OMGCATS

Cats. Nature's joy. Sometimes, nature's pain in the ass. But mostly, joy.

I downloaded some new Photoshop actions recently from the fabulous Kim Miller (one of my favorite photographers - who also happens to share my affinity for cats!). Getting new Photoshop actions, for me, is like Christmas. I get super excited and I go thumbing through old photos to see what I can experiment with. To my surprise and delight I rediscovered some old-ish photos I took of the beloved cat, Miaoxin (pronounced Meow-shin...well, that's how I pronounce it...), one of the resident cats of Austin Zen Center.

Let me tell you. This cat is the bee's knees. Sweeeeeeet as honey. And a total ham. See below.

The importance of words

My father is dyslexic and didn't graduate high school. I am an avid reader with two degrees in the social sciences. The irony is not lost on me. In fact, my obsession with reading and my love of school was fueled partly by my father's encouragement and partly by my desire to understand the world - a world that I had no idea how to navigate.

Paris, 2002. I'm sitting in a cafe with my boyfriend. I'm excited and trying to express how important words are to me - how poetry and listening to the sound of words is like eating a meal or drinking red wine. He looks at me and laughs.

Poetry is a waste of time, he says, with no practical use whatsoever in the real world.

I am shocked and don't know how to respond. I look down into my coffee cup. I feel crushed. And because I am young, insecure, from a small town, female, you name it, I doubt what I say.

Many times growing up, I was accused of trying to escape my life by burying my head in books. I was told, in not so many words, by various people that, it was impractical, elitist, reclusive and anti-social. What I have failed to articulate until now is that books have catapulted me into my life, rather than allowed me to escape it. Books have opened my world, not narrowed it.

When I look back to moments like that time in Paris, I feel a huge amount of grief for ever having doubted my love of words - and myself. And I think about my father, who is sharper than a lot of people with college degrees, yet still struggles with birthday cards and text messages. And every time I go home to visit, I listen to him read the same poems by Hafiz and Hazrat Inayat Khan over and over again because he is so moved by them.

How important are words?

Portraits of people reading by Steve McCurry

Today it starts

My new yoga teacher had us shaking our bodies. To Aretha Franklin. To R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Whatever apprehensions I had about this place quickly evaporated and I began laughing.

Let go, she encouraged us. Exhale, so that you can make room for the next breath and the next moment.

It was just what I needed. I've been feeling incredibly serious lately. And incredibly sad, since my old yoga studio stopped teaching yoga classes and my favorite yoga teacher left to pursue a different career. Which I fully support, by the way. But still, I just...loved her.

Like most people, I am resistant to change. But it is inevitable. And vital.

Did you know, that the molecules in our bodies completely regenerate themselves every seven years? Being 35 years old, this means I've completely regenerated all of the cells in my body five times. Interesting, no?

So, if this is the case, then, who am I exactly? Who are you?

Something to think about...

Feel like dancing? I do! We Are Walking Out by Little Scout

Curious in Colorado

The sun beat down on our heads. This was the middle of August in northern Colorado, after all. But despite the heat, the air felt crisp.

"Soon, we'll have to start wearing sweatshirts again."

I couldn't tell if my friend Suzy was excited or reluctant as she said this. Living in Texas, it's hard to imagine wearing a sweatshirt in August or September or sometimes even October.

Still, I can't deny the subtle shift in the seasons. Summer feels like it is coming to a close. A lot is changing.

Which always makes me want to try to preserve my memories in words and photos. So, I'd love to share a few mementos from my trip to Colorado this summer.

On a side note, while I was attending the Buddhist Geeks conference in Boulder I ventured into capturing photos of people. This is scarier than simply taking photos of flowers, so I gave myself permission to simply start a conversation, without lifting my camera. I met some fascinating people this way. One of my favorite photographers, Peter Turnley, does this. His kind attention puts people at ease and his photographs always seem to emanate a sense of respect for the person being photographed. I hope to do this one day too. But in the meantime, I'll keep practicing - with both flowers, curiosity and personal conversation.

Kelsey and Dan, two of the sweetest people on the planet, made me breakfast at the Briar Rose Bed & Breakfast.

A gnome, hiding in a garden by the sidewalk. Boulder, Colorado

Bicycle love. Fort Collins, Colorado

Roses. Boulder, Colorado

Petting zoo. Fort Collins, Colorado

Tiny purple flowers. Boulder, Colorado

In the air

I sat down next to a guy with a broken arm.

"Oh gosh," I said, and pointed.

He smiled, shrugged his shoulders and asked, "Mind if I put the armrest down?"

"Not at all."

I leaned back, buckled my seatbelt and slid open the airplane window, flooding our seats with bright light. I looked back to see if anyone would protest, but no one noticed. Grateful, I turned back to the window to enjoy my favorite part: take-off.

In the air, I found myself completely and utterly content. Content like being at the beach on a warm summer day content. Content like that first glass of wine that makes your blood all warm and tingly content. So content, in fact, I scared myself with the thought that I could die at this moment and be perfectly okay with that.

Not that I really would be. I mean, can you imagine? Honestly, I'm pretty sure I'd be scared shitless if the plane decided to go down.

But it wasn't just that. The idea of me being content actually scared me. Me. Content. What the...? There are so many reasons not to be content. Trust me, I know them by heart. So much so that often times I end up feeling just...exhausted. At moments like these, I find that I don't have the energy to hold them all up. Nor do I want to.

As the plane descended into Denver, the guy with the broken arm leaned over and said, "Enjoy Boulder, it's beautiful."

"Thanks," I said. "Welcome home."

Who knew?

Apparently, I've been wearing the wrong sizes for years. Caught in my own habitual thinking, I've resisted wearing clothes that actually fit me. What a shock to realize, I've been going about this all wrong. What a delight to realize, hey, I have a figure.

I am gently teased for my obsession with stripes. They are pretty awesome. But I have to admit, that if I had better fashion sense, I'd probably wear polka dots, paisley (maybe), bright colors, mismatched colors, flowy blouses and strapless dresses. It's actually all a lot of fun. And only a wee bit intimidating.

What a joy to put on a dress and feel - alive. Is it really that dramatic, you ask? Yeah, it kind of is.

I've needed this. A breath of fresh air. To feel alive. To let go of an outdated sense of myself. And to simply wear a dress that fits.

And it's not really about the dress. You get that, right? Sometimes all it takes is a simple thing like trying on a dress to shine a light on my limited beliefs. It makes me wonder, what else do I believe about myself that's not true? Oh, the possibilities...

What I'm listening to right now - Washed Out. Heard this on my drive home and didn't want to stop the car. Simply lovely.

Don't be disturbed by your mind

How does one survive a meditation retreat?

Strong coffee. And lots of water.

This past weekend I participated in a meditation retreat with about 30 other individuals. The word "retreat," to me, seems a little misleading. It's not exactly a weekend at the spa by any stretch of the imagination. In this kind of retreat, you work with your mind, moment after relentless moment, and that can be messy, frustrating, confusing and incredibly exhausting.

But I am always struck by the amount of support I feel during a retreat. By my neighbors meditating silently beside me, by my teacher offering humor and encouraging words, by the bell ringer ringing the bells to let us know, hey, it's okay, you're okay now, this meditation perioid has ended, and by all the preparation it takes just to create a place for us to work with our minds and discover who we really are. All of this is incredible to me.

At the end, as we said goodbye to each other, I couldn't help it - the tears came. Damnit, I thought, why here, why now, in front of everyone? But what could I do? I wiped my eyes and my nose on my shirt and let them come. Oh well. I was a little bit of a mess and I was embarrassed, but it was okay.  

May you be happy.
May you be well.
May you be safe.
May you be peaceful and at ease.
May you be free from suffering.

May all beings be free from suffering.

Home

When I go home - to my hometown that is - there is a part of me that relaxes. I breathe in the smell of hay, I stare wide-eyed at the flatness of the earth (as if I hadn't seen it a hundred million times before) and I fall back into the sound of trains going by in the middle of the night.

A part of me also tenses. As soon as I've let home in, I pull back. I won't be staying and I know this. It is painful. Feeling totally at home and like a stranger, all at once. I can't resolve it. Maybe I'm not supposed to. Maybe that's just how it is.

Was home ever meant to be in one place? I don't know.

What is love?

What is the point of love?

There is no right answer, so don't worry - I'm not going to quiz you. But, what do you think?

This is the question Susan Piver asked during her talk in June at the Austin Shambhala Center. It's a good question and I've been pondering it ever since.

What is the point of love?

Is it to make us happy? Is it to make babies? Is it to fill some void we think we might have in our life?

This is a tough one for me.

It's been easy to think that my pain and heartbreak have been my weaknesses - my "failures" proof that I am unlovable and my mistakes evidence that I am inherently flawed. But what if that is all bullshit? What if these are the very things that make me beautiful, lovable and inherently strong?

This is what I've been gently peeling away over the past few years - layers and layers of bullshit I believed about who I thought I was - unlovable, flawed, weird, over-emotional, overly sensitive and insecure. I am none of these things, and yet I have felt this way for a very long time.

So, what is the point of love? What is the point of all this pain? Some would suggest it is to see and be seen for who we really are - to be known. This is what Susan suggests. I agree, though my beliefs and expectations have often kept me from really seeing and being seen in relationships (What is my greatest desire? To be seen. What is one of my greatest fears? To be seen.).

But this too is a part of the process of loving, oddly enough. Allowing my heart to break, over and over, has taught me how to love and be loving. It has forced me to ask myself questions, such as, can I be touched by my own experience? By the world around me? By other people? Can I forgive myself for falling short and making mistakes? Can I forgive others? And what does it mean to really meet people where they are without any expectations? Am I capable of that?

What about you? What is the point of love for you?

To hear Susan Piver talk about love and flesh (!), listen to her talk through The Interdependence Project. Or visit her website to learn about her Open Heart Project.

Hey girl, it's summer

Well, hello there. It's summer. It's hot. And my digital sabbatical for the month of June has come to a close. I've thoroughly enjoyed it, but I'm also excited to get back into writing again. If you ever get the chance to do a digital sabbatical yourself, I highly recommend it.

At the beginning of June, I sat down and wrote out all of the little things I was committed to and discovered that I've been doing a lot! So I've started paring down hobbies and committments. Only problem is, I love everything I'm doing. It's hard to say no to anything in my life right now. However, I am no good to anyone if I am running myself ragged. Who wants just half a Robin, ya know? Something I'm working on...

So. I have learned a few things this past month. Here are some of them, in no particular order:

  • Writing contributes greatly to my happiness.
  • Dogs are awesome. Especially my sister's dog (a gorgeous siberian husky).
  • Everyone I meet is struggling in some way. A lot of people are in pain. Some, very much so.
  • I love teaching. Especially meditation. I'm not really sure how this happened as I used to be terrified of speaking in public (oh, the stories I could tell you...but won't).
  • I have a lot of warm-hearted love and affection for Shambhala folks. Most especially, Susan Piver.
  • I am an HSP or Highly Sensitive Person. Also called Sensory-Processing Sensitivity.
  • Eating blueberry cobbler at Eastside Cafe transports me to summers spent in my Mema's kitchen (Mema is my grandmother, who turned 100 on July 2!).
  • I am totally, head over heels in love with San Francisco. And, I might move there next year.

More on these later. In the meantime, tell me about you. What have you been up to? How's your summer going? What have you learned about yourself so far this summer?

A digital sabbatical

It's almost summer! I'm super excited (swimming anyone?), but also a little apprehensive. Summer in Texas can get hot - real hot. Luckily, I live in Austin where we have ice cold air conditioning and public swimming pools like Barton Springs.

In light of the transition from spring to summer, I'm taking a little digital sabbatical for the month of June. I can't take a full digital sabbatical. I build websites for a living afterall. But I am going to take a short break from posting here, so that I can reflect on where I want this site to go, how I might change things and also, simply to create some space for my heart and mind to rest.

Enjoy the month of June. I hope you too have a chance to take a break, get some fresh air and enjoy the last moments of spring before the summer rushes in with all its heat.

A good eye

 Someone asked me recently, "So, working on any projects?"

This completely caught me off guard. I don't typically work on projects. I simply find myself inspired to snap photos and I go do it. A lot of the time, I snap photos wherever I find myself - planned or not.

Starting a "project" feels a little daunting. I tried doing projects in my photography classes in college and I was so shy and inhibited that my photos turned out rigid and stale. I deliberately sabotaged my efforts by shooting in the worst light (midday) and with a broken camera that overexposed every frame. I wanted so badly to express myself, but at the same time I was absolutely terrified of doing so. I still feel this way sometimes.

I've learned, that if I want my photographs to be interesting and express what I'm feeling and seeing in that moment, I have to be fully present and available to them. I can always tell when I'm not. I have to credit Miksang for finally helping me to crack this nut (if I can call learning how to see a nut...okay, sure, why not!). And I have to credit my meditation practice at the Austin Zen Center for giving me the space to gradually open my heart (not an easy thing for me - for most people, I imagine).

I have so much love for this place. So why not share that with you?

I don't talk about my practice a lot, but over the past couple of years it's become such a huge part of my life, not talking about it is kind of difficult. Heck, it is my life.

So, a mini-project of sorts - a little taste of Austin Zen Center.

(Almost) Instant Love

There is a new book out that I can't wait to get my hands on: Instant Love!

This has me biting my nails and my lip (ouch, right?). I WISH I could share some of the polaroids I took in San Francisco here.  But, I do not have a scanner at the moment. I plan to remedy this. At some point. Soon.

Until then, learn how to make your own polaroids and get inspired by photographers Amanda Gilligan, Jen Altman and Susannah Conway (who is also coming out with This I Know - another book I can't wait to read).

And, um, have fun!

I have no idea what this means

Books have a fragrance. The textbooks I had in grade school smelled sweet, like vanilla. The massive old bible our family inherited smelled like cigarettes and damp paper. The novels I read as a kid also had their own particularly pulpy smell.

There is something very personal about a smell. Something intimate.

On my recent trip to Boulder, I stepped into a used bookstore and was delighted by the smell of aging paper. People keep telling me I need to get an e-reader. I might someday, sure. But for now, I do love the joy that comes from discovering a book's acquired scent (from previous owners?), the scribbled notes in the margins and, of course, those little identifiers, "this book belongs to..." penciled onto the front pages.

The book I ended up buying in Boulder, The Time Traveler, by Joyce Carol Oates, smells like dust and old leather. And maybe a bit of rain. It has only one page of scribbled notes, where someone dared (!) write a bit of their own poetry.

It is the image we search for,
but honestly As we separate
to infiltrate
It is that we struggle to
salvage different colored candies
we're like children plastered to
windows after the rained out
party with the sugar dissolving
on the red picnic tables

I have no idea what this means, but I love it all the same. I wish I had had the courage to write my poetry (in pen!) in someone else's book. Who knows, maybe by now all of my old books smell like me (have you ever tried to smell yourself? It's nearly impossible - like trying to look at your own eyeball). But, is it too late to start scribbling?

(Maybe I'll start poetry bombing. Yes!)

Fort Fun!

I fell in love in Fort Collins, Colorado. With a beer. With this beer:

It is the Cocoa Mole Ale from New Belgium Brewing Company. OHMYGOD.

But. I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me back up.

Driving to Fort Collins from Boulder, I pulled into the New Belgium Brewing Company five minutes late. I was supposed to be on a tour that my friend Suzy was leading. I rushed in, got my ticket and then found myself standing in front of some closed double doors. I took a deep breath and slid one door open just wide enough for my head to peak through. There in front of me was Suzy - and the entire tour group - looking straight at me.

So much for being discreet.

I stepped into the room and gave Suzy a big hug in front of everyone. I was so happy to see her I didn't care. We laughed and she announced to everyone that I was her friend Robin and we hadn't seen in each other in over six years. Everyone raised a glass and cheered.

The rest of the weekend we caught up, attempted to speak Czech with her husband Marek (I failed miserably) and rode bicycles in the cool morning air before I had to run off to catch a plane.

Saying goodbye, I felt like I hadn't really expressed how much seeing her meant to me, so I ran up to her and squeezed her one last time.

If this is what turning 35 feels like, well then, I'll take it.

Meanwhile, in Boulder...

While visiting Boulder, my heart cracked open. It was a little unnverving. Maybe it was the altitude, the headache humming relentlessly in my brain due to dehydration or perhaps it was the slow, very relaxed pace that caught me off guard.

It might have had something to do with this book I am reading. I'm just guessing.

I sought refuge in long walks down Pearl street, at the edge of the trails, in a tour of the Celestial Seasonings tea factory (two words: MINT ROOM), in meeting with new friends and in the cool sunshine.

When there was no where left to go, I settled into the middle of a big blue chair, sipped on chamomile tea and read a new (new to me) book of poetry by Joyce Carol Oates.

Overall, not a bad place to have my heart cracked open.

In Boulder, my heart cracked open. It was a little unnverving. Maybe it was the

altitude, the headache humming relentlessly in my brain because of dehydration or

perhaps it was the slow, very relaxed pace that caught me off guard.

It might have had a little to do with this book I am reading. I'm just guessing.

I sought refuge in my walks down Pearl street, in a tour of the Celestial Seasonings factory (two words: MINT ROOM), in meeting with new friends and in the cool sunshine.

Don't Wait Too Long

"I was recently looking at a magazine article called 'Ten Things to Do Before You Die.' I have a list of one. Before we die, we should all experience our wisdom and compassion. If we don't experience that, the list of ten things will grow to a hundred or a thousand."

Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche
from Ruling Your World

My 35th birthday is just around the corner and it's a little scary. I have to admit, though, that I've loved my thirties. They started off kind of rough. Okay, very rough. But every year since then has been better and better.

I don't really have a whole lot - for what's expected at my age, anyway. I'm not married, I don't have any children and I don't own a house.

But. I finally feel comfortable in my own skin (most of the time!), I'm a hell of a lot nicer (and not in that passive-aggressive way we Southern girls are known for either) and I generally feel happier and more relaxed.

Not to say that life has been easy or at all simple. Hardly. However, over time, I have softened. I see things differently. I see myself differently.

This, to me, is priceless. Do you know how long it has taken me to even begin feeling this way? Entirely too long! But, you have to start somewhere.

YOU, reading this - don't wait too long. Your wisdom and compassion are waiting for you (with endless amounts of patience).

In the meantime, something sweet for you to listen to...

Because sometimes

Because I've stayed up entirely too late.

Because I've had way too much wine.

Because someone recently said to me that my blog was very metta and I don't know how to respond to that (because sometimes, I kind of want to be offensive...and that's not very metta...).

Because, my sister said, "I might sound angry because I use the word 'shit' a lot," and I find that very funny.

Because sometimes, spending time with my sister is more important than trying to write the perfect blog post (I don't think those actually exist...shhh...).