Category: Life Musings

Life Musings

MONSTER THRIFT HAUL: $700 worth of clothes for $33 DOLLARS

Crystal Fleming

There is a truism in life:

Men may come and go,
Work may delight or confound,
Seasons may change,

BUT THRIFTING NEVER FAILS!

I don’t even know where to begin.

Let me just first explain that I got two pairs of leather, Italian crafted Cole Haan boots . . . for $8.

Eight dollars.

Four dollars each.

Perfect condition.

I mean, does anything else I say even matter? Do you understand the gravity of what I’m conveying right now?

Take a moment. Breathe with me. Inhale. Exhale.

$500 worth of boots for $8.

$8.

I also got a pair of burgundy Etienne Aigner suede loafers. Retail? $70. I paid? $4.

That’s $570 worth of shoes for $12.

Okay, so, the rest of the haul, which, really, is just disgustingly indulgent at this point, was as follows:

  • Prana Satori pants – super elegant and sexy – (black): Retail: $80. I paid: $2.
  • Lands End corduroy slacks (orange): Retail: $40. I paid: $2.
  • Style & Co. dress slacks (black): Retail: $30. I paid: $1.
  • Lees comfort waist slacks (black): Retail: $30. I paid: $1.
  • Harriton Fleece (blue) – matches my awesome blue gelish manicure! : Retail: $20. I paid: $5.
  • Floral scarf (unknown brand): Retail: ??. I paid: $3
  • Plaid scarf (unknown brand): Retail: ??. I paid: $3
  • DKNY tights: Retail: $12. I paid: $1.25.
  • Calvin Klein tights: Retail: $12. I paid: $1.25.

Everything in the store was 50% off, as usual. And it all goes to charity.

Just another look at those boots. Sexy autumn, here I come . . .

Life Musings

What Not to Spend Money On

Crystal Fleming

One of the very nice things about the spiritual “path” is getting over yourself and losing your egoic pride.  I was joking with a friend a few months ago about my new-found love for bargain shopping for fashionable threads.  “I could have my pride,” I said, “but I’d have no clothes . . .”  The point was that back in the day when I was too arrogant (and ignorant) to go to thrift stores, my wardrobe suffered tremendously.  As a struggling student, I couldn’t afford very many beautiful clothes, so I was limited to getting a few nice pieces a year. Now I have the most extensive and gorgeous wardrobe I’ve ever had – not only because I’m now gainfully employed – but also because I can get a few nice pieces every day for less the cost of a Starbucks latte.

Anyway, after I got into thrift shopping for clothes, I started to branch out and figure out how I could save money on other things, too.  I haven’t turned into an extreme coupon shopper or taken it to the lengths that real bargain hunters have, but I have undoubtedly started saving thousands of dollars a year by making some simple changes to what I am willing to spend money on.

In addition to regular jaunts to Kmart, the most important addition to my arsenal of thriftiness has been Dollar General.  Before this spring, I had not been in a Dollar Store in my entire adult life.  At the urging of a friend, I finally checked one out.  Like a child in a candy store, my eyes widened with delight as I perused aisle upon aisle of mostly brand-name products that were all – you guessed it – ONE DOLLAR.  I was amazed.  I was bitter for the money wasted in CVS, RiteAid and the grocery store on items I could get for 1/3 or 1/4 of the price at Dollar General.

So, here are a list of items I was amazed to find myself buying at the Dollar Store, Kmart, Target  or thrift shops, with no downgrade in my happiness or lifestyle:

1. Household cleaning supplies.  From laundry detergent to toilet bowl cleaner, really – who needs to spend $5-$7 on this stuff?

2. Toothpaste.  I use the same Aquafresh I did before, but I refuse to pay more than $1.

3. Hot sauce.  Friends know I’m a hot sauce aficionado.  But the generic hot sauce at the dollar store gets the job done just fine.

4. Curtains.  I find curtains (and rods) for $1-$3 at my thrift shop.  And they’re pretty!  I’ve also found really cheap ($3!) gorgeous curtains at Target.

5. Furniture.  99% of my furniture came from thrift shops – especially St. Vincent de Paul’s.  In the past, I always got new furniture – and lived to regret it when I would have to sell the pieces a few years later for 1/2 or 1/3 of what I paid.  I love my thrifted furniture more than anything I ever got at a retail furntiure shop.  Not only are the pieces beautiful and distinctive, but they also cost very, very little.  If I move any time soon, I’d probably just donate the items to charity.

6. Electronics.  I got my big pretty flat screen HD TV at a rock bottom price from Best Buy.  It’s not a brand name – but who cares?  Paired with Apple TV ($99), it’s a gorgeous entertainment and educational portal.

7. Kitchen and serving items.  These include: trays, cloth napkins, mats, etc.  In the past, I would go to Bed, Bath and Beyond and drop $10 for cloth napkins.  What a racket.  At Selden Thrift out east on Long Island, I found gorgeous napkins and mats sold for about 50 cents each.  I love lining my Pier 1 bamboo trays ($4 each) with pretty mats for eating or serving tea.  And the cloth napkins add another touch of at-home luxury that I greatly enjoy.

8. Glassware.  I get champagne flutes (and any other kind of glass) for $1 from my thrift shops.  Great for adding pizazz to dinner parties without the cost – and hey, if someone breaks a few, who cares?  At these prices, they’re basically disposable.

9. Plastic containers, sandwich bags.  Sold in surprising quantities for a $1 at Dollar General.  I wouldn’t use the containers in the microwave, however..

10. Candy.  If you have children – or a sweet tooth – you can get all of your favorite brand name candies (and off brands that taste just as good) for $1.  Also a good alternative to the $4  fare at the movie theater.

What about you?  What items do you like saving money on?

Life Musings

Life Tip: Be Your Own Butler

Crystal Fleming
At Your Service

One of the many, many wonderful things about getting older, wiser and more independent is developing the capacity to care for yourself.  A prerequisite to catering to myself was discovering who I am — something that I’ve been addressing in various posts and videos related to spirituality.  In any case, I am far from the first person to underline the importance of treating yourself well, but what I realized over the past year was that not only could I do the minimum it takes to take care of myself, but I can also do little things to bring experiences of luxury, joy and deep sensual pleasure into my everyday experience.  Such pleasurable amenities and experiences include:

  1. Treating myself to aromatherapy in the morning.
  2. Figuring out what scents I love and making my own custom perfume with notes of rose, jasmine and ylang ylang.
  3. Doing yoga at the beach.
  4. Placing vases with my favorite flowers around the house.
  5. Lighting a dozen candles.
  6. Playing my favorite music on kick-ass speakers.
  7. Getting enough sleep.
  8. Styling my hair simply and beautifully everyday.
  9. Keeping spring water on my bedside table.
  10. Washing my face with all natural soap.
  11. Wearing lipstick. This might sound weird, but I sometimes avoided lipstick in the past because it annoyed my exes. 
  12. Only dating people who are cool with lipstick.
  13. Being able to make my favorite drinks at home (whisky sours and kir royals).
  14. Working out.
  15. Getting regular massages.
  16. Making time to be creative (songwriting, singing, writing).
  17. Always making sure I have a fresh towel to step on when I get out of the shower.
  18. Thrifting.
  19. Keeping my clothes laundered, dry cleaned and ironed.
  20. Learning how to make my favorite restaurant recipes at home.
  21. Watching Mooji videos via Apple TV on the flatscreen in my livingroom.
  22. Getting Gelish manicures in my favorite colors.
  23. Spending time with cherished friends.
  24. Spending time in nature.
  25. Making coffee in the morning the way I like it.  I have a weird thing where I tell myself that I’m providing “coffee service” . . . for myself . . . which kind of makes me feel like I’m getting VIP treatment at the Ritz Carlton.  I know it makes no sense, but it works for me.
  26. Making sure my skin is fully moisturized, head to toe, with my favorite oils (usually Sweet Almond Oil).
  27. Getting my eyebrows waxed or plucking them myself.
  28. Stretching on a daily basis.
  29. Keeping my closets organized, color-coded, etc. so that I always have easy access to something gorgeous to wear.
  30. Keeping a cigar or two at home (usually an Arturo Fuente . . .)
  31. Making sure my bedroom is uncluttered, clean, welcoming, comfortable.
  32. Buying my favorite condiments (i.e. pepper jelly, sandwich spread, soyaki, hot sauce, olives, peppers and so on and so forth).  I always knew I loved sauces and condiments (even more than food itself), but I rarely purchased them until recently.  Happiness quotient has increased accordingly.
  33. Keeping my lips moisturized with all natural balm.
  34. Exfoliating regularly.
  35. Brightening my space with home fragrance.
  36. Using cloth napkins at home to add a touch of luxury to every meal.
  37. Covering my serving trays with beautiful, colorful, embroidered mats.
  38. Serving myself Ayurvedic chai with a pretty tea set.
  39. Keeping a rotation of fresh fruit and my favorite snacks on hand.
  40. Stocking up on soft, inviting fabrics: silk blouses, satin robes, terry cloth.
  41. Using a laundry bag to protect my “unmentionables”.
  42. Doing my own pedicures when I don’t feel like going to the salon.
  43. Keeping Dead Sea salts and special soaps (i.e. “Bee Pollen” or “Rose”)  in my shower.
  44. Attending to and caring for oft-overlooked parts of the body (i.e. earlobes, belly button, ankles).
  45. Making regular appointments for medical check-ups.

Perhaps the most important thing I’ve done for myself is staying in touch with my own feelings and desires.  I make sure to set aside quiet time for reflection, relaxation and meditation so that I can be guided by heart in the present moment.

What about you?  How do you cater to yourself?  What little/big things do you do to make yourself feel like a million bucks?

Gratitude, Life Musings, Unexplained Phenomena

Kismet

Crystal Fleming

As all three followers of this blog know, I’m a big fan of pleasant and delightful synchronicities.  I’ve experienced quite a few cool ones this summer , but none as remarkable as what transpired earlier this week.

To be honest, I am not sure I would categorize this as a coincidence so much as it was a confluence of fortunate circumstances that boiled down to one man deciding to do something that he, in no way shape or form, had any shred of obligation to do.

I met Eric about a month ago at the screening of an independent film.  Mostly, I did not meet him.  I was there with my girlfriend Tracey who, at the last minute, told me to come through to the event, which included a Q&A with the filmmakers and a wine reception afterwards.  I found the film quite moving and provocative for reasons I might explore in another post at another time.  At the reception, I found myself engaging with a number of really interesting people – including a wonderful lady in her 60s who has been deeply involved in labor union organizing and activism.  I sipped a bit of the red wine, watched my girlfriend take pictures with the filmmaker and generally enjoyed myself.

I am still not sure how or why Eric and I began speaking, or who spoke to whom first, or what exactly went down.  All I know is that Tracey and I were on our way out when we encountered a group of folk standing by the door.  Pleasantries were exchanged, conversation ensued.  A gorgeous young lady and her friend were talking excitedly about something with Tracey.  Eric, the father of the gorgeous young lady, was talking to me excitedly about so many things that it all blurred together in one pleasant, yet diffuse, impression.  There was something about his recent move from California, a bit about his work in the arts and activism, our shared interests in antiracism and his beaming pride at being a father.   I told him that he reminded me of an older version of my very good looking friend Ron, who also lives in California.  I wondered if they were related.  He gave me his business card and said to drop him a line. I enjoyed our exchange and promised to be in touch.

Tracey and I left to have a drink and exchange notes about our most recent dating adventures.  I told her about this ostensibly fabulous guy I had just met–a Buddhist academic doing meaningful work who was both interesting and good looking in an adorably bookish kind of way.  He was also above my minimal age requirement for dating (mid 40s).  Alas, I would find out in a few days time that we were definitely not a romantic match, though we might make good friends.  That night, though, I was still floating on cloud 9, waxing poetic about our lovely first date and sharing my latest spiritual insights with Tracey over cocktails at the bar.  At some point, she casually said something about “that guy” we met at the theater earlier that evening.  I said he seemed really cool.  And, he was easy on the eyes.

“Well, I think he was there with that woman,” Tracey said.

“What woman?” I raised an eyebrow as I sipped my amaretto sour.

“You know, the film director.”

“Oh really?  I didn’t get that vibe at all, but hey, who knows?  He’s the one who gave me his card.”

“I think they were a couple,” she intoned, with knowing authority.

I finished my drink.  I hadn’t spent much time trying to analyze the man’s romantic entanglements and it was not really at the top of my agenda, given my ill-fated infatuation with Buddha.

The next day, I saw Eric’s business card on my living room table and decided to drop a line before I lost it.  He replied right away.  I let him know I was about to go out of town.  He suggested meeting up for a meal in the city sometime soon.  I went on about my life, he went on about his.  I got an email a few weeks later from him following up on the meal rendezvous.  He was out of town but wanted to know if I’d have time when he got back.  I wasn’t sure if his interest in me was friendly, professional, romantic or all of the above, but I also didn’t really care.  He seemed like cool people and I could use an excuse to force myself to go into the city, given my general inclination to luxuriate in the good life on the north shore of Long Island.

Fast forward to this Monday.  I found myself in a pickle.   I had to move a few things from my old place to my current residence immediately–by Tuesday, in fact.  It would be a relatively easy job for two people, but I had been deathly ill for 10 days and had not secured someone to help me.  The main complication was the distance involved: there’s one hour between the two apartments and many of my friends are scattered in areas that are already 1-2 hours away from either my current or former residence.  My local friends had various impediments: one had just been hospitalized, another has an ongoing health issue that limits her mobility.  The other complication was that my ex was involved.  In a frenzy, I contacted everyone I could think of: platonic friends, old flames, cigar-smoking buddies, Tracey, even Buddha.  I got not a single response.  Nada.

Then I noticed that business card, still on my table from weeks ago.  I had forgotten who it belonged to.  Turning it over, I saw Eric’s name.  I knew that we had never even had a phone conversation since our first meeting, much less had time to get together and actually get to know each other.  I knew he was out of town until Tuesday, meaning he would be flying back to New York on the very day I needed help.  I knew the chances of his even responding to me were pretty slim, but I texted him anyway.

Hours passed.  No one could help me.  A few friends said they would be free that weekend or the next week – but sadly, that would be too late.  I sent up a prayer: “Lord . . . . please have some pity on me.  I need some help.  Can You work it out and hook a sista up?”

Later that evening, a smiley face appeared on my phone.  It was a text from Eric.  He didn’t refuse, he didn’t ask why I was contacting him with such a crazy request or tell me how busy he was.  The brother didn’t even say hello.  Instead he cut to the chase and asked about logistics: “How much stuff do you have to move?” 

Copious texts and a phone call later, a plan emerged.  I told him I would do whatever/drive wherever he needed me to in order to accommodate him.  It turned out that I could help him, too.  He had to move from one apartment to another this week.  I let him know my SUV would be at his disposal.  I offered to pick him up in the city after his flight arrived.  He declined and said he would take the (1 hour) train out to make it easier for me and save time.

To be clear, let us review the situation.  This man agreed to help me in spite of the following facts:

  1. He didn’t know me.
  2. We met exactly once, for a grand total of 15 minutes.
  3. He was extraordinarily busy and had a Lot of Important Things to Do.
  4. He was not even in town.
  5. He would be flying in the same day.
  6. He had a business meeting to attend after his arrival.
  7. I live an hour away from him.
  8. He would be taking the train.
  9. He would then have to ride with me another 45 minutes to get to the other apartment, then 45 minutes back again to my place.
  10. He would have no time to eat all day.
  11. He had his own move to finish preparing for and organizing.
  12. He would have to do heavy lifting up and down several flights of stairs.
  13. He would have to spend the night with me. (I know, poor baby).
  14. He would be involving himself in a potentially uncomfortable situation where my ex would be “around”.
  15. Did I mention that he didn’t know me?!

Tuesday came and I wondered if it all would actually happen.  I mentally prepared myself to put my big girl panties on and do the move myself or, if I couldn’t manage it on my own, just leave all the shit there and let my ex throw it out.  I wondered if Eric’s return trip was going according to plan.  I further wondered what our interaction would be like since our entire friendship history involved speaking for a few minutes at a theater a month beforehand.

Well, not only did Eric show up at the exact time he said he would, he also waited for me when I rolled up 20 minutes late to the train station to get him.  (I was delayed due to that silly accident I had with my elbow.)   To make a long story slightly shorter, all I can say is that Eric made a very icky situation not only bearable, but pretty fucking awesome in the light of his company, great sense of humor, fascinating reflections, and so on and so forth.  In another cosmic synchronicity, he happened to have extensive experience as an expert packer – the brother cleared my car, loaded and unloaded the boxes, files and bags with such military precision that I could only gaze in silent awe and gratitude.  What was to be a two person job turned out to be, sadly (for Eric), a one person ordeal as I was sidelined with my elbow contusion.  Not only did he take care of every detail of the move, but he also kept me laughing – and showed me how to care for my injury.

He finished putting everything in my attic around 11:30 PM that night.  Then we stayed up talking till well past 3 in the morning, sharing music from our respective iPads, stories about our lives, thoughts on metaphysics and jokes about everything.  We played with Zora.  I forced him to listen to a few of my original songs.  He gave me feedback like Randy from American Idol, right down to the “It’s kind of pitchy, but . . .”

A few hours later, we drove to the city and moved his things.  Afterwards, I dropped him off at his office.  Before I could even text to tell him I made it back safely (somewhat of a feat given the flash-flooding that occurred on my way home as I drove with my one good arm), the brother called to check on me himself.   Later that night, I found that he had also fixed my bathroom sink.  He had left no stone unturned.

All of this to say that, of all the people I asked to help me, Eric was probably the busiest, the least available and certainly the least likely to feel any kind of inclination to jump through hoops for someone who was essentially a stranger.  And yet, against all odds, he showed up, handled every single detail of a tedious and unforgiving task and showered me with remarkable kindness in the process.   I could not have asked for a better road-dawg, logistics-handler and friend to help me deal with a challenging situation. I’m just really grateful and still, I admit, in a state of disbelief that any of this even happened.  When I expressed these sentiments to him, he simply said: “I figured if you asked me, it needed to get done.  So I made sure it did.”

Word.

Life Musings

Ode to the Non-Dominant Elbow

Crystal Fleming

There are many things that are difficult to do when the elbow of your non-dominant arm is injured.  I discovered this little known truth after suffering an elbow contusion – the circumstances of which are better left unsaid, given the embarrassing knuckle-headedness of the accident.

Over the last few days, I learned through a series of painful “ows!” that there are certain activities that require (and/or are significantly compromised without) the ability to freely bend and straighten one’s non-dominant elbow.  They include:

– Scratching my back

– Rolling over in bed

– Putting earrings on my left ear

– Styling the back, left quadrant of my hair

– Dressing/undressing

– Driving

– Paying toll

– Typing

– Carrying boxes

– Defending myself from Zora’s intrusions

Activities that, upon reflection, I realized would be difficult/painful to do include:

– Household chores

– Yoga

– Twister

– Cirque du Soleil

– Sex

As I perused articles on WebMD and read about the “extended” recovery time usually required for elbow injuries, I began to despair.  Would I now be forced to wear my hair as an unkempt curly afro redolent of Bozo the Clown, unable to twist and style it myself?  And what about my bra? Yes, I did manage to get it on after struggling for five minutes – but would I now have to appear in public sans brassiere, or have to ask good samaritans to hook and unhook it for me? And, most troublesome of all, would I, out of physical necessity, be resigned to a life of celibacy, or – worse – constrained to a static missionary position?  “Please, God, let this cup pass,” I prayed.

Well, two days of icing-the-injury-with-frozen-lima-beans-later, I am happy to report that I’ve regained 90% of the mobility in my non-dominant arm and have obviously surmised that typing is possible.  There is now some reason to hope that I (1) can resume making progress on my two book projects and (2) will not, in fact, become a braless, celibate, black female version of Bozo the Clown, though I suppose only time will tell.

Life Musings, Spiritual Musings

More Buddha

Crystal Fleming

Out of the blue, I decided to check out Paris Jackson’s Twitter page.  Okay, this really only occurred to me because her family’s been in the news about some disputes over money.  I had read that Paris had reported her grandmother missing on her Twitter page.  So, for the first and possibly only time in my life, I looked her up.

Having satisfied my curiosity, I was about to close the window until I saw — lo and behold – on the left side of the screen, ANOTHER BUDDHA. 

 

This is so interesting in part because I’m more attracted to Advaita Vedanta (Hinduism), than to Buddhism, but Buddha keeps showing up.  What does he want?

Life Musings, News

Aurora and the War Within

Crystal Fleming

I didn’t hear about the movie theater attack in Aurora until two days after it happened. I had been traveling – and, thankfully – am almost totally unplugged from the Media Industrial Complex.  I quit social media (Facebook) last December after having spent nearly 8 years living through the minutiae of everyday life as well as the mania spurred on by various “tragedies” with 600 of my best friends.

Of course my heart goes out to the families and loved ones of those who were hurt and killed in Aurora.   My heart also goes out to the approximately 80 people killed each day in the United States from gun related violence.  Beyond our borders, there are hundreds, if not thousands of others, who die from gun-inflicted wounds every single day in civilian and war-related killing.  To their numbers, we must add everyone else who experiences suffering from other types of violence every minute of every day.

I mention these countless other cases of suffering and violence not for the purpose of minimizing what happened in Aurora, but rather for the purpose of drawing attention to the arbitrariness of the hysteria that surrounds certain events.  When we take a step back, a familiar pattern emerges: (1) a certain case of violence somehow garners attention and 24/7 news coverage in the media (2) lots of everyday people, talking heads, politicians, intellectuals, religious leaders, etc. pontificate with great moral outrage about the ills of our society (3) touching memorials take place as people commemorate the victims (4) feelings of fear, dread, sadness, nihilism, anxiety and anger overcome the populace.

To the extent that such mass attention might raise consciousness about the costs of our current gun policies and the representations of violence and dehumanization that characterize so much of our popular culture, there is much good that can come from greater awareness of these issues.  And yet, there are many disturbing things about the obsessive attention and collective angst wrought by events like Aurora:

(1) The attention is always short lived.  It will reach its peak and then slowly dissipate.  At some point in the near future, no news outlet will report anything related to Aurora on any given day.  And, on the unknown future date, most people will not think about any of the victims.  In other words, life will return to “normal”.

(2) Many people who express moral outrage rarely use these occasions as an opportunity to put their principles into action in their own lives.  Instead, they have very detailed opinions about how other people should change without realizing that positive change concretely depends on how we all live our lives on an on-going basis.  That means that if I want a society that values the dignity of all living beings, then I need to take stock of the choices I make in my life in addition to calling my congresswo(man).

(3) The mass hysteria produced by media-driven coverage of tragic events is inherently arbitrary.  That is to say: the event(s) that come to occupy the collective conscious are always a mere subset of a much larger sample of horrific happenings.

So, what to make of Aurora?  Or the Trayvon Martin case?  Or the Giffords shooting?  Or any other tragedy that captures the public’s imagination?  I have a few ideas.

(1) No loss of life is more important than any other other simply because CNN says so.  There is nothing wrong with focusing on a tragic event if it spurs personal and collective action for the greater good.  But such attention must extend to the countless cases of suffering that never make it to the airwaves or the twittersphere.  In other words, we need to care about suffering broadly – not just in specific cases that seem to horrify or concern us.

(2) External violence derives from and pales in comparison to the “war within”.

Yes, reasonable people agree that our gun policies obviously need to be reformed and we should all do what we can to make decisions (political and otherwise) that reflect our esteem for human life and dignity.  That said, there is no amount of other-directed protest, pontificating or policing can solve the core issue at the heart of violence.  External suffering has internal sources.  We harm each other physically because of internal limitations on our capacity for love, compassion and peaceful co-existence.  I have sometimes remarked that people who decry violence need to ask themselves how realistic it is to expect people to treat others with respect and compassion when most people do not even love themselves!  If you pay attention to your inner world (your thoughts, feelings and perceptions) on a daily basis, you will quickly learn how difficult it can be to maintain an attitude of love and compassion not only toward other people, but also toward yourself.  Difficult circumstances and situations frequently arouse feelings of anger and fear for all of us on a daily basis.  Learning how to achieve inner peace and happiness is the only way we can individually become agents of compassion, cooperation and love in our interactions with others.  The war within needs our urgent attention, even as we take steps to address the war in our streets.

(3) Social media and mass media interfere with our ability to maintain equanimity and inner peace.  Being informed about local, national and global events is important.  I am not advocating burying our heads in the sand.  But being continuously plugged into the Media Industrial Complex with its assortment of arbitrary news coverage, commercialized interests and biased representations is a recipe for moral decline, passivity and cultural manipulation.  I was so grateful that I did not get wrapped up in the hype about Aurora on Facebook (since I no longer have an account) or through cable news (since I rarely watch it).  Yes, I found out a few days after the fact and did follow the story with some interest, but because I came to the story rather than having it come to me, I was able to examine it from a place of calm reflection rather than media-manipulated fear and loathing.

(4) The most important thing any of us can do in response to such tragedies is to ask: How am I living?  Before I prioritized my spiritual life, I found myself attracted to execrable popular culture like reality TV, violent action films and generally mindless material.  Since the dawn of my spiritual “awakening” (for lack of a better word), I naturally found myself mostly reading about theology and philosophy and watching related media (i.e. Eckhart Tolle’s talks or Mooji’s videos) in my free time.  I didn’t consciously try to avoid violent material, but I simply lost interest in it.  There are some exceptions — I still love the “Matrix” films and have a slight addiction to Breaking Bad, but I try to watch these things consciously, in a way that strengthens – rather than weakens – my concern for the dignity of all living beings.  Perhaps more on that in another post.  All of this to say, change is possible and it begins with you.

I’m not saying that we shouldn’t watch movies like the “Dark Knight Rises”  – I don’t think external responses of that nature are the “answer”.  To go on a “violent movie” boycott or to only militate for greater gun control (though we do need it) would be naive and shortsighted.  Tragic events like Aurora remind me to pay attention to what’s going on in my world – in my thoughts and emotions.  It heightens awareness of emotional and mental violence.  The moment I feel myself thinking negatively about someone, I am reminded that such enmity – no matter how minor – is the seed from which all mistreatment and violence grows.  How can I expect others to be more compassionate if I myself do not prioritize compassion and kindness?  When I feel “pissed off or upset about anything, I use awareness of those emotions to bring me back into conscious recognition of my Self as the Presence of God rather than my “self” as the ego with its tote bag of delusions, petty interests and conditioning.  This is why meditation and other practices that focus our attention on the present moment – on stillness – are so important.   It is only from a place a inner peace and tranquility that we can come to regard each other with the respect, love and dignity that make external violence inconceivable.

What do you think?  Is it possible to consume violent culture while also affirming the dignity of human life?  Is there any real good that will come from the intense attention to the Aurora shooting?  What can each of us do, individually and collectively, to respond to this event?

Life Musings, Spiritual Musings, Unexplained Phenomena

Buddha, Buddha, Everywhere

Crystal Fleming

People in my life know that I make a big deal out of pleasant coincidences.  I generally refer to these auspicious confluence of events as synchronicities.

I started noticing synchronicities a few years ago.  For a while, I’d keep track of them in my journals.  Then, there were so many that I simply could not keep track of them.

For a while, I tried to figure out why these cool and interesting things were happening.  I noticed some patterns.  My synchronicities:

– did not seem to concern terribly important things (i.e. life and death situations, huge decisions or existential issues)

– were generally pleasant and delightful

– made me happy

– seemed to happen in “batches”

Years ago, I gave up trying to figure out why they happen.  I did read Carl Jung’s work on synchronicities with some interest, though I did not delve deeply into the psychoanalytic framework he uses.  These days, I interpret cool coincidences as evidence that (1) I’m in the right place at the right time (2) the Universe/God/Angels/Beings of Light/Oprah were essentially reminding me that we live in a magical, matrix-like world (3) God loves me and has a sense of humor.

In any case, my recent trip to New England was full of cool synchronicities.  The most noticeable coincidence was the plethora of Buddhas that seemed to follow my every step.  When I arrived at my mom’s place in Portland, Maine, I noticed her collection of Buddha statues and took a few pictures.  I had seen them before, but I felt some need to document them this time.

A few days later, I showed up at a friend’s place in Cambridge only to find a tiny Buddha statue on the bed in which I’d be sleeping.  Again, I snapped a picture.

While walking in Harvard Square, I randomly bumped into a friend I hadn’t spoken with in years.  That night, I swung by his apartment.  At some point, I noticed a Buddha statue in one of the rooms.  I was delighted, though not surprised, despite my friend being allergic to most things spiritual.   He then proceeded to point out the half a dozen other Buddhas in his living room.  An interesting conversation about the meaning of life, his interests in nature and my interests in Buddhism and especially Hinduism commenced.

Other coincidences during the trip (some less impressive than others):

(1) While driving through Cambridge, I felt compelled to stop by the Weeks Bridge, a beautiful pedestrian walkway that arches over the Charles River.  The bridge overlooks my old place at Peabody Terrace, where I lived for 5 years as a graduate student at Harvard.  I walked up the washed-out white steps of the bridge, beheld the water and entered into meditation while listening to the recording of my “Harvest Moon” cover (a song I’d become obsessed with).  While on the bridge, I decided I wanted to grab a coffee.  My heart led me to Petsi Pies, a cool cafe and bakery I used to frequent.  At Petsi Pies, I ordered a mocha latte, still listening to my music.  Then, I watched as they took down the morning menu and put up a chalk board for lunch.  I blinked when I saw that the special of the day was the “Harvest Moon” sandwich.  I’d never seen that there before, and they told me they didn’t have that special the previous day.

(2) Walking through the Cambridge Commons, a little park on Harvard’s campus, I noticed a couple walk past me.  The woman was wearing a bright green summer dress with a striking gold necklace.  Her hipster male friend had on a matching green t-shirt.   About 55 minutes later, I walked back through the Commons to my car, and the same couple walked past me, in almost the exact same spot where we crossed paths an hour before.

(3) The Buddhas.  The Buddhas!

(4) A lot of synchronicities seem to involve my bed. Staying in my friend Miriam’s home, I noticed that there was a TV box next to the bed where I would be sleeping.  It said, in big letters: “BLACK CRYSTAL”. Okay, this one is a stretch, but it still made me smile.

(5) In my mother’s guestroom, I turned and saw a stack of books on the bedside table.  One of the books said “Advaita” on its spine.  I knew it was meant to be my book.

(6) At my friend’s Cambridge apartment, there was a Buddha on the bed in which I slept.

(7) Lying in bed at my friend’s place in Boston, I woke up to see a book on “Chi Running” on the floor nearby.  The book explains a technique for running long distances without hurting one’s self — the subject of an extended conversation I had with someone about a week ago.

(8) Conversations with various people I did not know I would talk with revealed synchronistic interests, reflections and experiences that are too numerous to get into here . . .

Life Musings

Maybe Babies

Crystal Fleming

Over the past week, I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know Avi and Noah, the precocious, highly intelligent, charming, bilingual (soon tri-lingual) and generally adorable sons of my friend Miriam. I am so impressed with Miriam’s indefatigable, disciplined, joyous, organized, practical and upbeat approach to parenting. When I’m not horrified by in awe of the constant attention, care, thoughtfulness, wisdom, energy, playfulness and outpouring of love required to parent 5 year old twin boys, she almost makes me want to be a mother. Almost. (Though, “friend-of-other-people-with-kids” might work out just fine for me, too . . .)

Miriam

Hanging out with Miriam and her sons was an unexpected addition to my New England roadtrip. I’d met her a few times over the years because of my friendship with her parents, but we had never had an in-depth conversation. This time, she happened to be at her parents’ home the day I arrived in Massachusetts, and for reasons unknown, we suddenly clicked. We found out that we both had been making music using Garageband and shared interests in foreign languages as well as some similar health challenges and strategies for healing. We stayed up into the wee hours of the morning discussing all manner of minutiae. We took a long walk on a nature trail where she pointed out the various plants and flowers that were edible. I found myself eating clovers (and loving it) and nibbling on tiny pink raspberries like a bird. I’d never done anything quite like this before, but thoroughly enjoyed every minute.

Miriam’s kids are pretty incredible. They flow effortlessly in and out of Spanish and English and have such alert minds that they also attentively watch movies in other languages that they don’t understand. For years, when I would see them in passing, I never heard Avi and Noah speak English (their mother and their grandparents address them almost exclusively in Spanish). Their mastery of Spanish is all the more impressive given that they have no Hispanic ethnic background in their family. It’s also really lovely that they can speak Spanish because they live in an extremely diverse neighborhood where over 50% of the children are Hispanic.

Noah and Avi were shy when I showed up in their grandparents’ kitchen a few days ago. I’m sure they noticed that I didn’t respond to whatever they were saying in Spanish and wondered what was wrong with me. When their mother explained that I speak English, they instantly “got it” even if they remained a bit suspicious of me. They would continue their on-going Spanish conversations with each other and their family, but they would generously slip into English when they wanted to tell me something. Their mother, who speaks at least four languages, would also sweetly translate bits of Spanish into French for me.

After the boys established that I was a nice person and cool enough to be included in their 5 year old inner circle, they started to really show off their various skills, inventive ideas, pranks and funny observations. I noticed some slight differences in personality between the two. They are both full of energy, playful, bright, creative and full of love. Noah seems a bit more pensive and analytical. He likes to build things (this morning he showed me a device he made to hunt for dinosaurs) and he often begins his English sentences with “Well, *actually* . . .” Noah is also very good at teaching things yet also humble about what he does not know (something all of us in academia should learn from). When I asked him to teach me something in Hebrew, he showed me how to write his name. Yet when I asked if he could read from the Hebrew dinosaur book he brought me, he immediately said “I don’t know how”, matter of factly, without an ounce of self consciousness. I loved it.

Avi seems to be more active, perhaps a bit more emotional and demanding than Noah. Avi knows what he wants and asks for it. He is very attentive and let’s nothing get past him. When I pointed to a picture and said the word for “truck” in Spanish, he shook his head and said – in English – with thinly veiled pity, “No, that’s a car.” Avi also very clearly loves me, which is remarkable given that he attacked my leg viciously with a fly swatter when we first met. I kind of knew there must be some affection underneath his playful predator-mode (a kind of behavior I instantly recognized from the crazy, yet well-meaning “attacks” my cat Zora sometimes directs my way). After I picked him up, turned him upside down and spun him around a few times, his little heart melted and he decided to be my friend.

Hanging out with kids is very novel for me. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed their company during this trip. We went swimming at sunset at a gorgeous lake and ruthlessly disturbed a family of ducks. I became a human launching pad for the boys, throwing them several feet into the air and catching them in the water. I taught them a few words in French. We made art on my iPad. (When Noah first touched the purple oil drawing tool on the screen, he checked his finger to see if the paint had gotten on it.) Avi bit my leg, then hugged it like a tree trunk and counted my toes. Noah showed me their “secret hiding place” next to the television (some kind of structure made of chair, a basket and a yoga ball). I watched with interest and mild concern as Noah vigorously attacked his brother with a fly swatter (apparently with Avi’s consent). At one point, Avi asked his brother “Can I do it now?! Can I do it now!?” – meaning “Will you please grant me permission to beat you down?” Noah agreed, which led to Avi hitting him twice as hard as Noah hit him. Before I could intervene, Noah ran off to his mother, crying. I’m sure he was a bit hurt but he was also embarrassed.

I went over to Noah and picked him up, which only made him cry harder. “No!” he whimpered, pitifully. I panicked for a moment, then I squinched his face (yes I know squinched is not a word, but somehow it naturally emerges from interacting with a child) and said “Hey! Wanna see something?” He got quiet for a moment, tears still streaming down his face. Somehow, I accessed a long dormant memory of a game my mom would play with me. Magically, my hand transformed into a creepy crawly creature which makes funny noises and tries to pinch your nose. Noah loved it, burst into laughter and smiled brighter than the sun. Then Avi came running, begging me to pinch his nose with the hand monster.

I am an only child and grew up far away from my cousins, so babysitting was something I did quite rarely. It has only been in the last year or so that I noticed myself appreciating children. Last Christmas, I spent the day volunteering at a soup kitchen run by my friend Betty. One of the homeless women brought her newborn son – an extraordinarily beautiful lump of golden perfection whose singular presence filled me with love. As I’ve gone back to the soup kitchen almost every month since December, I’ve seen this little lump get bigger and even more beautiful. Last month, my soup kitchen duties included holding him so his mother could eat and enjoy her meal. I noticed, with pleasure, how natural and lovely it was to cradle him on my shoulder. In the past, holding babies was always so awkward for me. But, for whatever reasons, something clicked this time and I knew what to do without anyone telling me. The Golden One was also obviously very comfortable – no crying or complaining as he gazed lovingly into my eyes. I was so enchanted that I didn’t even care when he threw up all over me. Three times.

Holding this little person, I wanted very much to communicate a few things to him and I somehow had the conviction that he could understand. So, I told the Golden One that he was a manifestation of God, that he was really smart and beautiful and that all good things were possible. He just started at me, blinking and smiling, which I took as 100% confirmation that he “got it”.

I do not know if a “mothering instinct” is presenting itself, but the idea of reproducing is becoming slightly more attractive. In the past, I thought of having children as something I might do one day after finishing graduate school and probably after getting tenure. I had fantasized about motherhood – especially when I was in love – but could not, for various reasons, seriously imagine myself having kids with any of my ex partners. For a while, I thought of reproduction as something people do for egoic reasons (i.e. “I want a little version of myself” or “I want to make a little person with this individual I love because my ego feels the need to extend itself and its attachments”). In this jaded, naive state of mind, I found myself mocking parenthood.

As I began to move beyond my attachment to not wanting attachments, I opened up to the miracle of Life as it emerges in the present moment. I saw that feelings (i.e. wanting or not wanting kids) can and often do change. I also saw very clearly that I, personally, could want to have children with the right man. I began to get a better idea of the kind of character, wisdom, personality, thoughtfulness, capacity for love and emotional maturity that would make a man an attractive partner and father in my eyes.

I still feel that parenting is something that I can take or leave — it is not Something I Must Do to Make My Life Complete. If I don’t have kids, at least I can delight in the presence of Other People’s Kids (and then go home to the freedom of my childless life). But as time goes by, I’m beginning to feel that children are probably in my future. Let us hope that an excellent partner, nanny, proximate grandparents willing to babysit, a child-friendly lifestyle and bottomless wells of patience are all in my future, too.

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