Memoirs of a Reluctant Yogini

"What hurts us most is our silence; the things that we cannot say, the experiences we cannot share with others." ~Author Unknown

I first became sick with Lyme disease in 2006. I was lonely and well ... terrified really. I began blogging on MySpace as a kind of therapy. I was bed-ridden, so I even had time to learn some html coding to make my blog pretty.

As a young woman, I’d always wanted to “be a writer”, and I always thought that if I wrote about what was personal to me, the things closest to my heart, that it might reach others who were struggling with secrets of their own. Blogging became a means of self-expression, and a way for me to “come out” as a writer and creative person.

I wanted to communicate my experience with Lyme disease and make connections with others who also suffered. I tried to do that, bravely as possible. But the truth was that there were areas of my own life where I lacked the courage to fully “break the silence”.

I couldn’t bring myself to talk explicitly about how my brother’s death in 1994 and my arrival in America from Scotland immediately after college had led me to seek the security and comfort of a spiritual organization. This group taught techniques for meditation and "energy healing".

I worked in a paid position for a Vietnamese teacher and his family.  For ten years I devoted almost every waking minute to the care of the “business” of the group and to the needs of the Teacher’s family. For at least half of that time I felt trapped, watching the world “outside” pass me by. I longed to stretch my wings, to make greater use of my gifts and talents and honestly, to enjoy my life.

Apocalyptic messages of future global catastrophe, and the dire warnings of what terrible things might happen to me if I left kept me stuck much longer than my passion for “spiritual enlightenment”.

In 2008 I was finally able to leave and begin building my life on the “outside”. I had a boyfriend. I found a real job as a teaching assistant. I rented my own  apartment. I even went back to college. I didn't want people to think I was weird. I didn't want them to know that I’d made what seemed like some ill-advised life decisions; choices made when I was still inexperienced in life and very trusting; a time when I was the most vulnerable.

If I used the word “cult” it would bring up awful images of Hare Krishna devotees, or even worse ... Jim Jones. It would reduce a complex experience, the very fabric of my life to a banal stereotype. I felt it would deny the rich experiences and relationships I'd had during those years.

It would also mean losing acceptance from the community I’d been a part of for ten years. I would possibly lose the benevolent shelter of those in charge, along with my beloved friends. In this group I had felt that I was safely tucked under God’s wing, as though nothing “bad” would ever happen to me again. Without it, I was in free-fall.

So there I was, sharing intimate glimpses of my life on-line in my blog, and yet completely unable to speak the truth about who I was even to the people closest to me in real life. Perhaps enough time has passed, perhaps I’m just tired of trying to write around the edges of my life. Every time I’ve sat down to write a blog in the last five years, the words have echoed in my mind, "What hurts us most is our silence; the things we cannot say, the experiences we cannot share with others."

What I need, what I believe most of us need, is the freedom to be authentically, genuinely ourselves. So for that reason I am saying the things that have remained unsaid, sharing this experience with others, finally breaking my silence.

Paranoid Fiction ~ Maybe You Should Feel Uncomfortable!

Last month I attended Fabrizio Passanisi’s art show“Paranoid Fiction” at Longview Farmhouse in Clayton. “Paranoid Fiction” is a surrealistic literary and film genre that includes works such as "Bladerunner” by Philip K. Dick or “Fight Club” by Chuck Palahniuk.

Artist Fabrizio Passanisi once told me that the atmosphere he wanted to evoke in his paintings was that of a “rainy day”. Being from Scotland, I could relate completely. I write best, or I should say, I find myself most in the mood to write when it's raining.

The night that I attended his art show “Paranoid Fiction” however, the sun was setting spectacularly on my drive to the Longview Farmhouse in Clayton:



Fabriz had also told me that he liked to take photographs from the car and create paintings from them. So the view itself reminded me of some of Fabriz’ moody, evocative landscapes:

Covert Mantra
24"X48" Polymer on Hardboard

This one was in the new show:
Suspension-Anonymity
24"X48" Polymer on Hardboard

Fabriz has told me that people generally respond best to his landscapes. They are beautifully haunting like a rainy day, just as he said and yet still familiar and accessible.

As I've written on my bio on this blog, words are my first love. It has taken me some time to “get comfortable” with going to look at art in public, especially at art shows. I often wondered if I was supposed to know if a piece of art was “good” or “bad”. I wondered if other people “understood” art better than me, and perhaps if they would judge me if I could not discern the difference.

Recently, especially through the course of many conversations with Fabriz, and attending his shows, I’ve learned that for me, what’s more important is how I feel about a piece of art. What emotions does it evoke within me, and why. This is one of my absolute favorite pieces of his:

            Let Go My Love
            35"X35" Oil on Hardboard

Fabrizio is a first generation immigrant, like myself. His family are from Sicily in Italy. When I first saw his art, what I thought I saw was the struggle of an immigrant, searching for a sense of belonging and meaning in a new country. Of course, as anyone would know from reading my blog, I was seeing my own story reflected back at me.

I also saw stories from history in the dreamlike, fragmented scenes. I saw images that made me think of Bosnia, Vietnam and even World War II. I saw a world torn apart and not yet stitched back together. There were fleeting glimpses of America’s consumer culture; endless televisions screens, a psychiatrist treating a woman on a couch. There were scenes made poignant when placed side by side; a ship going down, a happy couple in a restaurant, comfortably oblivious to the chaos in the world around them:

              While the World Burns
              35"X35" Oil on Hardboard

If you feel uncomfortable when you look at his art, maybe it’s because that’s what he intended, and because that’s what art is supposed to do from time to time. It is often purposefully meant to unsettle us, to make us question ourselves, the assumptions we've made about the world, even our most basic values.

Fabriz listened with interest and curiosity, not judgment to what I saw (and what many others saw) in his art. He named his show at Longview Farmhouse, “Paranoid Fiction”  in part because he believes that reality is subjective, and so is our response to his paintings. His work combines the ordinary with the surrealistic in a way that makes us look again because we notice something that we hadn't seen before, or that we now interpret in a different way because something has changed in our lives, because we feel different on the inside.

That’s the way good art can function … we transform the art by our gaze and are in turn transformed by what we see. You can see more of his work at fabriziopassanisi.wix.com/art. I personally can’t wait to see what Fabrizio will create next.

I’m a big believer that St. Louis has a secretly vibrant art and literary life and love to support St. Louis artists and writers on my blog. If you know of an artist or writer (or if you are one yourself) who should be featured I would love to know and help share their work.

I Cooked a Steak and I Liked It! - It's Easier Than the Guys Ever Say!

When I was a young woman in college, just like the Katy Perry song, I thought that kissing a girl sounded like quite the act of liberation. Now that I’m in my forties, I've learned that there are some practical things that offer far greater independence; like knowing how to hang a picture or check the oil in the car. Like not having to wait for anyone else to give you what you need or want.

One day last week, I was standing in front of the meat counter at Schnucks in a state of doubtful hesitation. I had a dilemma. New York strip steak was on sale. It was a great deal, and sitting right in front of me was an inch thick slice of prime beef, silently begging to go home with me. It was bright jewel-red color, beautifully marbled and the perfect size for one person.

The problem was that I had no idea how to cook it. For the last seven years at least, I’d always had a man to do it for me. I don’t even remember what I did before that. My common sense side told me to avoid it. It told me to pick up ground lean beef as I always do, to go home and make tacos or spaghetti Bolognese, two of my old standards.

But there’s another side to me. A secret side that quite frankly, likes luxury and the finer things in life. The beef called out to me again, reminding me that I might not see a deal this good in a while, and this time I could not resist. Into the cart it went, and consequences be damned.

Seven years ago we didn't have the internet and Google, to gently guide us through life’s big and small moments, to tell us what to look for in the perfect life partner, or how to braid our hair seven different ways, but now we do. So when I went onto About.com and read the instructions there, I was shocked. Surely it couldn't be this simple?

http://bbq.about.com/od/steaks/ss/aa101606a_3.htm

Like any true steak lover, I eat my steak medium rare and flinch at the prospect of overcooked meat, so I had to do it right.  Make sure the grill is super-hot? I could do that. Two to three minutes on either side? I could do that. It didn't say anything about seasoning, but I added salt and pepper anyway. I made a salad first and then set to grilling. It’s the resting that’s the important part of cooking steak. If you cut it too soon, all the juices will spill out, leaving you with an unhappy, dry hunk of beef. Nobody wants that. So I let mine rest for a full ten minutes.

I separated from my husband over three months ago. I've learned a lot in a very short time, such as exactly how much is in my bank account, that the lawn doesn't mow itself, and that sometimes, despite all your best intentions you cannot always live up to society’s expectations of how you should conduct your life. Sometimes you can’t meet your own. Sometimes, even though the last thing you want to do is hurt others, you cannot withstand the damage caused to yourself by not staying true to your own heart. 

When I finally sat down to eat, I cut my New York strip open in trepidation, to find that was exactly the color it was supposed to be, still nicely pink on the inside and completely tender. How did men manage (astonishingly!) to maintain the myth that cooking steak is difficult or complicated? I cooked a steak and I liked it. The meat melted in my mouth. It was delicious and I savored it like my freedom.