blessing one out

Enroute to LaGuardia, I was in a cab, a little earlier than I would have liked, bathed in the dawn of a slight emotional malaise. This morning I awoke in a sea of a sort of general uncertainty towards assorted aspects of my life that could, on a wildly optimistic disneyfied day, be seen as (cue: wind chimes) an ‘ocean of potential.’ Stirring vulnerably to a 7am cell phone alarm as it graduated to louder tones, alone in bed, with a slight sauvignon haze lingering, it was more an uncomfortable disposition than an adventurous one.

Later, settled into the backseat of a cabbie who favored a jagged, unsettling driving style, I closed my eyes to multitask travel with a few minutes of meditation. I had only made it through chakra one of seven when the familiar, assigned (Tune_AssemblyLine) ringtone of my sister pierced through the calming instructions being carried by my earbuds. Not having spoken regarding my arrival arrangements, I swayed from the meditation dedication to answer.

She (not really sure why she called… I, not really sure why I answered) was irritable, and that’s a generous assignation. It unearthed that there was nothing to arrange or discuss; it seemed all had to be coordinated with my mother. The sole (perhaps unintended, unconscious) purpose of her call was to let me know she was sick, had been sick all week, and then to convey exasperation that my mother had “of course" not taken a moment from her post-cancer-removal surgical recuperation to inform daughter #2 in New York of daughter #1’s sickness in Chicago.

I will now justify the following statements (perhaps unfairly, but dear reader, it is, after all, my blog) by prefacing the reminder: me: post sauvignon haze, 7am cell phone alarm, ADHD cab driver.

Sis: irritable beyond what might be deemed rational or appropriate given the circumstances.
Me: (not out loud, in my head, of course)…Really? My careers are stalled at huge turning points, some close relationships precarious, and I am decidedly in need of a three day juice fast as witnessed by a bloated kidney that is not tucking nicely and efficiently away in marichasana d. Oh yeah, and by the way, mom had CANCER and is recuperating in bed. Really? We need this 8am attitude?

With some force that was larger than me (perhaps, at least, thank goodness we DID get through that 1st chakra) my sleepy sauvignon haze did not rise in a ruthless, victory-seeking showdown to compete with my sister. Instead I found myself spouting out a reasonable “You know what, hon? Why don’t we talk later?” (Although, the thought to float in an inadvertently patronizing “Sweetie, you don’t seem to be yourself” mid-sentence, did come to mind… yet I somehow managed to keep it simple and sweet, my reply bereft of arrows.)

Hanging up, I went back to chakras #2-7. The cabbie’s driving was about as even keel as Lindsay Lohan’s life trajectory. Hi, nausea. Finishing, sighing, hoping it did SOMETHING, I opened my eyes to an indeterminate portion of Queens and the very first thing to snag my vision was a billboard in the distance. A blank, whitewashed stretch of unused advertising space hovering above the BQE and scrawled across the bottom in a huge, rebellious, graffiti tag of two-foot-high, spray-painted letters spelling out: BLESS YOURSELF.

It jarred me to the present moment.

One really can’t ask for a clearer sign from the universe than a giant billboard. It wouldn’t even be negligent, it would be just plain stupid to not pay attention.

I happen to facilitate this experience known as deeksha, which is quite literally translated as a blessing. Although its primary purpose is to SPREAD the love, one can indeed, bless oneself. And I’m not ashamed to say, I do bless myself. Maybe not every day, but often.

And, so, what the heck? Why should I care if the cabbie thinks I’m crazy pants? His driving certainly hasn’t been a model of balance and equilibrium. So I blessed myself. Right in the backseat of the cab. It didn’t feel naughty; it felt necessary.

It would really help my story if I came out the other end of the blessing refreshed, renewed, perhaps exhilarated or at least reset. To be dead honest, I didn’t feel much different afterwards than before going in.

But that’s what’s so tricky with all of this stuff, isn’t it? Being tied to our American mindset and conditioning of wanting/needing it now/yesterday with scientific studies and incontrovertible proof might just rob us of some of the magic that can be life.

It’s impossible to quantify the glitter. You can’t ziplock away a baby’s giggle, flash-freeze a kiss to take with you for travel, take out a ruler and designate 3.75 inches between slightly irritated and cheerfully helpful to others. And there are no scientific tools to measure a person’s development.

I don’t as of yet have the evidence that that moment of blessturbation will bring any peace or joy or balance to my life. But taking that moment helps me to build the faith that it will. These moments, these things that we all do to cultivate mindfulness are not to wish away a slight hangover or to switch our moods between extremes (although those things certainly can and have been welcome side effects.) These practices are not instantaneous pill-popping remedies to mask symptoms, they are the long term solution.

Whereas I still have that minor headache, and I would be lying if I didn’t say I really hope my sister will be in a better mood by the time I see her, the self-bless will come in handy later-- when something huge and horrible happens (and there have been a couple of those moments in the last six months) and I am not a wreck, but I am here. Still standing, And not just standing, but smiling. And not just in my own bubble, but available, present to and for others. Open hearted. Hopeful. Aware. Awake. That’s what it’s for.