alive in a very real way. This is certainly an accomplishment, and not one to be overlooked as so many books today are lacking in characters that hold our attention in any lasting way. Also, yours is a book of feelings. Feelings of desire, longing, hope, sorrow, and loneliness..... the full gamut of the most private aspects of our human experience, throbbing on every page.

But I must be honest with you, and say that I have sincere concern about your protagonist, Bella, and the example she is setting for young teenage girls about what is truly important in life.

Bella is quirky, beautiful, intelligent, insightful (very), and honest..... but the only interest she has in life is Edward. She has no talent for anything at all, not sports, music, writing, ANYTHING, other than creating a romance with a rather unavailable boy.... Oh, and becoming a vampire. But that's just so she can be with him, so I guess it's technically still about him. Even her brief dabble in photography is focused 100% on him.

And this romance quickly spirals into pure obsession --from the beginning. Day in, day out, she obsesses, and allows her obsessive thinking to guide her every action.

By book 2 in your saga, she shows no interest in college, friends, music, culture, or anything other than....... Edward. Oh, and Jacob, who, it is noted in the prose repeatedly, is merely there to distract her from the pain of losing Edward.

I am seriously CONCERNED by the message you are giving young girls about their power, about who they can grow up to be if they apply themselves to something they absolutely love, namely, a passion. A passion for art, for music, for writing, for healing, medicine, math, astronomy, teaching...... ANYTHING. Anything at all that is not just a man.

Now, I think men are great. And I've been lucky enough to fall madly in love with several brilliant men in my life, but I also know that men are not a substitute for a woman having an authentic life with interests of her own. In fact, more often than not, men would prefer that women have lives of their own so that they don't end up becoming their soul focus.

Here's my confession: You see, I was Bella. I was that quirky, uncoordinated girl who devalued who her talents and obsessed on every guy I ever loved when I was a teenager, and then into my twenties.

In fact I was so convinced during my mid-twenties that my undying love of my then boyfriend would give me all the sustainence in life I needed, that I dropped out of college to be with him, a decision I regret enormously to this day, because, guess where that obsession led me? To a break-up, of course, and competing for jobs against other women more qualified than I am.

As I understand it, all healthy relationships require balance to function. Which means both people engage in passions of their own, and maybe even mutual passions. But if one or both people hang their entire world upon the other, then both are in extreme emotional danger. I know, I have been there. Eight years of therapy and I am finally seeing the light, and finding some balance within myself so that I can bring who I am, including my passions and talents for writing, playing guitar, and practicing yoga, to a relationship.

The books you have written are an unhealthy example of womanhood. Especially since Bella is so clumsy, and Edward is always having to save her. Did you write this book in 1955? I mean, she can't even dance? Noted is that once she loses him, she throws herself into as much danger as she can find to win him back. Somehow this reminds me of my dear friend whose girlfriend recently overdosed on painkillers so that he wouldn't break up with her. And he loyally sat by her in the hospital until he could get home and throw all her stuff out. Because obsession is INSANITY, and should not be encouraged. Men hate it. And women suffer.

Your character is a girl with no talents, no interests, no hobbies, skills, or passions whatsoever aside from her love interest. I think you need to ask your conscience if this is really the message girls need today about their power.

I noticed also that Edward, her on and off boyfriend, is a both a brilliant musical composer and a talented athlete. Why did you give him all the gifts? Because as an author, it was your choice to make her helpless and clumsy, and him powerful, talented, and godly.

Here in Los Angeles where I live, we are in the era of the "pin-up princess", where women like Paris Hilton get six digit paychecks to attend parties. That's her JOB. I will leave it to you to decide if she has cultivated any talent. And young girls everywhere look up to that and aspire to be just like her. I mean, at least Lindsay Lohan can act!

If you had a daughter, what would you dream for her? Would you encourage her to cultivate her strengths and interests over any fleeting romantic interest? OF COURSE you would. You would want her to have a wonderful boyfriend AND an inner life.

I just want you to think about the example you have set for young girls. Obsession is not love. Neither is desire. Obsession is a dangerous drug that takes the place of genuine passion and interest in life, and ultimately, it doesn't win the hearts of any of the talented, intelligent, handsome men I have ever met.

I realize that the success of your books has hinged upon how well American teens relate to your characters, and I just encourage you to plant some seeds in a healthy direction, for them, for our culture, to show both the beauty AND the wisdom that women have. I mean, we are in an age where a woman just ran for president. Aren't you just a little concerned that even politics are setting a better example for young girls than your books?

That said, I genuinely think you are a talented writer, and deserve the success you have achieved. I just pray, from one woman to another, from one novelist to another, that you take responsibility for the messages in your work.

Sincerely,

Kaia Hollan Van Zandt

Tags: twilight, vampire, saga, Edward, Bella, novel, bestseller, Stephanie Meyer, letter

Novel writing tip #1: resolve to deepen your characters

http://kvz.gaia.com — Sat, 16 Aug 2008 03:28:48 GMT

I always feel disappointed when I encounter two dimensional characters in fiction. I can see the writer's lack of awareness immediately. A character, when fully formed, simply resonates. Like a fine wine, the more layers, the more intricacies of interacting subtleties, the better. That's not to say every character should be complex, yet even the most simple characters will benefit from the following technique.

Whenever I encounter a new character, I immediately switch to writing a character history. If the character appears at age 14, this takes a little less time than if the character appears at age 65 (or 425 if you write about immortals.) I literally put my book on hold and pull out a spiral notebook.

The technique:

Step one: Write the character's full name at the top. You can add relatives if you like.

Step two: establish his/her zodiac sign. This is important. Even if you don't speak astrology, learning this for your writing will be something you lean on time and time again. A character that is a fire sign has different traits than a water sign. A scorpio is not a leo. Not even remotely. To know that scorpios are extremely private people is different than your center stage leo who craves the spotlight. If you get into it, you can give your character a rising, sun, and moon sign.

Step three: the wound. Villains and heroes both have wounds, they simply handle them differently. In my first book I have a strong supporting hero whose first wife had died. He was madly in love with her. He was twenty five at the time, but in my novel we meet him at age 72. If I didn't do his history, I would never have known this about him. Villains often act out on their wounds, but it is imperative to know them nonetheless. Then they become human, and you start to feel for them in a many layered way, like say, for Hannibal Lecter, a very well-formed villain.

Step four: Write the history, and start with birth.

What will begin to appear is the psychology of each character in depth. You will understand who they are on levels that far exceed your work. And then you can pepper in this back story in your work in ways that give the reader the sense of your character's fullness.

I almost never use more than 5% of a character's history in the novel. My first novel has 8 major players, and a number of minors. I need each character to be as resonant as possible. Even my cook, Jamir, has a history that matters, knowing that he was born in Antioch and sold as a slave gives him deep emotional connection to an incidence that happens in the city of Alexandria years later. The reader can feel it without knowing why.

Currently, I am re-writing the history of my character Alizar, the Gnostic alchemist of my first book, for the second. I actually wrote his history 7 years ago, but the book is missing. I saw it a few weeks ago, but now I can't find where. I suppose the shelf elves have stolen it. No matter. I can discover more detail by doing it again. Today I learned his mother was a midwife, and so as a boy brought him to all the births she attended, and so later in life, he always had a profound respect for women, and never could bring himself to visit the brothels like his fellows. I cannot think to write the next novel until his thorough history is complete.

And let me warn you, I can spot an undeveloped character a mile off. Undeveloped characters wreak of amateurism. If you rush ahead with your characters, you will disappoint your reader without knowing it. They will seek another book to read without even knowing why yours let them down.

Character is fate. Once you have character, you have story. But character first and foremost. Story is actually second. If you have a great plot, but readers don't care who it's happening to...... uh oh. But if you have no plot and an amazing character everyone is in love with, well, just look at half of Cary Grant's enduring movies.

I wish you luck with this technique. Be patient and willing to discover. Go slowly. Even if you don't write novels, it's a fun exercise to create a character.

Good luck!

Tags: writing, tips, technique, character, fiction, book, literature, novel, villain, hero

Ode to Woody Allen

http://kvz.gaia.com — Sun, 10 Aug 2008 20:18:09 GMT

So........

Last night I went to the Director's Guild to see the pre-release of Woody Allen's new movie, Vicky-Christina-Barcelona. My friend Johnny and I got the last two seats in their gi-normous theatre, and MGM's lion roared the instant we sat down to start the show.

Now, I have to admit that Matchpoint and Radio Days are two of my favorite films of all times. But that said, I think Woody has also done a few of my least favorite films of all times, like Celebrity. So I didn't get my hopes up. But, I have to say, the entire audience was rolling like the waves of the North Sea all through the show. Not only was this the best Woody Allen I have EVER seen, but maybe even one of the best films I have ever seen. I thought I might piss myself. I guarantee that in your own life you know at least two of the four main characters personally. Or maybe you dated one. Or possibly have one in your family. Lordy. God save you if it's Juan Antonio.

Woody tackles the two extreme polarities of love leaving nothing in between.... Love: passionate, unpredicatble, and destructive...... and Love: stable, sensible and well, vanilla.

Javier Bardem plays the irresistable Spanish artist (he was the serial killer in No Country for Old Men). Co-starring Scarlet Johansen and Penelope Cruz who out sizzled everyone else in the film.

Oddly enough, I think this breaks the bounds of comedy in that none of the actors are even remotely funny. They all play it straight. But the lines, and the moments, and the story are just hysterical.

There are about 10 very quotable and memorable lines in the film. We laughed for hours afterward remembering them. My favorite being:

"But I still don't understand what your language teacher was doing with a gun."

Go see it. Maybe I'll see you there, cause I'll definitely see it again.

Tags: woody allen, laughter, funny, film, comedy, quote, actress, actor, director

I'm really a rocket scientist.....

http://kvz.gaia.com — Fri, 13 Jun 2008 02:43:39 GMT

I learned something new this year......

that people mostly are NOT what they do.

We always ask that question, you know? The conversation goes, Hi, my name is _______, nice to meet you. What do you do?

And God forbid you answer with something other than how you make money. Because no one will take you seriously.

I discovered sometime last year, that practically everyone in the service industry, which means the people you meet every day who bag your groceries, take your order, and wash your car, really do something else they feel far more passionately about.

Only no one cares because they don't make money at it. Tragic!

Today, I pulled up at Sony Pictures where I teach yoga on Thursdays, and they have a new security guard at the gate, who doesn't know me yet.

You gotta understand here, that F., who was the old security guard, and I, had this fabulous rapport, wherein we would tease each other and horse around, to the point he let me park in Judd Apatow's spot when the Man wasn't at work. Um, ya. I felt like such a rockstar. And I love that guard. He always makes me smile, and feel like somebody special.

Anyway, the new security guard, whose name is P., and I have been slow to develop a rapport. Probably because each week I come at the same time and he still doesn't remember me, which drives me nuts, because I have a big fat healthy ego, thank you, and I like to be remembered, especially by NAME.

Anyway, today he writes my hall pass and says, "You know, I'm really a rocket scientist."

To which I reply, "Uh huh, and I'm Henry Kissinger in tight pants."

But he says, "No really. I'm an out of work physicist. Nasa had layoffs. I haven't got my guard card yet. But at least I have a job." Then he gave me his URL.

My eyebrows shot up. Does Sony Pictures know they have a Nasa scientist working their fucking guard station? Christ. The man has an IQ that makes the rest of us look like lab rats. I was pretty impressed.

But then, his story belongs to each of us in some way, doesn't it?

My friend Sasha runs a small print shop in Venice, and he has a PhD from Yale in finance, but due to a lawsuit and one well-written non-compete agreement, he cannot work in his field. But he really wants to open a cafe.

And most of the waiters down on Main St. are really working on their degrees at UCLA.

My stepfather is an author, but sells real estate.

And I got a taste of the medicine a few nights ago when I was introduced around a table at a fine restaurant as a yoga teacher, when I think of myself as a writer, by someone who even knows about my book.

But hey. We live in a country where you are what you do, and what you do is defined by what you earn.

I think this must be a cultural thing.

Because in Greece, I remember the policemen. You see, they are not policemen at all, but men in costumes, who hang out on the street corners much like extras on a movie set, waiting to be called into a shot. They gamble; they smoke; they flirt with the women. But the second a crime happens, then suddenly they are all policemen, and go into action.

But here in America, you are your job. You are not you. And you are not your dreams. And you are not what you do for fun, or in your freetime, or as a side-pursuit. You are only what you are successful at. And what you are successful at is defined by one thing: where you get your paycheck. And then, that isn't necessarily success.

This used to only be true for men. You see, women get out of the deal with beauty. If you are smokin' hot, and sexy, and pretty, you could be a meatpacker, and still be touted and acclaimed. Ah, but if you are a man..... you better have the career thing happening, because it will affect your odds of sexual reproduction.

But now as women, we have both pressures. Be pretty and successful. Be beautiful and be unbeatable. I think it's an interesting time socially.

Personally, I now pay much more attention to a person's dreams --the thing they are really reaching for, than to what they do to pay the bills. I like to ask the people who make my coffee what they REALLY do, and see what kind of answers I get. Because it's fascinating to discover layers of truth.

But, to be fair, I say that being completely hypocritical, because I think I want to live in this world where dreams are as important as reality, but if I met a really super hot janitor, who told me, Ya, I just do this to pay the bills because what I really want is to be a record producer, I'd be like:

Um, don't call me, I'll call you......... ok?

Tags: dreams, career, science, sex, work, life, irony, learn, yoga

My yoga mat, synchronicity, and Alan Watts

http://kvz.gaia.com — Fri, 06 Jun 2008 02:44:57 GMT

My friend, there is something I have found that means more to me than anything else in this world.

Wait, I said that I have found. No, that's not right...... yoga found me.

A producer friend here in LA asked me a few days ago, What has yoga given you? I replied:

Um, like ALL the self esteem I have? Seriously.

Let me tell you a story......

Thirteen years ago, I was managing Malibu Books and Company, Malibu's little independent bookstore. And as always, I was reading as much fiction as I could get my paws on. But I was living a life of escapism.

I hated my body. I hated the fact that my emotions can be so enormous I am often left overwhelmed and feeling helpless. I was out of my body all of the time. Running away.

I was 19, and dating a musician who worked with me, a man whose voice just moved my soul. I wasn't just in love with him, I wanted to BE him, if that makes any sense. I wanted to move people like that. But I was too scared, too shy, to embarrassed. He played guitar. I played another kind of instrument. A dijeridu. I'm quite good, actually.

Cut to my fabulously hot narcissistic actress roommate, begging me for a ride down the hill from Topanga to Venice. Pouring rain. Middle of the night. Who isn't a sucker for a beautiful woman asking you for something? I drove her. Let her out on the corner of Pier and Main. A cassette fell out of my car (yup, remember those?) and this random stranger saw it, I didn't, and he picked it up from the gutter, stopped my car, Hey, Hey, wait a second, you dropped this! Hey lady!

He looked at the tape. Alan Watts. "I LOVE Alan Watts!" he said. I smiled, concurred. Who doesn't love Alan Watts? The rain soaked his hair. He had this great South African accent, I remember. Unusual. Young guy, mid-twenties. Kind sloe eyes.

So the next week I was playing a gig with my lover down at this cafe in Venice that no longer exists, and we are up late, stoned, horsing around. I wake up the next morning. Shit! I forgot my instrument. Not only is it a rare antique, but it was my mother's. I left it at the cafe.

I hop in the car, run back to the cafe. Gone. Nothing. Nada. I am forlorn. I post a sign. I get home, head in hands. Why does love stop us from thinking sometimes? I had never left my instrument anywhere before. But get me around a hot guy and suddenly I have mush for brains. Still, it's an indulgence I adore.

A day passes. Nothing.

Next day. Nothing.

Day three, I get a call! "Hey," says voice, "I found your instrument, and I want to give it back to you." We agree to meet that afternoon. I'm chuffed! (Chuffed is an English word that we don't have an equivalent for in America so I'm adopting it. It's kind of like over-the-moon, only better.)

So I go down to meet this guy, and I come walking up, and there he is with my instrument, and we both cock our heads and look at each other, and at the same time we say, "Alan Watts!"

Yup. That was Julian Walker. He's here on Gaia, actually. Look him up.

So, I sit down, and he notices I am a little disembodied. Yogis pick up that kind of thing in people right quick. So he invites me to take his class. Just come be my guest he says. I don't mind he stared into my soul for a second. It's all cool.

Cut to, me, in my first yoga class, sweating marbles, sliding all over the place, stiffer than some guys I know. I mean, I was humiliated! I was miles form touching my toes. Miles from feeling remotely at ease, and to top it all off there was this giant mirror in front of me so I could stare at my thighs in spandex. No thank you. I had this image of how women are all supposed to be supple and lithe and bendy. I have always had a certain natural grace, maybe that's the southern woman in me, but supple I was not. I felt like I was trying to fold a 2 by 4. Like I said, humiliating.

But there was Julian, soothing, suggesting we stop judging ourselves, just observe, observe the inner voice.

And something real happened for me. I got quiet inside, quiet for maybe the first time since I was a little girl, sitting in a field of grass, and winking at the sun. I got quiet, and a tear leaked out my eye. I got quiet enough to hear the hum of my silly little thoughts. I got quiet enough to stop obsessing. And it was beautiful, and somehow worth all the humiliation in front of twenty other people who could do all that stretchy foldy shit. And I was so afraid they were all judging me. Ha! I get the first prize for that contest.

I hated that first class, but I was back the next week. And the next. Then twice a week. Then three times. Not to get stronger. Not to stick my foot behind my head. I wanted that quiet place inside where I felt safe, and where everything was beautiful, even the pain. I never imagined I would actually get stronger, and supple. But I did. Bonus!

God bless Julian for knowing. For looking into my soul and seeing that I needed a sanctuary. God bless Kaia for staying with something her ego hated. Ah, temperance.......

13 years later, now I am a teacher, but I still study regularly, and so. So.

Yesterday I was on my mat in Vinnie's class, just dying, so tired, hoofing it through the arm balances, and falling on my ass. But even there, this incredible sense of safety. Of not judging myself. Of just pure acceptance. I collapsed in fatigue at one point. I wish I had some great excuse. Dude, the pregnant woman behind me was kicking my ass. And I realized.....

......This is how I want to grow old. Falling on my ass while I'm trying to stick my knee in my armpit balancing with my legs crossed from a headstand. Understand this is really tough to do at any age, much less eight months pregnant! Hello, humility.

On the mat, humanity is in your face. The guy next to me farted. I could see the stretch marks on the back of the woman's rump next to me. Some random guy behind me was spraying sweat as we came up for half moon pose which was a certain kind of intimacy I was not looking for. Puddles of sweat soaked my towel. Now, that's a beautiful thing.

Am I also disgusted? You bet. And I am sitting with that part of myself that is disgusted saying, Ah, here's the edge of my shadow. Here's the place I run away from myself, and from everyone else, because I am just too afraid to let people in.

How fucking real is that?

I'm thinking of you, Dan, right now. You who won't let me back out of a hug. You who look me in the eye when I'm running, when I'm standing right there but I can't make eye contact. I love you. I thank you for teaching me something. Something important. Vulnerability.

You know, I haven't been in a relationship in a long time. LIke, a long time. But there's one thing that I wish for when I do get in one.

I want to be with someone who makes me to stay when I want to run. Someone who is stronger than me, and who, just by being himself, let's me know I can let love in, dammit. I need a firm hand. I know that. I'm too fucking smart. You know how many times I've gotten off the hook? Christ. I could write a memoir.

My relationship is on the mat. Holding up the mirror. Looking at what is uncomfortable in me, around me, and pouring pure acceptance into it. Just trying. Sometimes looking at ourselves is the hardest thing. Listening to ourselves. But I can't talk for you, just me.

I mean, a week ago, I was in this half lotus forward fold tree thing with my hand behind my back holding my foot, and my right knee was like, Um, no, this is not happening. But my brain said, yes it is, we are already in the pose, it's just five breaths. And my knee was like, um, no, this hurts. Bad hurt, not stretching something hurt, tearing something hurt. And my brain was like, just three more breaths. No big deal, just stay. Don't quit.

Dont' quit. That clenched it. My father's words. Don't ever be a quitter.

So I didn't quit, and for a week I haven't been able to climb stairs without this twinge of, Ah, hello there! from my right knee, like, I told you but you wouldn't listen. I told you! Hello?

So simple. Isn't it? It's so bloody simple just to listen to ourselves. Why don't we? I guess, like anything, it's a practice, and you have good days, and days where you fall on your ass. It's ok. Our knees speak. Our hearts speak. And we will spend a lifetime pretending we cant' hear. Oh, the humbling practice of love.

The yoga mat is my sanctuary, my temple, my home, the place I can be naked with myself. I keep one curled in the back of my car always, and it is always with me, right there. It is the safest place I know. I can cry there. I can fail there. I can bleed there. I can be a human being there. And all my imperfections are revealed, and there is beauty, so much beauty, in that. Just to accept. Just to accept it all. Let it be.

I got a new word this year.

Vulnerable.

I want to be more vulnerable. More real. I am exhausted with my own walls.

Exhale, let love out.

Inhale, let love in.

Thank you Julian for giving me something I wasn't looking for that I needed more than life. Thank you Dan for forcing me to stay in a hug for ten seconds longer than I want to, and for letting me know I can trust you, you motherfucker ; )

I got another new word this year.

Trust.

I'm terrified.

Let go.

I want to. I'm not sure if I know how........

Is it safe? To practice love? To fail? To practice love again? I woke up this morning at sunrise with that lyric from Paul Simon in my mind from his record You're the One...... 'Like plants the medicine is everywhere.........Love.'

As Krishna says in the Bhagavad Gita:

When he sees Me in all, and sees all in Me

Then I never leave him, and he never leaves Me,

and he who in this oneness of love, loves in Me whatever he sees,

wherever this soul may live, in truth, he lives in Me.

Om bolo, sat guru, bhagavan ki, JAI!

God is the real teacher.

_________

/ \

/ \ *

/ \ _ _

_ _____

\ !

\ \

! \

_____ _ / SHANTI.

Tags: yoga, Julian Walker, Alan Watts, synchronicity, love, truth, Bhagavad Gita, God, universe, teacher, yoga mat

Jacaranda days with Sidney Poitier

http://kvz.gaia.com — Fri, 30 May 2008 01:43:28 GMT

Do you have any friends that you have met in books?

Since I was a kid, the characters in books have been as real to me as people I know. A book is a private world you can share with everyone. What appeal! You get this little window into the minds of others, and share their foibles, trials, and wins, and it is a treasure, a drug even.

But maybe I just missed my calling as a spy. Lord knows I eavesdrop everywhere. But not in any ill-intentioned way. I just find myself often alone, and sitting beside folks who are talking about their lives in cafes, on benches, and in the hallways. I just listen to the world around me, because I find the world and the people in it very interesting. And I happen to LOVE being alone, so its easy to blend in, and observe.

Writing is a lesson in Solitude 101. You kind of have to be kind of fundamentally ok with yourself to sit alone in a room for 8 hours with a bunch of imaginary people hashing it out. I tend to talk to myself. I'm an only child. We're allowed this luxury. Shhhhh, don't tell anyone.

Anyways, I usually read fiction. The last best novel I read was The Life of Pi. Talk about a window into another world! A young boy on a liferaft surviving in the middle of the Pacific Ocean for 8 months with a full grown bengal tiger. Richard Parker. That was the tiger's name.

When I meet someone who has read the book, we share a long sigh, and a big smile. And someone brings up Richard Parker, and we laugh, and say, can you believe it? Two women who have read the same book is almost like we have both slept with the same man and we know how big his cock is. We share the most intimate secrets about another world. We have shared a secret feeling.

So lately I have gotten into reading biographies. I prefer autobiographies, as hearing a person's own words really lends a lot to the read. I really enjoy understanding the failures of successful people. I'm still a kid in this life in a lot of ways, and I want to learn how to ride the tide that has so often been against me. I've been ill-equipped with too much optimism early on, but I'm learning some balance.

Last month, I discovered Sidney Poitier's "spiritual autobiography" The Measure of a Man, a treasure trove of stories and anecdotes, and struggles, many many struggles. He is a truly great man, one of the few, and I was surprised to read how many of his struggles have been within himself as much as with the outer world.

I live in Los Angeles. And I always carry a book. You never know when you have to wait in line. I've been known to bring a book to the bar. My friends have admonished me for this little habit. But it sure keeps the unwanted men away! The bigger the book the better! Only the worthy men will approach ; )

Anyways, it is May, and all the Jacaranda trees are in bloom. Big lilac colored blossoms exploding on every avenue, wafting across the street like lavender snow. And I just drive around and swoon. Everywhere I go, I take the long way just to oogle the trees. The people behind me go crazy. Why is this girl slowing down? Honk honk. Sorry.

I'll admit it. I'm in love.

In love with beauty. Flowers. Color. When I see a whole tree glowing like a purple candle, full of light and wind and well, my heart flutters and I know there is a God, a Goddess. It is an ecstasy for me. I'm too easy!

I like to picture the Jacaranda in the middle of the forest. They come from South America, but now they are favored all over the world from Zimbabwe to South Africa to the Caribbean. Could you imagine walking through a wet forest, green vines dangling from the trees. Maybe a few sleepy snakes coiled in the branches. Sunlight dappling the grass beneath you, and then you come to a meadow, and there, a tall Jacaranda tree, a giraffe nibbling the lavender blossoms.

I like the giraffe image. I'm not sure if a giraffe has ever seen a Jacaranda tree. Well, maybe one. His name is Fergusson, and he would like to find his place in the world. It's a children's story I am working on for someone.

Anyway, I was between classes yesterday, and I wandered over to a cafe with my new Sidney Poitier book, Letters to my Great-Granddaughter. I think I qualify to sit at his feet like a child. Why not? And so I sat a long while beneath the purple trees, feeling the cool breeze on my skin, and eavesdropping on one of the greatest actors that has ever lived via the written word.

The following passage really spoke to me. He was talking about mastering his difficult gambling compulsion (among others), and how he finally beat it, and went on to add:

"Nor is my life (now) altogether void of compulsions. Here is a list of those that remain: a compulsion to read more, and better understand the world around me; to keep an eye on the dualities inside me and try to center myself at the point of balance between as many pairs of opposites as I might; to experience all that I can. And most of all, to learn all that there is to learn that might make of me a better person --with better insights and a deeper understanding of myself and my fellow human beings."

In the Tantra tradition, there is a philosophy that easier than erasing your compulsions is to put them in service of some higher good. I have another friend who was a serious coke addict, and rather than beat the drug, he turned his compulsion toward purchasing and collecting art books. He has a marvelous collection, and never felt the need to return to the drug.

For myself, I tend to obsess. On anything, on whatever. If my brain gets hold of something, it is like a dog with a bone that just won't let go. That's why I write stories. Free reign. My mind can just run wild, obsess to the ends of the earth, and it is fodder for creativity. The brain is primarily a puzzle solving tool. If you have an active puzzle solving tool, and no puzzle, the brain will concoct a puzzle to solve. Yikes. Best keep it invested in fiction lest it ruin your relationships, I have found. In service of the higher good!

Go pick up Poitier's book. You will be inspired by a truly great man. And if you happen to live anywhere near a blossoming Jacaranda tree, I highly recommend sitting beneath it, book in hand, and allowing the blossoms to fall upon your lap, and the pages, caressing your cheeks as they tumble like divine tears, reminding you of all that is beautiful and good in the world.

Tags: Sidney Poitier, tantra, compulsion, philosophy, jacaranda, tree, Los Angeles, Life of Pi, fiction, writing, friends

Guardians at the Gate

http://kvz.gaia.com — Tue, 27 May 2008 23:01:44 GMT

I am bleeding today, and this is my crutch. This blank page. This open door cracked before me leading to the Other place I have long leaned on. Since I was a child.

The Tibetans have a philosophy in the tantra tradition that I now subscribe to whole heartedly, because I have lived it. And I do not think you can know anything unless you have lived it, and it has breathed you.

It is written that each door of consciousness, or true achievement in this life is guarded by some pretty serious demons. This is why you always see the pictures of the Tibetan enlightened masters seated upon a lotus flower that is then in turn perched on the head of a demon. An AWAKE demon, mind you, and hungry. And all the while the master sits in samadhi -enlightenment.

So an aspirant, someone like you or me, comes to a door of what we want, and we are lured there by the honey. And the honey is the promise of happiness, or of love, or recognition. The ego is lured by what it thinks it will get. But of course, it is being led into its own annihilation. Because annihilation of the ego is the only way to true happiness or freedom of any kind.

But it looks like, Oh, great, I will get this boon. Boon ,being mythical language for gift, or reward. So we charge the gate. Woohoo!

Not everyone does, mind you. It takes a spirit that is willing to reach, to s t r e t c h itself in the direction of the goal. Most people are too afraid. Or worse, so overcome with ambition that they cannot even see the true gift when it is right in front of them.

So the seeker reaches the door, and finds it locked. Ever encountered anything in this universe worth having that came easily? How much would it be appreciated if it was just given. This is the whole point of The Wizard of Oz. Dorothy needed the whole journey to appreciate the ruby slippers in the end.

Well, once the door is reached, the tests begin.

This is confusing for the ego. The ego self is like, hey, wait a minute, I had honey right here before me, and now I am dealing with heaps of bullshit! And so there is an opportunity to fall back, to decline the reaching for the new state of consciousness, to decline the boon.

And the tests, I have noticed, are of many kinds:

Faith

Will

Patience

Humility

Purity of Purpose

Strength of Character

There are others, of course, but these figure prominently. For me, I get tested in the top 3 more than anything.

So last week, I stood at the door, smelling the honey. It was in the air. There was a light breeze, and so many spring blossoms, and certain connections with certain people in such a positive light that could not be ignored.

So I raised my sword. Because where there is promise of honey, there are demons. I prepared to be tested. Perhaps this is the first time I have gone in awake!

They come in threes.

Why is that?

But they do!

The letter from my old girlfriend came yesterday morning. I spent all day trembling with so much emotion I could barely sort it. Thank God for yoga, for running, and for tall trees that are strong enough to hold a human body.

Then came the letter from my agent. His thoughts. I cannot assume anything.

Then came my mother's phonecall, just now, that someone in the family has cancer. They will operate. They think they will have success, and we are a strong force of healers, especially the women. We are close to the Goddess.

I have drawn the blinds and rented movies at this point. It's very intentional. When my emotions become more than I can manage, I need to feel something from another source that can disrupt my field. Then my intuition will be more clear. Music can shift the small stuff. I can sing most anything --rage or grief or sadness, into its next incarnation. But this one, this one needs more than that. Breath and more still.

And dancing!

So this is my test of will. To not just crumble the way I have been known to in the past. To stay awake and strong.

And a test of faith, to believe in myself, and my book, and the path before us, regardless of the current circumstances. Things have been worse.

And a test of character. Will I choose to succumb to what someone else thinks of me, or am I going to set my foot down and stand by who I know myself to be in my heart.

Someone told me once you only incarnate as a scorpio if your major life lessons have to do with handling your own emotions, and the emotions of others. We get overwhelmed. We need tools to navigate with.

I have collected many such tools, but the real test is to use them. To put into practice what I already know.

Writing this blog entry is my meditation right now. This is how I am sorting my thoughts about what is happening so that I don't go sailing off the cliff into the great blue oblivion of emotional overwhelm.

Some part of me is in the place words cannot reach. She is floating in mythical waters, trying not to drown. In moments like these, I think how wonderful it might be to have a partner. Someone to trust with the truth. The truth of feeling. Not even so many words. Being held just solves so much, doesn't it? Thank God for my friends. They have gotten me through so much. I love you Feathermu!

I must remember, this is just passing through. It will fade. Everything does.

And once this level of self mastery is reached. If I can even reach it. The door will open, and there will be a rush of blue light. There will be an angel standing there, wings outstretched, furious with love, on fire with the truth of God, and whispering always, trust, trust, trust......

Tags: angel, Tibet, Tibetan, gate, door, consciousness, test, cancer, meditation, book, enlightenment

My mother's garden is a sanctuary

http://kvz.gaia.com — Mon, 26 May 2008 17:14:08 GMT

I think of my mother between the delphinium and the roses.

There is a hummingbird over her shoulder, and she is smiling.

When I come here, I sleep so well. The birds sing for the love of song, and I sigh to wake at the sound of a fountain trickling in the court yard.

Her garden is always blooming, year round. That is my mother. Her heart is always blooming year round. She is a nurturing force. She is the spirit of all that is good in the world.

I too, love to garden, but where her garden is an expression, mine is a teacher. I remember well my early attempts. The lambs ears wilting in the sun. The jasmine that never seemed to pick up her vines, like a southern woman too hot to be bothered to do anything except sit on the porch and complain. And there was the gophers who that wet winter ate the roots of my roses so that I came home to see them tilting like the masts of so many sinking ships, and I fell on the driveway and cried.

But each attempt taught me something new. And then color came, and the wysteria climbed the stairs whispering such poetry as only the moon can understand in the midnight breeze.

Why so many attempts at color, and so many failures?

The garden has also been my life.

So many attempts, at love, and relationship, and at success in work, and then stacking the failures like wood beside the house.

I do not have a garden right now. ME! Of all people. And how I love the flowers. But the disappointments.... I have known more disappointment than any ten people I know. I hope well. I always hope well. But to see the blooms fade again, is more than I really want right now. So I am content with iceplant, and a nameless hedge, and many, many happy squirrels that come for the peanuts.

But I still dream of a garden.....

I cannot put roots down where I am now. I just intuit that I won't be there long enough.

Would you like to know the biggest discovery?

It is that I grow trees. That in my garden, what I grow best are the tallest plants of all, and the sturdiest, and the ones that take the longest to bloom. Trees, and wildflowers. The wildflowers come by invitation, like guests, and they surprise, and then they go, and they leave smiles where there was only earth.

One day.....

Dare I dream?

I will have another garden.

And I will plant fruit trees. Fig, apple, peach, and apricot. Orange.

And there will be roses, and I will be kneeling beside them in devotion, clipping leaves and crooning to them, so tempermental they are, and so beautiful, and so difficult and worth it.

ANd there will be salvia for he hummingbirds to dip their beaks, and belladonna to perfume the night air, and jasmine, yes, but in a place she loves.

For we must all find our place in the garden.

The Chinese lanterns cannot abide the sun. The hibiscus needs space. The hollyhocks are so easily content, don't I wish I could be just like them sometimes!

I too, am finding my place in the garden. The Gardener, for that is how I sometimes think of God, has moved me again. I was wilting this winter, too exposed, and too wet with sadness. But in spring, the winds came, Etesian and Kahmsin, and they lofted me up and said, we shall take you to an island.....

And I feel now that there is some new beginning before me.

I cannot see it. Like those moments before waking when the dream still has you, but the room is just beyond your eyelids.

I will spend the day with my family in my mother's garden. My grandmother and grandfather, so happy. I am so grateful they are here. How many summers of my childhood could I not wait to see them and go running through the deep woods to the cemetary, and pick up every toad I could find to touch his cobbled skin, and see the eyes that wink from other centuries back.

Then every flower was taller than I was, and the trees were unthinkably grand and faraway. But they too, bent over me when I imagined I was alone.......

You will see.

The time for blossoms is still coming.

Do not lose faith in the greatness you were sent here to be.

For today, there is sanctuary in the mother's garden. Mine, and the Divine. She showers us with so much love, if we reach, if we are still willing to reach beyond our wounds, just to reach for her...........

Tags: mother, garden, life, light, family, blossoms, bloom, rose

How flipping sexy is Anderson Cooper?

http://kvz.gaia.com — Fri, 23 May 2008 00:09:25 GMT

I just have to say that.

I mean, honestly it's a tie between him and Bill Maher.

I LOVE these men!

It kills me I have had to let go of HBO for a little while.... I mean, thank the goddess there are some people out there speaking some sense. I miss Bill, though. I'm hanging with the Cooper and John Stewart, because THEIR shows are FREE, dammit.

When I lived in the cabin in the woods in Santa Cruz, I let go of TV for about six years, and then someone (my father, actually) gave me one. I was like, oh no, not the evil brain washing device! I had this very purist attitude about my commitment to my spiritual practices at the time, so of course, everything pissed me off. (That's a joke).

One day, I broke down, and took it out of the garage, plugged the thing in and caught an episode of Who's Line is it Anyway? Which is basically, the funniest show out there in my opinion. Of course, because it was created by the British and imported. Lord, if it weren't for the Jews there wouldn't be any funny in America!

Anyway, I laughed till I fell over, and became a regular viewer. Meditate, cook a gorgeous meal, and sit down to laugh till you piss.

OK, OK, so the lesson always comes back to temperance, right?

I dunno, but these extremes I am drawn to always sink my ship. Whether it's the extreme health fad, which for me was raw food for a year a couple years ago, fasting, or excessive meditation to the point where I became a total socio-phobe for awhile in my 20s. Dude! It's not healthy.

My teacher Kali Ma says it's a lot harder to eat moderately than to do a big fast and clean out and start over. True! I tend to do the extremes.

Same with the dark side. The indulgences of obsessions, certain people, sexuality, drugs whatever. Strip clubs, I guess. Ya. Someone in me just sighed. Easy to get over the edge on that side too, isn't it?

So..... temperance. It is a fancy word for balance. An ALCHEMICAL word really. The dictionary definition can't touch the real depth of this word, this concept. I think it means that you subject one side of your extreme personality to the other side, and in bringing them together, each side is both honored, balanced, and even exalted. Made more pure, more full of life. It's tantra. It's BOTH/AND. Not either or.

Where was i?

Sorry, I think I got distracted there back at stripclub. I've been on a total yoga kick lately. I'm really into feeling strong and ecstatic. I mean, right now when I run or get on the mat, my energy systems are so clean, this warm honey molten ecstasy flows through my whole system, and I feel like I'm on drugs! It's amazing, vivifying. I love being upsidedown in these new arm balances I said I'd never be able to do. Thanks to Vinnie Marino, Hare Om, baby!!! But I miss the clubs. I miss stripping. Did I just say that? Not that I ever did it professionally, because I haven't, just for partners. Oh, except for NewYears this year. I totally forgot! That was for about 300 people, and I made some good cash. That doesn't make me a professional does it? I mean, I went on after the lumberjack for chrissakes. One show is one show, and it was for friends in Sausilito. But there's this POWER in taking your clothes off for women that is just outrageous. You feel like a goddess. And people just look at you like, stunned, like there is no other moment.

That's the best feeling there is! So touched that there is no other moment but the one you are in. That's the Divine Slut! The sexy diva peach of beauty and love and magic.

Anderson Cooper. Right.

Fuck me, it's spring. My brain is full of flower juice. I'm dangerous, people. I'm a hazard. I can't focus.

This blog was going to be about Anderson Cooper.

How flipping sexy is Anderson Cooper?

I was just going to say that he's cool, but let's face it. He's totally sexy. Cat out of bag.

He gives us the news, with heart, with total masculinity, and depth. I feel in good company when I click on his show. I like the doorway he gives us to the world, and I trust his storytelling. And um, he's HOT people!

Speaking of which, he's on in an hour, and I want to get in the hot tub, and then I have to get some work done. Seriously, people.

My friend Neil says a perfect day involves some work, some social time, and some exercise.

I agree.

Add Anderson Cooper, dancing, and sex, and I'm with ya Neil!!

Geeze. I'm a little silly today, n'est pas?

Spring is in the air.......and I feel like faffing......

Visit my friend Diane at www.SacredStriptease.com

She's the diva who got me on stage. And her work is the bomb.

Because stripping is sacred.

Right, Anderson?

Xx.

Tags: Anderson Cooper, striptease, sex, meditation, Bill Maher, TV

My life on TV? Are you kidding me?

http://kvz.gaia.com — Tue, 06 May 2008 16:35:08 GMT

Once when I was hanging out with Garry Shandling he remarked, "My mother is lost and confused and thinks her whole life would be better if she could just be on TV..... no wait. That's me."

So I have been job hunting now for like 3 months, trying to resurrect my yoga career after spending most of last year pursuing a retreating horizon. (I know that's obscure, but the digression would take too long to explain). And it's working. I'm gradually adding more classes all the time, especially for pregnant mommies here on the westside of Los Angeles.

So n the meantime, I am on Craigslist hunting for work, and I come across this ad saying, do you have any funny stories about your dating life? We might pay you for them and put you on TV. Now, I could care less about TV, but it sounded like a long awaited reward to get paid for my ridiculous dating life, and all the stupid crap I have endured, so why not go for the comedic value? I wrote in to the casting company, and they called me in.

So sure enough, they hire me on for one episode.

Now, understand that 21 minutes of television, which is a half hour show minus the commercials, is about 4 days of shooting.

So the first day, the whole crew shows up at my little townhouse here on the water and takes over. I had warned my neighbors they would be here, but as it turns out, I really needed to tell my neighbors to be quiet for the 15 some odd people that would be spread like statuary throughout my home, each monitoring their little devices, be that visual or audio. Because although 15 people sounds like a lot, and they did take up all the space in my whole house, they are professionals a being quiet to get the shots they need.

It was really fun! I've never been in front of TV cameras before, and they are really, really large, weighing in at about 40 pounds each. And each camera comes with a big strapping man to carry in around gracefully throughout the day. Ade was the main DOP I got to know. He was actually also close friends with my best friend Heather who was on the show with me so it was a reunion for them, which was so cool.

LA is a small town. If you live here for a little while, you discover everyone knows everyone. And you run into folks everywhere. It's crazy. 6 million some odd people and you would think there was really only about 200, plus about a million extras who don't really have a part in your movie, and don't even really exist except to make the restaurant you are having lunch in look crowded.

So I'm in bed today, in bed and working on the computer, and playing with my cats, feeding the new baby squirrels, and resting my tired bones.

So while I may not be lost and confused, I highly recommend the experience of being the star of your own life, whether or not it ever ends up on TV. Because in a way, the whole world IS watching you, and celebrating, and giving each of us the chance to grow and open and make new discoveries, before we wink back into stardust.

This is where we begin.

Tags: Kaia Van Zandt, Kaia, television, squirrel, Garry Shandling, reality, TV, star, sex, love, writing

Be the Rose of Love

http://kvz.gaia.com — Sat, 05 Jan 2008 21:57:03 GMT

How is a woman like a rose?

Does the rose know love the way a woman knows love?

And how can you know even greater love than you imagined possible, everywhere in your life?

I’d like to tell you about the biggest mistake I’ve made in love throughout my life.

I’m not proud of it, but I am proud that I’ve discovered it, and spent the last two years really excavating it.

The mistake?

I’ll get to it a little further down.

There’s a quote from the stage play The King and I, where Yul Brenner declares in that ineffable accent, “My dear, the blossom should not go from bee, to bee, to bee.”

He is giving us a valuable instruction in love.

As women, when we don’t feel loved, we struggle with the deepest pain imaginable.

We need to feel loved the way we need the air we breathe. To FEEL loved. Not just to tell ourselves, Well, I know he loves me. It might be your father, your lover, your son, your daughter. It is never enough to just tell yourself, well, I know that love is there underneath it all.

No.

We need to feel that love.

And what do we do when we don’t get it?

We strategize, of course. We strategize ways of getting that love.

First, we might become extra loving toward that person we want the love from. We show them how it’s done.

Then, when that doesn’t work, we withdraw and withhold our love. We decide we won’t give love until it’s given to us first.

And if that doesn’t work, we start the Big Talks.

Usually, by the time we get to those Big Talks, we are so ragged and torn up inside, and angry, and hurt, that instead of actually talking, we just vent our emotions.

And love evades us still.

So we AMPLIFY our emotions as though they weren’t loud enough to begin with. As though we are talking to a deaf person. And then we tell them exactly how we want them to respond to us, as if we handed them a script and said, read here.

I’ve done it. Does it sound familiar to you?

Do we really think that anger and making demands will get us the love we want?

The people (often men) we are talking to usually respond by withdrawing even further, and not meeting our deep need for love. And inside, we don’t feel beautiful anymore.

That’s the biggest pain to bear in the midst of not feeling loved. That the strategies we use to get love make us feel less than beautiful. We might end up feeling ugly, frustrated, and even more hurt.

In my life, I saw the cycle happen over and over. How I pushed love away. And a few years ago, I sat in meditation with a red rose in a workshop for an entire day. An entire day of looking at a flower? Yes. By the end of the day, I was weeping. I knew what I had done wrong.

A woman is a rose.

You are a rose.

We are the blossom of love. Our petals are the unfolding of God’s love in the world. Through our hearts, love shines, and the perfume of love invites others to come near and behold our beauty.

Wouldn’t you like everyone to see how beautiful you are?

The blossom should not go from bee, to bee, to bee.

Can you imagine a rose, indignant, frustrated, screaming at someone to get the love it wants? Can you see that beautiful flower bribing another person with gifts and affection and kind words to get its needs met? Can you see that rose demanding love?

The rose IS love.

You ARE the love.

For years, I was the pursuer in all my relationships. I was not the blossom, but the bee. I thought if I could do more, be more, and give more, I would get the love I wanted. I left no room for anyone to love me.

Giving can be the perfect defense against receiving.

And the people in your life can FEEL when you are giving from a needy place, and they are not inspired to give in return. The whole thing backfires. Ouch.

So how do you get the love you want?

By being the love you want to receive.

Does the rose become attached to its perfume? Or is the rose perfectly generous with its perfume to everyone all the time?

The rose sits deeply in herself, and offers her love from her authentic giving place.

The rose does not make demands.

The rose does not lose her temper.

The rose does not argue to get what she wants.

The rose does not blame.

The rose does not push.

The rose does not convince anyone of anything.

But doesn’t she?

Is she not the most convincing of flowers?

When you walk by a beautiful rose, are you not immediately convinced of her beauty? So much so, that you cannot resist her? Does she not allure you with her perfume? Does she not call you to be swooned by her luscious petals, her depth of color?

How could you not love the rose?

If you, as a woman, practice being the rose, you will find that everyone loves you. That perfect strangers give up their place in line for you. That your dentist calls you personally the day after your visit to make sure you are well. That people all over your life write you letters to tell you how much your presence means to them.

I just described to you my week last week.

But am I special? Different? Extra beautiful?

No, I am just like you. Your presence is enough.

Your presence. The presence of love in you.

That’s the secret of the rose.

Her PRESENCE of love is enough.

What if you never had to reach for love again?

What if you never had to grab, to push, to convince, to control?

What if the man in your life, your children, and your boss just bent over backwards to make your life more wonderful?

I don’t know, Kaia. That sounds like a lot of WORK.

But how effortless is the rose?

Does she wake up in the morning and say, “Oh God, I have to blossom today. You know how much energy this takes? I’m exhausted just thinking about it.”

No way!

The rose unfolds in the glory of love. And her love is effortless. Her perfume is effortless. Her attraction is effortless.

For that is her secret.

The rose attracts.

That is your new secret.

You can attract all the love you want, and more, effortlessly.

Just be the love you want to receive.

Offer your smile to everyone. Wish the bored security guard a beautiful day. Compliment the exhausted soul bagging your groceries. Wave at the children in the crosswalk.

And you know what? You can still have all your feelings and be that presence of love.

If someone treats you badly, you can let them know in a loving way. And if you need to, you can lovingly draw a boundary with someone who has hurt you. And you can honor your dignity that way, and invite others to honor you.

In fact, through your love, you can show everyone in your life, that the only way to treat you is to esteem and honor you.

Dignity (n) 1. The quality or condition of being esteemed and honored.

The rose is a flower of great dignity and poise and self-respect. And so are you.

Own your dignity.

I’ll say it again:

Own your dignity.

Our greatest fear is that we are not loved, not lovable.

Would you withhold your love and cause someone else to feel that pain?

Yet we do it all the time. We punish.

It’s just because we ourselves are suffering.

But you can love through the suffering. You can know that God/Goddess/Universe is the source of all your loving.

Is the rose the author of her perfume?

Is she afraid she will run out?

The perfume is born through her in the nature of her being.

Your love is born through you in the nature of your being.

The love of the ENTIRE UNIVERSE is within your heart, right now, beating. And it is available to you.

And if someone isn’t attracted to your perfume, thank them. They were not meant to be the person to love you. If someone makes a mockery of your perfume, thank them, and let your perfume attract someone else who truly appreciates you.

You will be tested many, many times.

You might even be tested this week.

To withhold. To withhold your love.

In those moments, I encourage you to take deep breaths into your heart, and picture the rose there. Maybe yours is pink, or red, or amber. Close your eyes a second and see it. What color is your rose?

Breathe deep breaths into the rose in your heart, and know that her love, your love, is effortless and available no matter how hard the circumstance is before you.

Remember, there are no strangers here.

Everyone is your opportunity to practice being the rose this week, ok?

Because you deserve to feel loved every minute of your life.

Beauty be with you.

Kaia

Tags: beauty, love, rose, romance, soulmate, lover, breathe, God, Goddess, Universe, blossom

Beautiful Birthday Picnic

http://kvz.gaia.com — Sun, 04 Nov 2007 23:40:09 GMT

I'm basking in the radiant glow of San Diego light hanging out with my family on a lovely November day, thinking about the way we each relate to the day of our birth. Sometimes so differently.

Why do women hate their birthdays?

I know not all women feel this way, but so many just cringe at the thought.

Are we so caught up in the modern thought of aging as an alienating experience that we just reject a chance to celebrate?

The Dalai Lama was asked what he felt would help resolve the issues in the Middle East. "More picnics," he said, "More celebrations."

Happiness is celebrations, and in America, we have so few. In Tibet, there is a holiday almost once a week! There are hundreds of celebrations a year. And of course, peace follows naturally.

What if the keys to aging gracefully were similar?

Here is one of my favorite quotes there is from Katherine Hepburn where, when she was asked how she has dealt with her aging, she replied, "I look in the mirror far less often, and simply stand further away." Aging is meant to quell our vanity, our egos, dissolving it into a sense of selfless love for others, the community, the planet.

A birthday is truly an opportunity to celebrate, to be grateful for life, to draw friends and family near and open our hearts to the beauty of a day where we are fed, alive, in peace, and surrounded by beauty.

Ideally, we live in an inner climate of love. If you bodymind is like a country, would you rather be Tibet or the USA? The US is constantly at war, creating an inner climate of fear, hostility, and insecurity. Tibet uses the opportunity to simply have more picnics, more celebrations, more joy.

So, as I write you today, on my birthday, I make my birthday wish, and it is for you.... more picnics! More time for you to live in love, move in grace, and feel with an open heart the beauty of your birth.

Your beauty presciption for today:

Have a pinic in your livingroom, complete with candles and lovely wineglasses. Sit on the floor with a loved one and play this game: What I love about you is. Each person goes back and forth sharing until you feel complete.

Tags: beauty, women, woman, picnic, Dalai Lama, birthday, wish, aging, grace, bodies, body

The Alien Invasion of America

http://kvz.gaia.com — Sat, 16 Jun 2007 17:05:33 GMT

Is it me, or has anyone else noticed the subtle infiltration of an alien intelligence seeping into our society? They are deceptively clever, and even somewhat, in certain light, cute. Not only have they infiltrated the wealthy, the famous, the beautiful, and the powerful amongst us, they have taken us for imbiciles as we cater to their every whims, spending exorbadent amounts of money to accomodate their growing numbers in the style to which they have become accustomed. Their plan? World dominance and no less. You might recognize them. They are everywhere, and unless something is done, these alien lifeforms will activate their evil plans and see the demise of human kind. They are clever, so clever as to shrink their own bodies to miniature size and grow two extra limbs. But you can see the truth of their origins in their eyes. Yes, I am telling you, chiguaguas are taking over the world! Overnight, ten thousand shops have sprouted up catering to their decadent desires for gold and diamonds and soft beds to sleep on and little travel carrying cases and insane dietary expectations of champagne and caviar. And what is worse, we unnassuming humans are breeding them rapidly increasing their numbers AND their power. End the world dominance now. Post signs. Tell your friends. The chiguagua-ization of America must end! Who knows how far they will go. Clearly they have already mind-melded and sucked the intelligence out of the human beings who bought them. Does anyone know what Paris Hilton was like BEFORE she got her dog? Or Aidan Brody, or any of the numerous other victims of the alien invasion. You must be careful. Guard yourself carefully against their fearsome ingenuity. Warn your family. You must not be sucked into their schemes! Best of luck to you, fellow humans. Remember, the future is in your hands.

Tags: funny, humor, satire, dog, silly, alien, invasion

Literary Rant

http://kvz.gaia.com — Tue, 15 May 2007 04:59:12 GMT

Have you noticed that bitterness is in vogue, a la mode, of the hour of late, devouring our literature like rampant termites given to fell whole tabernacles to the spirit of sweetness from even the most stalwart of foundations. When we could celebrate life, we create whole festivals of painlosspain more pain. (No, not bread in French) Every novel I pick up is laced with this cyanide offering to the awaiting psyche that says, Yes, yes the bitterness is all there is and all hail the bitter end. The loss, the injustice, the tyrants who run free to die the perfect deaths like the Godfather in the garden with his one ripe tomato watching his grand-son play. I am of the opinion that art is to give us what life does not. But where can I find it in these modern anals of literature? The Booker Prize this year went to a novel that sums it all up with a title: The Inheritance of Loss. Of Loss, loss and hatred, hatred and suffering, suffering and poverty in a world where love cannot prevail and an even bitter-sweet ending is discarded in favor of the bitterest ending that can be dredged up. I have a Renaissance heart. I either come from a time so long ago that it is lost, or a time not yet upon us. How could I know? In the meantime, I have nothing to read. Shall I go back to the children's section? For clearly adults favor this monument to pain while we tell our children the fairytales that Disney has re-created to be virtually pain-free, better than Tylenol, Prozac, and Valium combined. Brautigan pulled light out of the sky and it flowed through his pen as he died. Rothko bound the feathers he could scrap together from the wings of fallen angels and created luminous loveletters of color to the gods, and died. But Da Vinci, ah, how did he die? And Michaelangelo? With a life so full of light the death hardly matters. The tide will change. The bitterness must end. Doesn't light always triumph? May we not forget, and hoist our candles until the day comes.

Tags: art, literature, novel, brautigan, da vinci, literary, love, loss, writing, writer, life

The Return of the Sacred Feminine

http://kvz.gaia.com — Sun, 25 Mar 2007 21:09:10 GMT

Driving around Los Angeles all week with my sister became a spectacular investigation into the disappearance of beauty. In our modern times, we have modern values. Straight lines, serious rectangles, hip and contemporary color schemes, and the slick new machinations of the modern mind responsible for such things. But so sadly, there seems to be a comprimise at the level of beauty.

Have we forgotten how to celebrate beauty? I don't know about you, but I sense another Renaissance, a renaissance of beauty, of forgotten values, and of attention to the untended gardens of family and relationship.

These are the values of the Sacred Feminine. Not a far-off God watching over the world, but an ever-present Mother, tending our souls, healing our scratches, attuning us to the vibrations of love and beauty. For is there no surer sign than the presence of the Divine than the beautiful?

To esteem and adore Nature, both around us an in ourselves, resussitates the soul-starved world in an immediate way. To make beautiful buildings and works of art is returning to the attention of even the most modern of individuals. Why bother with something unless it elevates us, lifts us, and takes out out of ourselves and unifies us with something greater? This was the original intention of the European architects who built the great cathedrals. It is a value returning to us now.

In the spring of the return of the Divine Mother, we are feeling her arms of compasion reacing through us to the rest of the world... to the suffering people, to the suffering plants and animals, and to the suffering Earth herself. As she awakens in each of us, we awaken to our purpose as living to love, living to create beauty, living to heal and restore life, for life always responds when given the proper circumstances to rebound.

I really believe with my whole heart that we can heal the world. We can heal the children, the lost tribes, the dying forests, and the displaced marine mammals. We can live in harmony easily once that becomes our soul intention.

It is up to each one of us. If we touch our own hearts, and live in a way that we are touched by the world, we will efforlessly create the love, the beauty, and the abundance we long for. The mother is generous. If we align our intentions to renewal, She will accompany us back into the garden.

For this is the time of return. Return of the Mother's love. Return to the garden. Return to Even and Adam their own lost innocence. Return of inspiration, integrity, true justice, beauty, and inherent wisdom that abides in all creatures.

Picture the world you long to live in, and then walk into your vision. Practice, practice, practice love. Reach your arms out to whomever needs your love and attention. We have only today, and it is in Her love, Her bounty, that we take each breath.

Tags: Goddess, love, Sacred Feminine, life, beauty, garden, spring, Divine, God, heal, healing

Do you believe in soulmates?

http://kvz.gaia.com — Fri, 26 Jan 2007 02:56:40 GMT

soulmates?

Two people in love...
There's something undeniable about the chemistry, the way they are affected by one another. It's the most longed for human experience. It's the most envied, the most criticized. And the most questioned.

Are they soulmates, or just souls who mate?

Today you can buy your soulmate kit to find your soulmate at your local bookstore. There are books on soulmates, classes you can take, teachers to can subscribe to, websites to visit. But are soulmates becoming a new age marketing campaign? Can you be complete in this life without one? Are they the Louis Vuitton luggage of new age acheivement?

I've swung back and forth like a pendulum on this whole issue. Sometimes I want to puke. Sometimes I want to believe. I'm in an unusual circumstance, though, which is that my mother and stepfather are truly soulmates, and they have written books on love, like: The Love You Deserve. They host a regular show on Sirius satellite called Love Talk, and they teach people how to find their soulmate.

It's all a bit like elbow tag to me. Oh, come on. You remember elbow tag. Everyone pairs off. They stand, linked at the elbow. One person is free, being chased by another free person. The chaser chases the chasee around the whole field until either
A. They tag the person and the two switch places and now the chaser is the chasee,
or
B. The chasee hooks elbows with someone who is already hooked. (Think Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie). Wherein, if you hook elbows with someone already hooked, the person they were hooked to is now (obviously) the freebird, the one being chased, the one alone in the world, unhooked. And it perpetuates itself.
So will you be soulmates throughout the game, or just temporary partners... how can you tell?

It's kind of a lot of pressure, isn't it? You meet someone and think, is this it? Is this "The One"? And where in the midst of all that asking is there room for real relating?
When you ask my mother and my stepfather about how they felt when they met, my stepfather will say, "I knew immediately she was the one."

That's what Vanessa Paradis says about Johnny Depp in the video, and he says the same about her in other interviews. But they never use the word "Soulmate", only lover or best friend. Kinda lowers the pressure gauge for the rest of us. Thanks, guys.
Yet, when I go out with a man, and I swoon a little and think maybe he could be the one for me, (none of them have been yet... I've only proven to myself how well I can hallucinate.) my mother always says with a stern voice "Go slowly, please." It's the same voice she used to use when I was little and I was supposed to finish a chore, "Fold your clothes, please." Yes, her husband knew with one glance she was the one, and they teach seminars on the whole subject. But me? I'm the black sheep of soulmates.

You can't blame her. She's actually going easy on me. My dating history reads like something off David Letterman's guestlist on a slow night. I've dated one aspiring egyptologist, one failed rockstar, one magician, one drug dealer, one boy still living at home at the age of 30, one fitness junkie, and one narcissistic rich and successful stand-up comedian (who doesn't really count because no one got laid), oh and the stalker, that was fun, how could I forget him? 90% of my relationships have happened only in my mind, and the 10% that happened in reality involved police, a miscarriage, other women, unwanted STDs (like there's any other kind), an abrupt loss of income (mine), and a missing iguana (his).

If I was my mother I would have a heart attack every time my daughter said the words, "I've got a date."

And yet, I have dreams of love. Don't we all? And not just love, but actual real relating. Heck, I'd settle for a fight or two if it meant my bed was warm. But the whole soulmate thing?
How can you meet somone and size that up?

My father would know. He's 81 years old, and he just met the love of his life. She's 60. It's less of an age split than his last girlfriend, actually (who was 40, and looked like Will Smith's wife). But now, he giggles in bed with his love and they nibble off of each other's plates and he smiles when he talks about her. I don't think my father has ever been in love like this before. And he's 81. Soulmates? I think so. Absolutely. It's really sweet. His fifth wedding will come before my first. Way to go, Daddio.

So, I've realized that I can easily say it for other people, but for myself it's like saying I expect to find a pink polar bear in my thermos. Kia and Tommy? --Soulmates. Mom and Scott? -soulmates. Diane and Jack? --Soulmates. Vanessa and Johnny? --soulmates. Heck, I even say it about Angelina and Brad. But me?

I'm the girl who's cried "soulmate". Every guy I fall in love with I manage to think is my soulmate for at least a month or two. Then reality sets in, and I'm getting a restraining order against him. OK, not all that bad. But for chrissakes, I meditate every day, practice yoga, read all the new age relationship books, worship at Agape, say my mantra, watch the Secret 9 million times so...

We're a culture gone totally insane. We have soulmate-itis. You tell me.

What do you feel when you see a couple in love, holding hands? Are you nauseous, or do you smile to yourself? Do you look away, or do you keep looking? Do you think, "soulmates", or do you think, "she's probably fucking his brother up the ass with a twelve inch dildo... bitch."?

When it comes to soulmates, where do we draw the line? People used to just fall in love. They got married. They had kids. But now with the whole soulmate pressure, who has the courage to fall in love with your spiritual destiny on the line?

As for me, I'm on the fence. Soulmates, God bless 'em, may the whole frigging world fall in love, you know? Isn't that what we all want? Would it make us happy?

I posted the video of Vanessa, because I actually found it really moving. They have been together 6 years, have 2 gorgeous children, and speak about each other with deep, deep love in their eyes.

"How do you know when he's the one?" the interviewer asks.
"He's your best friend, and your lover." She says.

Hmmm... no soulmate clause there. Maybe she needs to do more downward facing dog, or up her wheatgrass intake, or say more "Namyho ho Rengekyo".

OK, seriously, I have a girlfriend who chanted "Namyho ho Rengekyo" every day for 6 months to meet her soulmate, and sure enough... Poof! The soul mate genii granted her wish and he appeared. And after dating for a year, they just announced their engagement. If anyone asks her how to meet their soulmate, yup, she gives them the chant.

I want to puke.
But is that just my past live skepticism, my accumulated karma, my need to think positive and hook in to the great power of attraction at work in our lives all the time? Ok, so she chanted for 6 months a half an hour a day and basically ordered a soulmate off God's menu.

How come when i try that I get a stalker? What angel thinks this is so flipping hilarious? I put in an order for soulmate, do my morning meditation with religious fervor, and he's giggling like, "let's send her the x-con." Won't that be a laugh? And God's like, ya, do it, do it. Like a couple of kids hocking water balloons over the neighbors fence.

At this point, I'm like, deal me out, boys. I have great cats, an amazing apartment on the water, a job that inspires me, and a body that I love. Maybe I should quit while I'm ahead.

Soulmates...

reality, or new age torture device?

KVZ

Tags: soulmates, soulmate, soul mate, relationship, relationships, love, romance, partnership, meeting, happiness, sex