Lest Not Forget Jean Nicolas Arthur Rimbaud

Voyant Letter:

Romanticism has never been properly judged. Who could judge it? The Critics! The Romantics! Who prove so clearly that the singer is so seldom the work, that’s to say the idea sung and intended by the singer.

For I is another. If the brass wakes the trumpet, it’s not its fault. That’s obvious to me: I witness the unfolding of my own thought: I watch it, I hear it: I make a stroke with the bow: the symphony begins in the depths, or springs with a bound onto the stage.

If the old imbeciles hadn’t discovered only the false significance of Self, we wouldn’t have to now sweep away those millions of skeletons which have been piling up the products of their one-eyed intellect since time immemorial, and claiming themselves to be their authors!

In Greece, as I say, verse and lyre took rhythm from Action. Afterwards, music and rhyme are a game, a pastime. The study of the past charms the curious: many of them delight in reviving these antiquities: – that’s up to them. The universal intelligence has always thrown out its ideas naturally: men gathered a part of these fruits of the mind: they acted them out, they wrote books by means of them: so it progressed, men not working on themselves, either not being awake, or not yet in the fullness of the great dream. Civil-servants – writers: author; creator, poet: that man has never existed!

The first study for the man that wants to be a poet is true complete knowledge of himself: he looks for his soul; examines it, tests it, learns it. As soon as he knows it, he must develop it! That seems simple: a natural development takes place in every brain: so many egoists proclaim themselves authors: there are plenty of others who attribute their intellectual progress to themselves! – But the soul must be made monstrous: after the fashion of the comprachicos, yes! Imagine a man planting and cultivating warts on his face.

I say one must be a seer (voyant), make oneself a seer.

The Poet makes himself a seer by a long, rational and immense disordering of all the senses. All forms of love, suffering, madness: he searches himself; he consumes all the poisons in himself, to keep only their quintessence. Unspeakable torture, where he needs all his faith, every superhuman strength, during which he becomes the great patient, the great criminal, the great accursed – and the supreme Knower, among men! – Because he arrives at the unknown! Because he has cultivated his soul, already rich, more than others! He arrives at the unknown, and when, maddened, he ends up by losing the knowledge of his visions: he has still seen them! Let him die charging among those unutterable, unnameable things: other fearful workers will come: they’ll start from the horizons where the first have fallen! ……………

I’ll go on:
So the poet is truly the thief of fire, then.
He is responsible for humanity, even for the animals: he must make his inventions smelt, felt, heard: if what he brings back from down there has form, he grants form: if it’s formless he grants formlessness. To find a language – for that matter, all words being ideas, the age of a universal language will come! It is necessary to be an academic – deader than a fossil – to perfect a dictionary of any language at all. The weak-minded thinking about the first letter of the alphabet would soon rush into madness!

This language will be of the soul for the soul, containing everything, scents, sounds, colours, thought attaching to thought and pulling. The poet would define the quantity of the unknown, awakening in the universal soul in his time: he would give more than the formulation of his thought, the measurement of his march towards progress! An enormity become the norm, absorbed by all, he would truly be an enhancer of progress!
This future will be materialistic, you see. – Always filled with Number and Harmony, these poems will be made to last. – At heart, it will be a little like Greek poetry again.
Eternal art will have its function, since poets are citizens. Poetry will no longer take its rhythm from action: it will be ahead of it!
These poets will exist! When woman’s endless servitude is broken, when she lives for and through herself, when man – previously abominable – has granted her freedom, she too will be a poet! Women will discover the unknown! Will her world of ideas differ from ours? – She will discover strange things, unfathomable; repulsive, delicious: we will take them to us, we will understand them.

Meanwhile, let us demand new things from the poets - ideas and forms. All the clever ones will think they can easily satisfy this demand: that’s not so! …..

Poem: CALL ME BY MY TRUE NAMES

Call Me by My True Names
by Thich Nhat Hanh

From: Peace is Every Step: The Path of Mindfulness in Everyday Life by Thich Nhat Hanh

In Plum Village, where I live in France, we receive many letters from the refugee camps in Singapore, Malaysia, Indonesia, Thailand, and the Philippines, hundreds each week. It is very painful to read them, but we have to do it, we have to be in contact. We try our best to help, but the suffering is enormous, and sometimes we are discouraged. It is said that half the boat people die in the ocean. Only half arrive at the shores in Southeast Asia, and even then they may not be safe.
There are many young girls, boat people, who are raped by sea pirates. Even though the United Nations and many countries try to help the government of Thailand prevent that kind of piracy, sea pirates continue to inflict much suffering on the refugees. One day we received a letter telling us about a young girl on a small boat who was raped by a Thai pirate. She was only twelve, and she jumped into the ocean and drowned herself.
When you first learn of something like that, you get angry at the pirate. You naturally take the side of the girl. As you look more deeply you will see it differently. If you take the side of the little girl, then it is easy. You only have to take a gun and shoot the pirate. But we cannot do that. In my meditation I saw that if I had been born in the village of the pirate and raised in the same conditions as he was, there is a great likelihood that I would become a pirate. I saw that many babies are born along the Gulf of Siam, hundreds every day, and if we educators, social workers, politicians, and others do not do something about the situation, in twenty-five years a number of them will become sea pirates. That is certain. If you or I were born today in those fishing villages, we may become sea pirates in twenty-five years. If you take a gun and shoot the pirate, all of us are to some extent responsible for this state of affairs.
After a long meditation, I wrote this poem. In it, there are three people: the twelve-year-old girl, the pirate, and me. Can we look at each other and recognize ourselves in each other? The tide of the poem is "Please Call Me by My True Names," because I have so many names. When I hear one of the of these names, I have to say, "Yes."

Do not say that I'll depart tomorrow
because even today I still arrive.

Look deeply: I arrive in every second
to be a bud on a spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with wings still fragile,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
in order to fear and to hope.
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and
death of all that are alive.

I am the mayfly metamorphosing on the surface of the river,
and I am the bird which, when spring comes, arrives in time
to eat the mayfly.

I am the frog swimming happily in the clear pond,
and I am also the grass-snake who, approaching in silence,
feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks,
and I am the arms merchant, selling deadly weapons to
Uganda.

I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean after being raped by a sea
pirate,
and I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable of seeing and
loving.

I am a member of the politburo, with plenty of power in my
hands,
and I am the man who has to pay his "debt of blood" to, my
people,
dying slowly in a forced labor camp.

My joy is like spring, so warm it makes flowers bloom in all
walks of life.
My pain if like a river of tears, so full it fills the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughs at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up,
and so the door of my heart can be left open,
the door of compassion.

1995 ROBERT AITKEN'S WRITTEN TESTIMONY

Date: Sat, 6 Jan 96 09:05:00 HST
From: ramsey@math.hawaii.edu (Tom Ramsey)
Subject: HAWAII, JAN. 6

A ZEN BUDDHIST PERSPECTIVE
ON SAME-GENDER MARRIAGE

On October 11, 1995, some religious leaders gave testimony
to the Commission on Sexual Orientation and the Law in support of same-
gender marriage.  It was one of the most moving meetings of the Commission.
Of the approximately 9 speakers, three submitted written testimony
(two Buddhist and one Lutheran).  I have retrieved their testimony from the
archives and will post each on to the internet.  The first is appended below.

Robert Aitken served much of World War II as a prisoner of war of
the Japanese; one of his captors introduced Robert Aitken to Zen Buddhism.
Today Robert Aitken heads the western region of the United States.

Aloha!

Tom Ramsey
Co-Coordinator, HERMP



Robert Aitken's Written Testimony
           To the Commission on Sexual Orientation
  and the Law, October 11, 1995


I am Robert Aitken, co-founder and teacher of the Honolulu
Diamond Sangha, a Zen Buddhist society established in 1959, with centers
in Manoa and Palolo [macrons are over first a's in each word].
Our organization has evolved into a network of Diamond Sangha groups
on Neighbor Islands and in North and South America, Australia and New
Zealand.  I am also co-founder of the Buddhist Peace Fellowship and a
member of its International Board of Advisors.  This is an
association whose members are concerned about social issues from a
Buddhist perspective.  It has it headquarters in Berkeley, California,
and has chapters across the country, including one here on O'ahu, as well
as chapters overseas.  I am also a member of the Hawai'i Association of
International Buddhists.

I speak to you today as an individual in response to the Chair's
request to present Buddhist views, particularly Zen Buddhist views, on
the subject of of marriage between people of the same sex.

The religion we now call Zen Buddhism arose in China in the sixth
century as a part of the Mahayana, which is the tradition of Buddhism
found in China, Korea, Japan and to some extent in Vietnam.  Pure Land
schools, including the Nishi and Higashi Hongwanji, as well as Shingon
and Nichiren, are other sects within the Mahayana.

The word Zen means "exacting meditation," descriptive of the formal
practice which is central for the Zen Buddhist.  It is a demanding practice,
from which certain realizations emerge that can then be applied in daily
life.  these are realizations that each of us is a boundless container, a
hologram, so to speak, that includes all other beings.  The application of
this kind of ultimate intimacy can be framed in the classic Buddhist
teaching of the Four Noble Abodes:  loving kindness, compassion, joy in
the attainment of others, and equanimity.

Applying these Four Noble Abodes to the issue of same-sex marriage,
I find it clear that encouragement should be my way of counseling.  Over a
twenty-year career of teaching, I have had students who were gay, lesbian,
trans-sexual and bisexual, as well as heterosexual.  These orientations have
seemed to me to be as specific as those which lead people to varied careers.
Some people are drawn to accounting.  I myself am not expecially drawn to
accounting.  Some people are drawn to literature.  I place myself in that
lot.  In the same way, some people are attracted to members of their own
sex.  I am not particularly attracted in this way.  But we are all human,
and within my own container, I can discern homosexual tendencies.  I keep
my checkbook balanced too.  So I find compassion---not just for---but with
[with is underlined] the gay or lesbian couple who wish to confirm their
love in a legal marriage.

I perform marriages among members of my own community.  Occasionally,
for one reason or another, these are ceremonies that celebrate commitment
to a life together, but are not legally binding.  I have not been asked
to perform a ceremony for a gay or lesbian couple, but would have no
hesitation in doing so, if our ordinary guidelines were met.  If same-sex
marriages were legalized, my policy would be the same.  I don't visualize
leading such ceremonies indiscriminately for hire, but would perform them
within our own Buddhist community.

Back in the early 1980s I had occasion to speak to the gay and
lesbian caucus of the San Francisco Zen Center.  It was in the course of
this meeting that the seed of what is now the Hartford Street Zen Center
was planted.  This is a center that serves the gay and lesbian population
of San Francisco, giving them a place for Zen Buddhist practice where they
can feel comfortable.  A number of heterosexual women also practice there,
as a place where they will not have to deal with sexual advances from men
who misuse other centers as hunting grounds for sexual conquests.

The Hartford Street Zen Center flourishes today as a fully accepted
sanctuary within the large family of Zen Buddhist temples in the Americas
and Europe.  It sponsors the hospice called Maitri, a Sanskrit term meaning
"loving kindness," that looks after people suffering from AIDS.  Maitri is
one of the significant care-giving institutions in San Francisco, and is
marked by a culture of volunteers who serve as nurses, doctors, counselors,
and community organizers in a large support system.

Historically, Zen Buddhism has been a monastic tradition.  There have
been prominent lay adherents, but they have been the exceptions.  In the
context of young men or young women confined within monastery walls for periods
of years, one might expect rules and teachings relating to homosexuality,
but they don't appear.  Bernard Faure, in his cultural critique of Zen
Buddhism titled The Rhetoric of Immediacy [underlined] remarks that
homosexuality seems to be overlooked in Zen teachings, and indeed in classical
Buddhist texts.  My impression from my own monastic experience suggests
that homosexuality has not been taken as an aberration, and so did not receive
comment.

There is, of course, a precept about sex which Zen Buddhists inherit
from earlier classical Buddhists teachings.  It is one of the sixteen precepts
accepted by all Zen Buddhist monks, nuns and seriously committed lay people.
In our own Diamond Sangha rendering, we word this precept, "I take up the
way of not misusing sex."  I understand this to mean that self-centered
sexual conduct is inappropriate, and I vow to avoid it.  Self-centered sex
is exploitive sex, non-consensual sex, sex that harms others.  It is
unwholesome and destructive in a heterosexual as well as in a homosexual
context.

All societies have from earliest times across the world formalized
sexual love in marriage ceremonies that give the new couple standing and
rights in the community.  The Legislative Reference Bureau, at the
request of this Commission, has compiled a formidable list of rights that
are extended to married couples in Hawai'i, but which are denied to couples
who are gay and lesbian, though many of them have been together for decades.
These unions would be settled even more if they were acknowledged with
basic married rights.  A long-standing injustice would be corrected, and
the entire gay and lesbian community would feel more accepted.  This would
stabilize a significant segment of our society, and we would all of us be
better able to acknowledge our diversity.  I urge you to advise the Legislature
and the people of Hawai'i that legalizing gay and lesbian marriages will
be humane and in keeping with perenniel principles of decency and mutual
encouragement [mutual underlined].

Honolulu Diamond Sangha
2747 Waiomao Road
Honolulu, HI 96816
808-732-3119
808-735-4245 (fax)

CAN ALSO BE FOUND AT:
http://www.qrd.org/qrd/religion/zen.buddhist.perspective.on.same.sex.marriage

AFTER DARK CHOCOLATE CRUMB BARS

Tonight a new recipe: Chocolate Blackout Crumb Bars 

I have to say, every time I make a crumb bar or an apple crumble, there never seems to be enough crumble.  I guess the recipes I come across are on the modest side.  If you like a thicker crust, I recommend increasing the flour by 1/2 to 3/4 cups, making sure to adjust the butter equally.

Also, when using the Schmear Chocolate Filling, give it a quick 30 second shot in the microwave.  Straight out of the can it's a bit hard to spread evenly, and it will tear the bottom layer of the crumble.  At least that's what happened to me.  30 seconds and it'll spread smoothly -- but not more 30 or you've changed the whole chemistry of the chocolate (for the worse).  And spread it quickly, this stuff cools down fast.

 

 

Recipe Courtesy of: Love’n Bake

Ingredients

1	stick (4 ounces) unsalted butter
1	cup all purpose flour
1/4	cup brown sugar, tightly packed
1/4	teaspoon salt
1	cup Love’n Bake “Schmear” Chocolate Filling

How to Prepare

1. Grease a 9-inch square pan with butter and line with parchment paper. Set aside.
2. Beat the butter in a large mixing bowl until creamy. Beat in the flour, sugar and salt until well mixed. Reserve ½ cup of the crumb mixture. With floured hands press the remaining crumbs into the bottom of the prepared pan. Bake in a preheated 350ºF oven until edges are golden brown, approximately 10 to 12 minutes.
3. Spread the baked crust with the Chocolate Schmear. Sprinkle the reserved crumbs over the chocolate. Continue baking the pastry until the crumbs have browned approximately 25 to 30 minutes. Cool completely on a wire rack then cut into bars.

 

THE EGGVENTURE & LOLLI-FLOP #3

This morning I decided to use up a box of King Arthur Gluten Free Muffin Mix I had laying around.  The man of the house has celiac disease so I only bake gluten free...gotten pretty good if I do say so myself, you wouldn't know it was gluten free by the taste (yes I'm patting myself on the back).

The recipe calls for 3 extra large eggs.  I just happened to have four extra large organic eggs left in the refrigerator.  So muffins for breakfast it is...or so I thought.

This is where things go down hill fast.

I take out the eggs, and as usual I break an egg in a small glass - this prevents getting shell fragments in the mix.

This is where it really really gets bad.  Get ready, there are pictures!!!

The egg breaks and immediately I see black stuff come out.  I was shocked.  Yuck!!  As I broke the second egg, same thing!  This time the smell got worse and I freaked out, made a dash through the kitchen door, glass in hand, before Sasha and I ended up smelling like two rotten...well, eggs!  It's not skunk after all...but if you ask me it's way up there in the Le Peu department.

Don't look if you're squeamish -- here we go!!!!!!

I TOLD YOU!

"Wholly cow!" I said out loud to no one.  I've never in my life seen or smelled a rotten egg like this.  I came back in the house and broke a third egg.  Why didn't I quit while I was ahead?!?  For the life of me I don't know.  Third time is not a charm: the egg didn't smell bad, but was clearly questionable. 

I cleaned up and placed the last egg in a small dish.  I said, "It's you or me."  The egg lost.  It wasn't even close to a standoff: I stayed in the kitchen, it stayed outside waiting for the man of the house to take out the garbage.  Looked sad if you ask me...

Thankfully we had a fresh dozen and I was able to continue with the recipe.  But after all was said and done, the poor muffins ended up being a flop.  Despite letting them cool down, the muffins stuck to the pan.  I thought it would be enough to use non-stick spray.  Apparently not, and that's what I get for not following instructions and using muffin cups.  Those salvaged: I wasn't crazy about the taste, too many cranberries for my liking.  At this point it immediately won the title as Lolli-Flop #3.  I'm sure I've done enough damage to your eyes, I'll spare you the muffin pictures.

Quite an exciting morning if you ask me: all before 11:00am.  And you know, the last couple of months I've been dreaming about raising a few chickens -- just three or four.  Suddenly, the idea seems like a distant one.  

Wish You Could Talk To Me...

Wish You Could Talk To Me
    
And tell me what your favorite toys are
What started the fight with your sister, for the umpteenth time
What you whisper in her ear, just before you clean her fur

Tell me why you always seem hungry, even after you've been fed
Or when you were young, why you never thought to duck your head
Before chasing your sister underneath the couch
Would you tell me how in the world you hurt your hip

Wish you could tell me when.......I kiss you too much
(I don't believe it's ever enough)
Or why you make gurggling noises, run and hop
Then scratch the same corner of the rug

Are you having a good day?
If you could talk, would you tell me why you love sleeping in my blue chair?
Or why you love helping me make the bed?
Would you tell me your upmost favorite places to be scractched

If you talked only once
Could you save it for when you're not feeling well
Or when a storm comes and your scared
Wish you could talk to me

   ~by Ana M.
           ~for Lucien K.

LUCIEN K.

SASHA K.

          

The Job Interview & Willa Cather

I had an job interview today.  20 minutes prior to the interview, I was feeling more hopeless than nervous.  I wondered if the interview would lead me toward a job choice, that would only move me further away from joy.  I knew the answer.  As I aimlessly searched the web, I came across the NY Times online Book Review section and found an article about Willa Cather's correspondences.  I came across the below excerpt and suddenly felt, well...less alone.  One of the beauties of literature: it brings us closer to knowing we often have many of the same experiences, be that a woman in front of her computer in the 21st Century, or a woman named Willa Cather with her writing tablet in 1908.  When bathing in self-doubt, we tend to forget that others have not only felt that too, but moved beyond it.  The jury's still out on the results of the interview, but my head is much clearer. 

In 1906, Cather moved from Pittsburgh, where she had been working as a journalist, to New York City, where she quickly established herself as a powerful literary editor at the journal McClure’s. In this letter to the Maine writer Sarah Orne Jewett written on Dec. 19, 1908, Cather describes her frustrations with journalism and her desire to remake herself as an artist.

"Mr. McClure tells me that he does not think I will ever be able to do much at writing stories, that I am a good executive and I had better let it go at that. I sometimes, indeed I very often think that he is right. If I have been going forward at all in the last five years, [i]t has been progress of the head and not of the hand. At thirty-four one ought to have some sureness in their pen point and some facility in turning out a story. In other matters — things about the office — I can usually do what I set out to do and I can learn by experience, but when it comes to writing I’m a new-born baby every time — always come into it naked and shivery and without any bones. I never learn anything about it at all. I sometimes wonder whether one can possibly be meant to do the thing at which they are more blind and inept and blundering than at anything else in the world ...

I have to lend a hand at home now and then, and a good salary is a good thing. Still, if I stopped working next summer I would have money enough to live very simply for three or four years. ...I would write a little — “and save the soul besides.”

For full NY Times article and excerpts read: O Revelations! Letters, Once Banned, Flesh Out Willa Cather http://nyti.ms/Yv80G7

FIRST DAY OF SPRING IS TOMORROW

I've been under snow for the last 10 days, with only pictures to remind me of what spring/summer can look like.  What will yours look like tomorrow?  Happy 1st day of Spring!

 

A CALLING TO ME FROM MY VOCATION

Thinking a lot about vocation these days, or I should say again.  What my heart yearns for as opposed to what I do for a living is worlds apart.  I woke up this morning and the first words that came to mind were: the secret to life is not to live others'.  I'm not sure who said that or if it's a quote, but it is true.  To follow what others do or tell you you should do, or play it safe, is a living death.  Later, cleaning out my purse, I came across the following in my wallet.  I had placed it there a year or more ago.  Obviously it felt my pain, it bounced out of my wallet as if to say, "I need you to read me again"...

Vocation by William Stafford

This dream the world is having about itself

includes a trace on the plains of the Oregon trail,

a groove in the grass my father showed us all

one day while meadowlarks were trying to tell

something better about to happen.

I dreamed the trace to the mountains, over the hills,

and there a girl who belonged wherever she was.

But then my mother called us back to the car:

she was afraid; she always blamed the place,

the time, anything my father planned.

Now both of my parents, the long line through the plain,

the meadowlarks, the sky, the world's whole dream

remain, and I hear him say while I stand between the two,

helpless, both of them part of me:

"Your job is to find what the world is trying to be." 

An Opportunity Is Always There When We Look

After posting Day 19 on Sharon Salzberg's 28-day meditation challenge blog, I was thrown a curve ball.  Meditation on Emotions was the challenge that week, and I posted thoughts and feelings which sprung from my meditation session.  My sit this particular day included enduring the physicals of a yeast infection I was enduring.  So, I felt that week's meditation challenge to be in line with my own personal challenge.

The moderator of the site reviews all posts before officially releasing them, and my Day 19 post was added to the site on the same day I posted it.  Two days later, I received an email requesting I change the title of my post.  Below is my post, followed by the email I received from the site's moderator. 

  

My Day 19 Post:

Title: Day 19 - BEING WITH MY YEAST INFECTION

Today I found myself really trying to listen and focus on Sharon's Meditation On Emotions. Instead of laying down I sat to meditate.

 

My yeast infection is still active in my body, and was the main focus in my mind today. I know it is something that for many reasons is quite common and curable. The situation was not due to anything irresponsible I or my partner did. Nevertheless, it is uncomfortable physically, and I realized after today’s meditation session that it is emotionally/mentally more painful than necessary.

 

I was exactly in some of the places Sharon described in her meditation: shame, projecting into the future, fearing what this was going to feel like tomorrow or next week. I also absolutely wove entire negative self-images (old and new) onto this current situation. I watched and the web continued to spin into themes of mortality.

 

Every time I tried to take a deep breath and bring myself back gently, my swollen breasts fell heavy on my stomach/abdomen, not letting me breathe easily. This only upset me more, adding onto the situation/self-image. It reminded me how my body has changed in the last few years, including all the pre-menopausal symptoms. It’s as if I am in limbo between not having menstrual cycles anymore (and the ability to bear children) and still having some of the classic cycle symptoms like water gain, swollen breasts and mood swings.

 

Towards the end as I dug deeper, I noticed the feeling tone in my mind shift from anger, dread, disappointment to sadness and loss. This time I let breath help and succeeded more often than not in observing with curiosity and compassion. After the session was over I was somewhat surprised at the realization of how long I had spent in the discomfort; how I had made myself at home in it.
 

I’m grateful for the whole experience. It’s not like I haven’t had this kind of infection in the past. They’ve been painful and some have taken up to a week and a half to be resolved. None however have shown me so much as this one, because I applied to the best of my ability a meditation practice that in the end told me I am not my infection, or a defective person. It also showed me that I really don’t know what things will be like from one moment to another. After my meditation session I realized that my symptoms had subsided a bit. I think meditating allows me to be in the reality of things. Emotionally adding to an uncomfortable situation, does not allow me to notice what my reality is and is not.

 

I wonder if this makes sense to anyone else, or if anyone can relate to this experience with one of their own.

 

Moderator's Email:

Subject: Title of your recent blog post

Hi Ana, I hope all is well. I’ve been enjoying your posts on the blog.  I’m writing because of the title of a recent blog post you wrote: Day 19: Being With My Yeast Infection.  I want to say first that I think the post itself is quite interesting and insightful. I do however find the title a little off-putting. I am always aware that the blog represents Sharon to a certain extent, and I would appreciate it if you changed the title. It could be: Being with Discomfort, or something like that. At the Huffington Post they just go ahead and change titles without consulting the blogger, but I prefer to correspond directly with you, and ask you to change the title.  I hope you don’t feel judged by this, as that is not at all my intention. As I said before I do like the post and feel the experience you describe is quite valid and brought up some very interesting points.

At first I found it ironic that the moderator was uncomfortable with the title of my post, at the same time the challenge of the week was to meditate with ones emotions.  Was this her missed opportunity, or an opportunity waiting for me?  Finishing this post today, 10 days from when I received the moderator's email I realize, it was mine. 

Of course I felt judged at first, and put-off by her email.  I felt she ultimately created an uncomfortable, and more importantly unsafe atmosphere for me to be able to blog freely on Ms. Salzberg's website.  I also questioned why the post's content itself was not deemed off-putting as well, considering it contained some of the same wording.  I wondered if the request to change the title was purely to maintain pretenses and to cosmetically maintain Ms. Salzberg public image.  And I also questioned if I could continue the meditation challenge on Ms. Salzberg's site without second guessing whatever I wrote.  In truth, I could not continue.

Instead, I dug deep and chose to meditate off-line on my own emotions around all this.  Without this experience I would not have been challenged to press my feelings and ideas.  I gave myself space, and what I found was plentiful. I found that this was not my problem.  No matter what the reasons for being put-off by my title, those feelings did not belong to me.  I'm usually quite mindful of others' feelings and of what I write: my Day 19 post did not contain anything that could be deemed improper, inappropriate or offensive.  In fact, this kind of infection is a common experience for millions of people. So much so, that on any given day one can see a commercial for yeast infection treatments on TV.  Knowing this, the right to turn off the TV when one is uncomfortable with the content belongs to all. 

In the end, I chose to follow another path, utilize my own blog to write freely and recognize that this was an exercise in observing others, myself and developing loving kindness.  Quite an opportunity.