LOSING MY IDENTITY

A Spirit Recovery Journey to Teotihuacán, Mexico

Who am I, really? I have gone through life identifying myself by all of the things that I do, the amazing experiences that I have had, the places I’ve seen, the people I know. Then there is the dramatic version, the pain and suffering, how I have been wronged by so many, the victim, poor me…(let me impress you with how far I have come through all of this adversity). This is what society tells us we are. Keep climbing the ladder; the corporate one, the status one, the martyr one, the beauty one, trying desperately to ascend to the next rung so, at last, so then, I will be happy, right? So why doesn’t the contentment arrive? Why does the ladder keep getting taller and I keep feeling smaller?

Teotihuacán, Mexico is a place where, for thousands of years, people have gone to shed themselves of the skin that they have created, to awaken to the truth. It’s a place where I have longed to go since I started my spiritual journey just over a year ago. I have heard the testimonials from dozens, claiming deep transformation beyond your wildest comprehension. It has been said that words cannot describe the experience. That anything else pales in comparison. “Just wait,” I was told, “you will see when you go. It will completely change the way you move through life.” Intriguing, to say the least.

Arriving in Mexico City was a lesson from the beginning. A flooding, torrential rain hit the city hard, pouring down fierce and fast. It was the worst storm the city had experienced in over 60 years. This otherwise nourishing gift, pushed the capabilities of the infrastructure over the edge, and it was not able to contain the rivers of water that flowed out of control. Most streets were impassable and the traffic became a confused mess of vehicles trying to impatiently enter and exit. Small cars were up to their windows as they crossed the depths of the pools. The 35 mile ride took about 3 ½ hours and we arrived feeling relieved and hungry and grateful to have made it to The Dreaming House, the place that we would call home for the next five days. The darkness and the curious weather created a metaphor for our lives, as we knew them. The chaos, the drama, the frustration, the emotions, the intolerance, the stirring, the anxiety…the fear, of the unknown…it was all present to whisper in our ears… “Why are you in Mexico?”

Morning arrived, allowing the sun to show us where we had landed. The earth was still wet and puddled, but the sky was as clear as can be. Everything looked more detailed and bright, intensely illuminated by the light. A deep inhale of the crisp, clean air with arms stretched wide…began the day.

We all gathered in the meeting room after a delicious breakfast, to get acquainted with each other and receive the low-down of what we might be in for on this journey together. We were reminded immediately that our “stories” had no business in this place. We went around the circle, basically giving our first names and where we were from. That’s it. Getting hooked on our familiar personal pitch-line was what we were there to get away from.

“Be Here Now!”

I found this so refreshing. To experience and share with a group of over twenty people for five solid days and not discuss what it is that we do for work, how many kids we have, where we went to college, what kind of car we drive, nothing from our past…to stay as present and in-the-now as possible, was our goal. So when you couldn’t remember someone’s name, it wasn’t, “you know that lawyer guy,” which of course labels him and puts any number of different perceptions one might have about lawyers, attached to him. It also, and more importantly, kept us all on the same plain…humans, gathering together to have a human experience. Aww…how nice is that?! We weren’t comparing ourselves or creating a hierarchy of wealth or intelligence. We were simply there to learn and grow and release, and find our truth. Lee McCormick, our Toltec guide and shaman, started us off by reminding us that, “We are living with our past in front of us. We need to let go of our story in order to put it behind us. We are not our bodies, our minds, or our belief systems…that is all just an interpretation, not the truth. We are willing to go to any length to prove that we are right. We work so hard to fit in, so we can get conditional love. We’ll do almost anything to avoid the unknown. We are working so hard to manage our misery. And, of course, misery loves company, so we indulge in it, share it and spread it to everyone we know. The bullshit has to stop. The stories have to stop.”

Arriving at the ruins, we sat on a set of ancient stone steps with a vantage point from which to meditatively observe the plaza that represents Hell on Earth. What brought us to this place, this place where you go to remember who you are? Were we all willing to leave our old lives behind in exchange for our freedom from fear? In the center of Hell is a platform with steps on four sides called the Island of Safety. This represents all of the ways that we find to cope and comfort ourselves in our lives–the aspects of our lives that we make responsible for us. The labels. What are the agreements that we have made with ourselves to feel safe? What has served us, but now feels like a trap? We all wandered in Hell to contemplate and journal about what this might be for each of us.

This was a time for me to get very real with myself. I have defined myself, for most of my life, by what I do, the company that I founded, my list of achievements and successes, my travels to far away lands, properties that I own, how wonderful my children are, and on and on…I have used this story to create, what I hoped, would be a positive perception from others of what I’m all about, to get love and acceptance, or even to place myself higher than others on the interesting and impressive scale. But what I was really doing is hiding behind my fear of what I am without this story of what I am? If not this list of “good” stuff, then was I the bad stuff…the shame, the ugliness, the disappointment? Or maybe I am none of the above?

Could I simply be divine light…an energy being with a huge capacity to love?

We were asked to pick up stones that represented the agreements and beliefs that we were ready to discard. None of the ideals that we thought were making us safe were actually making us safe from anything. The real safety is in the love that we give ourselves, the refraining from judgment, and the acceptance of ourselves, and others. Called by a Tibetan bell, we gathered on top of the Island of Safety, looking down on our Hell below. Lee had drawn a circle with an X in the middle, dividing it like a compass. One by one we each entered the center of our circle and ceremonially laid our stones in one quadrant with gratitude for the life that we have led and a commitment to leave it behind, in exchange for a new beginning…free from suffering, free from judgment, free from the past. For me, this was a powerful start to an amazing transformation.

There is so much more to us than what we have been living.

That night, feeling a little dazed by an emotional day of growth and awareness, we all stumbled into the meeting room to discuss what we were experiencing. A little sharing was done, but mostly it was quiet. We were all processing. Joan Borysenko and her husband Gordon Dveirin, were attending this retreat with us as teachers and guides as well. Even Joan, who is an internationally renowned speaker and author on spirituality and integrative medicine, seemed a bit stunned, stating that she came here knowing nothing of what to expect and she was going to sit with this unknowing until she knew something and then she would speak. What she did ultimately share with us that night though, is that we should be particularly aware of our sleeping dreams during our nights at The Dreaming House. To keep a journal near our bedsides, ready to document our visions, for if we go to sleep with the right intentions, our dreams may have messages for us on issues that we need to work on. This was interesting to me, as I have always paid particular attention to my dreams. I have found them to be helpful with creative inspiration and they are many times very strange, which amuses me.

My Dream That Night: I was very frustrated. Over and over and over again I was making a pizza. It wasn’t your typical pizza, it was gourmet, with yummy organic and exotic toppings and rectangular in shape. I would make this pizza with such precision, wanting it to be aesthetically balanced and perfect. I would carefully put the pizza in the oven at just the right temperature, for just the right amount of time, but each time I would pull the pizza out of the oven it would be flawed. The pizza would have a big tear in it or it would be burned or flat on one side. I couldn’t get it right, no matter how hard I tried. So, for what seemed like (in dream time) an entire day, I kept remaking the pizza. You see, I had crashed into this guy’s car. No one got hurt, but I put a dent in the back of his car and I felt really bad. I had to make a perfect pizza to give to this guy so he would forgive me, so he would like me, and not think of me as an irresponsible person who created this problem for him that he was now going to have to deal with.

So the next day, I knew what I needed to focus on. Letting go of perfection, and trying to be everything to everyone to earn their love, respect, or forgiveness.

I am good enough just as I am.

As individuals moving together, twenty humans BEING, we climbed the steps to a platform directly in front of the Pyramid of the Moon. Each of us were strategically placed, sitting with four people in the center facing outward and then four across from them facing each other and then one person in each of the spaces between, and someone across from each of them and so on, so that each person was looking into the eyes of another. We then placed one hand on the heart of the person in front of us and the other hand on the person’s heart next to us, so that ultimately we were all touching, connecting to each other. Staring into the eyes of the person in front of us we began breathing in unison, all of us, exchanging loving energy with intention. The flow of energy began as a simmer and over the span of a few minutes, with all of us continually breathing together, deeper, inhaling and exhaling, and with more intent, became a roaring boil of electric connectivity, the tears rolled down our cheeks, and the light that we created rose from us shined up and out, into the universe. I could feel each and every person, like a current running through me. I felt a deep grounding with the earth as if roots were growing beneath us down through the ancient ruins and into the core of the earth. The feeling of oneness with everything and everyone was brilliant and clear. The intensity, the power, the pure love was the most beautiful thing I have ever experienced. To be so free, to be nothing but love and light, and to be enveloped with all that is and ever was…miraculous!

All we need is love, love, love is all we need.

And so, five wonderous days fly by, as days do. We all have to leave our compound of closeness and comfort, with all that is. Trying hard to hold it together, to not open the floodgates of emotion, I say my good-byes and then a woman that I made a special connection with, comes over to me with tears welling in her eyes and I lose it. We hug, one of our deep and warm, lasting and sweet hugs, and as we pull away she says, looking at me with tears streaming down my face, “It was really nice to meet you,” and I say to her, “No, honey, it was really nice to FEEL you.”

For me this journey was truly transcending. I am not the person that I was when I arrived. I have evolved to the point that, that girl I thought I was…all aware and enlightened, is barely recognizable. What do I do? Where is the ladder? I can’t recall my story. It seems so insignificant anyway.

Can five days really make that big of a difference in your life?

Anything can happen when you lose your identity and forget who you are in the middle of Mexico at the temples of Teotihuacán.

A visit with Ketut Lier - Medicine Man (of Eat, Pray, Love fame)

Ok, so I am a big fan of Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love....one of my all time favorite books. Well, anyone who has read the book knows that she takes this glorious year off and spends 4 months eating in Italy and learning to speak italian, 4 months praying in an Ashram in India, AND 4 months in Ubud, Bali, where she, falls in love. Since I am here in Ubud and, like I said, love this book, I decide to re-read the last chapter just to refresh my memory of her spiritual and otherwise exhilarating, experience. There are a number of wacky and woo-woo characters that she runs into in Ubud, all of which are incredibly intriguing to me, but one of which I was so interested in meeting that I inquired with the hotel staff if they knew him.

Ketut Lier is a medicine man, palm reader, painter, wood sculptor...extraordinary all around human. Elizabeth describes him as old, somewhere between 65 and 110, he is not really sure; mostly toothless, joyously happy man who sits on his porch and helps people all day long, everyday. He makes magic paintings that cure ills, herbal concoctions mixed with special prayer for any number of ailments, fortune telling for foreigners, he performs wedding and cremation ceremonies, and on and on...he is a very busy guy.

Elizabeth met Ketut two years before on an assignment writing for a magazine about spas in Bali. (Nice assignment.) I want to be this girl when I grow up, only she is younger than me, so as the Hindus believe, maybe in my next life. Anyway, when she met him on that first trip she asked him how to get closer to God. To have God with her always, while still enjoying the pleasures of life. He basically told her to stop thinking with her head and think only with her heart. While reading her palm he told her a bunch of cool stuff, then he told her that she would come back and spend three or four months living with him and she would teach him English and he would teach her everything he knows about God. This is what spurred the idea for the book. Her experiences with Ketut two years later when she returned to live in Bali for four months was profound and deep. So, I was delighted when Sujana at the hotel said, “Yes, I know Ketut Lier, when would you like to go see him?” Yay!!!

I was giddy with excitement to meet this mystical man. So an hour later, there I was being dropped off in front of Ketut’s home, not far from the hotel. Elizabeth describes the sign in front of his house as saying, “Ketut Lier - painter.” Well, now it says, “Ketut Lier - painter, wood carving, and added in small, Medicine Man.” I guess I was kidding myself thinking that I would meet this man and recreate Elizabeth’s enlightened awakening with a magical potion for 250,000 rupiah ($25). I thought his porch would be packed with local villagers seeking help with sick babies and need healing for bad birthdays, but instead, there was one woman from Holland that he was sitting with and two people from France waiting before me, each with their tattered copy of Eat, Pray, Love in hand wanting the same answers for life’s intriguing dilemmas as I did, with an autograph to boot. The holding area for the people waiting to see him was about 10 feet from the porch where the readings are performed. Within ears shot, especially since Ketut, being hard of hearing, speaks quite loudly. So, halfway into the reading of the Dutch woman, I eaves drop, in a way that seems that I’m just daydreaming. Ketut is delightful and flattering with her, they giggle and he goes on. After about 30 minutes he invites the next in line to come to the porch where he sits on a woven straw mat that looks quite old with stacks of notebooks and other odds and ends behind him. He is wearing a t-shirt that looks like a souvenir from Jakarta with a gold silk scarf around his waist and a yellow and brown batik sarong, with no shoes. Again, only because of course, I can’t help it; I listen to what he tells the woman from France. Humm...it’s sounding a little familiar. Then a French guy goes up. He came with the woman before him. And again, it sounds like a recording with only a few small revisions to compensate for the difference in gender. My heart is sinking a bit as I sit in the heat with about 90% humidity, dripping with sweat while I wait patiently for my moment with Ketut. For the last 20 minutes I decide to find a spot in the shade a little ways away, not wanting to hear any more as my excitement is withering. I feel a bit like Ralphie, that kid in A Christmas Story that waits eagerly for the postman to deliver his Little Orphan Annie secret decoder that turns out to be a stupid commercial for Ovaltine.

So, its my turn and I’m thinking this old guy has got to be tired. I ask his assistant if he needs a rest before I go up, and he asks. Ketut says, “No. No. I am fine. Come. Come.” Up on the porch I am enveloped with the charm and cuteness of this little man. He says, “Sit. Sit.” and I do. He puts his hand on my knee and says, “How you know me?” I say, “Well, like most everyone else in the world, I read the book.” He reaches back and picks up his white hard bound copy that is dirty with finger prints, missing the glossy wrap, and shows it to me. “Yes, I think many people read this book.” He shows me where his book is signed by Elizabeth inscribed, “To Ketut Lier, my friend and teacher. Love, Liss.” Then he tells me how sad he is that he can’t really understand the book because he reads very slow in English. He finds the chapter where his name is written many times and he shows me, pointing to his name. “See, this is me, Ketut Lier, Ketut Lier (turning the page) Ketut Lier, that me.” “I know,” I say. Then he starts to read the first sentence on the page, sounding out each word very slowly and then he gets frustrated. “I think you are very famous now.” “Yeah maybe.” He says, “but I not feel good in my back. It hurt me everyday. I tell my son and my granddaughter, but no one can help me.” I said, “Well maybe you need to have some back support while you sit on the porch all day.” He just looked at me like I was crazy. “Yeah.” He says, “I don’t know.” “Where you from?” He asks. “America.” “Oh, I have many friend now in America.” “Yes, I know. Liz is from America in New York, but I am from the other side in California.” “Oh, never been to USA.” He says. “It you first time to Bali?” “No.” I say. “My second time.” “Oh, why you come see me alone?” I told him that my boyfriend stayed back at the hotel. “You not married?” “No. I say. I was married a long time ago, but now I have a man, but we are not married.” “Oh, you will get married. The first guy not your cup of tea, but other guy, he your cup of tea. You be together until die.” “Ok, good.” I say. Then he puts his hands on my face and says, “You very pritteee.” (He said this to all of the other women too and told the man he was very handsome.) Then he said, “You eyes are very good for me. You ears are very good....oooh, yes, very good ears. It good for me. You nose....it is very goooooda and you lips it very good...sweet like honey...you understand? All face, very good! You be prittteee you whole life. You understand?” He smiled with his big mostly toothless grin and then he took my left hand in his and he looked at my palm. “Oooh...yes, you life line is very good. Very long life. You live 100 years.” He said, with a smile and a decisive nod. (He said the same to all of the others, except the guy only got 99 years...ha.) Then he said, “Ooooh yes, you money line is very strong. You will be rich, very rich. You make lots of money. You no forgot me.” Then he laughs. (Again verbatim to everyone else.) “You influencer. When you talk people listen to you and want to follow you. You understand?” (Same, same.) Then he asked me what I do for work. I said that I am an artist for advertising and marketing and a photographer and I do some writing. Then he said, looking at my palm again, “You do many kind of job, on computer, with creative, many thing you can do. Very good for you. Make you lots of money.”

Then he asked me if I had children yet. I told him that yes, I had two boys ages 16 and 19. He turned my hand to the side and said, “Oh yes, you have two children, both are boys.” (Yeah, I just told you that.) Then he asked for me to put my legs in front of him so he could look at my knees. “Yes, very strong, no Arthritis.” Then with the other knee, he wiggled my knee cap around a bit, “Oh, good, you no Rheumatoid.” Then to my back. I lifted my hair and he looked at the top of my back and said, “Oh yes, very nice, like fragrant flower. You understand?” I didn’t, but said I did. “Ok.” He said. “I think you have good life. What you do for work?” I noticed a little forgetfulness, but this guy could be 100, so I understand. I told him again what I do and he says, “Oh yes, you be very rich. Don’t forget me.”

I tell him that when the Eat, Pray, Love movie comes out he is going to have a line wrapping around Ubud to see him. “And when you get rich, rich, rich, don’t forget me,” I say. He laughs. He tells me that Julia Roberts came to visit him, but he didn’t know who she was. He actually plays himself in the movie. Ubud is all a-buzz about the filming that was done there a few months ago. I heard that the producers paid Ketut 4 million rupiah for his part (about $4,000). That is a lot of money to him. I asked him if he was looking forward to seeing the movie and his expression changed and he said, “No, I sad that I can’t follow. My English is not so good.” I said, “Oh, I’m sure you will get a copy of the movie with Indonesia subtitles, where the words will run across the bottom of the picture.” He looked very confused and said, “No. I no good read.” “Well, you can just watch and be happy. You already know the story. You were there.” He doesn’t seem to understand me. So, we take a photo together and he smiles and says, “Let me see!” He seems to get a kick out of seeing his image on the viewfinder. Then he looks and says, “Oh, no, you very prittee, me very ugly, no teeth.” “No.” I said. “You are handsome.” He waved me off saying, “No, no, you kidding me,” with the cutest grin.

We both stood up to say goodbye and we warmly held all four of our hands together and made a small bow at each other. I thanked him profusely for his time and he said, “Ok. See you next time you in Bali. Tell your friends in USA to come for palm reading.” “I will.” I say. “Bye. Bye.” We waved at each other and as I walked through the front gate I looked back and he was still standing there waving and smiling at me.

He did seem to have a script, but you know, he really was delightful...sweet as sugar with a little spice mixed in. A bit playful and flirty, curious and childlike, with wise eyes that said he knows the secrets of the universe and if I had more time he’d be happy to share. So, maybe it wasn’t the spiritual experience I had hoped for, but I certainly left smiling...maybe even smiling in my liver. (If you read the book, you’ll know what I mean.)

Bermuda – Brilliant Conservationists

One of the first things you will notice as you approach the island of Bermuda from the air, is the magnificent turquoise blue ocean shores, but also that all of the structures have pristine white roofs. It is incredibly picturesque, though after discovering the genius in the purpose…quite inspiring. Every home on this 21 square mile paradise is topped with row after row of slate stone and then uniformly white washed. The horizontal scalloping slopes are engineered to catch the rainwater and create a cascade into a drain system that collects and fills a large tank beneath each home. This pure clean water is all that each household has to fulfill all of their liquid needs; showering, flushing, cleaning, drinking, cooking, feeding plants, etc. Houses have been built utilizing this system since houses have been built in Bermuda.

There is not a rainy season, per say, in Bermuda. The rain comes when it comes, so conservation of this precious resource is taken very seriously. Rich or poor, everyone skimps on water. Showers are short and not usually a luxury that one can take advantage of everyday. If a bath is desired, the water does not go down the drain, but rather used to wash the car or water the garden. While I was visiting, it rained hard for a short time during three of the five days. Tanks were topped off and excitement was exuded for the “good rain” and plans for long showers or washing bedding or draperies ensued. There is a run-off system for overflow, but no one wants to let any of this stuff go to waste so their imaginations go wild with wonderful, watery ideas. For many, this water does not get treated in any way. It’s pure rainwater, clean as it comes from the sky. Some have purifications systems, but most feel that it is not necessary. How cool is that? No chemically treated, chlorine tasting, (or worse) water that has traveled from who knows where to get to you through who knows what?

Coming from California, where water is scarce and a drought is always threatening, I couldn’t help but be awe-inspired by this incredible exercise in capturing and conserving our one, can’t-live-without, natural resource. We hear on the news daily that we need to be rationing; watering our lawns every other day and only at night, taking shorter showers, turning off the water while we brush our teeth and only washing a full load of dishes or clothes. But honestly, most people don’t pay any attention to this. They figure, someone else will cut back on their usage and make up for my wastefulness. While millions and millions of dollars are being spent on research and development for converting sea water into safe drinking water; pools are filled, landscapes watered in excess until a river runs down the streets into the sewer, and 40 minute showers are taken twice a day unnecessarily when we could just practice the simple art of using only what we need.

You just never know where your scope of sustainability will expand, but I, for one, will be much more conscientious and grateful for the spring of life that magically comes from the tap whenever I need it. And I will not take for granted that it will always be there.

Other ways that Bermudians are leaders in sustainability and the fight against Global Warming:

There is a one-car-per-household law. No exceptions. No matter your status or situation. Again, brilliant! The solution for multiple adults needing transportation in one home in Bermuda? The motorbike. It is typical that the woman of the house drives the car and the man drives the motorbike; and when a child reaches 16, he or she will also begin driving a motorbike. People aren’t much into cars as status symbols on the island either. The cars that they do have are very small and efficient, consuming little gasoline and giving off low emissions. The roads are narrow and there really isn’t room to navigate two lanes of gas-guzzling SUVs anyway.

One of the largest industries in Bermuda is tourism, and the rule applies to tourists as well. No rental cars are allowed, only motorbikes can be rented. This works two-fold – the traffic is managed by the amount of cars permitted on the minimal roads that lead from one end of the island to the other, and the island maintains cleaner air with less pollution and more probability of securing life on the islands that are completely surrounded by coral reefs, which are in danger of being destroyed by Global Warming. If the coral reefs begin to deteriorate due to higher tides allowing less carbon dioxide and light that the coral needs to thrive, the islands will become increasingly susceptible to a tidal wave washing everyone and everything away, forever. This kind of environmental catastrophe is being studied by underwater engineers, and the people of Bermuda are taking it seriously.

The residents and tourists also take advantage of the public transportation available, either by land or by sea. The bus is cheap and goes everywhere, but more fun, and visibly stimulating, is the ferry system that many people ride daily to work or to school or to site see. There is nothing prettier than the view of Bermuda from the water. The azure waters gradate from a deep and dark, bright indigo to a translucent blue-green to a crystal clear turquoise that takes your breath away. Being on the water is a great way to get where you need to go.

They have rules at school too. Bermudian schools do not serve meals, no cafeterias, which I’m sure means better nutrition for the kids and it saves money all the way around. I love this! My youngest son is 16 now and can come home for lunch, which is great, but for the last dozen or so years that I have had children in school I have always packed their lunches. The school newsletter that now comes daily via email announces the lunch menu for the following day and I read it and nearly weep. One of the latest gourmet delights was: chili cheese tator tots. I am speechless. So, with this as my gauge for school meals, Bermudians have it figured out, and on top of that…no child is allowed to bring a lunch to school in any type of bag or container that is not either completely recyclable or even better, reusable. This is teaching kids about good health and taking care of our environment in one well-rounded lesson. A+ Bermuda.

I am lucky enough to have friends on this wonderful and special place in paradise and I visited the homes of a couple of them who have children. I was really impressed with these kids overall - responsible, polite, considerate and super smart, they seemed to understand how fortunate they are to live where they live and enjoy a quiet, slower paced kind of life. But it was the little things that stuck with me. While two of the young girls were outside playing on swings that look out over a vast expanse of blue, where the perfectly-puffy clouded sky meets the beautiful blue ocean, the 8 year old says, “Mommy we are going to play outside so we don’t use electricity.” I did a double take, “was that a child who is actually aware of the fact that electricity is not only a precious resource, but that it also costs money? WOW!” While the water is free, power is expensive on the island and the kids understand this. TV watching, video games and computer time are limited and nothing is left plugged-in that is not necessary to function.

Necessity is the mother of invention, but if, like the Bermudians, we never knew that we could use our resources irresponsibly and in excess, would we be different? I think the proof is evident in a place that was miraculously discovered by a shipwreck 400 years ago and still survives and thrives 700 miles from anywhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.