Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Living the Bridge

It can be hard to bridge the realms.

Yesterday I stood with headphones and a microphone in the studio of Kauai Community Radio asking every listener to make a phone call and donate money to the station.  Across the board from me was the host of an eclectic show that features music, musings, poetry and inspired words to enlighten.

This DJ is ringing bells and calling in the angels while I’ll repeat the phone number to call.  Usually, this radio show is stretching toward the realms of the Divine.  Today, I’m grounding the conversation in tallies and cold hard cash, making requests for thousands of dollars.

The host reads Hafiz, reminding listeners of the The Friend.  When the poem is complete, he mentions that inside the book jacket, the translator, Daniel Ladinsky, has made a dedication to avatar, Meher Baba.  As we’re live, on the air, he hands me the 1937 photograph of the guru, standing in Cannes, France.  He is by a tree, smiling in white, hair flowing.   So often when I gaze upon photos of this man, waves of sensation run through my body.  A visceral reaction that defies rationalization, one I have never fully understood.

courtesy of http://www.avatarmeherbaba.org

I stand looking at the saint, reverberating in the high prose of Hafiz, and I repeat into the mic that the radio station has less than two hours to reach its goal of $50,000.  I announce the phone number again.  I mention the tax-deductible aspect of their donation.  I try to bridge the worlds of the practical and the ethereal as the host rings those om-engraved chimes one more time.

He cuts to music and I stand with Meher Baba, black and white, in France.  The phones are ringing in the studio and volunteers are bustling about.  What is it about this man?

Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that Rex had been staying at his ashram in India for months before landing back on the island into my arms, so many years ago.  Like many devotees, he carried multiple photographs of his guide and I was surrounded by pictures of the man that gazed at me through the rose and sandalwood incense Rex burned in his honor.

On Rex’s second day back home, the day we conceived Jeb, it was Meher Baba that gazed at me from a necklace around his neck, smiling in unconditional love as spermatozoa met ovum.

The phone rings again in the KKCR studios and this time I answer.  A woman with the last name of Amsterdam calls to say that she wants to donate to the station because we mentioned Meher Baba’s name.  I take down her address, phone number, email and the amount of money she wants to give, filling out the appropriate form.  Is this what it looks like to bridge the worlds?

At high noon, the radio station’s fund drive has officially come to a close and in about 2 hours we’ve raised over $2,000.  Peter Gabriel is singing that in this moment he “feels so connected” and the program host’s spirits are soaring as he lip syncs along, rejoicing in the accomplishment.

Next week it will be back to Persian poetry and excerpts from the We’Moon Calendar.  He can gaze upon the face of Meher Baba or any other saint with no need to mention monetary sums.

As for me, I’m usually at home with Jeb on Sundays.  Not always listening to the radio.  Often cleaning the bathroom or building Legos.  Making bridges of my own between that ecstatic day of conception – March 13, 2003 – and all of the practicals necessitated to live the fruit it bore.  One of Meher Baba’s more well-known quotes comes to mind as I ponder living this link.

Don’t worry, be happy.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Hang Time in the Hammock

I wake this morning pondering balance.

Yesterday I attended the ‘pinning’ ceremony of my friend, who has just completed the nursing program and is now officially an RN.  A single mother, who undertook this arduous task while going through a divorce and working three jobs, she stood among a class of graduates who had all sacrificed to attain their goal.  Repeatedly these students announced to the supportive audience, “I’m back.  Life can be normal again.”  So many needs (regular meals, a clean house, consistent parenting) had to be shelved in order for these nurses-to-be to earn their degree in such a demanding curriculum.

My friend has a particularly happy ending.  As I put a lei around her neck and hugged her (having imagined this moment over the years as I’ve encouraged her along) she flashed a new engagement ring.  Her very supportive boyfriend popped the question a few days ago and will be whisking her off to San Francisco for nine days to mark the closing of one chapter and beginning of a new one.  I know there were times in the past when on her journey she may only have seen a dark tunnel.  In those shadow times I think she and I both agreed that only Aretha Franklin and a good laugh with a girlfriend could shed any semblance of light.  But her hard work and determination – an eye to the prize – has paid off and given her more than, perhaps, she even could have imagined.

After the ceremony, at day’s end,  I have a quiet house to myself.  Jeb is with his father.  I finish work projects and then do something I haven’t done in months – I watch a movie.  The title, “One Week.”  The plot revolves around a man who’s told he has an aggressive form of cancer, with only a short time to live.  He instantly sees his life (including his impending marriage) in a new perspective.  Dropping everything, he buys a motorcycle and proceeds to head west across Canada to touch the Pacific Ocean.  On his adventure, he embraces each moment, gaining new insights, making fresh connections and living with no thought to future plans.

The film explores the question of how all of us are living.  It prods the viewer to consider what each of us may be doing if we knew we only had one year, one month, one week, one day to live.  (Funny, I initially made a typo on that last word, “live” and typed “love” – perhaps a clue…).

Is there a balance between keeping our vision on a fixed goal in the distant future and living true to our hearts in this very moment?  Is sometimes it necessary to disregard our very nature, our basic needs (and those of others), in order to obtain the goal that promises to make everything better once we get there?

As I wake with these questions, I find myself finally watching the Ted Talk sent to me by my yoga instructor last week.  The premise:  Hammock Enlightenment.  Eion Finn talks about the “conquest” orientation of our world and how it has shaped the way we connect with ourselves, each other, and nature.  He has an idea of how we can bring a balance from busy to stillness.  His concept is simple, the message heartfelt.  Somehow his talk seems woven with my morning ponderings.

A hammock hangs between two poles (here on the island it’s often two trees).  Maybe the balance is the hang spot between two extremes:  always working toward the future or never thinking of tomorrow.  In the hammock, you take a breather, a good, solid pause.  Can a pause actually propel us forward?

I’m a lover of the pause button, but it can often seem nearly impossible to employ it.  With a full month of dedication to my yoga practice, one could say I’ve been taking time in a proverbial hammock almost every day.  In this moment,  I’m about to head out the door to dive into a yoga that stills through movement. Perhaps more insight will come through one of those asanas.

For now, I’ll leave you with the Ted Talk for your own meditation.  Namaste.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

Cold Feet

The new boots are right here next to me.  Kind of like the headless horseman, they stand erect, tall, but empty – waiting for feet and legs to take them for a walk.

Poised here by my writing desk, they exude the scent of leather, fresh and pristine.  What other scents will soon mingle with these boots?  The stale smell of an airplane’s interior?  The damp undergrowth of an ancient forest?  The salt and stone of a seaside village?

This is not my first pair.  The original boots I ordered arrived by mail two weeks ago and when I slipped them on, my feet were swimming.  What does it mean when the dream boots that took six years in coming are finally on your feet and they don’t fit?  They were meant to carry me through visions of grandeur.  Were my imaginings rooted in shoes too big to fill?  My heels are narrow and the wiggle room inside those boots were a set up for floppy hikes and blister city.

Alas, I conceded.  Let them go.  They had to be returned.

There is a happy ending, though.  Or, hopefully, a happy beginning.

I ordered a smaller size.

Perhaps I needed an exercise in holding out for exactly what I wanted.  Making sure I had a perfect fit – solid, secure, grounded and ready for action.  My alternate, smaller versions arrived in good time and when I tried them on, they hugged my feet in promised support.  A fine balance of good sizing with just enough room for future stretch and give.

So this morning, it’s not yet sunrise.  75 degrees and 83% humidity.  I’ve slipped my bare island feet into my boots and zipped them to my knees.  I can sit with the twittering of song birds and the random wake-up calls of roosters.  Ask these kicks, “What’s our first adventure?”

I hold an element of hesitancy, not wanting to mar their pristine state.  I know that once I walk into the world with these, I am committed.  Stepping beyond my front door to touch down on real-life soil, makes them mine.  There is no more return.

Maybe I’m not quite ready (though opportunities for wear are limited in this May, tropical clime).  Perhaps I need to keep them in.  Just slip them on at dawn and dream a bit.  Ask them where they’d like to wander.

Zipped up tight, I can imagine earthy realms where we could travel.  Safe within my mind, scenarios are left to the place where I still can edit.  Fast forward, rewind, delete.  Maybe I’m not quite ready to set foot completely on the real path – muddy, rocky, leading to the unknown.

This morning these boots feel snug and full of promise.  They’ll wait patiently for me to live the script.  Ready when I am, to set foot outside.

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