Last night I finally watched the DVD This Is It about Michael Jackson. What I learned is that I didn't know the man at all; nor did I understand him. He was an American Icon, and The King of Pop is certainly a valid title to give him. Yet, he was - is - so much more than that.
To society, Michael Jackson was a controversial figure that got pushed from one extreme of "Beloved Superstar" to the other of "Rejected Weirdo." And to some, he was even labeled a pervert, based on nothing more than carefully spun lies, accusations, and media dramatization.
The DVD gave me a bit of an inside peek at the man that was Michael. And as I watched the unfolding documentary of what was to be his final concert tour, I realized that I was seeing the man for the first time - not through the distortions of society, but through a clear and undistorted camera lens without agenda...nothing more. And there he was: Michael. And he was beautiful.
Not that I ever held anything against him; no. It's just that I never took the time to see beyond all the hype to the true man. All I was privy to came through the distorted filters of the media or even at times, his own family. I chose not to give any of it much attention or energy, but what that left me with was a shadowy concept of who Michael Jackson really was.
Watching him last night - looking deeply into his energy - I saw a man struggling to express the fullness of his beauty, yes; yet also a man emanating nothing but pure love for all the people - the dancers, musicians, managers, stagehands, techs, and on and on and on - that were working for him. He held them like family, so they weren't working for him, but with him. The manager said it beautifully when he told the newly chosen dancers, "The dancers are an extension of MJ," and they were. Everyone was. They were all held as an extension of Michael, for him, with him. Like family. It was truly beautiful.
The other thing I saw was a man with a vision - a vision of a world free of separation.... separation from ourselves, from each other, from the Earth... Through Michael's eyes, I could see a world of one loving family among all things. He was a perfectionist to be sure, yet this tendency supported the depth of his vision - the vision he was trying to convey to the masses - of a free world. Free of hate; free of distortion; free of separation; free of rejection; free of destruction... He could see it; he could feel it; and I understood last night how deeply he wanted to share it so that it might be created.
And I began to understand the depth of the man himself - Michael Jackson. Such a depth he had that few could grasp it. When something was out of alignment with his vision, he'd simply bring it back on track. There was never any yelling, blaming, accusing, chastising, etc... no drama at all. He'd simply state what his vision was and how the execution of it was lacking, and then give the tempo or a description of what he was wanting, and move on... no energy behind it; just conviction to meet his vision 100%. He'd simply snap his fingers to the proper tempo so folks could get it; or move into a brief example of the way the rhythm of the dance paused for a bit, off tempo; or he'd say something like, "You've got to let it simmer there. Just let it simmer." And the folks knew exactly what he was going for then, and would get right back on track with it. And then Michael would smile and say, "God bless you" and mean it - not just because they did what he wanted, but because to him, what they were doing was truly beautiful and he wanted it to be executed in as pure a way as possible.
And WOW what a master he was! So SMOOTH in both voice and movement; so completely expert in the art of his life, and as the artist of his life. When I realized that he had choreographed the entire show, I was beyond impressed. Yet, the man's heart and vision went so far beyond that, and that's what really impressed me. He was after the feeling state and the energetic perception of his audiences. That was clear. Every tiny little bit of that show was geared toward opening people up to a certain feeling and to connect them with his message on a deep and personal level. And in my view, his message was simple: LOVE. Love yourself, love each other, love the Planet.
I did love Michael Jackson. I felt sorry for him, too. I honored his journey and his soul. Yet now, with a clearer perspective of the man, I love him even more. I might even put him in the category of "unsung hero" or even "spiritual master" despite the reality that his teachings remained largely hidden through the eyes of society and within the dramas of his life. Yet that doesn't mean that they weren't there. Clearly they were and are, at least to those who look through the eyes of their heart rather than through the distorted lens of society.
How interesting it is to me that he called this tour "This Is It" and it was. It makes me wonder how broadly he held the meaning behind that title, how expansive the message was to him, and how personally it touched him. Even from the documentary, it is clear how intimately he felt the message, and how strongly he felt about conveying it, for it was a message of not only the man, but of the deepest part of the man's heart. And that is not something to be taken lightly.
Michael Jackson, I have learned from you, I have grown from you, and I have been touched by you. May you rest in the peace, grace, love, and light that you were born to shine for the rest of us. And may I have even a glimmer of that to offer the world when I die...
©2010 Cecilia L. Zúñiga. A Year To Live. All Rights Reserved. Reprints, copies or reproductions of any kind must be accompanied by copyright credit line.
20 March 2010
15 March 2010
Chicken Soup for the Soul?
My sweetie and I were driving down the highway yesterday, returning from celebrating a friend's 50th birthday surprise in Houston, when we drifted into what appeared to be snow floating in the air. "What's that? It looks like snow. How pretty!" I said. And my mind slipped into all kinds of fun fantasies about snow in South-Central Texas in March. We decided that it was too early for cotton from fields or cottonwood trees, so it remained a mystery. About 30 minutes later, we got our answer...
We came upon an 18-wheeler with an open-air cage-like trailer. The "flakes" were drifting madly from it in the wind. And then it hit me: it was chickens. My heart sank. Their beautiful white feathers were being blown free as they moved down the road. Hundreds of chickens in shoebox-sized cages filled that trailer, stacked from its floor to the very top, one on top of another, on top of another... The ones on the outside edges were the lucky ones: a few had managed to cram their heads out of their cage and get some air, long necks stretched out as far as they could stretch them into the breeze. That's how I identified the load as actual chickens and not just feathers; otherwise, there was really no way to tell. The rest looked like cages of white feathers, no body or life to them at all.
The others - the ones crammed in the inside stacks - I presumed were dead. "Death from fear and suffocation" I lamented, knowing that this was an assumption, though a likely one. It was difficult to imagine anything else for them; and it occurred to me that they might actually be the luckier ones, if any of them could be considered "lucky" at all.
I fell into silence for the rest of the trip, or maybe it was shock. I've had similar reactions to the sight of logging trucks hauling long, beautiful tree trunks stripped clean of their lives, on their way to lumber yards to make boards so that we can build things. But this - these chickens - hit me on an entirely different level. It's about the sanctity and sacredness of life, and how gravely it feels that humans dishonor it sometimes. "It's criminal!" I whispered, and I cried inside.
I wanted to vomit; it was too much for mere tears. I started to recapitulate immediately, to clear the pained energy from my body, to give back the trauma and cruelty, but I didn't know who it "belonged" to. So I prayed and sent it to the Earth, asking for healing, balance, and forgiveness. I breathed in fire energy from the Sun to purify its residue in my body, and to reclaim the life force I'd leaked on behalf of those poor chickens. And I sent them all the love, compassion, and light that I could muster. And I prayed to Spirit to release and forgive us humans for the cruelty we wield, so mindlessly at times. And I vowed to write a blog about it.
"You've never seen that before?" my sweetie asked. "No" I answered flatly. "That's how it's done." And I thought, "Well, it needs to change!" I began to fantasize about supermarket "chicken protests" to educate folks and support them in buying cage-free chicken. I had flash visions of people waving signs and shouting witty slogans outside of restaurants, fast food joints, and in grocery store meat departments to frightened shoppers. I thought of animal cruelty groups and how they might help, recognizing that any humanity given to farmed chickens, cows, pigs, etc. is already largely due to them. And then I recalled this story my dear friend shared with me the night before:
She said she was talking with a coworker who is a vegetarian now. When she asked him why, he said he'd been an avid hunter for years. And then one day when he looked down his scope at a deer he was about to shoot, the deer looked straight back at him, and all he saw in its eyes was fear. And he said to her, "I don't want to eat fear."
That's the best reason to become a vegetarian that I've ever heard. And that's what we're doing every time we eat a piece of meat that comes from a nice, clean package at the store, or every time we order chicken at a restaurant, or buy chicken from a fast food place. It's not what it appears to be. There are exceptions, of course, for the few farms that choose to do it more humanely. But they are the exception.
Many folks still seem to care more about price than ethics these days. Yet what we don't realize is that it's not just "price;" it's cost. And there are "hidden costs" like eating fear that have an impact and take a toll on the energy of all life - our life - here. There is an impact from this, with or without our awareness. So, I vowed to write this blog, and to stop ordering chicken at restaurants and fast food places, and to keep buying the packages labeled as "cage free" from the grocery store. I don't want to eat fear.
I don't want to contribute to fear either. I don't want any living thing to have to die a fear-filled, painful, cruel death any more than I want to do that. And if they must, I pray for there to be as much love, honor, and respect around them as possible. Yet this is not how it is; "that's how it's done." And I watch the part of me that wants to change it raise up in protest, and then fall back into surrender to what is, recognizing my attachment to what I want it to be.
But there are things that I can do, that I'm already doing, to soften around this reality; so I focus my energy on them. And then I think of my own death and how I might support myself in surrendering to "what is" for it, too, just like I am for those poor chickens.
Suddenly, a year doesn't feel like enough time for this task....
©2010 Cecilia L. Zúñiga. A Year To Live. All Rights Reserved. Reprints, copies or reproductions of any kind must be accompanied by copyright credit line.
We came upon an 18-wheeler with an open-air cage-like trailer. The "flakes" were drifting madly from it in the wind. And then it hit me: it was chickens. My heart sank. Their beautiful white feathers were being blown free as they moved down the road. Hundreds of chickens in shoebox-sized cages filled that trailer, stacked from its floor to the very top, one on top of another, on top of another... The ones on the outside edges were the lucky ones: a few had managed to cram their heads out of their cage and get some air, long necks stretched out as far as they could stretch them into the breeze. That's how I identified the load as actual chickens and not just feathers; otherwise, there was really no way to tell. The rest looked like cages of white feathers, no body or life to them at all.
The others - the ones crammed in the inside stacks - I presumed were dead. "Death from fear and suffocation" I lamented, knowing that this was an assumption, though a likely one. It was difficult to imagine anything else for them; and it occurred to me that they might actually be the luckier ones, if any of them could be considered "lucky" at all.
I fell into silence for the rest of the trip, or maybe it was shock. I've had similar reactions to the sight of logging trucks hauling long, beautiful tree trunks stripped clean of their lives, on their way to lumber yards to make boards so that we can build things. But this - these chickens - hit me on an entirely different level. It's about the sanctity and sacredness of life, and how gravely it feels that humans dishonor it sometimes. "It's criminal!" I whispered, and I cried inside.
I wanted to vomit; it was too much for mere tears. I started to recapitulate immediately, to clear the pained energy from my body, to give back the trauma and cruelty, but I didn't know who it "belonged" to. So I prayed and sent it to the Earth, asking for healing, balance, and forgiveness. I breathed in fire energy from the Sun to purify its residue in my body, and to reclaim the life force I'd leaked on behalf of those poor chickens. And I sent them all the love, compassion, and light that I could muster. And I prayed to Spirit to release and forgive us humans for the cruelty we wield, so mindlessly at times. And I vowed to write a blog about it.
"You've never seen that before?" my sweetie asked. "No" I answered flatly. "That's how it's done." And I thought, "Well, it needs to change!" I began to fantasize about supermarket "chicken protests" to educate folks and support them in buying cage-free chicken. I had flash visions of people waving signs and shouting witty slogans outside of restaurants, fast food joints, and in grocery store meat departments to frightened shoppers. I thought of animal cruelty groups and how they might help, recognizing that any humanity given to farmed chickens, cows, pigs, etc. is already largely due to them. And then I recalled this story my dear friend shared with me the night before:
She said she was talking with a coworker who is a vegetarian now. When she asked him why, he said he'd been an avid hunter for years. And then one day when he looked down his scope at a deer he was about to shoot, the deer looked straight back at him, and all he saw in its eyes was fear. And he said to her, "I don't want to eat fear."
That's the best reason to become a vegetarian that I've ever heard. And that's what we're doing every time we eat a piece of meat that comes from a nice, clean package at the store, or every time we order chicken at a restaurant, or buy chicken from a fast food place. It's not what it appears to be. There are exceptions, of course, for the few farms that choose to do it more humanely. But they are the exception.
Many folks still seem to care more about price than ethics these days. Yet what we don't realize is that it's not just "price;" it's cost. And there are "hidden costs" like eating fear that have an impact and take a toll on the energy of all life - our life - here. There is an impact from this, with or without our awareness. So, I vowed to write this blog, and to stop ordering chicken at restaurants and fast food places, and to keep buying the packages labeled as "cage free" from the grocery store. I don't want to eat fear.
I don't want to contribute to fear either. I don't want any living thing to have to die a fear-filled, painful, cruel death any more than I want to do that. And if they must, I pray for there to be as much love, honor, and respect around them as possible. Yet this is not how it is; "that's how it's done." And I watch the part of me that wants to change it raise up in protest, and then fall back into surrender to what is, recognizing my attachment to what I want it to be.
But there are things that I can do, that I'm already doing, to soften around this reality; so I focus my energy on them. And then I think of my own death and how I might support myself in surrendering to "what is" for it, too, just like I am for those poor chickens.
Suddenly, a year doesn't feel like enough time for this task....
©2010 Cecilia L. Zúñiga. A Year To Live. All Rights Reserved. Reprints, copies or reproductions of any kind must be accompanied by copyright credit line.
11 March 2010
Time's a Ticking
I'm still feeling a bit "snotty in the head" today, but my energy is returning. I taught all my yoga classes this week, despite not feeling my best and having a minor surgery Tuesday afternoon. The doc said the stitches on my back are somewhat fragile, so ordered me off of yoga and exercise for two weeks until they come out. "What?? I just got back into the habit and my body is enjoying it again! I'm not stopping for two whole weeks. Nope. You say what you want doc, but I'm not listening..." Of course, I didn't say that with my outloud voice...
And, it was only partly true. I listened enough, and have made my choices with awareness. Doctors can be so black-and-white... Needless to say, neither my yoga classes nor my exercise time missed me.
Tonight, I go to Austin to offer what I can to the Toltec talk HeatherAsh is giving at Marigold. I've already done more today than many days, having made time to do my energy practices this morning, answer emails, clean up bookkeeping records, write a blog for my website, deal with book marketing issues, actually eat a real breakfast, and now writing this blog before grabbing a quick snack and taking my dog for a walk so I can shower and head out soon to run a few errands before going to Austin.
Time's a ticking and I don't have all day; in fact, I don't have all year, either! Go baby, go!
©2010 Cecilia L. Zúñiga. A Year To Live. All Rights Reserved. Reprints, copies or reproductions of any kind must be accompanied by copyright credit line.
And, it was only partly true. I listened enough, and have made my choices with awareness. Doctors can be so black-and-white... Needless to say, neither my yoga classes nor my exercise time missed me.
Tonight, I go to Austin to offer what I can to the Toltec talk HeatherAsh is giving at Marigold. I've already done more today than many days, having made time to do my energy practices this morning, answer emails, clean up bookkeeping records, write a blog for my website, deal with book marketing issues, actually eat a real breakfast, and now writing this blog before grabbing a quick snack and taking my dog for a walk so I can shower and head out soon to run a few errands before going to Austin.
Time's a ticking and I don't have all day; in fact, I don't have all year, either! Go baby, go!
©2010 Cecilia L. Zúñiga. A Year To Live. All Rights Reserved. Reprints, copies or reproductions of any kind must be accompanied by copyright credit line.
08 March 2010
A little love
Last Thursday afternoon, I felt a cold enter my body and settle in my head just enough for me to notice its presence. It was subtle, as if it was trying to sneak up on me. I began some offensive maneuvering, but it took hold of me anyway by Friday afternoon. I spent the weekend feeling spacey and tired from the cold that filled my nose and brain with snot. I was pretty useless all weekend, bored with TV yet not having the energy to do much else but stare at it.
There were moments when I thought, "Great. I'm wasting two whole days because of this cold! I should get up and do something anyway." Yet, I didn't have the energy, so I didn't really do anything but lay around and eat every once in a while. I felt my body tighten at the lack of motion. I'd get up and stretch and move every so often; and then I'd slide back down onto the couch again with a big sigh and drift into the dullness of TV. But I was aware that I really couldn't do much else. I was too stuffy to sleep; too hot to snuggle under blankets; too dopey to read; too tired to go outside; and too numb to care.
I learned that rest was best for me those two days; the body would not have allowed for anything else anyway. So I caved in and allowed myself to do a whole-lot-a-nothin'. Part of me was irritated; part of me was relieved; part of me was really, really bored! And part of me was aware that I had just had a big week energetically, holding more than I have held in a long while. I'm wondering if part of me got "sick" to allow for a break and some rest, or maybe just in rebellion; but I'm not sure. I was fine moving through the week, and even jazzed by the flow and all the energy. It felt good! I was not conscious of a need for more rest than I gave myself, but I have taken note, and am exploring what else may have been linked to the "forced down time." Resistance in getting bigger? Fear? Lack of energetic balance? Or maybe sometimes a cold is just a cold. I'm still dissecting it.
Every so often over the weekend, I'd search around my A Year To Live "room" to see how it felt to basically "skip" two whole days of living, yet I found very little. It seemed just fine to do nothing. I find that odd on one level, and perfectly understandable on another: Odd because my time feels so limited; understandable because I was home with my sweetie, being pampered and loved and lazy... and that felt good. It was nice, despite feeling like dinosaur doo-doo.
Who'd a thought that feeling so bad could still feel so good with a little love on top? Maybe my death will be like that. Even if it's uncomfortable, maybe with a little love on top, it'll feel OK...
©2010 Cecilia L. Zúñiga. A Year To Live. All Rights Reserved. Reprints, copies or reproductions of any kind must be accompanied by copyright credit line.
There were moments when I thought, "Great. I'm wasting two whole days because of this cold! I should get up and do something anyway." Yet, I didn't have the energy, so I didn't really do anything but lay around and eat every once in a while. I felt my body tighten at the lack of motion. I'd get up and stretch and move every so often; and then I'd slide back down onto the couch again with a big sigh and drift into the dullness of TV. But I was aware that I really couldn't do much else. I was too stuffy to sleep; too hot to snuggle under blankets; too dopey to read; too tired to go outside; and too numb to care.
I learned that rest was best for me those two days; the body would not have allowed for anything else anyway. So I caved in and allowed myself to do a whole-lot-a-nothin'. Part of me was irritated; part of me was relieved; part of me was really, really bored! And part of me was aware that I had just had a big week energetically, holding more than I have held in a long while. I'm wondering if part of me got "sick" to allow for a break and some rest, or maybe just in rebellion; but I'm not sure. I was fine moving through the week, and even jazzed by the flow and all the energy. It felt good! I was not conscious of a need for more rest than I gave myself, but I have taken note, and am exploring what else may have been linked to the "forced down time." Resistance in getting bigger? Fear? Lack of energetic balance? Or maybe sometimes a cold is just a cold. I'm still dissecting it.
Every so often over the weekend, I'd search around my A Year To Live "room" to see how it felt to basically "skip" two whole days of living, yet I found very little. It seemed just fine to do nothing. I find that odd on one level, and perfectly understandable on another: Odd because my time feels so limited; understandable because I was home with my sweetie, being pampered and loved and lazy... and that felt good. It was nice, despite feeling like dinosaur doo-doo.
Who'd a thought that feeling so bad could still feel so good with a little love on top? Maybe my death will be like that. Even if it's uncomfortable, maybe with a little love on top, it'll feel OK...
©2010 Cecilia L. Zúñiga. A Year To Live. All Rights Reserved. Reprints, copies or reproductions of any kind must be accompanied by copyright credit line.
04 March 2010
Tick-Tock goes the clock
Just about every day, I sign onto my blog and change the count, adding one day to "DAYS BEHIND" and subtracting one day from "DAYS AHEAD." I could have put in an auto-counter, but I chose to do it manually so that I can very consciously attend to the movement of time during this Year To Live. And it's working. Every time I change the count, raising one number and lowering the other, I am acutely aware of time's passage from being before me to being behind me....
How strange it feels to be counting down my time here! Each time I change the numbers, I feel the energetic shift in my body as the "BEHIND" number grows and the "AHEAD" number shrinks. "One more day gone," I think to myself, "What did I do with it? Am I happy with it? Is there something I might shift today?"
There are so many things calling for my attention and energy. Each one is as important to me as the others: writing, cleaning, walking, teaching yoga, connecting with friends and family, emailing, spiritual practices, cooking, eating, sleeping, playing, seeing clients, reading, sitting in the sun, watching the rain, sharing a movie with my sweetie, taking care of household projects, etc.... How do I choose?
In the end, it won't be so much how I SPENT my time during these final months, but how I HELD the time I spent in them. What I realize is that no matter what I do, it's how I hold it energetically that matters most. Each moment is an opportunity for something to blossom, heal, evolve, dissolve... I have little idea how each moment interconnects with all the others from before or after it; yet, I sense that it does somehow, on some level, intersect with the whole of time, and have an impact that is much more expansive than what I can hold in my own awareness. This sense makes each moment super valuable in my heart.
When I reflect back on these months during my final moments - as the clock ticks down to the final minute and second of this Year To Live - what will I feel? What do I want to feel? Now is the time for me to seed that feeling...is it not?
©2010 Cecilia L. Zúñiga. A Year To Live. All Rights Reserved. Reprints, copies or reproductions of any kind must be accompanied by copyright credit line.
How strange it feels to be counting down my time here! Each time I change the numbers, I feel the energetic shift in my body as the "BEHIND" number grows and the "AHEAD" number shrinks. "One more day gone," I think to myself, "What did I do with it? Am I happy with it? Is there something I might shift today?"
There are so many things calling for my attention and energy. Each one is as important to me as the others: writing, cleaning, walking, teaching yoga, connecting with friends and family, emailing, spiritual practices, cooking, eating, sleeping, playing, seeing clients, reading, sitting in the sun, watching the rain, sharing a movie with my sweetie, taking care of household projects, etc.... How do I choose?
In the end, it won't be so much how I SPENT my time during these final months, but how I HELD the time I spent in them. What I realize is that no matter what I do, it's how I hold it energetically that matters most. Each moment is an opportunity for something to blossom, heal, evolve, dissolve... I have little idea how each moment interconnects with all the others from before or after it; yet, I sense that it does somehow, on some level, intersect with the whole of time, and have an impact that is much more expansive than what I can hold in my own awareness. This sense makes each moment super valuable in my heart.
When I reflect back on these months during my final moments - as the clock ticks down to the final minute and second of this Year To Live - what will I feel? What do I want to feel? Now is the time for me to seed that feeling...is it not?
©2010 Cecilia L. Zúñiga. A Year To Live. All Rights Reserved. Reprints, copies or reproductions of any kind must be accompanied by copyright credit line.
01 March 2010
Celebrate - Part 4
“We are infinite, boundless, energetic somethings using a human body here. Oh the joy I will feel when I am free of this body!”
If you read Celebrate - Part 3, you recognize that quote. It is my hope that it is true. And now I see that it is also my attachment. It's what I'd like death to mean or be. And what if it's not? That is part of what I must surrender during what’s left of my Year to Live. It’s just an idea of what physical death may bring, yet I cannot know if it is the truth.
©2010 Cecilia L. Zúñiga. A Year To Live. All Rights Reserved. Reprints, copies or reproductions of any kind must be accompanied by copyright credit line.
If you read Celebrate - Part 3, you recognize that quote. It is my hope that it is true. And now I see that it is also my attachment. It's what I'd like death to mean or be. And what if it's not? That is part of what I must surrender during what’s left of my Year to Live. It’s just an idea of what physical death may bring, yet I cannot know if it is the truth.
And what if it’s not? What if there’s something strange, uncomfortable, uncontrollable, or empty after this? Or what if there’s nothing after this? Then what? Will I know it? Will I have consciousness and know that what’s happening is not what I imagined or wanted or hoped for? Will I care? Will anyone care?
That's something to consider; not necessarily what comes next, but rather, my attachment to what comes next. Can I simply open to whatever it is without holding an idea of what I think it is or what I want it to be? Can I really get to a place of neutrality around what comes next?
How many days do I have left??????????
©2010 Cecilia L. Zúñiga. A Year To Live. All Rights Reserved. Reprints, copies or reproductions of any kind must be accompanied by copyright credit line.
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