JEssay Says ...

JEssay says has MOVED!

2010-02-12T23:34:00.000-06:00

Jessie's BLOG has MOVED to http://jessietierney.com/?cat=109

Please click here to visit my brand spankin' new blog.

Also! My new website is up and running (my blog is now a part of my site!). Check it out: JessieTierney.com

Weather

2010-02-11T23:03:00.005-06:00

Colorado weather fascinates me.

It arrives suddenly

It rages

It passes, as suddenly,

to reveal blue-skied sunshine.

Unlike midwestern weather of my past

Which looms

Like heartache

Or loss

Graying the skies for weeks,

months,

My skin turns gray, too.

I like the anticipation

Of midwestern weather--

The mounting expectation,

the building, as skies swell

Gradually

Into a fantastic delivery.

There is nothing like a midwestern storm.

But wintertime becomes tiresome

Like a friend dwelling in sadness

Uninterested in solutions:

It defines a person, a place,

This emotional weathering.

Being here transforms me.

A deepening, then instant lift

of spirit:
Here I've become sunshine

Emotions pass through with the storms

Always to reveal light

After so long in dreary darkness.

Landscapes

2010-02-11T18:31:00.000-06:00

Here is a small collection of landscape photos I shot on camp over the past nine months. The dynamics of this western climate never fail to inspire and amaze me. Being out here makes it easy to compose photos. Enjoy!

Pulling off at the side of Hwy 24 going west into Florissant.

Guffey's swimming hole. That's my buddy Ryan jumping from a high rock through the sun.

A campsite on Sanborn property at dusk.

A storm rolls in on Sanborn during a horse pack trip.

Aspen!

Jessie Spehar on Ebony rides into the clouds.

Garden of the Gods.

The ever-present Pikes Peak: I feel like it's watching me.

Here's Pikes bathed in a summer sunset.

My parents' solar-powered cabin nestled in the wet mountains of Canon City.

Letter to My Parents

2010-02-08T16:48:00.006-06:00

Dear Mom and Dad,

I'm reading a nonfiction book by Richard Louv called Last Child in the Woods, and it's the kind of experience that I love from a book: Reading it awakens truths in me that I already knew, somewhere, but hadn't yet articulated. It's bringing back memories I'd long since forgotten from my childhood; a perfect invocation in this season of wintertime reflection.

The program here at Sanborn, especially the HTOEC School Weeks outdoor education curriculum and philosophy, is very much in line with the concepts in this book. Reading it affirms what I'm doing with my life (teaching children how to connect with the outdoor world) and helps me to realize how timely and essential this work is.

So much of today's youth spend a majority of their time plugged in, on phones, in front of a TV, sitting at a computer or playing video games. There's the obesity problem. Natural spaces are diminishing and a culture of fear often prevents parents from allowing their children to venture outside unsupervised. Kids are forgetting--or never learning--how to BE in the outdoors. There are more and more studies showing a direct correlation between less time spent in unstructured outdoor play and an increase in mental, physical, and emotional illness. This shift away from the natural world is devastating to our society on so many levels.

So, among all this, I write to thank you for allowing nature and unstructured, imaginative play to be a formative part of my childhood. Maybe you weren't aware, as a parent, of exactly what I was doing as I explored the neighborhood, and perhaps that's part of the beauty of it. I want to thank you for letting me run loose around Windbury Court to play with friends. On any given afternoon, we would jump down into neighbors' window wells to collect toads in an old bucket; we'd explore the spooky forest behind the Burkes house to see who was bravest; I'd pick berries (even though you'd told me not to) to taste their bitterness then come home with stained fingertips. Thank you for watching with me in wonder as pheasants and foxes crossed the church lot behind out house at dusk. Thanks for trusting that a ring of the cowbell you mounted on the front porch would bring me home for dinner.

When we moved to Orchard Valley, ours was one of the first newly developed lots, and I thank you for re-installing the cowbell on that front porch and again letting me run free. Thanks, Dad, for not getting too angry when I sneaked your hammer from the tool bench and ran across the vacant lots to the big oak tree next to the Baneks, where the neighbor kids and I constructed a tree fort using the 2x4s and nails we found on construction sites. Thanks for taking us sledding down the hills of the golf course when it snowed. Thanks for letting the dogs run without leashes, us behind them. We moved to Orchard Valley at the perfect time--before the open space of those lots was developed--and we moved away just as houses began to close in.

Thank you for the farm. Even now, years later, I haven't found the words to encapsulate that time through junior high and high school. Summer days on the back of my horse in the sunshine, watching fields and fields of cornstalks sway in the wind. Those memories still soothe me today.

When developers snatched up the endless seas of farmland surrounding our five acres, and when we had to move, too, it was like a piece of me was lost--for a very, very long time. College, the city, traveling ... I kept searching, but nothing seemed to fill that void.

And now, thank you for Colorado. Mom and Dad, you are the reason I am here. I guess I should thank Own Your Own Mountain dot com, too, eh Dad? Having escaped the city and now rediscovering my Self, I'm happy as I was as a child in the woods. There's magic in this environment, space for growth and a re-kindling of what I lost when I alienated myself from horses and from nature.

And now I have a job that values this essential connection to nature as much as I do. I spend my days igniting wonder in kids who normally spend their days plugged in. The shift that happens out here is profound, and their lives, I truly hope, are changed by it.

Howard Gardner talks about the eight intelligences (and possibly more--see his paper titled A Multiplicity of Intelligences). One is the Naturalist Intelligence. Because of you, I think that's me. You guys instilled in me a deep love of the natural world, and now, since you've exposed me to Colorado, I've found it again. Thank you.

Love,
Jessie

Sanborn Blogging

2010-02-07T17:46:00.000-06:00

I just posted a new entry to the Sanborn Western Camps blog about the transformative and healing power of quiet time in an aspen grove. Check it out!

Aspen Stand

2010-02-06T11:18:00.001-06:00

I sit in this small aspen grove
My book and pen in hand
Taking a moment to absorb
Reflecting on the land

The wind picks up its haunting voice
Whispering through the trees
And I can't help but wonder if
Its message is for me

Far too much time I've spent the past
Cooped up inside all day

And gradually those forest voices

Start to drift away

Preoccupied with this and that
I'd spend my life inside
Until a profound part of me--
My Natural Self--died

The only way to get it back
And feel again like me
Is to take some time, like today,
To lean against a tree.

The voices of the forest, now,
Even as I sit here
They rise in volume and in voice
To captivate my ear

A promise to myself I make--
One with this aspen stand--
I shall never lose sight of me
And me in nature's land

The Great Escape

2010-02-02T11:24:00.002-06:00

I did chores this morning at the barn in my pajamas--fairly certain that after I filled water buckets, pulled our herd of 10 horses out of turnout to feed them, let them back in, doctored a few wounds and fed the goats, I would head home to my cabin and crawl back into bed.

Things went smoothly at first: the water wasn't frozen over for about the first day all week (we'd been having breaker/fuse problems), the horses came down from their top pen so I didn't have to hike through the pasture to catch them, and each horse stood with a feed bag tied to its muzzle eating grain and supplements without incident.

I fed the goats and rabbit while the horses munched, refilled water tanks and tended to the two horses with leg wraps.

I decided to keep Rocket, a lineback dun (a cream color with a darker dorsal stripe) mare with unfortunately dry, cracking hooves, tied up so I could give her feet some TLC. I turned the rest of the herd loose into the pens.

I opened the gate to the upper hay trap and the horses moseyed through lazily, full from breakfast.

As I bent down to apply hoof dressing to Rocket's dry feet, her body tensed. I heard a commotion. Thundering hoofbeats pounded the ground. I looked up to watch Misty, Izzy, Lola ... then Rev, Pete, Beauty, Cindy, Sandy--the entire herd--tear off out another side gate I'd accidentally left open. Across the road, snow flew underfoot from their jubilant escape, and they disappeared into the Ponderosa forest near the four story treehouse.

I stood for a moment, staring at the trees where they'd disappeared, unbelieving.

Rocket's screaming whinny broke my trance. Rocket, an ancy half-thoroughbred mare, had separation anxieties and a reputation for throwing a rider in the past. In my mind, she was unpredictable at best and even potentially dangerous in a situation like this. Riding her alone away from the herd was intimidating enough, but riding her as her fellow herd mates gallivanted freely was not my idea of a relaxing morning.

But what was my choice? The ranch covers 6,000 acres, and I couldn't be certain that this small group of horses wouldn't stop until they reached our larger herd of 55, grazing in a far away pasture for the winter. I kept hoping that they would circle back to the barn as I ran to grab my saddle and bridle.

I quickly tacked Rocket up, promising I'd give her a good grooming after the ride, stuffed extra halters into my saddlebags, and strapped my chaps on over my stretchy thin pajama pants. Meanwhile, Rocket screamed at her runaway friends--wherever they were--and pranced side to side, pawing at the ground. This was going to be interesting.

I swung up onto the saddle as she walked off in the direction they'd disappeared to. The seat was freezing cold through my thin pants, which provided absolutely no padding. Now I know why cowboys wear jeans, I thought. I lengthened my breathing to exude calmness as Rocket pranced across the road and literally jumped over a ditch.

Searching for fresh tracks in the snow, I tried to relax into the idea that I wouldn't find the horses any faster if I was freaking out or berating myself for leaving the gate open. Feeding my exasperation would only fire Rocket up more. So, I set my intention for the ride: I am going to enjoy this search. After all, I thought, who do I know that has this particular set of problems? I smiled as Rocket pranced into the Ponderosa forest, screeching a high-pitched whinny every few seconds.

Instead of trying to force her to flat walk (as was my first instinct), I flowed with her movement a bit, letting her jog a few steps then scratching her on the neck when she slowed. It was counter-intuitive, but Rocket seemed to calm slightly: her head dropped lower and her tense body eased.

I couldn't find the tracks in the snow. We headed toward the gate leading to Little Blue, a "mini-mountain"--the highest point on camp. To my dismay, the gate was open. This pasture extended beyond the mini-mountain and all the way to the front of Sanborn property. They could be anywhere. The good news: fresh horse tracks.

Rocket screamed. No answer. She's pretty much the outcast of the herd, so I didn't expect anyone to whinny back. I scratched Rocket's neck, thanking her for trying.

At times, she lowered her nose, sniffing the ground as if to pick up a trail like a hunting dog. Then she lifted her head with newfound determination and began to jog. I was okay with this as long as it was a controlled speed. She seemed to know our goal, or at least she wanted to find the others as much as I did. As we passed through aspen groves coated with snow, the sun warming through the leaves, I couldn't help but grin to myself, thinking, This is better than a nap any day. It was a clear, warm morning and Rocket was surprisingly great: I didn't feel out of control and she genuinely seemed to want to find the herd. We wove along the trail, my eyes on snowy hoof prints, and ended up at the boy's camp barn.

Another open gate. This time, tracks led everywhere--did those runaways have a party at Big Spring barn? I couldn't tell what went where. On a whim, I let Rocket guide me this time as we cleared the ridge toward the boys cabins and picked up the hoofprint trail again, this time heading back toward the High Trails girls camp and barn. Rocket trotted along at a good clip, occasionally lowering her nose almost to the ground. Uphill, she picked up a slow lope. I let her continue until we reached the road where our journey had started.

Magically, there they were, all of them, just up the hill inside the top hay trap, casually munching on hay. Rocket slowed to a walk. I scratched her sweaty withers and we cruised back to the barn.

Maren, the riding director and barn manager, pulled up. The herd had returned, puffing and damp with sweat, and she'd simply lured them back in through the gate with a bucket of grain. They seemed glad to be home. "I think they'll think twice before pulling that again," she said, "they know where they get breakfast."

As promised, I scrubbed Rocket until she was dry, thanking her for being so pleasant and determined on the trail, and thanking myself for having patience with her. In this case, I had no choice but to trust her. This ride helped me break through my fear, my preconceived ideas of Rocket's behavior on the trial. She is really a sweet horse, wanting to please. Like all horses, I'm learning, it just takes a little patience and the ability to listen without such an agenda to come to an understanding. Rocket and I connected today, and that may not have happened had the herd not made their Great Escape.

What a way to spend my weekend morning. I hadn't intended to ride, but I was glad I did. And when I finally got back into my cabin, I napped like a baby and dreamed of horses.

These photos of Rocket and I, taken by Jenny Hartman, were shot a few weeks ago while on a far more low-key ride.

The Center of Things

2010-01-28T23:38:00.001-06:00

The sunset: a vortex
Pulling the clouds down

Out of the sky

A black hole of light

The moon, close

Rising as the sun sinks

Pivoting on some

Unseen anchor

It makes me feel like the center of things.

Overcivilized

2010-01-24T17:24:00.004-06:00

“Horses help overcivilized people reconnect with the wisdom and rhythms of the natural world.” —Linda Kohanov

Pete, my wintertime project horse, tried out his new bridle today.

Before deciding to work as a wrangler at Sanborn, I hadn’t been on a horse in over four years.

I practically grew up on horseback, riding in a rigorous lesson program since I was eight, owning and caring for horses on our small acreage all throughout high school, then attending my first year of college in Missouri to pursue Equestrian Science. Unsatisfied by the small, rural town of Fulton, Missouri, I decided I needed a healthy dose of the civilized life, so I moved into the heart of Chicago and changed my major to Nonfiction Writing. Living on the twenty-eighth story of a downtown apartment building, I cut horses out of my life entirely and took to sitting in cafes for long hours in front of a computer, sipping tea and glancing over the top of my books in an aloof, sophisticated manner. I’d convinced myself that I loved the city, that I didn’t miss my country-girl upbringing, and that this new lifestyle was making me a better person.

Meanwhile, sitting in the library or any number of my favorite coffee shops, my hands lost their calluses. There was no dirt beneath my fingernails. My body became soft; my brain was the only defined muscle. Then, slowly, without my awareness, it became over-defined. I found myself unable to fall asleep. My writing assignments were never good enough for me, even though my stellar 4.0 GPA would seem to prove otherwise. I maintained the maximum course load, worked part-time, ran a writer’s group, and served as the president of a club I’d started with my roommate. I worked insanely on my writing, obsessing in front of a computer, researching articles online until I couldn’t see straight. I didn’t know it at the time, but there was a lack of something in my life I attempted to fill that void by trying harder, doing more, being smarter. Still feeling empty, I began to turn inward, withdrawing from friends and family. There were some days I only got out of bed to feed my cat.

In my last year of college, I was diagnosed with a Generalized Anxiety Disorder and suffered severe depression. My doctor told me that I’d be on medication for the rest of my life. This news was debilitating; how could I be one of those people? I’d done everything right: I’d tried my hardest, I’d gone above and beyond most of my peers.

After graduation, I moved back in with my parents, unable to afford my life in the city. Things did not improve. I just wanted to be happy, but didn’t know how. My mom asked me one day why I didn’t go visit the stable I’d taken lessons at as a kid. I’d been unconsciously avoiding the barns I’d grown up at, for fear of the feeling of loss that gripped me each time I happened upon even so much as a picture of a horse. The idea was unappealing. But then she mentioned Sanborn, a western camp she’d learned about through a friend at work. Apparently there was horseback riding there. It was near my mom and dad’s new retirement home in Colorado. We set up a visit for late December.

Meanwhile, I went back to the barn. I didn’t even ride, just stood outside the stalls, gazing in at horses munching hay. The sounds and sweet, dusty smell enveloped me. Suddenly, I felt home. The void in my heart felt full again, and my future seemed obvious. I couldn’t get to Sanborn soon enough.

While working with kids and horses as a wrangler at High Trails symbolizes for me a Great Return to a life I’d rejected for something more civilized, it has also taught me much more. In an increasingly sophisticated world, where over eighteen percent of Americans suffer from anxiety and depression in a given year, horse-human interactions serve as the best kind of medicine. Apart from nature, there has been an over-intellectualizing of the self, a denial of the value of being present and authentic. It’s so easy, interacting in society, to put on a mask and function as that false self. Interacting with horses who don’t buy into the false image forces people—adults and kids alike—to be who they are, fully present, fully in the moment. Horses inspire an authenticity that prescription medicine can’t replicate.

Getting Lune and Fiona ready for their Gymkhana event, Summer 2009

Photo by Jessie Spehar

The connections I witnessed last summer between campers and horses were profound. There were some girls who couldn’t wait till the next time they got to ride. It was not just some young girl fantasy coming true; it was a re-realization of the self, an invitation to exist spontaneously, creatively. Perhaps they could not articulate it, but those girls felt more alive—more themselves—in the presence of horses.

Looking back, I wasn’t wrong when I assumed I’d become a more complete person by moving into the city and immersing myself in what I perceived to be important. I needed to witness the darkness of a life where images of busyness, over-achievement and hyper-intellect are so heavily praised, so that I could find a balance and become aware of how fortunate a life with horses truly is. Now, looking forward to the enhancement of next summer’s riding program (I will be Head Wrangler for the girls camp), I am eager to share this horse-wisdom with the girls. It is my hope that they, too, can experience and cultivate an awareness of the grounding effect horses have on our species, so that they can embark on their worldly pursuits as authentic, joyful, and whole people.

One happy camper!

If you desire more information about the horse-human dynamic, I urge you to take a look at Linda Kohanov’s nonfiction book, Riding Between the Worlds. It has been tremendously enlightening for me.

My Yoga Class Opens to the Public

2010-01-19T22:42:00.005-06:00

Just a quick note of exciting news:

The yoga class I have been teaching since November at The Nature Place is now, officially, open to the public! Do you know of anyone who lives in Florissant or Woodland Park, Colorado? Let them know and spread the word.

Every Tuesday and Thursday
6:30pm-7:30pm
The Nature Place Conference Center, Florissant Colorado
Bristlecone Conference Room, downstairs
Yoga mats, props, and restrooms provided
Contact JessieYoga@gmail.com

My Memory is a Child's Toy

2010-01-16T17:33:00.003-06:00

My past
Viewed through a kalideoscope
Does not always swirl, colorful.

Pieces get caught
In the internal mechanisms
Of this child's toy
So that the sight consists of fragments of fragments
With others left out, forever hiding in dark corners.

I like to practice remembering.

Puzzling these pieces together
Aware that my construction of the past--
As I shift, slowly, through fragmented colors--
Won't match your's: it can't.
Nor should it.

I used to be content
To use the aid (the crutch?)
Of photographs and words
In my practice of remembering.

However

I have noticed this:

Taking the camera away from my face

Strengthens the memory muscle

And so do my friends:

We take moments from the day

To delve into the past
And watch the show.

IAM Meditation Technique

2010-01-15T23:23:00.002-06:00

Meditation eluded me for a long time.

I was initially drawn to yoga (and not meditation) because my busy, anxiety-ridden mind needed more, at first, than just the breath to focus on in order to become still. Yoga is meditation in motion, breathing through postures to practice awareness. In classes back in Chicago, once I flowed through an hour and a half practice and ended in the final relaxation pose, Savasana, my mind quieted enough to rest in stillness. However, the idea of waking up an hour before I started my day to sit with my legs crossed and my eyes closed was just not working for me.

Whenever I did try meditation, I'd either fall back asleep or I couldn't slow my mind enough: My hip hurt, my back was tired, I-really-should-write-that-down-before-I-forget ... thoughts seemed to speed up during my meditation practice, and before I knew it I was jumping out of my skin, far from the blissful zenned-out state I was trying to attain.

Compared to when I started practicing yoga six years ago, my ability to sit in stillness had improved. Still, I felt I needed guidance.

A few months back, my great friend told me about an inexpensive meditation training she would attend in December. My ears perked up. It was supposed to be a simple technique that anyone could do, offered for free (aside from the cost for lunches) as long as practitioners committed to practicing every day for one month after training. An easy meditation class for free? Why not? I signed up to go to Boulder with my friend for the two-day training.

It has since been just over one month since I was trained in the IAM Meditation Technique. The training was simple, concise, and thorough: it lasted two days, and an ayurvedic lunch (sooo delicious!) was provided. The meditation practice only lasts twenty five minutes each morning, and surprisingly, I haven't felt drowsy during meditation. I actually look forward to waking up in the morning and starting my day this way. Who knew meditation could be so accessible?

This technique was originated by Amma, who, according to the Amma.org website, "has inspired and started innumerable humanitarian services. She has earned international recognition for her outstanding contributions to the world community. She is recognized as an extraordinary spiritual leader by the United Nations and by the people all over the world." The training was led by an authorized teacher of the technique, and upon completion of the training, I received a certification card.

The practice begins with some simple stretches to awaken the body, followed by various breathing techniques and visualizations. This helped me, personally, with the issue of trying to clear my mind of thoughts. There are steps throughout the practice that guide the mind, focusing on various visuals as the practice progresses. And then it's done in twenty minutes!

The benefits are astounding. Obviously, I've started writing again. I am more in touch with my creativity, more aware of the interconnectedness of ideas and thoughts I encounter during the day. I see my life from the perspective of the witness: I'm less affected by the things that happen to me and more able to act from a place of intelligence. I have clarity as I greet the day: life is more colorful, more vibrant. I feel capable of taking on responsibilities that I had been avoiding before. I can balance the events of my day more effectively. I feel more intuitive, solving problems with a quick efficiency that I haven't felt, maybe ever. I'm in the zone!

This meditation technique is "a synthesis," according to the website, "of traditional, time-tested methods suited for the current mental conditions, time constraints and needs of modern man." It's the busy-person's guide to quick and effective meditation. Corporations train their employees in this technique, and it is often offered to college students to increase concentration, calmness, and productivity. Testimonials on the site show the variety of benefits for all sorts of people.

IAM is not, I learned, solely for spiritual people or those who are into yoga. There is no religious affiliation: it is a simple mental practice. However, like yoga, this practice can enhance whatever spiritual affiliation a person has.

It is now about a week past my obligatory month of practice, and I show no signs of stopping. I would invite anyone interested to find a class nearby and see what benefits it can bring you!

Sanborn Blogging

2010-01-14T10:42:00.001-06:00

I have posted a new entry on the Sanborn Western Camps blog titled Raven Raindrops, where I write about the value of dedicating three minutes out of the day take yourself on a hike, even if it's just down the block. Check it out!

Also, the No Child Left Inside Act is up for reconsideration, and we all have an opportunity to let the Board of Education know that outdoor education should have a place in public schools. Click here for more details!

Exciting Writing

2010-01-08T11:49:00.004-06:00

When it rains, it pours!

This first week of 2010 has brought tidal waves of changes in the writing realm!

I have officially started writing my book. After almost an entire year of not writing (aside from my daily personal journal entries), I finally feel the strong pull to craft something big. I needed this idle time, what author Linda Kohanov brought to light in her Way of the Horse as the concept of wu wei: the Taoist principle of non-doing. This long period of non writing cleared my mind of self imposed expectations, limitations, and old writing habits that had stripped the joy from my process. While I battled with a critical voice telling me that I should be writing, I trusted that it would come when it was ready.

It seems perfectly serendipitous. During this lull of winter, when I nanny during the day and teach yoga two evenings a week, there’s so much time and space for writing. My process is now supported fully by my yoga practice and my twice-weekly horseback rides on Pete through the untouched snow. I’ve outlined my book—a collection of nonfiction essays organized by various places (like Little Blue, Hi Tor, the High Trails lodge, the barn) throughout these magnificent 6,000 acres—and I have already, just this week, roughed out two entire chapters. I feel like my leaky faucet is now a torrential waterfall … and it shows no signs of stopping!

I was invited this week to contribute to the Sanborn Western Camps blog, sharing musings on camp life, the importance of outdoor education, kids, horses, nature, and the outdoors. I’ll keep you updated as I post to that blog.

Additionally, I found a writing competition while perusing the Yoga Journal website last night to look up some poses for my class. Yoga Journal is hosting a blog contest, the winner of which will contribute to the YJ blog for six months. This would be a dream come true, opening up a conscious dialogue as I observe how yoga affects all aspects of my daily life and the lives of those around me. I am where I am today because of yoga, I use yogic techniques in my teaching of horseback riding to both kids and adults, and now I’m teaching yoga at The Nature Place for the season. This blog would chronicle the exciting outdoorsy life of Jess as I teach outdoor ed, practice and teach yoga, work as a wrangler, and then (hopefully) move to Boulder and search for yoga teacher training certification!

Wish me luck and thanks all for your continued support in my writerly endeavors.

Breathe

2010-01-06T21:01:00.002-06:00

Tonight

the sun sets.

Its yellow illuminating Pikes Peak

as though this were its last chance

to show humans

its truest expression

of beauty.

What if it were you

with one last chance

or one last day:

What would you do

to die

fulfilled?

If it were me,

I’d show you a love

so deep

you would cry

spontaneous tears of joy

and you would be full as me.

In fact, here,

I’ll show it to you now

Open your heart to the sky

and breathe.

Sponge

2010-01-02T19:30:00.001-06:00

I used to be a sponge
Sopping
with the wisdoms of others

Still unfulfilled,
I squeezed myself out
Dry
I disappeared
Evaporated into a sky of nothing

Just in time
I chased the sun West
My soul expanding
into this vast land

I never knew it needed so much space

Now I drip
Forming truthful rivers
deltas
an ocean:
I flow
Free

Frida's Eyebrows

2010-01-02T00:58:00.000-06:00

I often dream
of Frida's eyebrows

Dark, unrestricted
unrestrained
but not unruly

I wonder,
pondering her grooming habits,
how her lips move
when she eats

The Sun and Moon

2010-01-02T00:57:00.001-06:00

The sun and moon had a face-off
Their galactic staredown lasted all day
The sun, fierce, intense, blazing
The moon, calm, steady, persistent
Reflective.

At the end of the day, the sun grew weary
Allowing himself to sink slowly into sleep
While the moon smiled softly,
For she knew he would be back for more
Tomorrow.

She shines through the night.

20 December 2009

... A Few of my Favorite Things ...

2009-12-13T00:40:00.005-06:00

There have been three books that I've recently become acquainted with, and they have given me lots of awesome thoughts to chew on. The first, The Key Muscles of Hatha Yoga, by Ray Long, details the anatomy of various yoga poses. My mom and dad sent it to me yesterday for my birthday, and I read half the book on the first night. It's an incredible tool for teachers and students of yoga because it gives visuals of what is happening in the body during the asanas. Already, as I practice, I see and feel the muscles differently--more accurately and in more detail than ever before. Also, the website provides incredible 360 degree diagrams of a great number of poses. It's a great tool for teachers and students of yoga. Definitely check it out if you're interested in yoga and/or understanding the body.

The Ayurvedic Cookbook by Amadea Morningstar gives readers a checklist to determine their "dosha" or constitution--it be Kapha, Pitta, or Vata--and then gives fantastic recipes that fit each of the constitutions. This is a way to eat right for your Whole Self. This book is opening up an entirely new world for me: I usually hate cooking and never really learned how to do it. However, in this frame of knowing that I'm creating dishes that are best suited to my body, I'm actually excited about making dinner! It's one way of holistic healing that I'm really getting into, and The Ayruvedic Cookbook is the perfect introduction to this new way of looking at health.

My sister, Katie, gave me Guided by the Moon by Johanna Paungger and Thomas Poppe a number of years ago when she and I went through what we called a "moon phase." I have been looking at it on and off since then, and recently, I've been almost obsessively reading into its folksy and astrological wisdoms. It is a comprehensive guide to living life according to the phases of the moon--with advice on what days to get a haircut, when to soak the feet, when the hips or stomach will be extra sensitive, when to avoid eating salts, to name a few. From what I have noticed, many of its explanations have been correct. I've noticed that my body's rhythms are very much related to the lunar cycle, and the more that I read, the more I am convinced that there are great forces at work on all of our bodies. Even if you are a skeptic, this book is fun to refer to, and helps foster greater self-awareness, if nothing else.

Turning 25

2009-12-12T18:31:00.007-06:00

Happy Birthday to Me!

On December 14, 2009, I will reach a quarter-century in age.

I'm a college graduate, turning 25, living in a cabin in the woods, barely making my loan payments each month, with no phone reception unless I drive fifteen miles into an open field and park just-so in between two trees ... and I couldn't be happier.

A lot of my friends I've spoken with lately are struggling with ideas like FINANCIAL STABILITY, getting A REAL JOB, affording HEALTH INSURANCE, finding a way to USE THEIR DEGREE, trying to MAINTAIN FREEDOM, figuring out what kind of LIFESTYLE they want to live ... some of my girlfriends approaching their thirties are beginning to freak out because they haven't found A GOOD MAN and they feel they are running out of time because they need to START HAVING BABIES (yikes!)! This is certainly the time to do this type of deliberating.

Fortunately, I feel that I'm in a secure, supported place as I break into my quarter century of life. From what I can gather through various experiences, think I've figured out some general guidelines for myself regarding how to be--and stay--fulfilled.

1. KNOW YOUR PASSION
This is not an easy thing to do. Sometimes it takes therapy. Sometimes it takes quitting a job that I'm very, very comfortable with, sometimes it takes trying something new, sometimes it takes teaching something I know to somebody else. It takes meditation and journaling and inner digging, searching and searching and feeling utterly lost sometimes. Persistence, never giving up until I find what it is that fulfills me.

2. DO YOUR PASSION, EVERYDAY, NO MATTER WHAT
No excuses. Find a way to do it. Wake up a bit earlier. Get a job that incorporates it. If it's still impossible, I imagine myself doing my passion so that I am spending energy making it real.

I spent four years at a writing school because I knew Writing was my passion. Sitting behind a computer obsessively and spending so much time in my mind and not in my body drove me to another passion: Yoga. That still took place (mostly) indoors, and I still wasn't fulfilled until I moved outside and found Horses again. It took years for me to realize my passions, but once found, things have been unfolding for me in amazing ways.

3. RECOGNIZE THE POWER OF INTENTION, AND USE IT!
When I was very depressed, about this time last year, my therapist told me to write--in as much detail as possible--a description of my ideal life. She said, "Describe where you're living, who your friends are, even a description of what your ideal man is like." I read over that journal entry the other day, and was amazed at what I found there: I had written that I was living in a place very close to nature, I was riding horses every day, I was surrounded by friends who loved and supported me, I was working at a job in the outdoors, I'd met a very athletic, attractive, outdoorsy-adventure-loving guy who was taller than me, very fit but not too muscley, had big lips and a short beard (yes, I went into that much detail). And I dated that guy last Spring. For those of you who don't know, that was my life over the past three seasons.

Every few months, I return to this useful exercise: I write down the details of my ideal life. It changes about that often, so it's useful to do this frequently. Then, for about a week (or however long I feel I need to), I read that journal entry first thing when I wake up in the morning. And then it comes true!

4. TAKE CARE OF YOUR BODY/MIND
Here's a cultural strangeness: many people I know feel that they need to put others' needs before their own,-- the expense of their own needs. Especially women. While outwardly this may seem like a selfless, positive quality, it's really self-sabotage. The only way we can serve the world (our family, our friends, the community) is if we are secure and actualized in ourselves first. Then we will be equipped to help others in the best way possible.

Putting others' needs before one's own is often a convenient excuse to avoid self-study: "Oh, I don't have time to exercise or meditate; I have kids/dogs/a husband/school/friends who need me/fill-in-the-blank." Gandhi says "As human beings, our greatness lies not so much in being able to remake the world--that is the myth of the atomic age--as in being able to remake ourselves." I like this idea.

5. OFFER YOUR GIFTS TO THE WORLD
Once I feel that I'm living as my true self, it becomes easier and hugely fulfilling to give to others. I'm aligned for it; I have energy and it becomes a joyful process. Whether that's teaching kiddos to ride horses for the first time, teaching someone how to listen to their breath, or just being there to listen to a friend. It comes easily and naturally, and fulfills me in a bigger way than anything else.

It seems to me that these guidelines apply to people at any stage in life. Passions change--that's important to remember. So someday, perhaps, my passion will shift toward making babies (as of now, I highly doubt it, but I'm open to it), and then I will align my life accordingly. It's when we don't live by our heart's innermost desires that we become unhappy, full of anxiety, and depressed.

So as I turn 25, it is my hope that you, me, and everyone we know, make the decision to live by our heart's desires, to find our passions, and to realize them each day. Happy quarter-century.

My Wardrobe

2009-11-29T22:24:00.009-06:00

Since C. I’ve been exploring love as though it were a wardrobe. Pieces of clothing, shirts or slacks I could pull from a hanger and try on for a while.

When I tried C. on, he fit perfectly. We were comfortable. We tried on different brands of happiness together. I relaxed into a cozy trust in the universe. Things felt natural, preordained, like destiny was casually fulfilling itself.

Until I opened the door to my armoire one day and found that everything had vanished. All gone, not a single unpaired sock was left. There was no explanation.

Since him, I’ve been somewhat desperately searching for the right thing to wear.

When I found myself stepping into a new relationship, it began to define me. With N., I donned pants with zippers and spiked my hair and had a dog chain with a lock around my neck. I’d almost convinced myself that the clothes fit.

Or F., who I wore like a banner, a political shirt that read "LOOK WHO I’M FIXING, LOOK WHO I’M MAKING INTO A BETTER PERSON..." and then in small print: "SO THAT I CAN BE DISTRACTED FROM MYSELF." His was the hardest outfit to peel off.

I didn’t put on much with Y. I wore the hat he crocheted for me just to humor him, just for the summer, for fun. It stayed light. I gained confidence from his easy adoration, the way he showered me with bracelets, things he'd made with his hands. We stayed on the surface, saw ourselves from the outside. But when we started to look deeper, beneath some layers, I found that his fabric was fundamentally different than what I needed.

With K., I went naked, displaying my body as though I'd found it for the first time. He helped me to discover myself in a way I'd not thought to look before. And, as I changed into myself, he left. I felt stripped; he'd taken some of my beautiful nakedness with him. We stayed friends, but for so long, I didn't know how to see myself without him.

Forever I searched for the perfect fit. As though somehow finding the right outfit, the right guy, would complete me. I have finally made the space, now, in my closet, for other articles ... I am beginning to stock it with things like yoga mats, riding boots, camping supplies, climbing gear. Bathing that space in devotion to something better than a wardrobe; in self-love, in Reiki energy. My wardrobe is no longer defining me; I am defining it. Emerging anew, more beautiful than ever before.

Things I've Learned in Colorado ...

2009-08-31T07:18:00.002-05:00

...How to shoot an air rifle

...How to drive stick shift (on a big old yellow truck from the seventies!)

...How to drive a tractor

...My favorite tree is an Aspen

...How to do double-team Reiki

...How to sleep under the stars

...How to cruise down a mountain in neutural, when to use 4 wheel drive, and how to downshift so I don't wear out my brakes

...How to use a compass

...How to read a topographical map

...That it's worth paying a little extra for the right equipment

...How to get by without the right equipment

...How to make Douglass Fir tea

...How to give horses vaccinations

...How to play pool. Sort of.

...That I want to learn to play the sitar

...How to play beer pong--Witcher Style

...How to fit six people into a bathtub meant for two

...That doing yoga on the top of a mountain in a bathing suit among a herd of horses with Sam is quite possibly the funnest thing ever

...That Manitou Springs is the best place for people watching and penny arcades

...How to cut a mean mullet

...How not to cook burgers over a campfire

...How to rock climb!

...How to dance to horrible pop R&B songs dressed as an '80s aerobics instructor

...How to play drums, bass, guitar, and to sing, Johnny D's Rock Band style

...That if a trip is going badly, switching to strange accents is a fail-safe trip saver

...How to take my time

...To ride to breakfast

...That Uncle Gary changes some mean brakes

... How to fall in love with a place

...How to fall in love with the sky

...How to fall in love with so many people at once

...To live to my full potential

...How to be more fit than I've been in my life without trying

...How to be goofy for the sake of being goofy

...How to trust the universe

...To apply SPF 30 sunscreen every morning before I step outside, then again at lunch

...How to make face masks and wear a bandana and become a BANDITO and raid the boy's camp for soda and candy

...How to quickly set up a tent before a hailstorm

...How to hobble and hawk a herd of horses

...How to tie a double diamond, boscoe, cavalry knot, trucker's knot, quick release knot, and diamond

...That I will regret it if I forget my knife

...How to pack for a 5-day horse trip

...How to do a "sun dance" that keeps it from raining

...To always tie a slicker to my saddle, even when there's no sign of rain

...How to push cows

...How to round up a herd of horses

...How to teach girls to ride western

...That chaps are AWESOME!

...That all those weird strings and extra components of a western saddle do, in fact, have a useful and specific purpose

...How to fix a barbed wire fence--that doing this can be meditative and healing

...That the feel of a body worn out from a full day of work is the best thing to fall asleep to

...How to cook over a fire

...How to dig out a ditch to collect water for horses to drink from when both the pond and the spring tank are dry

...How to want to play the mountain dulcimer

...That I really don't need to shower as much as I have in the past

...That I love dry heat

...That I can actually love snow, too

...How to hike

...How to live at altitude

...That hot springs are where it's at!

...That Colorado is definitely the place for me

Rock Climbing at Shelf Road

2009-05-11T18:16:00.007-05:00

I never thought I'd be into rock climbing because I'm kind of afraid of heights ... but with the expert teaching skills of BC and support from Beth and her visiting sister, Sarah, I climbed for the first time on May 2nd. It was INTENSE! And a lot of fun.

BC let me borrow all his gear--shoes and his harness.

My first attempt freaked me out so I came back down.

Second time's a charm, apparently!

Waving hi from the top!

And HUGE relief back at the bottom!

Just Living the Dream!

2009-05-04T16:39:00.002-05:00

How did it go by so fast?

Today starts off the final week of School Weeks here at Sanborn, and I am in awe at how quickly it's gone by. I'm also starting to get a little heartbroken at the friends I've made who are moving on at the end of this week ... It's so rare to have such a concentration of awesome people in one small place. I adore every person I've met so far--every body's got so much to offer the world! I feel so lucky!

A fantastic element of my time here so far is that the majority of people here have been really truly interested in learning about yoga and about Reiki! Maron and Rosie, who head the riding program for summer, have both encouraged me to organize a horseback ride that incorporates yoga. I've offered yoga hikes as recreation activities to the kids here. I practice yoga with other staff members, including Sam who is also really into yoga. My great friend Tracy is Reiki attuned to the same level as I am, and we've "double teamed" a number of our peers by giving them Reiki at the same time as well as trading treatments with each other. So, not only have I been able to talk about my passions, but I've also been able to try my hand at teaching yoga as well as practice giving Reiki on an almost daily basis.

I am fulfilled on so many levels here! The daily hikes with the kids who come up, playing games like I'm ten years old with them, s'mores and popping popcorn over an open fire every night, attempting to cook burgers over a campfire (thank goodness for the boyscout dads who took over after I lost 7 burgers through the grill!), learning about and teaching the geology, wildlife, and plants of the area, more incredible views than I can count ... This is the life.

Last weekend, I traveled with BC, Beth, and her sister through Cripple Creek to Shelf Road. This drive was like being in a fairytale--a meandering creek blanketed in mist with rock cliffs jutting out above and below. We arrived at a campsite then hiked out to rock climbing sites and climbed all day! I'd never rock climbed before, and it was AMAZING. BC was an expert teacher, and we all had a blast. We met up with Sam, Johnny, Brink and Maria and hung out around the campfire before camping in our tents for the night. Next morning was another day of climbing, this time in the warm sunshine.

It's like every day is a dream that comes true. I love it here so much!!!

This is my LIFE ! ! !

2009-04-26T15:18:00.010-05:00

I can't believe that this is my life.

Last weekend, we got an extra day off because the snow forecast caused the schools that were here to pick up their kids early and head out on Thursday instead of Friday. So, on Friday morning (after an incredible Thursday evening dance party and Rock Band sesh at Cook's cabin where Johnny, Eben, Clint and BC live) Nick and I set off in the Expedition through a full-blown snowstorm toward Canon City to spend another weekend at Mom & Dad's retirement log cabin. The snow was incredible!

After Canon city, we headed up through perhaps the most beautiful drive of my life toward Vail, CO, where Johnny, Pat, Sam, Nick, Eben, Beck, Beth and I split a super sweet condo in East Vail for an evening of drinking, debauchery, and singing Country Road John Denver style on the bus ride into Vail Village (thank you Johnny!). Here's the crew on Sunday morning with the remainder of our supplies after morning Mimosas ... "Yummy ... uh-oh!"

Hanging out at Cooks:

A lovely sunrise:

Who knew that the Sanborn crew were such booger lovers? Sam, Pat, me and Nick:

Nick is my absolute favorite fire-fighting, ski patrolling super-studly mountain man. Miss you babe!

On the Cowboys allday: Teller County Sheriff Johnny, Sam and Clint ... yee-haw!

Johnny loves him some beans!

BC and crew dancing the night away!

BC taking a break from his super-mad guitar skills to harmonica.

Ashley and Clint with some soulful tunes.

The Cowboys (and girls), Erin, Johnny, Nick, me and Clint.

I still can't believe this is my life!

Happier than I have ever been.

Living my dreams!

Trailer Trash party in Colorado Springs!

2009-04-05T16:14:00.006-05:00

Baby pool filled with ice, beer, and lawn chairs. Here is Beth with her sharpied-out tooth and Sam in her hott duds.

Tattoos

Jessie and Nick being trashy.

Beth and Pat (the party host with the most)

Oh, so that's what a prego belly is useful for.

Nick and Beth hanging with the broke-down car in the front lawn.

Sam's black eye from a run-in with the po-lice.

Interacting with Nature

2009-04-05T15:40:00.007-05:00

I went on a short hike this morning and considered: How do I interact with nature?

I used to just sit in it--perched, really. I'd tiptoe through and weave around nature, afraid of touching it that I might ruin it.

I feared engagement with nature because I feared wronging it. I'd forgotten how to interact, so I disengaged, thinking that was safe.

But how does on learn without wronging; how can one learned disengaged? One cannot. If one tries, which I have in the past, to live without wronging, one gets ... an anxiety disorder. Because humans wrong things and one another in order to learn and grow, and a repression of that wrongdoing is a repression of the spirit.

Now I set my spirit free--inviting mistakes, allowing free, unsuppressed learning. I am set free, chipping off bark from a tree and smelling. Free to climb over rocks, eroding them with my boot-steps. Free to sneeze loudly among the birdsongs and to pluck off pine needles for a taste.

Through engagement with nature--physical, hands-on engagement, I invite it into my life, my soul. In the place where that fear rested just above my solar plexus, an expansive emptiness emerges--ready now, filling up with bird songs and the sound of the wind through the trees and the citrus-bitter-delicious taste of a blue spruce needle.

The clean mountain air is seeping into my cells, purifying the blackened buildup of fear and uncertainty, transforming my molecules into quartz crystals or something clearer.

I'm watching trees grow, rooting deeply into the earth to allow for expansive ascent--it is my wish to become a tree, bearing fruit with which I might nourish others.

A grand transformation is occurring here between snow and sun, a pure white light envelops my body.

I emerge, truer than before.

Staff Week in Colorado!

2009-03-31T17:18:00.008-05:00

Hello to everybody from the closure of Staff Week here at Sanborn!

I am in a different world. Here in Florissant, in the middle of the mountains with a fantastic view of Pike's Peak due east, I'm surrounded by beauty: bright blue skies, clean white snow, oodles of reddish-brown ponderosa pines, more geological majesty than I can wrap my mind around, horses, cows and baby cows, incredible people who are each individually brilliant in an entirely separate way, calmness ... I love it here!

I am blown away by the level of activity my fellow Staff members engage in. I'm talking up at 6 shoveling off front porches, a 7am hike, breakfast at 8, work projects and training all day, then a bike ride or rock climb or "bouldering" practice (I learned this today from Erin--it means rock climbing without ropes to a height of up to 20 feet. We have what I'm calling a Bouldering Barn with climbing walls all around), then dinner and Rock Band (yes, Johnny has the whole system set up in his cabin and we've had a few Rock Band "Shows" so far, swimming in the pool, sauna, playing drums, guitar, singing, weight lifting, skiing, more than I can name ... Last weekend, we were out until four in the morning (playing rock band and hanging out at the pool/hot tub), and then a group got up again at about 6 to go climbing on Shelf Road. Two of the guys have snow shoed up to the treeline at Pike's Peak already. There's so much to do and so much enthusiasm from everybody around me it's exhausting!

As for the altitude, I have adjusted pretty well, I think. Sometimes in the

mornings I feel a bit of nausea (and no desire to eat, whatsoever), but when I force myself to eat something I'm almost immediately better. I've been so lucky to meet Sam, my eternal yoga partner who was teacher certified a few years back and is as excited to wake up at 5:30 in the morning to practice yoga as I am. We've taken turns leading practice, which I value so much for it's an entirely different yoga experience when you're teaching versus when you're following. They are equally rewarding.

One of my favorite things we've done so far was our "Sunday Rocks" session this afternoon. We all hike silently across a small meadow and climb up on top of these huge boulders to sit and take in the view (meadows, pine trees, mountains, sky). After a moment, each person reads off a quote written by someone else from an earlier activity. The serenity and profundity of some of the quotes is really touching. Plus you've got the sun warming your body and everyone in a sort of meditative state.

I also love riding, of course, which I've gotten to do twice since my arrival last Friday. Thanks to the wonderful Zann, who has shown me the ropes and gotten me a bit more acquainted with the barn. This aspect is also other-worldly, with catching horses from the pasture, tying them to a hitching post (instead of cross-ties in an aisle of stalls), riding in a western saddle, neck-reining, and really feeling at times a bit clueless as to how to communicate with this stocky animal with a short neck and big rump. The center of balance is different when I ride, and I'm bouncing around, flailing my legs out to the side (like we do in Saddle Seat) instead of relaxing them around my horse's barrel. It's quite different. But fun.

I was riding Ebony, one of the best horses for little kids, the other day and I

couldn't figure out how to calm her down. When she lost sight of Rusty and Zann, she decided it was time to head back to the barn. She's walking fast, trotting, I'm pulling back, turning her in a circle, pulling back, pulling and pulling and pulling and she takes off (I decide to let her a bit rather than fight too much) toward the other horse. Great, I'm thinking, The easiest horse on the ranch and I just got run off with. This is certainly going to be a learning experience.

I experienced the T-Bird on my second night here, the local bar in Florissant. Clint, another wrangler, Zann, Clint's friend Tim, Sam, Ryan and Ashley all came out after a Mexican dinner in Woodland Park. As the others trickled

away, Zann, Clint, Tim and I continued to do what you do at bars along with throwing horse shoes in back and playing pool. Fun.

I feel tremendously supported by all the staff here, and hope that I begin to feel more acquainted with how things run so that I can give that back to the others soon! Tomorrow, our first school arrives for School Weeks and I am nervous and excited. It should be a really great time. I look forward to teaching and interacting with kids--I feel sort of selfish, but I believe that it will truly feed me to teach others. How lucky am I to be in a place where I can share my love of the outdoors and of nature with kids who may rarely get to experience it?!? Plus, I'm surrounded by peers who have SO much to offer ... this is the life!

Wish me luck as teaching starts tomorrow! I don't know how often I'll be able to write (certainly not as much as I'd hoped) We got off early today from work projects and I'm using dear Sam's computer, camped out at the Nature Place. I love and miss everyone back in Chicago ... you all have made it hard to avoid a bit of homesickness!

Lots of love,

Jessie

Stable Business

2009-03-12T08:57:00.004-05:00

Published in The Beacon News
March 12, 2009

Students at Huntoon Stables Take the Reins and Learn More than Just Riding

Hoofbeats thump the ground as a horse marches past the viewing room window at Huntoon Stables in North Aurora.

In this warm room, photos of riders on high-stepping horses cover the walls.

A young girl sits at the table doing math homework. There is a signup sheet for horse shows and an announcement for a horse camp taped to the window that looks out into the indoor arena.

Melinda Huntoon calls out commands to her riders as they walk, trot, and canter past: "Bump his head up a little. That's it."

Melinda is on her feet for 100 lessons every week, teaching her 60 students how to ride American Saddlebred horses, known as "the peacocks of the show ring." She's been doing this since 1958.

Please read the rest at The Beacon News.

Yoga in the 'Burbs

2009-02-26T19:53:00.001-06:00

Published in the Aurora Beacon News
February 26, 2009

Yoga anyone?

What a recent transplant from Chicago and a three-year yoga practitioner discovered about yoga in the 'burbs.

As a transplant from Aurora to Chicago, where there seems to be a yoga studio around every corner, I was worried when I moved to the suburbs.

Where would I go for yoga? What studio could I trust for an authentic yoga experience?

After checking out a few, I was pleasantly surprised. Because of the growing popularity of yoga and the inherent desire in yoga teachers to share its benefits, there are a number of quality yoga studios in the western suburbs. Yoga Among Friends in Downer's Grove, the Vaughn Athletic Center in Auora, Prana Yoga Center in Geneva, and Universal Spirit Yoga in Naperville are pleaces I can confidently recommend and where certified teachers will assist in developing your personal yoga practice.

Read the rest at The Beacon News site.

Transformation at the Midwerst Yoga Retreat

2009-01-17T14:31:00.008-06:00

Published in Yoga Chicago Magazine
January/February 2009

Being a first-time retreater in a depressive funk that I hadn’t been able to shake, I was poised to regret spending a hunk of cash I didn’t really have on a yoga retreat. Why pay extra to practice yoga with 30 strangers, when I already pay to practice every day at a studio at home? I’d signed up for Thomas Fortel’s Midwest yoga retreat because a teacher and friend of mine couldn’t say enough good things about it. When we arrived in the small rural town of Selma, Indiana, I hoped the retreat would prove her right.

The unseasonably warm weather and woodsy smell of the crisp incoming fall welcomed the 30 participants and me. We settled into old eclectic farmhouses separated by gardens, trees and fields throughout the Oakwood Retreat Center. It was nice to walk through gardens with only a light jacket as the sun turned the fields orange and dusk came. But I was barely keeping it together. On Friday evening we gathered in the main building, spreading our yoga mats in a circle. Thomas led a restorative yoga practice with lots of bends and twists. I focused my attention on the poses, noticing Thomas’ manner of instruction: energetic and informative, emphasizing the breath, utilizing the Sanskrit and English translations and clarifying the internal skeletal and muscular structures affected by each pose. Avoiding my emotions, I felt refreshed after the practice, but my depression seeped back in shortly.

Dinner was served, all fresh, local, organic vegetarian food that inspired me to become a bit more creative with my own veggie diet. I kept to myself, smiling and nodding to be polite, skeptically absorbing the initial awkward conversation that strangers make when they know they may very well not see each other again after three days.

We met again after dinner. We sat cross-legged in a large circle; Thomas asked that each of us introduce ourselves and explain what brought us to retreat. I nearly rolled my eyes. Great, I thought, I get to tell everybody I’m Jessie and I have an anxiety disorder with depression, plus no motivation to pursue a career even if I knew what career I wanted to pursue. ’Cause that always makes me feel better.

To my surprise, people weren’t just giving a laundry list of their issues. Almost immediately, I felt closer to the people I had considered strangers. Each had something to say that rang true in every other one of us. One woman, a mother and nurse, mentioned rarely ever doing anything for herself. Another, now healthily pregnant, spoke of the difference she felt since the last retreat when she’d just found out she’d miscarried. Many people had been coming to Thomas’ retreat since it started in 1998, and others, like me, were there for the first time. The connection that grew from that circle extended through the rest of the weekend. I felt softened.

After the circle, a woman approached me and asked about my writing. Why would she care? I became defensive; she’s never going to see me again. I told her my writing wasn’t coming easily, and that having graduated last May, I was still clueless as to what I wanted to do with my life. She looked so concerned, showed such empathy, that I nearly started crying. I tried to smile and excused myself to go on a walk alone.

Through the gardens on that warm night, I walked and thought to myself, I used to be that person. I used to care for strangers. My smiles used to be real instead of a cover for confusing emotions. It used to be genuine. What happened to me? I fell asleep wondering if I’d ever get out of my funk.

At seven in the morning, we practiced pranayama and meditation. I was eager to relax into it, as I’d never had a positive experience in prolonged meditation before. Thomas’ words, guiding us to maintain a “single pointed focus,” proved to be the key. After sitting still for so long, bringing my drifting awareness back to the breath again and again, I promised myself I’d practice meditation every day from then on. I didn’t realize it then, but it was a step in taking control of the direction of my life again.

Breakfast was delicious, followed by an active asana practice. During the postures, I felt a drawing inward of my focus, as well as an expansive awareness of the others in the room. The “Group Field,” as Thomas called it, had a strong, uplifting energy.

Another interaction with the same woman from the night before truly broke through to me. How could someone I’d never met before know what I needed to hear? After a casual mention of a relationship I was struggling with back home, the words she said made me realize that it needed to end. What my friends had been saying for months, what I had been secretly thinking in the back of my mind, was it that obvious? I could no longer hold it in. I didn’t care that there were other people lingering in the room after dinner, I didn’t care that I became red-faced and weak in public. She took me into her arms and I sobbed.

During the next morning’s asana practice, coming out of shoulder stand, I lay on my back in a pain I’d never fully felt before, and tears came again. The need to let go of what no longer served me and the need to take responsibility for my future were painful, but my asana practice helped to seal my realizations.

Now home from my first retreat, I’ve taken the lessons I learned in that short weekend and applied them to my life. The genuine warmth of a group of strangers helped me to see myself for whom I’d become—and for my potential. In creating a safe place for expression, Thomas taught me that the yoga practice extends beyond the mat, and can be a great catalyst for positive change. I ended the destructive relationship. My practice has deepened. I meditate daily on what direction I will pursue, and have taken action. Sometimes, I learned, the best advice can come from a stranger.

The next Midwest yoga retreat with Thomas Fortel will be held on April 17-19 at the Oakwood Retreat Center in Selma, Indiana. Contact Andreas Weinrich, aweinrich@sbcglobal.net or 812.322.6433 for information.

The Year in Review

2009-01-05T22:12:00.004-06:00

Looking back at 2008 I am flabbergasted that I made it through. College graduation, a breakup, Reiki attunement, moving home, a yoga retreat, my first real "adult" months, financial woes, my personal yoga practice, depression and anxiety … last year was probably the most tumultuous, most roller coaster-esque year of my life thus far. Now, in the first year of January 2009, I feel victorious, like I’ve climbed Pike’s Peak (which I have never done but certainly will do in 2009) and have reached the top!

I finished my final semester of college at Columbia in Chicago, graduating with honors and a Bachelor’s of Fine Arts Degree in Fiction Writing. It’s funny that my major says Fiction when my real specialty and preference is writing nonfiction. I stayed a whole additional year in school to add that extra word “Bachelor of Fine Arts” to the title on my degree. If I’m being honest with myself, I know my decision to go into student loan debt was truly because I wasn’t quite ready to face the “real” world after four years of college.

Turns out, I wasn’t quite ready to face the “real” world after five years, either. I got a post-graduation job at a local, independent bookstore called The Book Cellar (which I ADORE with all my heart!) in May. The plan was to work as a freelance writer on the side and sell books for forty hours a week while I built my portfolio and became a famous, well-known writer. I was still living in Chicago in an apartment with my roommate, riding my bike to and from the Book Cellar every day, enjoying days sunning at the lakefront beach, going on adventures to new restaurants with friends, and avoiding the pursuit of freelance writing work when I learned from my school that I, in fact, still owed Columbia a huge chunk of money and was being reported to a collections agency. Yikes! After much stress, worry, and taking on yet another student loan, I re-worked my finances and did what I swore I’d never do again: I moved home.

Back to Aurora with Mom and Dad (Lexi swapped places with me—she is currently in her first year as a Political Science major at UIC. Katie is finishing her Equestrian Business degree in Kentucky.). I was determined to make this into an opportunity rather than a burden: I’d have time to search for jobs, time to really take my yoga practice seriously (I’d planned to become yoga teacher certified starting in the fall but that fell through when my finances couldn’t support me), the chance to build up my savings and start repaying my loans, time to write bunches of articles, and the chance investigate what I really wanted to do with my life.

That became a really big problem: what to do with my life? I started to realize that I didn’t fancy a fulltime writing job. I got stir crazy and thought about teaching English in Korea like my good friend Kim Craig had, or going into the Peace Corps. The wide-open world of possibilities paralyzed (and depressed) me for quite awhile.

Until I went on vacation in Colorado with my parents and we visited Sanborn Western Camps. I’d been toying with the idea of becoming a horse camp counselor since I’d learned about the job, and I’d been dreaming about moving “Out West” ever since I did my AmeriCorps summer in the Lake Tahoe Basin. Visiting the facility, I suddenly saw with crystal clarity what I wanted to do with my life. Or at least what direction I wanted to go in: I had to go West.

The idea of teaching kids about horseback riding, natural history, hiking, mountain climbing, rafting, kayaking, swimming, crafting ... the idea of living in the out-of-doors on a 3,000 acre facility with unlimited possibilities for wilderness adventure ... sounds perfect!

As soon as I made the decision to GO FOR IT (which was really difficult, as I had so many negative ideas like "what did you get a writing degree for if you're not going to be a writer?" and "that's not a REAL job"), I felt hundreds of pounds lighter. I was genuinely happy, a sensation I hadn't felt in longer than I could remember. It was as though my actions came in line with my desires, finally.

It feels like a Great Return. Returning to the West, returning to a simple, rustic lifestyle, returning to nature, to horses, to my true Self, to what I call "the Natural State of Existence." I am SO joyful and motivated and happy--so far from where I had been before. Trusting myself and following my gut, I embark into 2009 with an attitude of possibility and excitement.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

November in Colorado

2008-12-03T15:38:00.009-06:00

Here are some photos from the lovely Colorado trip I took with my parents in November.

And, of course, you must know it was far more incredible in person.

My Little Reiki Bastard

2008-11-18T16:30:00.006-06:00

My latest piece published on the Reiki Animal Source web newsletter. Check it out!

I call my cream-colored stray cat, Oliver, my Little Bastard. As soon as I’m about to drift off to sleep at night, without fail, he wakes me up. On purpose. He walks across my printer, turning it on and off and on again, creating little mechanical cartridge noises. If I stay in bed, he goes next to the charger cord on my cell phone, chewing it and knocking it to the floor. If that doesn’t work, he finds my to-do list, or a magazine I left out, or a piece of important mail, and systematically shreds pieces from it until I jump out of bed and chase him from my room. He seems to get some sick pleasure out of waking me out of sleep at night. Reiki has cured none of this.

Aside from perpetually figuring out a way to slip by and escape outdoors when I leave the house (particularly on days I’m in a rush) my Little Bastard has no major ailments. His back leg used to creak on occasion when he walked. He takes a lot of heat in his hips when I give him Reiki, but now the creaking is gone.

I was Reiki attuned last May, during my final semester of college. While floating by on my student loans, a $150 attunement seemed like a manageable expense. I was fascinated by the idea of energy healing, but also very skeptical. My self-treatments dwindled many times. Disbelief and doubt from my family and others leaked into me. It’s easy to make excuses like “Oh, I’ll do it tomorrow,” or “I don’t have time just now for a Reiki treatment,” or even, “This can’t be really real.” At times, the very thing that I was using Reiki to treat—my tendency to deny myself any me-time—got in the way of treatments.

One thing kept me going, however: my Little Bastard.

The day I came home Reiki attuned, Oliver was all over me. I gave him his first treatment that night and he’s come back for it ever since. He’s a hands-on Reiki cat. He tackles me as soon as I crawl into bed. He crawls onto my chest, situating his paws between my collarbones. He rests his chin on his paws and closes his eyes. The weight of his warm, slender body seems to melt into me, and I relax, too. Usually, my hot hands last about ten minutes, and then he leaps off my belly to more of his usual antics.

This uncharacteristically bastard-free time is something I look forward to daily.
It is a rare night when Oliver does not demand Reiki. Those few peaceful moments between me and my cat are definitely fleeting. But they’re consistent. And now that I am convinced that Reiki does have a place in my personal practice, I have my Little Bastard to thank for it.

About the Author: Jessie Tierney was Level II attuned at Equilibrium Energy + Education in Chicago, IL. She graduated Columbia College Chicago with a Fiction Writing degree in May of 2008. She's 23 and lives in Aurora with her Little Bastard and two golden retrievers, Bisou and Cody. Check out her website for her photography and writing.

Coal is Not The Answer

2008-11-18T16:27:00.003-06:00

Coal is not the answer!

Create your own slogan.

Here's mine:

A Riddle!

2008-11-17T14:27:00.003-06:00

A riddle: What happens when you graduate from college, have loans to pay back, rent to pay, and bills bills bills?

Answer: You move home.

I've been back to the beginning for two months now and can say with honesty that now, finally, I am okay with it. For awhile ...

But I think the reason for this settled feeling stems from seeing an end to it all. For a month there, I was absolutely cluesless as to what I wanted to do. I needed a change, but felt disoriented and unable to make the first step. My body responded to this uncertainty by having panic attacks pretty regularly. I had one at work, where I was ringing a customer up and I could barely mutter the price of her book without bursting into tears. I was a mess.

Now that I've applied for some promising jobs and can actually visualize a future for myself--independent of my parents--I know it's going to be okay.

But it wasn't always like that.

There were entire days, weeks, where I couldn't stand being in my body. I berated myself continually, thinking that I was a failure for having to move home after trying to make it with a full-time job paying rent in the city. When loans kicked in, I could not. But that didn't make it okay. Moving home for me was much less painful than for most: my supportive parents gave me my own bedroom and even donated the sunroom as a space for me to practice yoga every day. They gave me space and don't pressure me.

Still, the percieved failure and my inability to foresee a future was paralyzing. I couldn't stand the thought of settling in at home. I had a life to live! Great things to accomplish! But finances strangled me.

Depression set in. There's nothing worse than a total lack of motivation. I started to forget what I loved to do. I forgot what made me happy. I forgot how to be happy.

After weeks of this desperation, trying and trying to figure out what was wrong with me, why I couldn't just be okay in stillness, I knew that I had to change my outlook. Telling myself that my living situation was not acceptible had made it unbearable. I had to get my perception back into shape.

I was not going to revert to medication this time. My anxiety and depression from the past had beome manageable for awhile on meds, but then they came back. My doctor's solution was to up my dosage. I hate the idea of medication. I needed to find the root of the problem and irradicate it from there, not cover it up with happy-pills.

I started practicing yoga every day again. My practice had dwindled and stopped over the months post-graduation. I started watching my thought patterns. Each negative self-statement ("I'm boring;" "I'm unmotivated;" "I'm freaking out...") was countered by a positive statement ("I am an engaging, thoughtful and loving person;" "I am passionate;" "I'm experiencing a little anxiety right now, but it will pass..."). The practice of countering negative statements was painfully slow, but slowly it began to work. I kept track of what I was eating, being sure to get enough fruits, vegetables, and protein. This, I assure you, was a full-time job.

So here I am now, about four weeks after the initial desperation, anxiety attacks, and depression. I've just applied for two new jobs that would allow me to supplement my bookstore income. I'm excited again, looking forward to projects and writing again. I just got a small article published on the Reiki Animal Source website. Baby steps.

I think the most important thing for me to remember is to keep my Sanity Practices going. If nothing else, yoga every day. My boundless energy tends to get me into trouble, wearing me down eventually. My Sanity Practices keep me in check.

Check out the Sex Show Reading Pictures and Story!

2008-07-27T13:53:00.010-05:00

I readan almost-sexy excerpt from my memoir

about living on the farm and having a boyfriend who was terrified of my father.

Someday I'll get it published so you can read it!

Here, click this link to see tons of pictures from the event: http://picasaweb.google.com/JessieTierney/SundayNightSexShow

CAMPING SOLO! Installment #1

2008-07-05T15:00:00.004-05:00

I had three days off this weekend, so I decided to take a trip (thanks to the good recommendation from a friend, Katrina, who'd been there before) to Kettle Moraine State Forest ... alone.

I set off Thursday morning for the 3-hour drive up to Wisconsin, not knowing if there'd be any campsites open because of the 4th of July holiday. For future reference: make a reservation at least 48 hours ahead of time at the Wisconsin DNR.

I arrived and was notified that there were, in fact, NO traditional campsites available, but there was a backpacking site open. This meant I would have to hike one mile in on a trail to reach my site. No big deal, I thought, I'm in shape from yoga and biking; I'm young and virile. I paid my $14 and drove off to Zilmer Trail.
<-- There's me with my waaay-too-heavy backpack that I used to tote my wares around Europe for a month, coupled with a zero degree sleeping bag that weighs about twenty pounds, and of course, my trusty map! Ready for the trek in. Luckily, the Forest Service woman reminded me that I should pack some bug spray because, in her Wisconsin accent, "Them skeeters are sure bad out there." I dropped into a corner store and bought the smallest-sized, least-invasive bug spray I could find (DEET is essentially poison, with negative long-term effects, and I didn't want to rub that all over my body). They didn't carry "all-natural," so I settled for Cutter, which uses Picaridin instead of DEET. The lesser of evils, or so I thought.

Once I set foot on the trail, there came a bloody ambush. Mosquitoes attacked from all directions. They bit my arms, they bit my legs (summer-lovin' me wore cutoff jeans and didn't even pack full-length pants except for my sweats for sleeping in) they bit my neck, my fingers, my ankles (THROUGH my hiking boots--is that possible?!?), my earlobes and even my eyebrows. I sprayed my DEET-alternative all over my body a second time, making sure to moisten my skin and clothes with the repellent. There was a bit of relief, but only temporary. A constant buzz sounded around my face. I kept my Zilmer Hiking trail map in my hand not to read for directions, but to swat with. And swat I did.

Every time I stopped moving, the swarm grew to an army of bugs, diving in to bite me THROUGH THE BUG SPRAY. They laughed at my DEET-alternative. I re-applied the spray nearly every 15 minutes because of the onslaught. The mosquitoes scoffed. Welts began to appear on my legs, my poor bare legs. What was I thinking not to wear full-length pants on a hiking trip?

I was so busy swatting and slapping and shaking my head that I missed my turn (my map was useless--bloodied and smudged with the bodies of my attackers) and ended up walking, ridiculously overweight pack on back, an extra half-mile before I realized I'd gone too far. Oh well, I thought, at least the scenery is diverse, when I wasn't flicking mosquitoes out of my eyes.

Imagine me: hiking through tall grass, mucky swampy gook, and rocky forest floor alternately (see various terrain above), trudging along with a heavy bag, camera swinging from my neck, bare limbs swelling with welts, stopping every few minutes to reapply bug spray. It got so that I just carried the spritz bottle in one hand and my bug-swatting map in the other. Attempting to steal a photo of the beauty surrounding me without getting totally annihilated by bites was near impossible. Then, see me realizing that I have only about a half-ounce of my bug spray left in the bottle. I was going to run out!

About a half hour in, twenty minutes past my site, then twenty minutes backtracking, I finally reached the site! I made it: Zilmer Trail Backpacking Shelter #6 -- partway between a meandering stream/spring and swampland: nature all around me, and an absolute breeding heaven for my new best friends, the mosquitoes. I slung off my pack, unbuckled and unzipped, and got to work pitching my tent. In record time, I assure you!

Next on my plan was to hike back to my car and drive straight to the gas station to buy me an over sized bottle of DEET. Gimme some poison!

But first, enjoy the beautiful site:

As I began the brisk walk back toward my car, this time far more mobile in my swatting and spraying abilities, it hit me that I was on this camping trip alone. I wondered if I'd get lonely. I had no one to talk to. Would I get bored without someone to share my experience with? I laughed a bit at my mosquito predicament, then thought it was really weird to be laughing at myself when no one else could hear me.

I came upon a quaint bridge overlooking a babbling brook (I'm not quite sure if that is the correct term, but it seems suitable here--a rock-filled stream with crystal-clear water and cute little bubbly stream-sounds). I decided I should set up my camera, run across the bridge, jump onto the ledge, and pose for a picture.

As I hopped onto the wooden plank, counting down the self-timer's 10 seconds in my head, I suddenly felt a lack of weight on my shoulder. My shoulder, which carried my camera bag filled with my wallet, my cellphone, my car keys, my map, and ... MY NALGENE (water bottle)! My favorite lovely royal blue water bottle stickered with a Joshua Tree National Park sticker I'd collected on my last camping trip in California. I heard a ker-PLUNK, and turned to face the water just as my camera shutter closed.
<--Here's me as I realize that my one source of potable drinking water has fallen into the stream. I panicked. My heart sputtered and my throat closed up as my mind worked through the situation in slow motion. Meanwhile, my beloved Nalgene floated away downstream. I sprinted off the bridge, and as I pushed my way through the brush to try to fish my water bottle out with a long stick, an idea came upon me.

The picture I had taken of myself--the candid self-portrait of yours truly peering, dumbfounded, into the stream--struck me: I must document every moment of this trip!

Let me explain. Photography is more than just snapping photos. It is a way of processing my experience. Because of my solitude in this adrenaline-charged moment, it struck me that I was alone. I had no person with me to engage in dialogue, and this fact caused me to compute my experience differently. I would have a dialogue through my camera. A fully-documented, solo, autobiographical camping trip by me, of me. A little vain? Yes, thank you.

Don't worry, I got my water bottle back. As these ideas of photography and how to process reality were fluttering through my brain, it floated into a mess of dead leaves and twigs. I cleverly found a long dead branch with which I fished my Nalgene out with relative ease but an averabundance of extra mosquito bites. Pondering my perdicament as I walked back, I found that if I allowed my arms to flop around with each over-exaggerated step, my movement created an effective distraction for most but not all of my assailants.

After my stop at the gas station, where I bought my poison and rinsed my water bottle with scalding water, I decided to check out the Ice Age Center. Here, I found some small but sweet trails, lots of wildflowers, and tons of information about Kettle Moraine State Forest.

Did you know that a Kettle is a fluvioglacial landform occurring as the result of blocks of ice calving from the front of a receding glacier and becoming buried partially to wholly by glacial outwash? The whole area of Kettle Moraine exists because ancient glaciers slid their way down across Wisconsin to carve out landforms as they went. SO COOL!

Also, the clouds that day were incredible:

More of this camping adventure to come! ...

CAMPING SOLO! Installment #2

2008-07-05T14:00:00.002-05:00

Here, just so you can see some of the damage, check out my bug bites:
(If you want to be really grossed out, you can click on the picture and it will enlarge to fit your entire computer screen so that you can get the gross close-up details of the bloody dead mosquito I smashed just before shooting this picture)

After the Ice Age center, it was about time to head back to my campsite before it got dark. I was all set to go, actually looking forward to my swim through mosquitoes this time, now that I was actually prepared. I put on a long sleeved shirt for good measure, and a bandanna to cover my ears. Ready!

Let me tell you, a forest--as it turns from light to dusk--is possibly one of the most magical places ever. The lighting is sharper, warmer, and the "fairies" come out. I couldn't capture them on film for the life of me, but the little fuzzy floating things that look like cotton--they were everywhere. It was like walking through a mystical magical forest with trolls and elves and fairies flying around. I saw beautiful flowers and trees, and I even saw a momma deer! I wasn't quick enough to catch her with my camera, though. She was a radiant red in the setting sunlight, and at first I thought she was a big redbird, because her ears looked like wings.

Flowers everywhere!Here's a genius self-portrait of my most attractive angle as I hike the forest.Doesn't this one look gorgeous! I need to look it up and see what it's called ...

Zilmer Trail through a meadow above, and through swampland below! The cool thing about my hike was that I went through a lot of different ecosystems on the way. Amazing how diverse just a one-mile hike can be!I love how the sun speckles down through tree leaves to create depth in this picture!

And good grief, I've never seen so many DRAGONFLIES in all my life! They were gorgeous--so many colors and shapes! I was enchanted. See for yourself:

This little blue guy was staring me down.

After playing around with the Dragonflies (they were all gathered in one area--on a particular tree in the sun, buzzing off just as I was about to click my shutter. Lucky I got some good shots in!), I got back to my tent with just enough daylight to nestle in and read a bit. Then I turned in early for the night. I'd have to get up at 7 in the morning so I could make it back to the camp headquarters and hope there was an open site for me. Campers are only allowed to stay at a backpacking site for 1 night; the idea is that backpackers keep moving and don't settle in. I was first on a waiting list for the morning, so as long as I got there at 9am, I'd get the next open site. If there was an open site. I wasn't going to worry about it. Until then, sweet dreams!

More to come in the next installment!

CAMPING SOLO! Installment #3

2008-07-05T13:00:00.019-05:00

In the morning, I didn't even need my alarm (while cellphones may be out of reception range in the wild, and I am very happy about that fact, they can in fact serve as an effective alarm clock). I woke up naturally at 6:30am to the soft light of morning and the sounds of at least seven different types of birds singing their wake-up songs.

I packed up quick (not before applying a generous amount of
bug spray to both my gear and myself) and was ready to hit the trail by 7--skeeters buzzing already of course, ready to accompany me on my trek. I wanted to give myself ample time to get back to HQ so I could get a campsite.

Bye Zilmer Trail; Hello Mauthe Lake!

I got a walk-in site, so that I still had to pack in but it was about fifty steps rather than a mile. Plus I bought some firewood--I love campfires! I'd just been eating protein bars and bananas and apples, which surprisingly were satisfying enough.

Today would be a beach day--I couldn't move in to my new campsite until the previous campers moved out at 3pm, so I decided to catch some rays while I waited. You wouldn't guess it from the pictures of me looking mighty white, but HOLY COW did I get some color. The morning was hot, skies were clear, and the water was perfect. I had a lovely view, and got a full dose of Wisconsinisms in that awesomely northern accent of theirs. Just about every person I encountered said "Have a good day" when we parted.

One of my favorite moments was watching a three- or four-year-old boy race into the sand wearing his street clothes. It must have hit him that he couldn't go into the water with them on, so he began to strip off his pants as he struggled toward the water. He managed to get them down to his ankles, totally bare-assed, when his father came up behind him in his slow northern vowelly drawl: "Hold up there, Billy. Ya can't just decide ta go skinny-dippin all the sudden."

"I WANNA GO IN THE WATER!" the boy screeched.

"We'll gecha in the water, we just need to put on a bathing suit first," and the father calmly pulled up his son's pants and whisked him back toward their picnic table.

Hillbillies or hicks in Wisconsin are, I have concluded, far more tolerable than those of the South. I think it's the accent.

There were little kids running across the sand, Dads throwing footballs to sons in the water, Moms reading the latest Skinny Bitch book, sprawled on towels. It was awesome.

After I spent about three hours in the sun and my fair skin fried crispy, I seeked out my site. A little jaunt up some natural steps and viola! I set up my tent and it was only 3pm. I only got about seven mosquito bites. After my long, relaxing nap and letter-writing in the sun, I decided I wanted to go on an adventure.

One of the best things about camping alone is that you can do whatever you feel like doing.

There was a lookout tower that extends just above the highest treetops for a spectacular aerial view of Kettle Moraine State Forest I thought I'd check out.

Okay, I'm not telling the whole truth ... I'd actually tried to drive there the day before, but there's always been this problem ...
MAPS + JESSIE = LOST.

Try as I might, I couldn't find the damn tower for the life of me. And when I finally stopped at a gas station to ask for directions, I discovered that I was thirty winding rural miles to the north and west of where I was trying to go. By that time, it was threatening dark and too late to go hiking. I needed to get back to my mile-in site.

This time, though, I studied my map and wrote specific directions to myself at the top of the page: "Left at A, Right at GGG, Follow to S ..." What kind of roads don't have names? I was determined to find it.

The route followed Kettle Moraine Scenic Drive, and holy beautiful, was it a stunning ride. I love rolling hills dotted with trees and wildflowers--Possibly my favorite sight ever. It reminded me of middle California, when Geoff and I drove across the state from the Great Sequoia National Forest to the coast. I heard frogs croaking and birds cheeping. Bright, puffy clouds dotted the sky. The roads winded through meadows and hills. When I wasn't taking in the landscape, I kept my eyes on the street signs and followed KM Scenic Drive, glancing obsessively from my written directions to the road. And then ... finally ... after only one and a half wrong turns, I made it to the tower!

There were natural steps leading to a short path.
The climb up to the tower was not for the faint-of-heart or short-of-breath. It reminded me so much of Petrin Tower in Prague, Czech Republic ... not just in how it looked, but in the feel of it. I think something happens to the brain when it is in relaxed vacation-mode. The senses become more acute and the brain develops a connection between the body's current sensory intake and a memory that experience similar senses. It has happened to me a lot, but most often in my travels. Prague reminded me of San Francisco's Buena Vista Park; Turkey's Cappadocia region was strikingly similar in feel and appearance to the American West.

There was a moment I recall while climbing a grassy hill in Prague when I lost my orientation and temporarily thought I was in California. Something shifted in my brain, and I was certain I was in the woods near Lake Tahoe. It felt a bit like deja-vu, but more rooted.

The tower was beautiful. I appreciate wooden geometrical structures. Indeed, it rose just above the tree tops, and after climbing until I felt my heart might pump straight out of my chest, I reached the summit!

360 views showed a distant windmill farm, a few (since-forgotten) landmarks, and landforms that resulted from ancient glacial migration. I was on top of the world. Or at least, I was on top of Wisconsin.

On the way down, I stopped to rest awhile with a cool breeze rustling the leaves surrounding me. Other tower-climbers hiked up, in couples and in groups, and I thought about being alone. I was enjoying myself tremendously on this trip, not having to worry about anyone's needs but my own. Nobody to say "I'm tired!" or "I'm hungry!" or "I don't want to _____..." It was a comfortable place for me--not worrying about the well being of anyone but myself. Comfortable, I realized, and unusual. It hit me how much time I spend worrying-worrying-worrying about other people. It was rejuvenating to be focused on myself, and to realize that though attending others' needs may be fulfilling to me, attending to my own achieves a far deeper feeling of fulfillment.

I felt rejuvenated after my tower-top rest, and decided to take the 4-mile trail hike. I was prepared this time with my bug spray and camera. Here are some of the neat things I saw:

The way the sun shone through the trees and landed in a perfect square in the middle of this plant was so intriguing!

These beautiful plants, I'm pretty sure, are infected with some kind of disease, hence the yellow speckles on the leaves. Other healthy plants were just plain green. I found it interesting how unique they looked.

Mushroom treeThe shadow above is from the sun!

Again, I appreciated the solitary time--now even more: I had set out on a long hike; there was no turning back--if I did turn back, it'd be an equally long trek. Things happen to the body when it travels through nature with no purpose other than walking. It becomes meditative, and the mind ventures to places it normally does not have the space for in everyday thought. I thought with a clarity I have never felt about my relationships back home. I thought about my life choices and what I want to do in the future. It was like someone had detached me from my life so I could look at it objectively. All the while, I was surrounded by beautiful foliage, sunlight trickling down through treetops, baby squirrels, gophers, and--of course--mosquitoes.

I emerged from the trail feeling like a renewed person. I drove slow all the way back to my campsite, where families were gathered, celebrating the 4th of July.

This adventure continues ...

CAMPING SOLO! Installment #4

2008-07-05T11:00:00.000-05:00

When I reached Mauthe Lake Campground, the sun was setting over the lake, and everything was beautiful in its orange light.

I spent a little time at the lake, staring down at the lily pads and fishies swimming underwater.
Lucky for me, fireworks were not allowed on the campgrounds, so it was a quiet evening.

I headed back to my site before it got too dark.

I built a fire, basked awhile in its heat, then turned in for the evening to read, write, then sleep.

It was a great ending to a wonderful trip. Kettle Moraine State Forest is definitely a place I plan on returning to in the future.

i Miss Riding Horses

2008-06-25T22:31:00.006-05:00

Above picture: me riding CH Mirific at the Midwest Signature Horse show under instruction of Tom Thorpe of Northern Tradition Farm.

An excerpt from my memoir-in-progress:

Falling Off Horses

Jessie Tierney

I heeled Angel into a show trot—her favorite part of the class—to make one last loop around the ring before the lineup. She got bigger between my thighs, like a thick-skinned balloon filling with air, but this was more than air. This was passion, it was purpose, a realization that this was what we were born to do.

I had a line of sweat across my forehead from my derby but she trotted so powerful that the breeze blew past my face, past the chain link fence that ran the perimeter of the arena, ruffling the leaves on trees as we flew by. The sun baked my navy suit coat and the chinch-chinch of Angel's hooves kicked up sand as it flecked off the fence.

We had the class. You can tell by the way the judge looks at you from the center of the ring, cocking her head to the side with her pen resting on her clipboard. You can feel her eyes on you, admiring eyes that are glad that you're telling her so decisively who gets the blue ribbon. I smiled, not only my body in rhythm with Angel's movements but also my thoughts. We'd stretch a little taller and she'd pick her knees up a little higher as we made a pass down the side.

Horseback riding was natural for me, the immediate necessity to stop thinking about everything and focus totally on your relationship with the horse—it was something my body responded to. I didn't have to try to ride; I just rode.

"You're a natural," people would say, shaking their heads, and I silently agreed, my heart glowing, knowing that, yes, this was the most natural feeling on earth. My spine stretched toward the sky, my long legs locked in, my hands softened in contact with her mouth through the reins, my whole self moving smoothly, at once a part of my horse and also unconsciously aware of my entire being.

We were exploding with energy down the side of the ring, "on the edge," as my riding instructor, Melinda, would coach for, and I noticed that the judge actually scanned the arena to look for us when she called for the trot—she wanted to watch us on our last pass.

There is a moment when you're riding that everything in the world comes into one straight line. You feel it originating from your heart, then deeper than your heart—from the soul, maybe, and everything is in balance. The trees, the bleachers, poor starving people in Africa, the ocean, the sun—everything is connected. I've only ever totally experienced it when I'm riding. And that pass down the side of the ring was the most extended length of time that I felt that purity, that oneness with not only my horse, but the universe. If you were there watching, you would witness perfection, a tall slender girl in sharply accurate yet soft posture, her legs fanned out away from her chestnut horse’s flanks, her chin toward the sky, chest open; the horse’s ears pinned forward, with her head set and a white blaze with a tiny round brown dot running down her face. Every moment, in motion, was photo-worthy.

Then a woman carrying a large blue bucket hooked it on a pump just outside of the fence, and without thinking, she jerked the handle on. A huge blast of water and what sounded like a bullet erupted through the fence into the dry arena right in front of us, just as we were trotting by. Angel leapt fifteen feet sideways, and my one-with-the-universe momentum cracked—I kept going straight.

It was strange, because the way she moved, she kind of ducked from under me, catapulting my feet out of the stirrups and vaulting my body into the air. It felt like I was up there for a long time. I remember seeing the diamond-weave of the fence, the greenness of the grass, the veins on leaves, the sun and the sky. It was a beautiful day, one of those days with cauliflower clouds hinting at patches of bright blue. I remember twisting my torso so my right shoulder swung around and my back arched, thinking, this is just like high jump. I was in another zone now—apart from the reality of riding and apart from the reality of not-riding. There was a third. It felt amazing. I stayed suspended in air for what felt like five minutes, slowly floating down toward the thick arena sand. I remember thinking calmly as I descended, I hope Mom's getting this on tape.

I thumped in the sand shoulder first, a ripple in water, followed by hip and arm, enveloped in the dusty grains like in afeatherbed. I snapped up off the ground, and Carleton, my trainer, was already there, his young eyes worried from behind awrinkled face, reaching his arms toward me, crouching as he walked, like he was trying to hold my body together as he approached. I was mostly worried that my suit would have to be dry cleaned again.

“Are you okay?" he asked, his worried face softening as soon as he looked into mine. I brushed the sand off my butt and my from my elbow, looked up at him and said, "That was AWESOME."

Carleton's mischievous smile came back as he handed me my derby, "Well Angel thinks so, too," as he motioned toward the lineup where Angel was, set up between two other horses, her legs parked out and her head raised up, looking out at the audience like royalty.

"She wasn't about to let you stop her last pass—soon as you were off, she hooked a right and went straight on into the lineup! Knees were this high!" We made our way over to Angel, smiling.

He gave me a leg up and flew up onto the saddle, back in the lineup, back in the class again. The tips of my fingers scratched her sweaty neck through my gloves.

I was back on, waiting for the placings to be announced, and everything was soft and quiet. Like a contentedness, a relaxed smile settled into my mouth, my posture tall but not forced, my legs fanning out from her steaming body. I had made a discovery.

And, to make things even better, because the fall was not my or Angel’s, we won the class.

Wow was I young. Look at that little face! This picture was taken during the placing announcement in the class from the above story excerpt. I was 13 years old.

Bicycle Adventures

2008-06-11T14:45:00.002-05:00

Yay for summer and bicycling around the 'hood, to work, to the store, and everywhere in between. People outside the city don't understand this: biking in Chicago is not only fun, envigorating, and healthy; it is essential! That being said, since I lost my free CTA pass (I'm no longer a student) and started biking full time, I've had many adventures on the streets of Chicago. Here are just a few of them.

1. About a week ago in the morning, I was riding my bike, "Gramps" (a red banger with three, count 'em THREE, baskets--actually, don't count them in the picture above because that one was taken last summer before I got my back baskets). I was on my way to Target to buy my boyfriend-or-friend-who-cuddles-me, Geoff, some new sheets and pillows because one thing he does know is that he wants to sleep next to me, and one thing I know is that I enjoy clean sheets and fluffy pillows and I also enjoy sleeping next to him.

So I was riding across Logan Boulevard on my bike with sufficient baskets to accommodate a trip

to Target. I approached the intersection of Milwaukee and Logan, and I thought that the cars to my right had a stoplight. Unfortunately, I was wrong, and therefore pedaled across a few moving lanes of traffic, cutting off some autos in the meantime.

"Oopseys!" I thought, and kept on along down the road. Not the first time I'd made that mistake. But then, from behind me, BLIP BLIP!

"What?" I wondered. "No blanking way." It was a COP! And no, friends, not a Minooka cop with nothing better to do on a Tuesday than pull over a bicyclist, but a Chicago cop who could be arresting ill-intentioned gang bangers or investigating corporate fraud-doers.

He pulled me over, on my bike, to ask me: "Do you know that when you're on a bicycle, you are required by law to obey the same traffic signals as a motor vehicle?" I stood facing him, my hands gripping tight to my black plastic handlebars, glad I'd worn sunglasses so he couldn't see my horrified, teary eyes. My wrists shook.

He squinted at me though beady, sweaty eyes and asked, "Do you know how many bikers get HIT in this city each year?" I allowed my jaw to drop slightly and contemplated whether it would be in my best interest to start bawling or if I should attempt to defend myself.

After he stepped out of his flashing squad car, he informed me that, "Now, I'm not here to harass you; I just don't want the next time I see you to be you splatted all over the pavement." His voice was gruff with a minor paternal tinge. I wondered if he was going to ticket me. I don't have a car, no insurance, and for all he knew, I didn't carry my license on me ...

"Be careful and obey the traffic signals," he coughed out abruptly. I continued to shake, and kept my tears at the ready.

The man looked around at the square, then, at the apartments and tree-filled boulevard, and the people driving cautiously past his squad car. He sighed, sweaty forehead glistening in the sun below a close-cropped balding head of hair. He scanned the cloudy horizon, above the three-flats once more as though he were tired and disappointed with the world.

Then, he returned to his car. He graciously sped quickly down the road so if I decided to disobey another traffic signal, he wouldn't see it.

I have a great friend Melissa who was ticketed for a "BUI." What is a BUI, you ask? Biking Under the Influence. What is this world? I breathed a sigh of relief as the squad car disappeared under the viaduct, and promised myself to obey traffic signals from now on.

That promise lasted about two minutes, because one of the main reasons you ride a bike instead of a car in the city is so that you can run through red lights (when nobody's coming, of course) and laugh in drivers' faces as you speed past them, stuck in traffic unlike you, queen of the road.

2. That same day at around noon, I biked with my friend Teddie to Boulevard Bikes, a local shop right on the Square where the mechanics are a little grumpy and not the most helpful, who get your job done with an offbeat sense of humor if you are a girl, and with a bit of disgruntled annoyance if you're a boy. Geoff had ridden his bike home from my house a few nights before when his gear thingey (I'm not skilled at terminology) jumped up into his spokes and twisted right into a knot. He was depressed about not even having had his 30-day checkup before his nearly brand-new bike broke, and he was depressed about not being able to ride his bike to work. If you are a regular biker in Chicago, you understand the addiction bicycling becomes once your body is used to the adrenaline and the sun on your arms and the wind in your face from your daily rides. I wanted to help him get his bike fixed, and Teddie was the man who knew how to do it.

The rounish, cuddly-looking bike mechanic who'd helped me get a new tire and tube for Gramps before was there to help. $30 was the damage, I paid it, and we left with smiles on our faces.

3. Before returning to Teddie's to fix my boyfriend's bike, Teddie had some errands to run, so we rode across half the city. It was fun except that I was dehydrated and exhausted and had forgotten my water bottle at work the day before (dumb!). I was at a stoplight, following Teddie, and as the light turned green I was in the middle of squeezing between a large black SUV who had NO TURN SIGNAL ON and a thigh-high overpass wall when Mr. SUV decided he wanted to exit onto the highway (a right turn) and smash my bike between his car and the wall.

THANK GAWD FOR BIKE BASKETS! Because:

I came out unscathed, save a minor headache from the squeal my basket made scraping across his door and the cement wall. My baskets are so wide that he didn't have room to run over my foot or smoosh my handlebars or anything! Yay.

And this is a message to Mister-SUV-Driver-who-doesn't-use-a-turn-signal:

I hope that your right side passenger door is scratched beyond repair. Asshole.

At that point in the day, I felt that I had had enough bicycling adventures for about a YEAR. Please be nice to bikers. We are trying to save the planet, for goshsakes.

4. Then, tragically, Gramps took a poop. The pedals are loose, I can't kick any speed into him, and he's really needing a break. So, I took my graduation-from-college money and ... drumroll ... I bought a brand spanking new gorgeously green 2008 Raleigh One-Way one speed bicycle, complete with a leather Brooks saddle (which yes, you oil just like a horse saddle!) and front and back fenders. I'm in love. Her name is Jag, because to me she is the Jaguar of bicycles and I am totally infatuated with this inanimate object. View:

Apparently, when you ride a hott little speedy bike, your attractiveness-to-random-older-men-on-the-street quotient goes way up. I can't count the number of whistles or horn honks that have come my way over the last week of riding my cute new bike. Geoff thinks it's because this new bike puts me in a "primate, mountable position"--far different from my upright, innocent posture I have when I'm on Gramps.

Comments yelled at me from walkers-on-the-street or men (and sometimes, rarely, women)-in-their-cars:

1. Hooot (a toothy whistle)

2. "Bitch! Get on the sidewalk!" (When this happens, I laugh and wave, usually, unless they're running me off the road, because it's actually illegal for bikers to ride on a sidewalk, thankyouverymuch)

4. "Ride it!"

5. "Girl you are so beautiful!"

6. "Get off the road!"

7. HONK!

8. "Daaamn!"

9. "Can I have a ride?"

10. "I see you girl; look at you go!"

11. "Top of the day to you!"

12. "Nice bike. I like your hair."

13. "SMOOOCH." (I have come to learn a new language. I've learned that there are more variations to kiss-noises than there are stars or insect species or hairs within a square inch of my cat, Oliver's, body. The English alphabet is ill-equipped to tackle the numerous and varied phonetics of kisses I have heard atop my bicycle.)

14. (Out a passenger side window) "Whoa, that bike is sick."

Just yesterday, I stopped at a bike shop on Lincoln Avenue to fill my tires, and the older forty-something Latino man who helped me, just before I left, exclaimed, "Your eyes, they are mesmerising!" I think that one takes the cake.

THE YOGA DIARIES: SPRING BREAK CALIFORNIA

2008-04-14T13:53:00.001-05:00

Yoga in the desert … what could be better? I spent spring break deepening my yoga practice as well as really listening for long periods of time (something that city life seems to make me think I don’t have time to do), while camping my way through California with my boyfriend, Geoff, for ten whole days!

We started off in the Mojave desert, in Joshua Tree National Park. It was a shock to the system-in the best way. The absence of humidity was the first thing I noticed, aside from the heat of the sunshine, the crystal-clear blue sky, and the sand under my feet. The place felt so far away from Chicago, far away from the pollution of LA (though on a later trek, I would see the blurry effects of that place’s car pollution, two hundred miles away from it). I was far away from obligations, far away from “I should …” which is a phrase that torments me constantly when I’m at home. I was there to find stillness, quiet.

It’s interesting how one finds stillness through movement. In a way, that’s what yoga is: using controlled movements to find the place where the mind is capable of being still, even in motion. Within yoga postures, while the body is flowing gracefully with the breath, moving with prana, the transition between asanas is where I feel mental stillness. Just walking can be a practice in stillness. I've noticed that when I’m in the city, it is very difficult to sustain that mental-stillness between postures whether it's between postures in my practice or at school or even sitting on the eL. Jumping from one posture to another, it’s like I’m rushing to get to a destination that does not exist. Moving through a series quickly doesn’t make the time go any faster. But somehow, my mind has learned how to stay in control, pushing me toward the elusive something that I can never reach. When I’m in nature, it’s far easier to slow down.

On our trip, I tried telling Geoff that PLACE is extremely important to me, that I think I would be so much happier in a rural setting than in the city. But no, he said, place doesn’t matter.

“A problem is a problem,” he explained, “Your issues will follow you anywhere you go. Moving or leaving or traveling just helps you to forget about them, but they'll come up again somehow. You have to learn to confront problems, not run away from them.”

Where I believe he is right about needing to confront issues instead of moving away from them, I disagree that being in a certain place can’t help you feel ready to confront those issues more fully or even more quickly than you would if you’re caught up in the hustling energy of a busy city. When a person is in the middle of nature, she must be aware; she must watch where she’s going; must slow down and become aware or else get a thorn in the foot or trip over a rock or bump a head on a tree branch. Whereas, in the city, it feels almost essential to shut off many of the senses to avoid a system overload. If in the city, a person acknowledges every source of light, every advertisement and every new object, she wouldn’t make it through a day. Or, at least that’s how I feel.

The sun. There’s something that happens when you’re in a tent and the energy, heat, and light from the sun permeates your tent on an early desert morning. I’d previously had trouble waking up in the mornings, and like a bear I wish I could just hibernate the Chicago winter away. I can sleep for days. But that powerful, firey energy practically pulled me out of my sleeping bag and out of my tent into the cool morning air. It kept fueling my energy throughout the day. It felt like the sun was saluting me, shining through my body and waking me—recharging me—from a long, dark winter.

In the mornings, I would face it, breathing it in, lifting my arms toward the morning blue—endless sky that is lighter than the vibrant, rich color that would come midday, as though the atmosphere had just been awakened by the sun, like me. I did sun salutations for people back home in the cold, dedicating one to each of my friends, my family, my teachers, sending them warmth and light. That practice of dedication somehow fuels me, too, knowing that I’m not only doing this for myself, but for others as well. It sustains me—“Oh! I need to do one more, for Michael,” and “Can’t forget Lexi,” and “Just one more, for Dad…” I felt that I could just go on and on.

The Earth. We did a lot of hiking, taking aimless walks along vague paths through the brush. I found myself lingering behind, my head relaxed so my eyes cast downward, memorizing the rocks and little blooming plants and less inviting spiny ones along the way. Hiking became a meditation; my mind slowed and thought only of the step I was taking, the place I was AT. I was conscious of my breath, and most days I wore flip-flops—flimsy ones that are just a thin protective barrier so I could feel like I was almost barefoot. I felt like I was absorbing a solid, steady, grounding energy, breathing in the earth.

I liked how this happened—this extension of yoga outside what I deemed my “Practice,” permeating my actions without me trying so hard to make that happen.

Climbing was liberating—the texture of the coarse granite was reassuring because as I climbed, it was as though the granite gripped me, held me in place, supported me so that the fear I usually have of heights and of falling and of losing my footing was gone. Standing at the edge of a high cliff, the soft warm wind strumming the tip of my nose, the sun heating my skin, I got a profound feeling of being supported by the universe, which expanded and condensed simultaneously all around me.

Yoga seeped into every action on that trip. Life as I had obsessively been living it slowed down enough that I became conscious of breath and of my body, and also of how the energy of a place flows through me. I was able to really, truly feel more compassion and love for my boyfriend. I didn’t write, I didn’t produce, there was barely an outward flow of energy. I was a dried-up, crusty sponge, and each day I became more and more full, soaking it up and recording sights and energy with photographs and memories.

Water. Next, we traveled to the Great Sequoia National Forest, where the landscape was incredibly different. Foggy skies, thick air, and massive, gnarled, mossy trees created a sense of mystery in this place. It was mystical, magical, and THICK.

Geoff and I made our way through the damp brush and found an incredible waterfall. Calm streams of meltwater tributaries fed a pond of crystal-clear water, which flowed through a jutting-out rock, then cascaded into a wild, foamy fall. I walked out to the rock, sat in easy pose, and put my hand into the water. Cold, crisp. I meditated there awhile, and an intense pull came over me. It was as though all the little worries and attachments and sadness that caught and stuck within me were pulled into that water and away with its tide. It wasn’t long before I felt cleaned, purified.

We slept near a creek, to the churning of the water, lulled into deep dreams of swimming and flying.

The same effect seemed to happen at the beach, once we reached the coast. The ocean pulled away anxieties, the sunset put all worries to rest. The stars expanded into infinity above us. My chest opened and interwove with the universe.

I can’t believe how difficult it was to come home. It was an absolute shock to my system—in the worst way. Through those ten days, I had gradually, slowly let go of all my commitments, my “should”s, my attachments to what I’m going to do in the future, the ideas of who I wanted to mold myself into. Then suddenly it was like a punch in the face. All at once, everything was back—but WORSE! I hadn’t done any reading, any homework on my trip. I was graduating in a month! My mind filled up and overflowed with things I should have done, things I should put on my list to do, things I needed to accomplish before graduation, and I was too busy to do yoga, I had more urgent things to do than meditate, and it was like cement covered the earth to the point of suffocation.

It took me two weeks to write this, because finally I’ve slowed down enough to remember that trip: how I felt, what I did. And after finally taking the time for reflection, after being here, yet still pulling myself out of the trivialities of my life enough, I can remember my trip, and find the spaces in my self where it still resides, bringing them forth and shining them through to others.

I know that there is no “fixing” my anxiety. The return home from this incredible trip made that absolutely clear to me. But I am reminded again and again that the solution to my obsessions is to take time for myself, over and over, to reflect and to relax, and to pull away out of my patterns to find that really, everything is going to be okay. It is a constant practice, and this I remind myself as I make the transition into whatever new chapter of my life and every new day that comes.

September Conscious Choice

2008-03-05T11:50:00.000-06:00

Abu-Ghraib Interrogator Turns Anti-War Activist
By Jessie Tierney

When he was only 17 years old, Iowa native Joshua Casteel enlisted in the U.S. Army Reserves. Hailing from a military family with an evangelical religious background, it seemed the right path for him. But after basic training, studying Arab linguistics, being deployed to Abu Ghraib in June of 2004 and interrogating prisoners, he found himself confronting a self-professed jihadist from Saudi Arabia.

“The entire time we spoke,” Casteel, now 27, explains, “he talked to me with a gentle calmness and evangelical tone. He tried to convert me to Islam from start to finish, and being an evangelical, I felt in familiar territory, as if I were speaking simply to my Muslim counterpart.”

When their conversation turned to war and violence, Casteel asked the prisoner why he came to Iraq to kill: the man’s response was to ask Casteel the same question. “At that point I knew I could go no further, unless I wanted to get into a debate about which one of us had the ‘more just’ cause.”

Very soon thereafter Casteel filed for conscientious objector status and was granted an honorable discharge on May 31. Since returning to his Midwestern home, he has been studying Nonfiction and Playwriting at the University of Iowa, combating post-traumatic stress with art.

Last February, he was in Chicago performing in Returns, a play he wrote which explores living with his memories of war in Abu Ghraib. It was staged at Columbia College, with an intimate audience and limited props — everything they used fit into a suitcase. The idea was that the play could travel easily and be performed in church basements, VFW halls, and schools. It will be staged again in November at Princeton’s McArthur Theater under the direction of David Gothard, of Ireland’s Abbey Theatre.

Casteel was also interviewed in Iraq For Sale, David Greenwald’s documentary on war profiteering, and is featured in a new documentary called Soldiers of Conscience, as an “ambassador of the Christian message.” On February 16, in an act of conscious civil disobedience, he was arrested at a sit-in organized by the Occupation Project. Later, while sitting in a jail cell with his friends, he joked, “If only my detainees could see me now.” Also in February, Casteel traveled to Rome and Assisi to speak with the pope, members of the curia, cardinals, and archbishops about the Just War doctrine and civil disobedience, where he proposed making more contact with individual Catholics about refusing to fight in an unjust war.

Now living in Grand Rapids, MI, while completing his thesis, Casteel says he is putting much of his focus into finishing his memoir and in publishing a collection of war correspondence, called Letters from Abu Ghraib. In it, Casteel writes, “I know who I am and where I am going by the act of remembering.” By making the realities he faced in the war real, he invites us to remember with him.Check out Soldiers of Conscience (socfilm.com) and Iraq for Sale (iraqforsale.org) and keep your eyes peeled for Letters from Abu Ghraib, due out in January 2008.— Jessie Tierney

Tang Center Carves Niche for Herbal Medicine in the Scientific World

By Jessie Tierney

The University of Chicago, internationally renowned for its hospitals and medical research, has opened the Tang Center, whose work is slowly carving a niche for herbal medicine in the normally dismissive scientific world.With one third of Americans using alternative therapies for ailments from hypertension to cancer, the research done at the Center could stand to change the way we look at — and regulate — herbal medicine.

The Tang Center, located in Hyde Park at U of C’s Medical Center, evaluates both benefits and risks of medicinal herbs through evidence-based research, and provides “unbiased information” to healthcare professionals and health-conscious consumers via their website. Both physicians and consumers can benefit from the research done at the Tang Center.

Dr. Chun-Su Yuan, director of the Center, stresses that “Consumers may think a herbal supplement is natural, but it still may interact with drugs or surgery.” A patient — or doctor — may not know, for example, that Ginseng stimulates the immune system and improves energy, but it can cause rapid heartbeat, high blood pressure, excessive bleeding and low blood sugar levels during surgery. Currently, there is no requirement to register dietary supplements with the FDA.

In addition to changing the minds of the fifty percent of doctors who don’t believe in herbal medicine, the Tang Center’s research is working to help the reputability of herbal medicines in the scientific world. However, to Americans who fear for their health freedom and prospective CODEX legislation — which, among other dictates, would limit the availability of herbal medicines to a prescription-only basis — this research may be a troubling step toward regulation.

Dr. Yuan says, “research done at the Tang Center will aid in the standardization and regulation of herbal medicines.” He clarifies that by standardization and regulation, he is referring to “the academic and scientific approach — not necessarily as outlined in the CODEX legislation,” which he explains is “a legal issue.” Funding for the Center comes from the Tang Foundation — an international donor that channels resources toward healthcare and education — as well as the National Center for Complementary and Alternative Medicine (NCCAM), a federal agency within the Department of Health & Human Services, which awards $120 million in CAM grants per year.

The Tang center’s website details background, uses, phytochemistry/pharmacology, safety, and preparations/dosage for a number of herbs and botanicals they have studied and tested so far, and continues to update as research presses onward.— Jessie Tierney

Hangin’ Ten Lakeside
By Jessie Tierney

Mark Urban of Orland Park learned to surf during his college years in Hawaii. “When I came back [to Chicago]” Urban explained, “I thought it was all over. I used to just dream about it.” He took a camping trip to Sleeping Bear Dunes and came upon some guys carrying surfboards. He reacted how most people do: “You can’t surf on a lake!” Now he’s in Lake Michigan year-round.

“We surf in 34 degree water and minus zero wind-chills,” he says, “we’re out there 365 days a year.”Chicago native Jim Hoop learned to surf off 57th Street beach in the ’80s with some life-guarding buddies. Though surfing off Chicago beaches is no longer legal, there are plenty of good spots from Evanston to Zion to “the freshwater surfing capital of the world” — Sheboygan, Wisconsin.

Hoop is now the co-director of the Eastern Surfing Association’s Great Lakes District (network54.com/Forum/406988), an organization with 219 members, that gathers vital information for lake surfers. He says that surfing the lakes is “friendly, unlike in the oceans, where nobody even looks at one another, we’re just the opposite. You see a guy on the street with a board on his roof and you go try to catch up with him. I’ve met a lot of guys like that.”

This winter while the rest of us are layering on scarves and gloves, Great Lakes surfers will be heading out in their wetsuits to ride some of the best waves of the season.“We come out,” says Hoop, “and there’s icicles on our faces. But you know, that’s what we like to do.”

August Conscious Choice

2007-08-18T09:20:00.000-05:00

http://consciouschoice.com/2007/08/choicenews0708.html

Rethinking How We Communicate

As television's most uninspired age ambles on, Americans sit in front of screens across the country consuming prodigious amounts of "reality" shows, consisting of programs that pit participants against one another in tests of Machiavellian cunning. Gordon Ramsay, Chef on FOX-TV's Hell's Kitchen constantly barks things like, "All I want is a fucking chicken — move your ass, you fat useless sack of yankie dankie doodle!" The Apprentice, American Idol, Survivor and so many others cultivate a culture of competitive, underhanded communication that we tell ourselves is just entertainment.

Meanwhile, roughly 50 percent of marriages in the U.S. fail per year, 18 percent of Americans over eighteen are diagnosed with an anxiety disorder, and the National Institutes of Health reports that one out of every four kids will be verbally or physically abused by another youth. Might these statistics have something to do with the way we communicate with one another?

Much has been written about America's — and many would argue, the Western world's — predilection for "violent communication" — interactions using judgments, intimidation, coercion, guilt, and blame to get what we want. Dr. Marshal Rosenberg's practice of non-vionent communication (NVC) offers an alternative, providing a way to re-think how we communicate, along with practical tools to achieve empathic connection with others.

Also known as "Compassionate Communication," this practice delivers a skill set that allows us to get to the core of people's behaviors, responding according to their needs and our own. "It may take five minutes or it may take five years, depending on the situation," says Jeff Brown, a certified NVC trainer who gives workshops around the country and has yet to come across a situation where this method of communication has not been effective.

Myra Walden, an NVC counselor in Chicago's West Suburbs, clarifies that "regardless of the way people may communicate, NVC teaches us to hear the needs underlying any words or actions."

A dialogue would include the four components of NVC: observations, feelings, needs, and requests, resulting in a more meaningful, connected exchange. The NVC model can be extended into the school, the workplace, and even the political arena. In Israel, the Ministry of Education is making NVC mandatory in schools. There are trainers currently in Sri Lanka bringing dialogue to warring parties.

Local NVC trainers and workshops can be found through Jeff Brown, heartfeltcommunication.com, Hema Pokharna, journeysoflife.org, Allan Rohlfs, hometown.aol.com/allan rohlf and Myra Walden, allianceforNVC.org.

— Jessie Tierney

Choice Outings for Hot August Nights

Eight: 18 @ Unity
"Love is my religion,” chants the Circus of the Spirit. A dance party but so much more, this eclectic mix of healers, belly dancers, djs, vendors, yogis, drummers, puppeteers, artists, and just about anyone you can imagine, gather at Unity Church to fill the night with good energy. With ten rooms of dance music, live music, tarot card readers, chillout space, acoustic arts, spiritual room, a prayer chaplain, laser lights, open hearts and much more. Dance into the night on Friday August 3. Visit circus.unitychicago.org.

Full Moon Jam
What better way than spinning fire and a drum circle to celebrate the full moon? On August 28 — during the lunar eclipse — meet one-half mile south of Foster Beach on the lakefront to watch the moon rise over the water, feel the drum beats, and witness a fire spinning show. This four-year-old community event is kid-friendly. Visit spunn.org/comm.shtml.

Critical Mass
For a “taste of bike bliss,” join Chicago Critical Mass on August 31 as bikers take over city streets wishing Chicagoans a “Happy Friday!” Thousands of cyclists meet at Daley Plaza (Dearborn and Washington) on the last Friday of every month, regardless of season or weather, for an event that has grown over ten years. This biking celebration welcomes all to join. It’s free and fun. All you have to do is show up with your bike. Go ahead, ride on. Visit chicagocriticalmass.org.

— CC Interns Extraordinaire Brooke Bailey & Jessie Tierney

Don’t Get Mad, Get Active

Stop BP from Dumping in Lake Michigan!
The towering BP oil refinery in Whiting, Indiana has been exempted from state environmental laws, allowing the company to dump an average of 1,584 pounds of ammonia and 4,925 pounds of sludge into Lake Michigan every day!

Conscious Choice has reported on BP’s record as one of the worst environmental polluters in the world (see Stealing Green, December‘06). BP has maintained an intensive marketing campaign to green their image of moving Beyond Petroleum (while 99 percent of their profits still come from oil and gas production).

The Whiting plant has been approved to expand so it can refine Canadian crude oil, which requires more energy to process (contributing to greenhouse gases) and is dirtier than conventional methods, meaning industrial sludge — full of concentrated heavy metals, and ammonia, which promotes algae growth and kills fish — gets pumped right into the lake we swim in and rely on for drinking water.

Contact BP Writing Refinery’s Public Affairs — ask for Tom Kyleman, 219-473-7700.

--Jessie Tierney

July Conscious Choice

2007-08-18T09:08:00.000-05:00

Yay for internships, Conscious Choice, the Peace School, and Upside-down school buses!

US Defense Spending: One Seriously Chunky Monkey

U.S. Defense Spending: One Seriously Chunky Monkey
By Jessie Tierney

What do an upside-down school bus and a stack of Oreo cookies have in common with U.S. military spending?

It's not the start of some random joke — it's "Topsy," an "art bus" created by Ben (as in Ben & Jerry's) Cohen — and it's following candidates along the Primary Trail this election season.

Part of a campaign co-sponsored by True Majority and Business Leaders for Sensible Priorities, the Topsy bus takes aim at the U.S. government's upside-down budgetary spending. Bearing the message "The U.S. Budget is Topsy-Turvy," Topsy follows in the tracks of earlier Cohen projects, like the animated flash "Oreo cookie video" which made web rounds in 2004. In the video, a cartoon Cohen stacks Oreo cookies representing the U.S. budget. A 40-cookie tower equates the Pentagon's share of the federal pie, an annual allocation of $463 billion. The tower dwarfs the 4 cookies allotted for K–12 education, the single cookie allocated to world hunger, and the piddling quarter of a cookie parceled out to alternative energy projects.

The total annual cost for American "security," including defense expenditures for the Departments of Energy, State, Justice, Veterans Affairs, Treasury and NASA, is a whopping $934.9 billion — more than the total defense expenditures of all other nations combined. This incomprehensibly large sum still does not include the cost of war in Iraq and Afghanistan — an amount which, growing by the minute, has already surpassed half a trillion dollars. Cohen and his coterie propose that the "cookies" allocated to defense spending are supporting outdated and ineffective measures.

"A bunch of the candidates [on the campaign trail] have admitted that there is a tremendous waste in the Pentagon and that they would seek to compact that waste," says Cohen, who is marshalling 8,000 volunteers to spread the word in early primary states like Iowa and New Hampshire. "People are talking about how the military is so stretched now. It's beginning to become mainstream."

"Wars of the future," according to Cohen, "are not going to be against other countries — they're going to be against guerillas and terrorists. Nuclear submarines don't really play a roll in that."

The Sensible Priorities campaign proposes to take that $60 billion (or 6 cookies) and rebuild schools, eliminate need for Middle Eastern oil, feed the six million starving children worldwide, provide all children with health insurance, and give Head Start to every kid who needs it. To find out when Topsy rolls into your town, check out www.sensiblepriorities.org/topsy.php.

Watch Cohen in the cookie flash movie at truemajority.org/oreos.

— Jessie Tierney

Breathing Peace: The Peace School Celebrates its 35th Year(scroll down, it's the third article)

Breathing Peace: Chicago's Peace School Celebrates its 35th year

"Inhale wooorld ... exhale peaaace," Master Charles Kim's voice vibrates, filling the room with his relaxing tone. This year, the Peace School celebrates its 35th anniversary, where peace breathing is one aspect of the multi-faceted practice taught in the Lincoln Ave. storefront studio.
In 1972, the late Grand Master MyungSu Y.S. Kim moved his family and Martial Arts practice to Chicago from Korea, where he started a training program combining peace breathing, yoga, meditation and Martial Arts. This unique practice dedicates each breath and movement to world peace. The approach even works for those with hectic lives — in the words of Head Instructor and Education Coordinator Jennifer Kim, "You always have time to breathe. You're breathing right now, so why not utilize the breath in a positive way?"

In addition to peaceful practice, the founder worked to establish a global day of peace. Mayor Bilandic acknowledged Peace Day in Chicago in 1978, which, with thousands of letters typed by Peace School volunteers and sent across America, spread to 540 cities, then to all 50 states in 1980. In 1986, the United Nations designated the school a Peace Messenger because of its work in getting proclamations of peace days from governors and mayors throughout the nation. "And it all started here," says Jennifer Kim, "with a little group of volunteers and typewriters!"

Head Instructor Greg Garrett, who started at the Peace School when he was 17, says that working alongside the late Grand Master Kim "was like sitting down with Mahatma Gandhi — he just had that presence — he was a magnet, a personality you just couldn't refuse."

Grand Master Kim's momentum and energy continue to flow through the school after his death.
Current Peace School president Master Charles Kim hopes to continue the work accomplished by his father. He has aspirations for the school to become an educational institution, training leaders to work sincerely for humanity while spreading ideas of world peace through the U.S. and beyond."

Peace Day 2007 will be held at noon on Friday, Sept. 21, in Daley Plaza. Visit peaceschool.org or email for more information.— Jessie Tierney

What i'm Thinkin Bout Activism and Peace ...

2007-06-24T22:57:00.000-05:00

Above: My sister Katie and I at an Anti-war protest in the Fall of 2006.

I am helping to organize a peace ceremony called Prostrations for Peace that will be held on Sunday, July 15 on North Shore Beach. People are invited to come and physically work through the suffering that is created by this horrible Iraq war. There will be a bell rung every thirty seconds, from sunrise to sunset, for a total of 1579 rings—designating the number of days we have been at war.

I have been sending information to my friends, family, yoga studios, cafes, and everyone who I think will be remotely interested, have linked it to my blog, my MySpace, my Facebook, and invite you to please do the same.

In one of my e-mails to my friends, I wrote, “I'm inviting you all to be activists. And it's not the normal abrasive, in-your-face, violent activism that we have seen and grown weary of. I don't know about you, but I'm pretty turned off by the ANTI-war protests, because much of the time, people are so angry that it makes me lose hope that anything will actually get done—some of the protesters are just as violent as those they are protesting against. I don't think it's the answer. Prostrations for Peace is an event that not only opposes war, it actively engages people in a peaceful activity. Those of us who are active on any level know that engaging in a physical act helps us to work through our emotions. Here is a chance to dedicate your physical self to Peace in the Middle East!”

One of my friends wrote me back asking “Jessie, I’m curious when and where the last time was that you saw violent anti-war protesters?”

I probably should have used a word like “angry” instead of “violent,” as my friend later pointed out. Calling protests violent is first of all a misuse of the word because violent acts are not what I meant in my email. Also, it is an invitation to polarize people, or at least views of what activism is, allowing some to latch onto the violent idea and create for themselves and others a negative image of activism, thus remaining stagnant and hopeless.

It got me to really thinking about the nature of protests, activism, and change.

Are protests always fueled by anger? Is anger inherent in activism? Can change happen without anger?

I tend to get really anxious at anti-war rallies. I went to one a year and a half ago where there were people shouting into a microphone about “We gotta end this fucking war” and “Fuck Bush!” The crowd would roar and raise clenched fists into the air, waving their “No blood for oil” signs. I agree with these ideas, that the war is unfounded and a horrible atrocity, but the way people were expressing themselves didn't sit well with me.

I didn’t stay long because I became frustrated that we were yelling about the problems, The Problems, THE PROBLEMS!, creating all these negative emotions and not necessarily offering solutions. I was ready to punch somebody by the time I left, because I had all this energy stirred up and nowhere for it to go. I hadn't been to another protest since.

Our culture is permeated with violence, as we know. Any attempt to eradicate a problem is deemed a War On Something. It’s everywhere, so even when we’re rising up against it, often we are still communicating with violence--violence in communication as opposed to compassionate communication. I feel that in this world where "reality" shows, CSI, and American Idol are twisting our sense of what is real and how to communicate with one another, and we go numb seeing all the homicide stories and war coverage on the news, it’s sometimes impossible to deal with frustration and anger, so we just push it away, deny it exists. It’s easy to feel that change cannot happen unless provoked to the point of desperate anger and outrage. I had stopped watching TV and stopped reading newspapers. But that didn't help the problems to go away, either.

The other day, I was speaking with a woman from UIC who is a peace activist. We were talking about my generation, and I said that I had noticed a lot of my peers who are afraid to even talk about politics, saying "I'm just not sure what I think yet," getting out of the conversation before it even started. Then she said to me, "The other response [to the violence and injustice in the world] that I think is so dangerous is people who will say Oh, I don’t watch the news, I don’t read the newspaper, it’s just too overwhelming. What kind of a response is that to the suffering in the world? For people who are dealing with suffering on a moment-by moment basis to think that there are other people who are living very comfortably and simply find that all too depressing and don’t want to deal with it. That’s appalling indifference. I would have more respect for people who have thought about things and have taken a very pro-military or aggressive type stance than I would to people who just don’t want it to infiltrate their world."

There's something amazing and enlivening about figuring out how you feel about an issue and being active about change. For some reason, I feel like a lot of my generation doesn't know how to do that.

That’s why I love this Prostrations for Peace idea so much. It provides an outlet for the anger, frustration, rage, and despair. Be the change you wish to see in the world, right? I don’t want to see pissed-off people who are full of negativity and have no outlet for their anger. I want to see people who are dealing with their shit actively without fucking anyone else over. If you want to eradicate the world of violence, being pissed off isn’t going to cut it.

More than one ways to skin a cat:

I was in Revolution Books last week putting up fliers about Prostrations for Peace. I was saying how I want to get the word out to more young people, because I feel that there’s a tremendous amount of anger and helplessness that people feel, and that young people are burnt out from protests. The man asked if I’d contacted The World Can’t Wait, and honestly, it almost frightened me to think about getting that organization involved. My only experience with World Can’t Wait was through a group at Columbia called On The Ground, and we were getting ready for this big march and protest that was geared around “Driving out the Bush Regime.” It was a great idea, but at the time, I was unclear about my focus and my role as an activist. There was a plan to get Bush out of office, but the whole thing seemed so radical that it was really excluding a lot of people. I was intimidated by the rhetoric. To me, it was the same “if you’re not with us, you’re against us” feeling as with Bush.

So when Revolution Books Man said to me that day that I should contact The World Can't Wait, I got this vision of the pier covered in yoga mats, people breathing through their sun salutations, peace flags fluttering in the breeze, the lake water lapping against the sand, the bell gonging every thirty seconds for each day we’ve been at war, and suddenly in the distance, growing louder as they approach, the sound of people screaming over a bullhorn “THE WORLD CAN’T WAIT! DRIVE OUT THE BUSH REGIME, THE WORLD CAN’T WAIT …” as they tramp through the sand, stamping out candles and knocking over incense, drowning out the sound of the bell with their cries.

But I was happy to exchange some ideas with the man at Rev Books. He was much more open than I'd expected--for some reason I had pigeonholed the WCW people into this idea of radical, militant crazies. They are not. We had a great conversation about there being a need for multiple ways to approach a solution. It’s like the saying that I will probably butcher: “There are many paths to God, and all lead to the same place. Don’t waste time figuring out which one is the best, just pick one and go.” God, in our case, is peace. So: just do it, however you feel is right and however you can.

Michael McColly recommended me a book called Hope In The Dark by Rebecca Solnit. I am getting a lot of answers to my questions in it. I’m going to quote some from it because I feel like it helps to clarify my thoughts, and I believe that it would help others. I highly recommend it to anyone interested in the history of and future of protest and activism.

“Perfection is a stick with which to beat the possible. Perfectionists can find fault with anything, and no one has higher standards in this regard than radicals. In January 2003, when Governor Ryan of Illinois overturned 167 death sentences, reprieving everyone on death row, there were radical commentators who found fault with the details, carped when we should have been pouring champagne over our heads like football chams. But there’s an increasing gap between this new movement, with its capacity for joy and carnival, and the old figureheads. Their grumpiness is often the grumpiness of perfectionists who hold that anything less than total victory is failure, a premise that makes it easy to give up at the start or disparage the victories that are possible. This is earth. It will never be heaven. There will always be cruelty, always be violence, always be destruction. There is tremendous devastation now. In the time it takes you to read this book, acres of rain forest will vanish, a species will go extinct, people will be raped, killed, dispossessed, die of easily preventable causes. We cannot eliminate all devastation for all time, but we can reduce it, outlaw it, undermine its sources and foundations: these are victories. A better world, yes; a perfect world, never” (81-2).

Here is a quote by Uruguayan writer Eduardo Galeano: “Utopia is on the horizon. When I walk two steps, it takes two steps back. I walk ten steps and it is ten steps further away. What is utopia for? It is for this, for walking” (83).

And continuing to quote from Hope in the Dark: “Recent strains of activism proceed on the realization that victory is not some absolute state far away but the achieving of it, not the moon landing but the flight … The term ‘politics of prefiguration’ has long been used to describe the idea that if you embody what you aspire to, you have already succeeded. That is to say, if your activism is already democratic, peaceful, creative, then in one small corner of the world these things have triumphed. Activism, in this model, is not only a toolbox to change things but a home in which to take up residence and live according to your beliefs—even if it’s a temporary and local place, this paradise of participating, this vale where souls get made” (86-7).

John Jordan, writer and activist in the global justice movement says, “When we are asked how we are building a new world, our answer is ‘We don’t know, but let’s build it together.’ In effect we are saying the end is not as important as the means, we are turning hundreds of years of political form and content on its head by putting the means before the ends, by putting context in front of ideology, by rejecting purity and perfection, in fact, we are turning our backs on the future.

“It’s an enormous challenge, because in a chaotic world people need something to hold onto and something to hold them … For them, hope is often found in certainty. Not necessarily certainty rooted in a predictable future, but certainty that they are doing the right thing with their lives … we are building movements which believe that to ‘let go’ is the most powerful thing we can do—to let go, walk away from power and freedom. Giving people back their creative agency, reactivating their potential for a direct intervention to the world is at the heart of the process … In that moment of creation, the need for certainty is subsumed by the joy of doing, and the doing is filled with meaning” (106-7).

I feel that these passages really help to guide me in my own quest for direction and action.

So, I wish to again extend the invitation to everyone who is interested—no matter your persuasion or means—come to the pier and create some good energy for peace. I hope to see you there.

WHAT is PROSTRATIONS FOR PEACE?

2007-06-22T23:48:00.001-05:00

WAR ALL THE TIME?

For 1,579 days since the start of the war in Iraq we have witnessed the destruction of a land and its people in the name of peace and security.

Billions of our dollars, millions of hours of human effort, the sacrifice of thousands of lives, the torture and maiming of soldiers and civilians -- and we are no safer.

The people of Iraq live in a hellish, escalating civil war that is spilling over its borders, and the world looks at our government with fear, distrust, and bitter disrespect.

Speeches, commissions, images, news reports, punditry, fear-mongering, and false patriotism have only distanced us from the horror and suffering that permeates our world because of this war.

HOW CAN WE RESPOND?

We sense a need for a different response -- a response from the heart and the body.

We sense a need for people from every community, spiritual practice, and political stance to set aside time to come to Chicago's lakefront and join others in a practice used by all cultures in times of insurmountable suffering: the bowing or prostration of the body to the earth.

WHAT WILL WE DO?

This ceremony has no sponsors. It is an organic response of people from across the city and suburbs of Chicago.

It will begin at sunrise and end at sunset on July 15, 2007.

It will take place on the pier of North Shore Beach in Rogers Park.

We seek only your participation by either performing basic sun salutations as practiced in Hatha yoga, bows or prostrations as practiced by Buddhists and Muslims, offerings of prayer while kneeling on the sand as practiced by Jewish or Christians, or simply bowing and kneeling to the earth in an act of awareness of the great need of our world for healing and peace.

We ask that you perform as many as you feel able as we count off each day that the war has continued. We suggest that you try to do 108, which is a sacred number for Hindus, Buddhists, and Christians, symbolizing a measurement of sacrifice and sustained reverence.

To prepare for the event, one may wish to practice sun salutations every morning, dedicating a month-long practice to peace.

WHAT ELSE CAN I DO?

We also seek volunteers to ring a bell and announce each day as we move through the 1,579 days since the war began on March 19, 2003.

These volunteers may sign up for one of the 40 months of the war.

Prayer flags, candles, poems, incense, offerings of flowers to be placed on the pier or on the shore are encouraged. Bring drums, music, voices. This is to be a collective altar for peace--express your peace however you wish.

Donations will be accepted for Emergency (www.emergencyusa.org), a humanitarian, neutral, non-profit organization that provides high-quality treatment, surgery, and rehabilitation to civilians in war and post-war areas around the world, including Iraq and Afghanistan. Emergency also trains medical and non-medical personnel in these areas.