Author: gabik

Parenting and Family Relations

Child is pushing on every single button I have. Complaining, talking back, whining, “Why did she get that and I didn’t,” and “It’s not fair,” and pre-hormonal outbreaks of “I hate you!” slamming doors and dramatic crying fits. And I’m out of breath. Literally. I. Cannot.Breathe. I simple cannot.

My heart it pounding into my throat as I debate which would bring me more immediate joy- violently attacking child or eating fifteen snickers bars. Both I consider both an inch more than slightly irrational, though in my current state of mind it’s not blazingly clear to me which would be worse. It should be. My mind knows. So does my heart. But these buttons, these neurons of painful unresolved issues firing like hot flashed dog-in-heat, they don’t speak the language I’ve trained myself to adhere to. They don’t get anicca, and light and energy healing. They don’t speak that tongue.

They do, but not now when they are aflame. Right now, they speak animal. Savage animal and are flighting and frighting all over the place. I want it to freeze. Freeze. Freeze. I’m writing it to you but saying it to myself. “Anicca, anicca, anicca,” and I feel it start to subside. Pounding gets a decibel softer, slower, and then child say something genius again, “You always do this to me. Why me? Why me?”

Right on Cue.

Trust me child of God, son of Adam, decedent of neanderthal man, you do. not. want. mother. to. answer. your. question. right. now. It will not be loving, wise, or enlightened. It will be more like a savage combination of growl, bark, and snarl. I feel like I could bite you with rabied ecstasy.

I will remain silent and figure out how to reconnect to the me I want to be in these situations.

So,how do we do that?

1- Anicca, anicca, anicca.

Never forget that this will pass. I don’t need to reach any conclusions regarding my miserable failure as a parent or how rotten this apple has become. No, it all passed. It’s all ok. It’s all learning.

2. It’s all growing pains.

I had them. You had them. My child must too. I’m almost thirty-nine years old and still, after a decade and a half of therapy and self-help, at the drop of a hat, I can get all puffed up over this or that or the other that my parents did to me. [Note: really time to grow up and move on Gabi.] And so, clearly, my child must go through the pimples of growing into her own skin.

“Who I am?” a child constantly asked himself. “Who I am?”

And part of the answer: I am not my parents.

And that kicking and cat-fighting (and those where-the-hell-did-that-come-from side-slaps) are the only way, sometimes, a kid can figure that out. Every kid on this globe, mine included.

Sigh of relief. I have normal children going through normal life processes, and I’m a normal woman with a normal inner child who is still licking her kitten paws and mending, one step at a time.

How badly am I dating myself here?

You take the good

You take the bad

You take them all

And there you have

The facts of life

Yeah, the fact of life.

Note in the end of the video, they show you how everyone has aged. They didn’t stay like I remembered them in my heart. They changed, grew, evolved, maybe even died, and yet, a part of them will always stay frozen as I experienced them, as all that they gave me in my wide-eyed thirsty-for-knowledge-and-love stages. Maybe, the actual relationships in our lives are a lot like that too?

PS: The picture I thought was perfect in its ironic twist, spiritual teacher guiding others to peace of mind and totally in moments of lostness and drowning. And yet, no irony and so perfect in it’s truth, because I am both, and none and all of those at the same time, and it is precisely my openness and honesty that I too am ever-on my path, that makes my groups as powerful as they are.

PPS: Aforementioned child whom I birthed came to say “I love you Mommy” and Mommy said, “I love you too. A lot.” Thank God I didn’t murder anyone. I would have missed the cream on my cake.

Speak to me, or don’t. I now know that you are there, either way. I know. I know.

Who Is Gabi Klaf?

It tickled and danced around us. Not like the day rain. She was hell. She was too strong, too stingy, and overbearing. She was confused, stuck, searching and not finding. And I saw all these other people watching the day rain too. The doorway guy, the booth one, and that old man on the stool. Did they see what I did? Were they also hoping the rain would wash away something it did not? Or maybe it’s just a reflection of who I was with my face mashed against that faded wooden frame, pushing forward to feel her spray. Why am I always seeking that, that just-out-of-reach thing, that which will make me deeply happy and calm?

What am I lacking right here and now? I’m traveling the world, have no health, money, or relationship problems (besides the one I create in my mind for my own dramatic enjoyment). I do what I want, when I want. I’ve three unbelievable kids and the greatest gift in this Universe husband, and still, I gaze at the rain and feel a desperate emptiness gnawing in a silent whisper of desire.

Escape It Now, and Bleed

I’ll go do. I’ll write, exercise, meditate, pay attention to my girls. Anything sounds more productive than ‘I watched the rain and felt what people feel when they want to jump or do something else desperate just to feel if they still bleed.’ And there is not a suicidal cell in my body. I’ve got so much life to live, so many blessings, so many passionate projects and places in my ‘in’ box, and yet, I love it when I can look at me and wave, like I did with Lauren, “Hi Gabi. I see you, ” and we’d both laugh (and wipe the tears) cuz we both recognize the neurotic shades of us who would throw away a lifetime of gifts to feel that alive, for just a second.

Chronic Habitual Dissatisfaction

I think back to me some five years ago crying to the Humanology (formerly Neo-Psychology) therapy group I’m a part of, “And I don’t see my kids cuz I’m too possessed with my business, and I want to see my kids,” and then a few weeks later, they are all clapping for joy when I announce that I’ve officially closed my business, that it’s illogical and too exhausting for me to run a business in Hebrew and I’m moving to an English-based business. And they are all clapping for now I can see my children. I got what I wanted, and I’m crying again, “So, I see my kids but I want my business to succeed finally!”

Our teacher looks at me, point-blank, “Can you recognize that you are chronically dissatisfied? That even when you get exactly what you want, you will stay deeply unsatisfied.” She taught me how that is a choice to keep believing this ingrained programming that is stuck on repeat, “I. Am. Deeply. Unsatisfied. Because. [Fill in the blank].”

The Irony That Makes Us Push Forward

And I think of the burnt guy in the hostel who is watching killer abs videos. This Indonesian man has clearly very recently been in a few painful, fire-related accident and he’s watching muscle toning classes. And the ho (omg, I did not just use that word!) in the other hostel who yelled at my kids who ended up giving them all individually-wrapped granola cookies. Odd. And me in the window, free as a bird with every conceivable logistical and spiritual indicator of happiness, feeling like I can’t breathe because my imagination wants some folly that has a piper’s tune promising deep satisfaction.

Ironic. And we’re all still pushing, right?

The Ever Elusive Happiness

I’m rereading The Dalai Lama’s The Art of Happiness. He’s a doll Dalai is. We’re friends on Facebook you know. Me and 24 million other people. I love feeling intimate with him. So, he says that when we find ourselves in mental habits and thought patterns that have historically led us to feelings of dismay, loneliness, and dissatisfaction, that we have a powerful card to play.

“Will this lead me to happiness?” and if the answer is no, to do a few things:

Do not crawl away feeling we missed out on something

Understand that the temptation for whatever the immediate pleasure may have been, is just a temptation

Be proud of my own strength to chose not to fall for that temptation but see that we ourselves are using our power of choice to chose our ultimate happiness.

How joyful to read that, to know that and to still laugh and hug myself as I stuff Reese’s Dark Chocolate Mini Peanut Butter Cup down my throat.

I Can Choose Happiness.

I can. I can. And so can you.

We’re all addicted to pain. All of us at one level or another find great solace in feeling pitiful, in remembering what was and is not more, in holding on to that flickering light that says THAT will make me happy again, if only. Deep sigh. And we know better, but it’s so tempting and the silent gnawing alternative is so dense that we fall, eerily joyful, into that sickening stickiness of our own created imaginary muck. And yet, it’s ours and it’s safe. At least here, I know what to do: hate myself, hurt myself, be mean to others, escape. You pick. You know. If you’ve read this far, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

And What Are We Going To Do About It?

Keep abusing ourselves?

Hell no. I’m worth so much more than that. And clearly, you are here, and you are too. And even if you were not here, and were not reading this article, but the energy that it releases somehow reaches you, grab on. Don’t you dare give up. You can’t.

Dangerous Minds was playing in the hostel living room two days ago. Damn it. There goes my day of work. Clearly, it won over my very focused to do list. Look what Bob Dylan brought us from it:

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I’ll come followin’ you.

Though I know that evenin’s empire has returned into sand,
Vanished from my hand,
Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping.
My weariness amazes me, I’m branded on my feet,
I have no one to meet
And the ancient empty street’s too dead for dreaming.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I’ll come followin’ you.

Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin’ ship,
My senses have been stripped, my hands can’t feel to grip,
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin’.
I’m ready to go anywhere, I’m ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way,
I promise to go under it.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I’ll come followin’ you.

Though you might hear laughin’, spinnin’, swingin’ madly across the sun,
It’s not aimed at anyone, it’s just escapin’ on the run
And but for the sky there are no fences facin’.
And if you hear vague traces of skippin’ reels of rhyme
To your tambourine in time, it’s just a ragged clown behind,
I wouldn’t pay it any mind, it’s just a shadow you’re
Seein’ that he’s chasing.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I’ll come followin’ you.

Then take me disappearin’ through the smoke rings of my mind,
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves,
The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach,
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I’ll come followin’ you.

Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.

And this line kills me. What is it saying to me? What does it say to you? Come on love, we’ve haven’t analyzed poetry together yet. We’ve showered together, we’ve cried together, we’ve almost been raped together, we’ve been honest about why we fight, but poetry, that takes us to a whole new level of intimacy.

And What’s The Point?

The point is that I have hours more of thoughts and feelings to share with you, and you with me. The point is that this conversation is never over, and so, I’ve moved part of this to the next post so that we can talk more about poetry there. The point is we all have our battles to fight, our gremlins to face, our rain storms to dance in, like the boy in the first picture. (Yes, please do scroll back up and look at him and his water joy.) Yes, the point is we can all dance in the rain, all of us, laughing and crying as I did with Lauren or with my dearest Ditza or with all that I wish for that will never be. “Hello Gabi!” Let’s just laugh and hug ourselves and find the ways to strengthen ourselves against the temptation to fall, just for fun, just out of habit.

I’m here and grateful that you allow me to speak here. I love having this voice here, and love knowing that even if I’ve lost every single one of my readers in the 58 days that the homeless guy and I got lost, that it doesn’t matter. My voice has an energy, my words are out there now, floating in and around and creating the current Universe. Thank you for being a part of that with me.

You can find me online on Facebook at gabiklaf and at light inspiration for the soul.

boy in rain: photo courtesy of http://www.morguefile.com/creative/greverbaby

water on window: photo courtesy of http://www.morguefile.com/creative/amairgen

water on floor: photo courtesy of http://www.morguefile.com/creative/pippalou

Spread the Love!!!!

Overcoming Ourselves

And I’ve heard two rape stories in Sihanoukville, one a girl, alone, and one a young man, strong and in shape, but I guess if you’re jumped by five guys it doesn’t really matter if you’re in shape. Rape happens everywhere, so it’s not like where I am is more dangerous than any other place where you should not go jogging alone in the dark. And still, here I am alone, until the four guys ran after me….

Being raped was always one of my big fears. I want to say that it’s an irrational fear, unfounded on any reality or past experience of sexual abuse, but I just can’t say that. I don’t recall anything, nothing at all and I have no logical reason to think I was raped, but in therapy sessions, I kept having this feeling that someone very close to me did. But, I’ve learned, it does not matter if I was or I was not. What does matter is that I release whatever I need to and learn what I am meant to. That’s all.

So, my cells may have memory of things my mind cannot or does not wish to comprehend, or maybe it was a past life, or maybe just a movie, but either way, it’s there and my work it to work through it.

So, I get into these moments of imagining that I’m about to be raped and I start acting out what it is I will do. I always hope I’ll scream and kick and scare the shit out of him, injure his sorry ass, and make him sorry he messed with me. I fear, deep inside, that I’ll just freeze and let him do with me what he will. But I’m a fighter, damn it. This I’ve learned this past year as I’ve faced my own addiction.

And so, tonight [written in November] I was running alone on the beach. It’s become a lovely tradition I’m incredibly proud of, that I’ve picked up my sometimes lazy butt and said, “Run, child, run. The time has come, yet again, to connect to that power within you to drive yourself to your physical limits. Run, child, run,” and I do, at sunset.

But, sometimes, I leave a bit too late, and then the run back, far after all the restaurants and tourists and lights have ended, but well into the darkness of the forest hugging the shores of Sihanoukville, Cambodia on that long stretch of barren coast after Serendipity Beach ends, and where Ocheteaul Beach stretches towards Otres Beach, I find myself, panting, alone, partly because of running but mostly out of fear. Is someone going to rape me? Will I really just freeze? Will I get AIDS? Can I beg him to use a condom? Is it possible I’d enjoy it? Will I feel nasty and guilty like I did when that bar man felt my buttock as I walked passed him to wait on another table in that café in Jerusalem?

So, I hear a ruckus behind me, a noise I can’t quite identify but I know, instantly, that I don’t like. They are laughing and running after me, calling me, in the dark, and there is a person here and there, but local women, who I don’t think will do anything to help me, and the two foreign guys I had run passed are way too far behind to know there is any issue if these guys grab me and pull me into the forest.

I look back once or twice and can’t see, just hear, but I don’t stop running, running keeps me strong and safe, I think to myself. And when they’re really close, I realize I don’t like where I am, this feels very wrong to me, and I know I have but one choice- to keep running. “You are a long-distance runner, Gabi. You do that well. You can outrun them, love. Keep running, Gabi.”

And I hear that gorgeous blonde tell Tom Hanks, “Run Forest Run” and I see Julia Roberts in Conspiracy Theory running for her life, and I know I can do it. I’ll just run, and run, and run, but what if they catch up to me? I’m not a sprinter, I’m the slow and steady sort and if I bolt for it, I’ll likely run out of breath and panic.

So, I run.

Three of them fall behind. They can’t keep up with me. Fuckers. Don’t mess with me, and for the record, I still don’t know what their intentions were. Maybe a lonely fisherman out for a ride in shark-infested waters? But the last one, I felt his intentions more clearly, and I couldn’t outrun number four.

So, he’s in his twenties and my the shadows I had outrun, I think his friends were about that too. He’s running right behind me, laughing, “hello, hello”. What do I do, play nice, ignore him, which shows more strength? I need to show strength. “Hello”

He’s running beside me, too close. I move to the right, brushing up towards the forest. He’s stuck to my side. No, I don’t want to be pushed into the forest! Shit!

I b-line to the middle way, the water’s edge, pushed back near the forest, he’s there and won’t back down. I’m ignoring him, and I’m scared. He could easily pin me down until his friends show up for their turn. I could rack him, right? God, I don’t want to be here. I’m scared. So, I focus….

“Gabi, listen dearest and listen carefully. You are going to be fine IF you stay calm and focused. If you freak out, you will run out of breath and it’s over. Stay calm, stay calm, and just run. “

Well friend’s not going anywhere, and he’s brushing against my shoulder again. Full stop.

I stop, and walk around him, and keep running. And he’s back. Again, full stop.

This time I stand there and stare into his eyes, hard. He’s smiling, I’m not. I feel the power within me speak with incredible clarity. “Back off man. DON’T mess with me.” My lioness me protects the cub, me with words.

Ever felt that surge of panic? Had someone come too close, too fast, too uncomfortable? You know the feeling, even if you’ve never actually experienced it, don’t you. Speak and I’ll answer. Stay quiet and I’ll hear you too. Either way, you’re the diva of inner strength and beauty, if you’re a guy or girl, you are a diva and I love you.

Gabi

Vipassana Meditation

This post began as an offshoot of my facebook update, which turned into a blog post Don’t Buy a Zoo; Do Fart over at the nomadic family travel blog, which then refers to here for the spiritual enlightenments. I know, almost for a fact, that google won’t give me credit for bouncing you here and there with criss-crossing links. But at a time like this, who really gives a shit what google thinks? I actually met a backpacker here who works for Google Israel, and she was very nice, so maybe she’ll tell them to be nice to us too.

So, if you are new here, you might as well take a look around. It’s The Real Deal with Neal McNeal (which by the way, does anyone even know that show anymore… News Talk Radio or something like it. Kobi and I loved that show). So, newbies, you really want to look at my Addiction/Letting Go/Death series cuz it always seems to come back to that, these days.

We all have a learning journey, and mine is hovering right around that issue for the past six months or so. I dip in, I dip out, but it hovers. There is clearly more for me to learn here. So, I’ll wipe yet another tear, and learn I will. Oh, and last side-thought: If you thought I cried a lot over at the nomadic family travel blog, well you are in for a treat. There, I just brush a tear away with my lady-like polished finger; here is bawl like a baby. I guess part of my learning journey is crying. I like crying. It connects me to my innermost outflow of emotions, and it creates more drama (which we all know Gabi still likes to create). So there, now we can begin what this is all about.

——-

Kobi and I just watched “I Bought a Zoo’ and of course, when I see movies that bring up death in a way that I can envision in my loving family life, it gets me. Especially the part when the husband misses him wife. Where Matt Damon sits on the kitchen floor and clicks past the first of forty-two pictures and allows himself to mourn. And when they go to the coffee shop and he tells the girl that mom is sitting right there. and they see her, they see her, THEY SEE HER. The girls says, “Hi Mommy” and the boy says, “Hi Mommy” and the dad talks to her, and she smiles at him again and says, “Why not?”

And that kills me, cuz I see that too. And I see so much at the same time. I see Kobi or I dying and the other finding our Highest Self to be there for our kids. I see a family filling the void with something beautiful that could not have existed had the mother not died. “I hear your voice inside me, I see your face everywhere” (Pat Benatar) and I see ‘a dear friend’, the one I am mourning. And I keep thinking it’s done, and now I can just celebrate and rejoice and see him dancing in my life the way Matt Damon sees his wife in the blue-flowered white dress dancing in the kitchen field.

And I can’t yet. Damn it. I can’t. I see his face in the faces of backpackers up and down the street. I see his face at the disco when we are out having the best time. I see his face in this ally, smiling at me the way he did when he gave me strength, when he told me with his eyes, “I love you. I believe in you. You are strong. Carry on. ” And I miss him. Death is a shitty thing, especially when the person is not dead dead. Especially when you know the person is still there, or could be there; that the potential of that person you love is still a heartbeat away, but, alas, you must keep him dead for that is what is. And that hurts. A lot.

And so, watching this movie did a lot of things. Besides the cockroach, the farting, the King of Cambodia, the family and God-I-love-my-amazing-Kobi things it brings up; it brings up my journey through my own pain. It brings up whatever is so raw and unresolved in the death of ‘a dear friend’ that keeps gripping me, alone and in silence. It brings up what I am meant to look at. For that is what I desire, to look and really see.

“Vipasana” means to see, but to really see things as they truly are. And God, I wish to see, see; not through my emotional filters, not through my desires and attachment (which according to Buddhism is the root of all suffering. Amen! I see it!); not through my unresolved soul issues, not through my addiction to pain; but to see.

So, it’s now 4am, damn it, I can hear a rooster. I’m doing Vipasana, seeing what is. In three, two, one….

Vipasana is the fan turning cooling my legs.

Vipasana is what is which is what is.

Vipasana is me being sad and longing and attaching to what is not.

Vipasna is my head throbbing.

Vipasana is the fart I mentioned earlier at the nomadic family travel blog.

Vipasana is me loving to write.

Vipasana is my uncle accepting my facebook friendship request, which could get weird.

Vipasana is my husband loving me and being committed to me for life.

Vipasana is my son waking up from my screaming about the cockroach and saying, “Mom, do you know why the cockroach climbed up your leg?”

“No, son, why did the cockroarch climb up my leg?”

“He wanted to kiss you, ” and then he softly smiles and drifts back to sleep.

That’s vipasana.

Vipasana is my someone who helped me for a long time, mad, because I hurt her feelings and me feeling so sad about that.

Vipasana is my mind drifting and my fingers clicking to see my facebook status and triberr account updates.

Vipasana is the wisps of hair on the right side of my face covering my view as they sway to the fan’s song.

Vipasana is my soul slowly awakening to herself.

Vipasana is my right toe pushing against the laptop.

Vipasana is the soft smile creeping onto my face as I enjoy observing all that is and I feel my mood changing.

Vipasana is loving myself for being a hopeless romantic, an overly emotional/highly sensitive fool.

Why I fight.

Still brooding over last month’s mother-in-law innocent child-rearing comment. Get it out!

Too-sterile, twice-breathed air of co-habitated space driving me crazy. Create drama!

Far too long since intense sweat-panting, moaning sex. Make-up sex is a remote option. Go for it!

Bad attention is better than no attention, and I can’t breathe, remember? Throw something hard!

My fantasy body, lover, and life are a nose-diving joke. Triumph at least in this!

Pitiful, but true- fighting was once of my all-time favorite pastime.

Over-slept stumbled through the door, mumbling, “I’m, uh, gonna, drink my coffee outside,” until two and a half hours later when he shows up again, grinning. Not what we agreed upon. We were going do this with our children, with both parents, here, involved; and he conveniently gets lost. Lucky me.

Is this it? Is this how it goes- we just screw each other, and smile? How long will I put up with this shit? And on and on it went in my head. Heartbeat racing, throat tightening, finger pointing because I am so right, and he is so wrong; I am so the victim; he is so to blame.

“Wanna fight?” said the grouchy ladybug. “If you insist.” But I didn’t fight. I’ll teach you why, and how.

Lemme At Him!

We all fight. We do. But, always, always, always for the wrong reasons. Always, because someone else did not complete in me what was lacking. Someone else stole/broke/walked away with what I thought I deserved to have. And, because something inside, deep deep inside hurts, and I can’t handle it.

We create fights to deflect the pain that volcanoes within us. We create fights and painful energy dynamics in an attempt to get some energy from the other. We create fights because you, the guy pushing on my buttons are pushing too hard and I want you off NOW! We create fights because I’m so lonely/sad/lost/scared/sick of myself/ [fill in the blank] and you should alleviate all of that with your magic.

Getting molten-red angry and instigating midnight combat is the ultimate cop-out for us all. It’s genius. Classic.

Want to avoid doing your soul work? Go pick a fight. Works like a charm. Every time, except that one time.

That One Time

When I really, really did try to fight. I threw everything I could; he looked at me, sweetly. I pointed, screamed, shit! I threw things (literally); he looked at me, blankly. I fatalistically cursed so passionately, I cried; he observed me from doorway. I told him to ‘go away forever!’; and he did. He walked away and left me, there, on the floor, dripping, oozing, seething, to be in it with just myself.

And after the breathing stopped, the tears burned; I just sat there, in a ball, holding myself, rocking my inner child and knowing that I could not escape me. He didn’t accept my invitation. He was too wise. He knew it was time for me to grow. And I did.

And that’s why I didn’t fight today. I wanted to so temper-tantrum badly. As seconds ticked; I got more pissed, more self-righteous. As he walked in with that goofy, slap-me-now smirk; I was afire, and used every, every, every ounce of energy not to look at him like that, not to react.

He’s one amazing guy, an unreal father, a supporter of every this-one-will-work entrepreneurship and this-one-will-work spiritual re-direction I’ve ever splatted on the breakfast table. For the past forever, he’s done studies with the kids (alone), he’s read them to sleep (alone), he’s left me to be as I most cherish (alone). So, he walked out. Big fuckin deal. Last time he did it, I got a lot of soul work done. He should do that more often.

I didn’t fight today because it was my story. Just mine. He can’t fix what hurts, only I can. Throwing up on him would only deafen me from my own gray whispers.

How To Not Fight

Choose.

Choose to recognize what is really going on.

Choose to cry.

Choose to watch Friends.

Choose to go to Zumba.

Choose to eat something, take a walk, surf the web, numb it elsewhere until you can face the deeper issues.

Choose to be still.

Choose to love yourself.

Choose to tell your story in third person.

Choose to listen to what comes up, with empathy.

Choose to walk into bathroom and cry to the mirror, instead of slapping someone.

Choose to eat ice cream, guilt-free.

Choose to cuddle with your cat.

Choose to clean out that drawer.

Choose to drive nowhere in particular.

Choose to meditate.

Choose to let the wave rise and (hold on) and fall.

Choose to write in a journal, blog, here, or on the bathroom mirror with the florescent teal nail polish.

Choose to talk to your best friend.

Choose to find an amazing therapist.

Choose to hum.

Choose to dance.

Choose to do “The Work” by Byron Katie.

Choose to go back to bed.

Choose to take a day off and go horseback riding or walk on the beach, alone.

Choose to visit your childhood home.

Choose to garden.

Choose to take yourself out to dinner.

Choose to believe in your unearthly ability to clean your soul, one step more.

Choose to sit down with your inner child.

Choose to buy some flowers and silently smell them, with tears rolling down your cheeks.

Choose to translate those tears to utter joy of your soul calling you, and you listening.

Choose to choose.

Choose.

Any thoughts? You know I’m listening…

Gabi

So, day 4 alone, in a hotel room, four hours south of my family in Siem Reap, Cambodia. I just made that up, you know. I totally shot that out of nowhere. I have no idea if I’m north, east, west, or southwest of them; but in the greater scheme of things I won’t lose much sleep over. I am far, far away; and contemplative. I wanted to say “happy about it” or “loving it” or “estastic” , and I am all of those things, but I am mostly thoughtful. I love my family so much, so much, so much; and have decided that I simply will not run away from them anymore.

I don’t run away, like go off for weeks on end all the time. This is the sixth time in my life as a mom (almost 11 years) that I’ve gone off for more than a few hours or a night. What I mean is that I feel like I am not present, really present, even though I adore, admire and love them to death. I’m there but I’m also running full-speed in my head, tensely, with brow furrowed, somewhere. Something to do, organize, think about, do, do, do. And so, my beloved (and I can’t say enough how cool this guy is. Go buy one today! They are in limited supply!); yes, where was I, my beloved has said stay as long as you like. When you are ready, come home.

Ahhhhh! I so have to do that guy! So badly. (Blush.) Deep breath. Sigh.

But, the point is this: When Will I Be Ready? (It’s a video you may enjoy! Highly entertaining and you get to experience first-hand this huge zit who moved onto my forehead)

So, what have I been doing these days alone? Looks like this:

Every day, about the same. And it’s just lovely. I think Scott is moving on to Siem Reap tomorrow so that

a- I have to figure out how to wake up at 5ish. He usually is kind enough to stop by, knock on my door until I burp or mumble something indicating I’m awake, and then go meditate himself. I’ll try to download an alarm clock with the super slow internet here.

And b- that I will have my evenings to further be alone, and think and write. I have loved these 4+ hours of learning with him. Our discussions have heightened, stretched, deepened, and multi-toned my Buddhist knowledge beyond what I can say. He is a great listener as I incessantly babble about this life experience and this pain and how it all fits into the Vipassana puzzle. Our talks are challenging me and helping me more fully understand what I am going through. Also, I am enjoying hour of discussion just beyond the outer lip of my mental and spiritual limits. He’s pushing me to conglomerate all I know and don’t know it’s lucid equations that try to balance infinite experiences and knowings into a graspable concept. Something I can hold onto, look at, turn around in my hands. I’m wobbling, but loving intellectual, and spiritual discourse with someone who is in the same sphere that I’m in. I appreciate that immensely.

I know, yet another teacher/gift/guide on my journey. And I bow to that, with so much gratitude.

I sent this message in Facebook today.You know Facebook, where I used to live in my life. “Kids, mommy’s busy!” as I comment and interact with 100 of new closed facebook friends, as I deflect my offspring to find someone who cares to talk to them.

“Hit the road Jack, and don’t you come back no more, no more, no more, no more. Hit the road Jack, and don’t you come back no more…. What you say?”

I’m saying I am ready to be full present in my life, with my family, in my mind. I know the path I must take, I know the way, I have the tool. It’s called meditation and I insist, with full intent, that I sit, I plan, for two hours a day, and let that inside awareness do it’s magic to the outside.

Yeah, sorry, what I sent out in facebook today. Right, single- mindedness. Facebook:

i’m resurfacing my head slowly, slowly; and then back down into myself. online now for an hour and a half a day. i think i will keep to that when i return to ‘normal’, if ever.

vipassana changed my life. so grateful for it. so grateful for kobi and the kids. god, i’m lucky. taking some more days to think, recollect, observe. it was intense.

happy new year everyone. happy new fame in israel’s ynet. happiness and love…. it’s all wonderful learning. see you slowly, gabi

You know I want to know what you think. Have I gone mad? Is this officially a mid-life crisis yet? Do I get the certificate? I turned 38 like 5 minutes ago. Speak your beautiful mind? Share your love, your laughter, your light. Or be silent and I’ll keep thinking I am writing only to myself. Just kidding. Even without e-footprints, I know you are there. I feel your love.

Enjoying the silence of me,

Gabi

I went to the Vippasana course, and I came here, alone in this hotel room, to figure it out. The Buddha sat under the Bondhi Tree and said with great intent, “I will not move a muscle. May my bones break, may the blood flow out of my body. I will not move from under this tree until I reach Enlightenment.” Damn, I love a strong-willed man. Call me Buddhalala will you. I will sit here in this room. Alone in this room, for as long as it takes, until I walk out enlightened. Not fully enlightened, arahant in nirvana; just mundane enlightened to my own life. Just my own little, Earthly everyday life.

I’ve checked myself out of one life-changing, beyond-comprehensible Vippasana silent retreat and into a hostel, alone, in a room to think, to figure it out. What does that mean to me?

To go within, and rethink my life. Who I am, what I want, how I want my daily life to be a testament of what is precious to me. What are my priorities, who do I want to see in the mirror? What do I want to give to my children? Not forever, for now. For the next week, and month and two months, what are my very next, wise, loving steps as a mother? In a month, in a year, in a lifetime, what did I do to live in my highest light, in my highest potential, in my highest joy? And if I am not there (I’m not), what will get me there?

To go within, and rethink my life. Who I am, what I want, how I want my daily life to be a testament of what is precious to me. What are my priorities, who do I want to see in the mirror? What do I want to give to my children? Not forever, for now. For the next week, and month and two months, what are my very next, wise, loving steps as a mother? In a month, in a year, in a lifetime, what did I do to live in my highest light, in my highest potential, in my highest joy? And if I am not there (I’m not), what will get me there?

And how will I create that in light of the trials, tribulations, uncertainties, unforeseen, unwanted, and unpredictable of life? How can I create a Gabi who will continue to grow, and learn, and free herself in a manner that fits into the reality of my life? I am not a single woman living in an ashram in India. One day, I might be; but, today, that is not my reality. My reality is that, today, I have the most adorable, generous, loving, giving, supportive husband in the world who will turn the world on its axis to make me happy. My reality, is that, today, I have three adorable, precious, malleable, open-minded, open-hearted, tender, wanting-to-spend-time-with-me and wanting-to-learn-from-me-so-much children who adore me, and I have consistently pushed away.

Not because they are not adorable, or they demand too much, or anything. But because the demons inside of me always took over. My need for my space, my time, my writing, my exercise, my reading, my class, my Skype therapy session, my salad screamed loudly that it would make me happy. That just this hour, this time, this guitar, this food, this walk would make me at peace, and then, child, then we can sit and do x, y, z. And, I would do ‘that’ and try to do x, y, z with my family; and find myself in a life or death panic attack. “I can’t sit here! I can’t read another second! I can’t play this game! I can’t do x, y, z; my mind is racing, trembling, freaking out to do m, n, o, and p cuz that will make me calm. “ And I’d get up and do that, again delaying my child, again racing from my life, and again, the same sad song over and over again.

Does this mean I did not function as a mother? No, not at all.

I read them great books, walked with them, had amazing talks and cuddles. I’ve done everything mechanically and technically, and lovingly that I would want myself to do as a mother. Arguably, less then desired, but check, vee, they’ve been done.

But, but, the real missing link here is this: Was I ‘there’? Was I really there? Really enjoying the look on his face, the weight of her head against my breast, the shine of her hair in the sunlight? Yes, and no. Yes, for a moment here and moment here. I would see, breathe, experience, appreciate, sink into the joy of being in that moment. But, it was for a moment here, a moment there. And one moment had to pull me into the next.

“Stay here, Gabi. Stay focused. No to do list. No memories. No other anythings but right here, and right now. No important things to go do, do, do, do, do, do. To do. No. To be, right now, right now. Only here, only now.”

No, that was not there for long. I always bolted; physically, emotionally, or mentally. I always bolted to that next worry, fear, sadness, regret, memory, fantasy, dissatisfaction, thing to do, to fix, to take care of, to run to, to run away, to run away, to run away.

And so, now, I know. Now, I know what it is I want to do. I want to know how not to run away. How to be. To be. To be. One pointed-ness. Mindful. Fully present. Joyfully aware. Awakened. Enlightened to that which is. Right now, right here. Right before me, and within the context of my body, creating this current reality. I want to stop all of my addictions to pain, drama, tragedy, victimization, my story. I want to be with my kids, be with my husband, and be with myself, and fully, fully, fully be there.

I have always given light to the world. It is my gift. I teach, I lecture, I talk. To live audiences, to group therapy courses, on the radio, on my blogs, to clients- I give my light. My light, as it changes and grows; I give what I know, at the time. I’ve always shined in the spotlight. My ego loves it, my soul relishes in teaching others. I learn as I teach; I better understand my own struggles as I help others grapple with theirs; and, I sincerely feel honored to be able to guide others in alleviating their pain. We’re all walking on our journey towards enlightenment, one step at a time. I am honored to be a part of that journey.

But now, now, now I have the missing key. My last sentences said “ I am honored to be a part of that journey.” Note “to be”. I never have been ‘to be, ‘ always ‘to do’. To read, to write, to take another class, to teach, to do, to do, to do. And now, momentarily , I got that golden glimpse into ‘to be’. Not to the world; but to me, to my husband Kobi, to my children Dahnya, Orazi, and Solai. Not for everyone, but those five people who mean the most to mean on this planet. How can I be for me, for my beloved, for my children?

How can I decide to play or color to cuddle and just be there, and stay there and play or color or cuddle? And how it is that I teach “Clean Your Soul” to lovely strangers-turned-friends souls across the globe but I don’t teach my own children? It is conceivable that as a Sunday School Teacher I read my class from The Moral Compass, week after week, ingraining in them inspirational stories of morality and the fibers of how to lead a virtuous, happy life, and no, it cannot be, I have not read that to my children?

“No, inconceivable. Inconceivable. It is just a lonely fisherman out after midnight fishing in shark-infested waters. Inconceivable.”

“I do not think you know what that word means!”

Yes, it is conceivable. Or it was. But not anymore.

Now, I see it all. I see it all more clearly. I like this new light in my life. Is this forever? No, I realize that. No ten-day magic wand meditation will bring me to endless peace and enlightenment. No retreat will leave a footprint that significant that as the darknesses and fogs of life settle and lift, that I will be immuned to my own moodiness and mortality. No. But it sure did open up options I never knew existed. It showed me a way to look at my life that will bring unreal release. It exposed me to truths and ideas that solve what to do the next time I start to run away. Run away in anger, despair, wasting time, fighting, feeling overwhelmed, feeling lost, feeling sorry for myself. I know what to do.

Will I do it every time? Will I find that new light in every situation? Will I never hit the lows again? No, no, no. But, when you know, when you’ve seen an option, you know can chose if to use it or not. You have a choice whereas before, you did not. You can see the right way to do this, and may fall super short of it, but you know it’s there, you know you can, you know, you can. And slowly, you use it. Slowly, you do. Slowly, I will break the mind habits that are so ingrained in me to run, react, race, create misery. Slowly, I will be, be, be, be the calm, loving, present soul/self/wife/mother I always knew I could be.

“Right, “ he said, before I left, “you not talking for ten days! Right! A physical impossibility.”

But, I didn’t talk Kobi.I did not. I had wild and crazy wars, drama, fantasies, memories, dreams, fears, other lives, desires, pain, jealousy, songs, and vibrations within. But outwardly, except to the teacher or manager on a very limited need-be only basis; not a word. Not a word. Not a word. My eyes were downcast, looking within, learning a new way to live. Vippasana, oh, I do like that word.

So, you’re turn. Share with me, or stay silent. I’ve learned to love silence. Either way, know that I continue to serve amazing people all over the globe who want to stop the pain and create joy and meaning and calm in their lives. I am still, and will continue, doing online therapy to help others. Thanks for including me in your journey friends.

Gabi

in Overcoming Ourselves

My first time ever wearing a bikini in Erawan Falls, Thailand (super nervous!)

Eh-hem. Eh-hem. Not sure how to start this one, so I’ll just clear my throat for a while. It’s like when I’m on the radio or speaking in front of a live audience, and someone asks a tough question; I always say, “That’s a great question” to stall and give me a second to figure out what to do with that bomb dropped before me. So, dead give away here… eh-hem, eh-hem, sip water. I don’t know how to bring this up, how to start it in a way that you and I won’t judge me. So, I think I’ll just dive in.

I’m vain. Very vain. Always have been. And now, now that I’m 25 pounds lighter and in amazing toned body, now that I have 20 year old men checking me out; it’s definitely not getting better. I’m spiritual. Very spiritual. Always have been going there. And now, now that I’m living in Buddhist countries and studying, teaching Clean Your Soul three times a week, and writing tons of this blog; spirituality is seeping into my actions, speech, thoughts, and my being. They don’t fit so easily together.

Leading a meditation group in Cambodia to “let go” of the self

Spirituality means non-self, non-ego. Looking hot and feeling sexier than I ever have in my life is the opposite. And, damn it, I don’t want to give up on my ego. I like my ego. I worked hard for it, earned it. I’ve worked on it from two angles:

First off, emotionally, I used to hate myself. I was uncomfortable to be in the skin that held my soul. I was trapped in my own inferno of discomfort and uneasy as to who I was. I worked long and hard, with many a great therapists to reach the following: I can stand myself, I can understand myself, I can appreciate my journey, I like myself in spite of all of who I am, I like myself a lot, I can forgive myself, I love and adore and admire myself. So, that’s huge. Why would I want to drop being my own greatest fan?

Second off, physically. I’ve spent the last year and a half losing 25 pounds, changing my emotionally-charged relationship with food, muscle-training and toning my body firmer than I knew was possible. I have gone from rejecting my body and hiding it behind layers and layers of clothing to loving every ounce of it. I have gone from not wearing a bathing suit for years to buying a bikini for the first time in my life. I am drinking tons of water, swallowing ginger most mornings, and sleeping 8 hours a night. I dance and move in ways that lots of very attractive young men, and my very attractive husband, pay me lots of attention. Huge is not the word. Why would I want to drop any of this ecstatic feeling?

OK, point in case, right now. I’m sitting in a coffee shop in Siem Reap,Cambodia. As I write, this adorably hot 20-something year old Argentinian just smiled at me, and sat down to talk for ten minutes. We chatted about our family’s travels around the world. Am I disgusting for enjoying this attention? Do I pretend like I don’t like it, so as not to sound egocentric and petty? Shouldn’t I be involved in loftier, holier thoughts and interests other than how much attention I get when I wear this tight blouse and my first ever pair of short shorts? At almost 38, is this really what I am occupied with?

In meditation, speaking to my inner self, cambodia

So, when the judging myself stops, I smile, and this is what I have to say to you (ok, to me, to me):

“I love you Gabi. You are amazing. You have done an unreal job and feeling and realizing your sexuality, also reflected off others, is fun and amazing. You deserve that! Enjoy! And Gabi, you can be spiritual at the exact same time. You can, and you are.

You always smile at people when you pass them. You never take your looks as an excuse to look down upon or make anyone else feel less attractive or less important. You see the beauty in others, and in loving yourself, only have more love to give the world. When you are at peace with yourself, in love with yourself, celebrating yourself; you have more peace, love and celebration to share and inspire others with.

And, even you feeling so hot is a spiritual lesson in and of itself, dear Gabi. For all things pass, all things change, all things evolve and become what they weren’t again. And again, you will face accepting that change, processing that change, loving yourself as you continue to firm your body, and as it flaps and wears and wrinkles in your 40’s and 50’s and on. And, you going through this journey allows you to further help others on their path to a healthier, fuller, lighter them.

Gabi. Dear, dear Gabi. Your soul is contained in your body. Your body houses your soul. You are obligated to live in that body, and make decisions on behalf of that body that will enable your soul to live as long as it can, as healthily as it can in its home. Taking care of my physical body has miraculously healed it of many of the dis-eases that were plaguing it for years. Now that you eat a mostly raw food diet, exercise regularly, and on and on; now that you are doing all of that, you are allowing your soul more room to shine. You are less weighed down (literally and figuratively) by the burdens of an unhealthy body, and now, you are blessed with more space to look into your soul.

Gabi, you are so blessed. So lucky. So God-damn lucky to have the spouse who supported you all these years, to have teachers enter your path who have guided you, to have the wisdom and good fortune to manage your money in a way that has enabled open-ended world travel. Not a minute goes by that you would grant yourself full credit for your life. You remain blessed, humble, and utterly, speechlessly grateful for the gifts you’ve been bestowed in your life.

Gabi, you are blessed. You are amazing. You have done the work, and continue to do the work. You have been blessed with the path of light shining as your guide every step of the way. And this combination of pride, self-struggle, modesty, gratefulness, vulnerability, openness, and grace are what make you who are you, exactly as you are, exactly as you should be. “

Reading a letter to my son, with the same love and admiration I would like to read to myself with

And that is the letter I would write to myself right now. I would laugh (I am, out loud- which is something I am working on doing more these days) for it feels right. And what am I going to do with that, what has this inspired me to realize?

Eh-hem. Eh-hem again.

And so, I had a list here of things I want to do. And I’ve deleted it all.

I don’t want to do anything. I want to be. I want to continue living this vanity/spirituality dance and observe it. See where I want to put in more ying or more yang; note where it is and how it dances and how that dance does or does not sway to the rhythm of who I want to be.

As I continue to change, so will my dance; so will yours.

So, “Let’s all take a bow for the dance is done.” It’s the last line of Barnyard Dance by Sandra Boynton, a book we put our kids to sleep with for years. I bow to you, and to me, and my body, and my soul, and all the amazing grey stuff in between.

If you want to share your thoughts on the vanity/spirituality balance in your life, on how you struggle to love your body and/or your soul, on whatever this has pushed in your; you know I’m here. If you want to call me an egotistical bitch, a selfish pseudo-guru, or just a woman on her journey; do so. If you find it impossible or more welcoming to speak to someone who rolls spiritual murmurs and curse words in the same sentence; tell me. If you don’t speak at all, know I’ll find the nearest mirror and talk to it for hours. I still have much to say to that girl in the mirror. How did Michael Jackson say it, “Be the change you want to see. The man in the mirror.”

Gabi

Wendy

September 20, 2012 at 10:31 pm | #

Hiya Gabi
Another great blog – you are such a gifted writer. As a painter draws you in, with depth in his/her painting, so do you with your writing. I think loving ourselves is the step needed so we can love others. I guess I have to let myself be who I am, and hope growth and wisdom allow me to mature – but never pass up the chance to climb a tree or play on a swing.
You have worked so hard with exercise etc you can be very proud of your body – and those of us who can’t exercise can just live vicariously through your blogs
Stay safe lovely lady x