The River Is In Me

Standing on the banks of the Mississippi River on the New Orleans shoreline, I stick my hand into the water to greet her. She is the Mississippi, and I know her well. After all, she’s my lover.

The scent of her fills my nostrils. I take her into myself, filling my lungs. It’s not a fresh smell, but one of mildew, decay and memory. Her warm humid breath comforts me. She welcomes me to her, my oldest friend.

There is a picture my mother has of me, at the age of months, less than one year old. I’m reaching for the throttle of our family boat, the Mimi III, named after my aunt. It was third in a tradition of five spanning three generations of our family. Not even old enough to speak, she was a part of my life. I grew up on boats, on her water, on the shores of Dubuque, IA. My weekdays might hold school or summer play, but she consumed my weekends. I spent countless hours riding her, swimming in her, swallowing her and eventually skiing upon her. On countless weekend nights, she would gently rock me to sleep and gently crash upon the sides of my bed.

A Homecoming Long Overdue

This is the longest I’ve gone between entries and I’m sure I’ve lost some of you along the way. Sorry, a lot has happened. In the last entry, I was sitting in New Orleans (NOLA) awaiting the Day of the Dead celebration with Saumya and Drew.

I was moved sharing the experience of Vodou with my friend and fellow priest Drew at such a major holiday. The ceremony packed people within the peristyle (temple) and out into the adjoining alley. Once the initial celebration ended, we capped it off with our annual walk and offerings at the cemetery.

This trip to NOLA was directly preceding a major surgery we hoped to avoid. The surgery came two weeks later – and being a major one – we holed up and worked on her recovery. This was my first impediment to ignoring my blog. There were times, moments I could have written. Others where Zelda: Skyward Sword consumed Saum’s recovery while I supported her by remembering where things were in the game. I may have spent a few hours playing myself.

For several months leading up to this, we had planned on returning to India. In The Ascetic, the Therapist, the Priest and the Possessed, you’ll recall I said it had been 10 years of ongoing surgeries since they began. It had been 10 years since I had last been in India, where this whole period started. It has been roughly 9 years for Saum herself. Way too long for both of us to be away.

Right before the surgery, I started laying the foundation for our return trip to India.

The Ascetic, the Therapist, the Priest and the Possessed

What these people have in common is they’re all healers in a way. I’ve promised to write about the energy work I do, and I’ve been hesitating on either writing about it, or in some cases doing it. Part of my dilemma is I want to take it slow, the other is I’m still trying to make sense out of it. How does one write about such an important and huge topic and still sound genuine, when one doesn’t fully comprehend it oneself?

I’ve been truly blessed in my recent years to make the acquaintance of people who practice the healing arts. Genuine people. They hesitate to call themselves healers directly and I’m beginning to understand why. I agree with their choices for doing so. Their choice in some ways is my own. Why? In some respect, the practices I’ve been doing aren’t solely my own. In other ways, it takes two: a cooperative experience. It’s not something I do to someone, but rather something I do with someone. It’s also highly individualistic, what I do for one person would not work for another, but rather there would be a process of discovery to determine what the correct course of action would be.

The Beginning of The End

This post comes with a soundtrack. (@Rogue_Priest I know you did this once, but I’ve been meaning to blog about this songs meaning since before I met you.)

Italicized lyrics below by: Greg Dulli

Have you ever come across a song that you can’t get out of your head, a song that you might hit the back button at the end, more than once? Or perhaps you hit that single song repeat? The Twilight Singers have been a band I’ve been in love with for years, ever since Twilight came out (not anything to do with the books or movie, long predating it.)

Saum and I were discussing the other night on how we relate to people by the music we listen to. I can’t figure out a person by their job or their politics even. I get a sense, but not a good one and sometime not even the right one. But music, that’s how people are revealed to me. Do they like happy upbeat, or something with a bit of an edge to it. Does it sound like a party or something sexy? It is smooth and even, or is it temperamental and hard to judge? I love music. It defines me.

New Orleans Healing Center

I’ve previously written about how in 2005, on our 10th wedding anniversary, Katrina went over us while we were vacationing in the Bahamas on the island of Eleuthera (Death Ahead, Detour Next Right, Oungan François and Let’s take the free ANW pillow and go). That experience set the stage for us to travel to New Orleans (NOLA) the next year and me attending a conference. The year after that in 2007 we started getting involved with New Orleans Healing Center, an idea to create a community center to promote healing and sustainability in an area that needs it. It’s not just a community center, but a collection of different business, ideas, a street university, food and other things promoting healing and needed services.

For years now, my wife has worked tirelessly, along with dedicated individuals in New Orleans as well as others to make a vision become a reality. We went to meetings, she worked daily. They started out as ideas, salon meetings, hard work and dedication. They worked to secure funding. They worked to make it sustainable. They worked hard.

Haunted by Ghosts

I’m not telling a ghost story, not that I don’t have them. It’s true that there were ghosts that frequented the rooms and halls of my college dormitory, but that will have to wait for another time.

There are times I feel haunted by ghosts. Not the kind that go clink in the night, the spirits of the departed, I have a working relationship with them. The ghosts I speak of are my own. They are not external entities, but internal to myself. This is about the ghosts that we carry around with us, the memories that haunt.

When I was growing up, times were different, our nation was different. I would hear jokes, often with racial epithets in them. As the world and I changed, I would grow more and more uncomfortable with what was being said, eventually telling people I didn’t want to hear the jokes. They were offensive. This is one of my ghosts.

Guru Purnima

Sadly, this is one of the longest running ideas in my blog drafts folders. It’s sat there through two Guru Purnima holidays. At one time there was even a few paragraphs written.

My intention was to write about the beautiful spiritual traditions of the Himalayas and pay homage to my guru. I spent a beautiful Guru Purnima with the family this year at the Meditation Center in Minneapolis, complete with puja and all. This year once again I found this post staring at me from my drafts folder. I just couldn’t seem to write it. This month of August found me with two other failed posts, half or mostly written that just weren’t going where I wanted them to. I have something that needs saying that has been pushing all other creative juices aside.

Trash or Recycling

I have two sets of bins in my kitchen, one for trash and one for recycling.

We live in a disposable society; we tend to throw things away. Things are made to break and into the bin they go. I keep a special place in my house for electronics, batteries and those twisty energy-saving mercury-filled light bulbs. They go to the hazardous waste drop off site. We toss a lot of stuff.

When we moved out to the country, I set a goal for myself to recycle half of my waste. The goal wasn’t huge. I easily attained it and recycle almost 75% of my waste today. It hurts me every time I go to NOLA and can’t recycle. I walk around holding a soda bottle or plastic cup, not knowing what to do with it. (Recycling is one of the many things that haven’t recovered post-Katrina.)

Americans love packaging, so we’re told. Whether it’s over-engineered cardboard that fits neatly into shapes keeping our precious new things safe, or oil-induced plastic wrap and bags, shrink wrapping everything from a toner cartridge to my organic zucchini. I try not to take bags from the store when I can (not often), sometimes I bring my own. I take and reuse the paper ones avoiding the plastic bags if I have a choice. (I do know some dog owners that prefer a free supply of plastic bags they reuse in their own way.)

Oungan François

On May 9th, I became an Oungan Sur Pwenn, a priest of Vodou. I serve the spirits. I chose the name François of the Crow; François after my grandfather Francis. I live on the Crow River. The Crow feeds into the Mississippi, which in turn flows down to New Orleans (NOLA), a sacred city to me.

Sur Pwenn means on the point; I’m at the beginning. While I can’t speak much of the actual process of initiation, it would nevertheless be meaningless. I’ll try to explain what I mean.

Now I Get It

After returning home I had a laugh to myself. I had a thought, “Now I get it,” thinking back on my initiation, when I remembered hearing pretty much the same thing said by others before.

On the corner of Barracks and Decatur

Sitting at Envie in the quarter sipping peach iced tea, there’s not a place I’d rather be. I’ve been to NOLA a few times now, and each trip is better than the last.

Saum’s at the New Orleans's Healing Center, in a planning meeting for Anba Dlo Deux. The name Anba Dlo means “from beneath the waters” and last year festival coincided with Halloween. It was a fantastic celebration with three live music venues, street stalls, food, drink. It was amazing. This year they’re planning the second annual event. In avoidance of responsibility, I’m enjoying a much needed vacation and staying away from the planning. It’s not like I don’t want to help, but whatever Saum ends up doing, I’ll be assisting in whatever capacity I can.

I don’t know exactly what it is about New Orleans that generates so much buzz, so much energy. I feel like a different person when I’m here. There’s a part of me that’s always been here. A part I reunite with when I come. I can feel that part of myself welcoming me back, becoming whole again. This is not the first time I’ve had this feeling. I’ve experienced it while in India, sitting at a certain temple in the Himalayas. Like I’ve been sitting there forever; and always will be. That same feeling exists here, a special place on Earth that invigorates the soul, that breathes through you.