Eternal Sunshine

A cloudy day or a little sunshine have as great an influence on many constitutions as the most recent blessings or misfortunes. -- Joseph Addison

There are many benefits to living in Maine. Our proximity to wonderful beaches, fresh seafood and a plethora of outdoor activities, ranging from skiing to sailing, are among those items in the "plus" category. Our relatively sheltered way of life and small town atmosphere create a safe place to raise children. While we're traveling and asked where our home is, people will sigh and picture lighthouses, deep forests, lobsters, blueberry fields and Andre the Seal, upon hearing our answer.The billboard slogan that greets visitors heading north on I-95 reads "Maine: the way life should be".

Yet, despite being able to go to LL Bean in Freeport 365 days a year, 24 hours a day, there is a major drawback to living in Maine: the lack of sunshine for a large portion of the year. Although we don't have to contend with the same shortage of daylight hours that my Swedish friends have told me about, we do have a discouraging lack of sunshine for more than half the year. Given our proximity to the ocean, as well as the northern tip of the continental U.S., we are often shrouded in darkness....from clouds or because of the calendar. The lack of sunshine is okay at first; we learn to create roaring fires in the fireplace, to snuggle under blankets and generally hibernate with the indoor comforts of prolonged coziness. After a while, however, the novelty wears very thin. I find myself sinking into my own black hole of grumpiness and anxiety. I forget how happy I can be in the magical, lyrical days of shining Summer and Autumn ablaze. Especially because we lack a true Spring season (we move from Winter to Mud to the Fourth of July), the desolate and disheartening gray seems to linger interminably.

Despite being a native Californian, I've lived in the east far longer than I did in the west. Yet, a large part of who I am, of what I need to be truly happy, lies 3000 miles away; the sunny skies of the southwest. When the winter blues turn toxic, I know that, for my own benefit, I have to slip away from Maine's foggy shores to rediscover the cheerful person I am. It's as if the low cloud cover not only encompasses my home, but my very soul. I forget to count my blessings. I have amnesia regarding the state of my spirit. I lose my zest and become a winter sloth. By traveling, I'm able to allow the parts of my personality, that I'm proud of, to reemerge. It isn't so much that sunshine creates my level of happiness or state of mind. Rather, sunshine simply seems to call forth the enthusiasm, the friendliness, the brightness and the merriment that has gone dormant. My laughter, so elusive in the depths of both emotional and seasonal, winter, finds its way to the surface once again.

So, what inspires me about the west? My east coast friends cite reasons why I shouldn't like it...the crime rate, the smog and the traffic. The high cost of living. The surface level judgment. Yet, I miss my home state when I'm not there because of many simpler pleasures; going outside to pick an orange or an avocado off the tree. Being able to sit outside, with a good book, in February. Basking in the warmth most days of the year. The generally positive attitudes of people around me who are accustomed to paradise-like days. The fresh foods. The ability to go barefoot and put my toes in the sand. These funny little actions do an extraordinary amount of good in my drizzle covered soul.

I've come to realize that one of my life lessons is to cultivate eternal sunshine within me, regardless of my circumstances. I need to find a way to keep the gloomy, Eeyore days of February and March at bay in my heart. I must discover a path that allows me to bask in the warmth and glow, that the west brings out in me, wherever I am. I need to find the 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind' and my laughter, even in the midst of darkness. Yoga can help me with this. By maintaining my practice and classes, I can cultivate positive 'light'. Additionally, even when it's cold and dreary, I need to find additional methods to brighten my day internally. The one way that appears to assist me the most is helping others...by volunteering, by encouraging those who are suffering and by making a difference in my community, I feel the sunshine welling up within me. Even if I can't change the weather, I can certainly be the sunshine for someone else....and in doing so, perhaps I'll bring that light to my own heart, as well.

Mardi Gras

“You must treat everyday like a present and open it with great expectation.” ~ John De Lemme

Mardi Gras. Fat Tuesday. Carnivale. New Orleans. Rio De Janeiro. Venice. The time period, in the liturgical calendar between Epiphany and Ash Wednesday, marks one of the most celebratory delineations of time in the earliest Christian calendar. What began as a simple period of joy became synonymous with decadence, lasciviousness and hedonism.Yet, regardless of one's religious beliefs or affiliations, Mardi Gras has its own delectable spirit that is both captivating, and feels a little dangerous. It is the idea that all inhibitions can be released before a period of austerity. It encapsulates the impression of absolute license for freedom proceeding deprivation. It's the purging of animal impulses before the mastery of them. It's retrogression of composure before the ultimate test of asceticism.

Rather than give an easily found, and utterly fascinating, full history of Mardi Gras, I would like to explore why this holiday is captivating to so many of us. Few people live by the true liturgical year any longer. Lent is rarely a time of fasting and self-mortification in the 21st century. If observed at all, most people I know try to give up a bad habit, such as smoking or junk food. This is less about trying to deprive oneself as Christ fasted in the desert, tempted by the Devil. These relinquishment's are much more about letting go of something we shouldn't be doing in the first place. Like New Year's resolutions, these are begun with the very best of intentions but generally, without a conscious effort to become Christ-like in the process. Additionally, like most New Year's resolutions, these promises for self-improvement are usually begun with the very best of intentions but fall short within a week or two. I'll never forget the year my friend, Debra (a sweets fanatic) gave up desserts. I gave up shopping the same Lent. As we walked through the Mall, I pulled her away from Godiva's immense chocolate covered strawberries, as she gently led me away from Ann Taylor. We were like two addicts, trying desperately to be sponsors for one another, but failing horribly. As she bought her box of truffles and I my blouse, we promised to hang onto them for one another two weeks, just until Easter Sunday, when we'd exchange them as gifts of bonded friendship to one another. We didn't even make it home from Portland before we were digging through the two parcels. On the one hand, we felt horribly guilty. On the other, we secretly delighted in our sins. It was a dangerous combination.

That experience taught me something valuable: being forbidden makes the acts we're trying to avoid all the more delicious. We, as fallen, wretched humans, are prone to deep desires and desperate wants. We are tempted and we can resist, but we often fail. Mardi Gras may seem riotous and deplorable to many, but what it really does is to tap into our base natures of rapaciousness. I believe that the reason this holiday is so attractive is because we know that "anything goes" has a time limit. We understand that our days of infatuation are, indeed, numbered. Perhaps the early designers of these times of revelry knew that people would be more likely to succeed during Lent if they were given free rein the time period preceding. One of my first teenage jobs was at Dunkin' Donuts. The store manager told me that I was allowed to eat as many doughnuts as I wanted. I have to admit, I was more than just a bit of a glutton the first few days. I sampled the glazed, Boston Creme and the blueberry. I gorged on the cinnamon, the chocolate and the jelly filled. I feasted on the sour cream, the maple frosted and the apple fritter. By the end of my 5th day at work, I was not only disgusted with myself, but never wanted to eat another doughnut again in my life. This experience was thirty years ago. I have never eaten another doughnut since. Is my doughnut feeding frenzy anything like the intention behind Mardi Gras? Do we need to move through a time of extreme indulgence to teach ourselves self-discipline?

In my yoga classes, I try to teach a balance in all areas of the class. We practice willpower, self-restraint and control in our breath, in the movements of our bodies and in the thought patterns of our minds. Yet, there are asanas in which I lead movement for the pure exaltation of being alive and well. The Warrior poses are

a good example of this phenomenon. They do require a singleness of thought and focus, and yet, they feel utterly empowering. The delight to be gained from practicing Warrior is heady; it allows the Yogini to feel mighty, beautiful, desirable, exceptional and even a little racy. There is a powerful sense of being when in Warrior. It feels at once self-controlled and alluring. Warrior is a highly transforming series of dynamic poses.

Mardi Gras, for all its decadence, its mystery and its ribaldry is ultimately about just such a transformation: from the boundaries of gluttony to be remade into the self-control over weakness.It's very difficult to overcome our useless attempts at discipline unless we have tired of them. Additionally, it's harder to see the metamorphosis into the enlightened life if we don't understand the transitory attractions of the alternative. This is not to say that we must all rip off our clothing and fall down in a drunken heap on Bourbon Street to understand the value of seeking spiritual illumination.What Mardi Gras has the potential to create is a way past those tiring impulses and a way to see more brightly see the window of inspiration.

Whether you feast on King Cakes tonight, or share a cocktail with friends, I hope the coming of new awakening awaits each of you. As we begin our magical transformations from spiritual worms into butterflies, I pray that these weeks inside your own personal chrysalis bring you the radiance you are meant to develop.

"The journey between what you once were and who you are now becoming is where the dance of life really takes place." ~ Barbara De Angelis

The Shack

Earth's crammed with heaven,

And every common bush afire with God,

But he who sees, takes off his shoes;

The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning

It isn't often that a fictional story can weave exceptional theological, spiritual and literary threads together to create both an interesting read, and a work of spiritual growth. I had read countless reviews for William Paul Young's controversial book, "The Shack", for months before reading it. There were readers who felt it changed their lives miraculously for the better. There were others who believed the book was heretical and dangerous. There were many people who found themselves deeply comforted, and others who found a more exceptional and extraordinary meaning to their walk with the Divine. Still, there were those churches and lay Christian groups who spoke passionately against the premise of the novel, and urged all not only to boycott it, but to ban it from libraries and bookstores. Because I'm a woman of strong beliefs in my faith, as well as a woman of strong convictions against book banning, I was very curious about "The Shack". Would I be offended? Would I be horrified? Would I have a miraculous transformation for my belief system? Would this book create a "Road to Damascus"moment for me, in opening my eyes to greater understanding of God?

In the novel, Mack is a grieving, bitter and understandably shaken father, who lost his precious youngest child to an insidious serial killer, who murdered Missy at a remote shack. After turning his heart away from his surviving children, his wife and his friends, Mack sinks into an understandable, but deeply troubling depression. Mack is angry at God, angry at his own sense of guilt and angry at a world in which vicious crimes against the most innocent can occur. When Mack receives a mysterious note to "Meet Papa" (his code word for God) at The Shack. Mack doesn't believe that God will truly meet him at this symbolic and wretched location. But, Mack does pack up and go, not sure what his actions will lead once he arrives. Mack's journey is nothing short of awe-inspiring. Instead of staying in deserted, crumbling shanty in the darkest depths of winter, Mack awakes to a light filled, beautiful cottage on a stunning autumn lake. And God is making Mack breakfast.

"Papa" doesn't appear as the tremendous Anglo-Saxon judge of the western perspective. He's not an old white man with a beard. Papa appears to Mack as a beautiful African-American woman, whose love radiates from her smile, her eyes and her glowing skin. In my own mind, as was reading this novel, I pictured Queen Latifah as playing this role. However, as with any good work of fiction, the reader is free to 'cast' the characters in her own mind and heart. As we come to know Papa, Jesus (a Jewish carpenter from the middle East) and the Holy Spirit (an Asian woman, who is light of heart), our ideas of exactly what Christianity, faith and personal opinion hold are challenged. Mack is met by the Trinity, but it's a Trinity with whom he can relate, of whom he's not afraid and by whom he doesn't feel betrayed. Mack's quest to gain closure regarding Missy's death opens doors to him to help him realize that God is far greater than any given preconceived notion that humans have devised. Mack is met by God, but not the God he was expecting....Mack was met by the God he needed to see: the loving, healing, redemptive, compassionate and unexpected Divine. Mack was looking for anger, but what he found was forgiveness and blessing.

Mack's journey, in "The Shack", is the archetypcal heroic quest. Just like Homer's Odysseus, Tolkein's "Lord of the Rings" hero, Aragorn, Shakespeare's Hamlet, and countless others, Mack must go on a journey...literally and metaphorically. The heroic quest is defined as "as much a physical journey as it is an emotional and spiritual journey and a journey toward self-knowledge.", according to Joseph Campbell's excellent paper, "The Hero Journey". Mack must separate himself from the 'real' world, he must be given a 'call', he must reject the call, he must cross the threshold, he must endure trials, and he must return triumphant. "The Shack" takes the reader through each of these stages, but in unique and spiritual ways. Mack finds the unexpected, he dismisses it, he struggles against it, he comes to terms slowly with his journey, and he returns to his own world, still saddened, but healed. Where was a frozen, barren shack, transforms into a beautiful dream cottage.

I have long believed that although my Judeo-Christian traditions 'view' God in one way, God is far too large to "put in a box" containing the opinions of a group of men from long ago. God is transcendent beyond any labels we can try to fix on Him. God is not limited, but is limitless. Just as God has the exceptional power to transform "my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy." (Psalm 30:11), God has the power to transform the Divine image into what He sees in our hearts that we need at this moment. God can speak to us through our friends, through our family, through books, and through strangers. God is not confined to being an old man in white robes with a long flowing beard. By that definition, He is confined to the image of Tolkein's "Gandalf" or Prospero from Shakespeare's "Tempest". God is Divine and consistent in the love, compassion, devotion and unbridled healing that is available to us. But, what does He have to look like? I believe that the very nature of the Divine makes that question irrelevant...or relevant only to each one of our needs. God does not change. But, He meets us where are...and who we are...in order to reach us.

"The Shack" is a tremendous book. I highly recommend it. If you find it offensive or divisive, I beg you to ask yourself 'why?'. Although I did not experience a miraculous conversion, as St. Paul did on his own version of the heroic quest, I can say that "The Shack" broadened my imagination, and opened to my heart to ideas I had already experienced as truth. I hope that you will read this book and gain insight into your own journey.