Never Done: I went swimming (and took a shvitz) in my building on my lunch break
It was a long morning that stretched into the afternoon. Trainings, meetings, reading through the files that the old arts and culture director left, building tour. It was 2 pm before I had 5 minutes to eat a sandwich at my desk and 3:10 pm before I got to take a break, and I had another meeting at 4. My head was spinning from learning computer programs, and My eyes were shutting from a poor night's sleep. So what's a Jewish arts professional to do? Drink coffee? Never! Not at least when there's a swimming pool three floors down. So I grabbed my suit, which is already living under my desk. Now, I knew the pool was going to close at 3:30, and for a moment I considered that maybe I didn't have enough time to swim. But then I reconsidered. Was I going for a workout? No. I was going for refreshment. So I went down and changed into my suit and entered the pool deck. Wow. What a pool deck. It's on the 5th floor, with floor to ceiling windows - light streaming in. I hopped into an empty lane, and I started to swim laps. I was tired, I was tight, I was thinking about arts programming for MLK day, but I was swimming in the middle of my work day. Amazing. Before I knew it, the pool closed, and so I hopped out and showered. (They have shampoo and conditioner and soap!) But I'd only been out of the office for 15 minutes and there was a steam room just beckoning me, so I went in. Just for five minutes, but five minutes of hot steam in the middle of the work day! And another shower! (And q-tips and body lotion and deodorant!) (And towel service!) and before I knew it, I was back upstairs taking a call (my first, never done) about comps for the next program and off to a meeting with the box office manager and then another with my boss. But I was fresh, attentive, and relaxed.
Swimming is a Jewish value. We are actually mandated to teach our children to swim. Ostensibly that's because it's a safety measure - to prevent unnecessary drowning. But I also value swimming for it's relaxing, strengthening, and meditative qualities. And for all that, I said the Shehekhianu. Omeyn.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
I started my new job as Director of Performing Arts at the Manhattan JCC
Never Done: I started my new job as Director of Performing Arts at the Manhattan JCC
It's been a long time since I regularly commuted. Since I got up early and was first in the shower, dressed in something other than a shleppy t-shirt, ate breakfast, packed a lunch (along with a work bag and a workout bag) and left for the train before 8 AM, knowing that I'll be doing it again tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.
The prospect of the F to 2/3 train transfer at 14th street sort of depressed me, so I opted for a 20-minute walk to the 2/3 at Grand Army Plaza, and then a one-train, 40-minute ride. (Apologies to people who don't live in New York, who aren't obsessed with train travel; the point is, I didn't want to be late on my first day, and it can feel vulnerable to put your responsibility to your new job in the hands of the MTA. I got to work on time. Just.)
Being new is like being a worldly baby with a lot of context and life experience and dozens of parents (or guardians.) How do you get hot water out of the hot water machine? Your boss can show you. How do you set up your email and phone? The tech team can show you. Can you have a gym locker? No. What kind of MLK programming do we do? The archivist will send you old programs. Does my program have a Facebook page? The marketing department knows about that. And then you suddenly grow up real fast when you find out there are some nights to program in September and have an invitation to a theatre festival in Israel (in 6 weeks) if you think it would be a good use of your time. Meanwhile, how do you make hot water come out of that machine, again? And do you know when I'll get my own desk?
And so the day went. One unexpected highlight came when I went out to find some lunch, and I found (after I ate a lovely meal at a vegan cafe) four blocks from my office, an outpost of Luke's Lobster -- my number one top favorite lobster roll place in NYC. I've written about them before -- Luke is a Mainer who supports the Maine lobster industry by donating a portion of his profits to the Maine Lobsterman's Association. Also, he makes a fabulous lobster roll. I was already happy about my new job, but I find it particularly delightful that on the same day I got to talk about shomer shabes cultural programming, I also found my beloved treyf just up the street.
It's been a long time since I regularly commuted. Since I got up early and was first in the shower, dressed in something other than a shleppy t-shirt, ate breakfast, packed a lunch (along with a work bag and a workout bag) and left for the train before 8 AM, knowing that I'll be doing it again tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.
The prospect of the F to 2/3 train transfer at 14th street sort of depressed me, so I opted for a 20-minute walk to the 2/3 at Grand Army Plaza, and then a one-train, 40-minute ride. (Apologies to people who don't live in New York, who aren't obsessed with train travel; the point is, I didn't want to be late on my first day, and it can feel vulnerable to put your responsibility to your new job in the hands of the MTA. I got to work on time. Just.)
Being new is like being a worldly baby with a lot of context and life experience and dozens of parents (or guardians.) How do you get hot water out of the hot water machine? Your boss can show you. How do you set up your email and phone? The tech team can show you. Can you have a gym locker? No. What kind of MLK programming do we do? The archivist will send you old programs. Does my program have a Facebook page? The marketing department knows about that. And then you suddenly grow up real fast when you find out there are some nights to program in September and have an invitation to a theatre festival in Israel (in 6 weeks) if you think it would be a good use of your time. Meanwhile, how do you make hot water come out of that machine, again? And do you know when I'll get my own desk?
And so the day went. One unexpected highlight came when I went out to find some lunch, and I found (after I ate a lovely meal at a vegan cafe) four blocks from my office, an outpost of Luke's Lobster -- my number one top favorite lobster roll place in NYC. I've written about them before -- Luke is a Mainer who supports the Maine lobster industry by donating a portion of his profits to the Maine Lobsterman's Association. Also, he makes a fabulous lobster roll. I was already happy about my new job, but I find it particularly delightful that on the same day I got to talk about shomer shabes cultural programming, I also found my beloved treyf just up the street.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
I finished watching all of Battlestar Galactica
Never Done: I finished watching all of Battlestar Galactica
Not only was it the third day of a three-day weekend, but it was the last day before the first day of my new job, so I grabbed the opportunity to watch the final episodes of Battlestar Galactica. Now, pay attention, OK? If you have not seen it yet and you think you want to, stop reading now. I am going to write lots and lots of spoilers.
SPOILER ALERT: When Alex and I first watched the beginning -- it starts with a four-episode miniseries -- I came to the conclusion (and wrote about it on this blog) that the show is a creation myth, all about discovering Earth. When the final episode wrapped, a small group of highly technologized survivors had, indeed, found Earth -- they landed in what appears to be tribal Africa, and spread out to start their new lives. For the most part, it's difficult to imagine what that life will be like -- how this group of humans and cylons in their slinky dresses and military garb will create a new society in the African savanna. There's talk about building new cities, but Lee Adama is against it. (No city. Not this time.) He wants to let humanity start all over again. Let the Colonials enter the new world with just their basic possessions, and teach the best parts of themselves to the tribal humans on this world. He explains that humans have always let their brains outrace their hearts. He hopes that by giving up their advanced technology, they might "break the cycle." This is of course a topic near and dear to my heart -- the way city people carry the illusion that cities are somehow more advanced than rural, agrarian societies, and at the same time, the way that city people romanticize rural, agrarian societies. This gets a little deeper when Gaius Balthar, the opportunistic scientist turned politician turned messianic figure returns to his farming roots which he had violently rejected (going so far as to have changed his rural accent and ridiculed his father for being a simple peasant farmer) and with tears (of defeat? relief?) scouts out a piece of arable land.
And so much more. The Colonials agree to let the Centurions (robotic cylons who have decimated most of humanity) go free, reasoning that although "it's a risk, setting them free might be enough to break the cycle of violence." (Big message point!) Laura Roslyn, the president of the colonies, passes away while watching a huge flock of pink ibis, and whispering "So much life." Admiral Adama, everyone's daddy figure, leaves the rest of the Colonials to settle alone on a bluff. Lee Adama sets out on adventure. Starbuck, whose was prophesied to be the angel of death, turns out not to be an angel that brings people to their deaths, but an angel who had come back from the dead, who then led people to Earth. Her mission complete, she disappears -- and although she (and we) are not sure where, I assume that because she is an angel, she'll drop in on the people she loves from time to time. And finally, Hera -- the half-human, half-Cylon child of Athena and Agathon runs and jumps across a field, as her parents playfully argue over who will teach her to hunt.
And I thought, OK, this group of people somehow survived, and co-existed with the tribal people, and maybe it happens in the future, and maybe it's in the past, or maybe it's actually in the present -- I can't quite tell -- because if it's in the past, and Laura Roslyn was eating sushi on Caprica 5 years earlier and now she's landed into a hunter gatherer society on planet Earth, then what is happening to time? Maybe they are all time masters, like the shaman told me I am, and they can allow past, present and future to coexist. Yeah, maybe that's what was going on.
And then there was a title card: 150,000 years later. And we drop into modern day Times Square, a man reading a newspaper about the discovery of the Mitochondrial Eve -- the woman from whom all living people descend. It's made clear that this is Hera -- and that the extremely modern, highly-evolved, sushi-eating society that landed on tribal Earth 150,000 years ago, did in fact evolve and grow and "advance" to a shiny, urbanized, technological society. In fact, the point is driven home when we see a video display about simple robots, with a sign: Advances in robotics.
It has all happened before. But will it all happen again?
Not only was it the third day of a three-day weekend, but it was the last day before the first day of my new job, so I grabbed the opportunity to watch the final episodes of Battlestar Galactica. Now, pay attention, OK? If you have not seen it yet and you think you want to, stop reading now. I am going to write lots and lots of spoilers.
SPOILER ALERT: When Alex and I first watched the beginning -- it starts with a four-episode miniseries -- I came to the conclusion (and wrote about it on this blog) that the show is a creation myth, all about discovering Earth. When the final episode wrapped, a small group of highly technologized survivors had, indeed, found Earth -- they landed in what appears to be tribal Africa, and spread out to start their new lives. For the most part, it's difficult to imagine what that life will be like -- how this group of humans and cylons in their slinky dresses and military garb will create a new society in the African savanna. There's talk about building new cities, but Lee Adama is against it. (No city. Not this time.) He wants to let humanity start all over again. Let the Colonials enter the new world with just their basic possessions, and teach the best parts of themselves to the tribal humans on this world. He explains that humans have always let their brains outrace their hearts. He hopes that by giving up their advanced technology, they might "break the cycle." This is of course a topic near and dear to my heart -- the way city people carry the illusion that cities are somehow more advanced than rural, agrarian societies, and at the same time, the way that city people romanticize rural, agrarian societies. This gets a little deeper when Gaius Balthar, the opportunistic scientist turned politician turned messianic figure returns to his farming roots which he had violently rejected (going so far as to have changed his rural accent and ridiculed his father for being a simple peasant farmer) and with tears (of defeat? relief?) scouts out a piece of arable land.
And so much more. The Colonials agree to let the Centurions (robotic cylons who have decimated most of humanity) go free, reasoning that although "it's a risk, setting them free might be enough to break the cycle of violence." (Big message point!) Laura Roslyn, the president of the colonies, passes away while watching a huge flock of pink ibis, and whispering "So much life." Admiral Adama, everyone's daddy figure, leaves the rest of the Colonials to settle alone on a bluff. Lee Adama sets out on adventure. Starbuck, whose was prophesied to be the angel of death, turns out not to be an angel that brings people to their deaths, but an angel who had come back from the dead, who then led people to Earth. Her mission complete, she disappears -- and although she (and we) are not sure where, I assume that because she is an angel, she'll drop in on the people she loves from time to time. And finally, Hera -- the half-human, half-Cylon child of Athena and Agathon runs and jumps across a field, as her parents playfully argue over who will teach her to hunt.
And I thought, OK, this group of people somehow survived, and co-existed with the tribal people, and maybe it happens in the future, and maybe it's in the past, or maybe it's actually in the present -- I can't quite tell -- because if it's in the past, and Laura Roslyn was eating sushi on Caprica 5 years earlier and now she's landed into a hunter gatherer society on planet Earth, then what is happening to time? Maybe they are all time masters, like the shaman told me I am, and they can allow past, present and future to coexist. Yeah, maybe that's what was going on.
And then there was a title card: 150,000 years later. And we drop into modern day Times Square, a man reading a newspaper about the discovery of the Mitochondrial Eve -- the woman from whom all living people descend. It's made clear that this is Hera -- and that the extremely modern, highly-evolved, sushi-eating society that landed on tribal Earth 150,000 years ago, did in fact evolve and grow and "advance" to a shiny, urbanized, technological society. In fact, the point is driven home when we see a video display about simple robots, with a sign: Advances in robotics.
It has all happened before. But will it all happen again?
Monday, July 4, 2011
I bought a book I'd already bought (and read)
Never Done: I bought a book I'd already bought (and read)
It was late. I was tired. The trains were messed up. I was sad. I saw a bookstore. I went in. I decided to find a good summer book -- not too hard, not too long, but still something that would jump off the shelf and draw me in for a meaningful summer read. I looked in staff picks, but mostly they were books I'd already read -- at least 10 years ago. I moved over to new fiction and found a book that looked wonderful until I picked it up and felt how heavy it was. I didn't want anything too heavy. And then I found it. A new (well, 2009) novel by Lorrie Moore, one of my favorite authors, called A Gate at the Stairs. I knew right away that it was the right choice for now -- familiar because she's such a familiar author, but adventurous because it's a new novel to me.
I bought it, and I went down into the messed up subway, feeling relaxed because I had something to read, I cracked the cover, and immediately I knew. I had read this book before. I thought about going back up and out to return it and find a new one, but it was late and I was tired and the trains were messed up and I was sad and I just wanted to get where I was going, so instead, I sat down and waited for the train.
And then I realized that this is the first time that doing something again was something I had never done before, and the Möbius strip quality of this thought was amusing enough to let me open the book and start to read it again.
It was late. I was tired. The trains were messed up. I was sad. I saw a bookstore. I went in. I decided to find a good summer book -- not too hard, not too long, but still something that would jump off the shelf and draw me in for a meaningful summer read. I looked in staff picks, but mostly they were books I'd already read -- at least 10 years ago. I moved over to new fiction and found a book that looked wonderful until I picked it up and felt how heavy it was. I didn't want anything too heavy. And then I found it. A new (well, 2009) novel by Lorrie Moore, one of my favorite authors, called A Gate at the Stairs. I knew right away that it was the right choice for now -- familiar because she's such a familiar author, but adventurous because it's a new novel to me.
I bought it, and I went down into the messed up subway, feeling relaxed because I had something to read, I cracked the cover, and immediately I knew. I had read this book before. I thought about going back up and out to return it and find a new one, but it was late and I was tired and the trains were messed up and I was sad and I just wanted to get where I was going, so instead, I sat down and waited for the train.
And then I realized that this is the first time that doing something again was something I had never done before, and the Möbius strip quality of this thought was amusing enough to let me open the book and start to read it again.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
I saw Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo and The Dream of Wild Ponies Dancing
Never Done: I saw Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo and The Dream of Wild Ponies Dancing
It's a great day when I can see performance created by friends. It's an even greater day when I can see two. And it's a fascinating day when one of them is on Broadway and one of them is in a little outdoor garden space in the East Village, and both of them are ultimately quite meaningful.
Because I'm not a reviewer, and I decided at the beginning of the year not to review my friends' work in this blog, I'm not going to write about content of either performance. Instead, I'm going to write about what ultimately was most meaningful to me -- environment. After seeing Rajiv Joseph's Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo, the friend I went with said that she thought it would have had a greater impact if it wasn't on Broadway -- if it was in a theater about the size of the New York Theater Workshop, for example, which is a wonderful, high-quality small theater. While we both acknowledged that the play would lose its astounding production design in a smaller house, I ended up feeling that the audience could have connected better to both the play -- and actually to itself as an audience -- in a different kind of theatrical environment. Because you never really forget that that's Robin Williams, do you? And even if you do, then you don't -- because the audience claps for him when he enters the stage, and when he exits, and sometimes, randomly, in the middle of a scene in the middle of the play. And when the lights come up during intermission, you are most definitely in a Broadway house, with liquor for sale in the lobby -- not a non-profit theater which might have decided to design the lobby -- or even intermission performance -- to keep the audience engaged with the play.
I should add -- I love Broadway shows. I love the ornate houses, and I love being swept away, far from New York, into the imaginary worlds created on their stages. And you know what else I love? Going to a garden in the East Village that presents music, film, theater, and other performance in, around and through the foliage of the garden itself, where I went later with a different friend to see Quito Ziegler and friends' Department of Transformation. A completely different performative experience -- one in which there was a premium on the audience's ability to connect with the performance and with itself. One where we tucked into little corners together, and shared a watermelon, and watched Super 8 film projected onto a building's wall. One in which the lines between party and performance were blurred -- as were the lines between community and community building. I ended up feeling that the environment for this performance was a work of art in and of itself, and I'm not sure if I would have understood this as strongly had I not just come from the Richard Rogers just a few hours earlier.
It's a great day when I can see performance created by friends. It's an even greater day when I can see two. And it's a fascinating day when one of them is on Broadway and one of them is in a little outdoor garden space in the East Village, and both of them are ultimately quite meaningful.
Because I'm not a reviewer, and I decided at the beginning of the year not to review my friends' work in this blog, I'm not going to write about content of either performance. Instead, I'm going to write about what ultimately was most meaningful to me -- environment. After seeing Rajiv Joseph's Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo, the friend I went with said that she thought it would have had a greater impact if it wasn't on Broadway -- if it was in a theater about the size of the New York Theater Workshop, for example, which is a wonderful, high-quality small theater. While we both acknowledged that the play would lose its astounding production design in a smaller house, I ended up feeling that the audience could have connected better to both the play -- and actually to itself as an audience -- in a different kind of theatrical environment. Because you never really forget that that's Robin Williams, do you? And even if you do, then you don't -- because the audience claps for him when he enters the stage, and when he exits, and sometimes, randomly, in the middle of a scene in the middle of the play. And when the lights come up during intermission, you are most definitely in a Broadway house, with liquor for sale in the lobby -- not a non-profit theater which might have decided to design the lobby -- or even intermission performance -- to keep the audience engaged with the play.
I should add -- I love Broadway shows. I love the ornate houses, and I love being swept away, far from New York, into the imaginary worlds created on their stages. And you know what else I love? Going to a garden in the East Village that presents music, film, theater, and other performance in, around and through the foliage of the garden itself, where I went later with a different friend to see Quito Ziegler and friends' Department of Transformation. A completely different performative experience -- one in which there was a premium on the audience's ability to connect with the performance and with itself. One where we tucked into little corners together, and shared a watermelon, and watched Super 8 film projected onto a building's wall. One in which the lines between party and performance were blurred -- as were the lines between community and community building. I ended up feeling that the environment for this performance was a work of art in and of itself, and I'm not sure if I would have understood this as strongly had I not just come from the Richard Rogers just a few hours earlier.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
I met Devin
Never Done: I met Devin
Actually, the Never Done activity I planned (and did) for the day was to go to Fairway for the first time. A real New York rite of passage, no? I think I made the mistake though of going in a hurry, because instead of it feeling like a miracle of abundance, it felt like a crush of overwhelm and confusion. Why are there three different places with the same kind of carrots and two places with the same kind of cantaloupes? I think it's intended so lots of people can get at the produce at the same time, but really, it's quite confusing. Also, why is there a sign for gluten free breads and crackers that points directly away from the breads and crackers? Do you scoop your own coffee? There are bags of nuts -- why aren't there bags of raisins and other dried fruit? But most of all, why is it that with so much to choose from, it's harder to find anything out of the ordinary? I went in with big intentions to break out of my Food Coop routine, but I ended up buying what I always buy: lots of produce, yogurt, soy milk, turkey, smoked fish, cheese, sunflower seeds, almonds, and a bar of dark chocolate. (Welcome to my world. It's actually amazing how much variation you can get with this baseline. At the end of the day I had a surprisingly transcendent tofu and vegetable stir-fry, made with rich mushroom soup stock I had frozen some months ago.)
I think if I had had time, I would have wandered through the aisles with a little more attention, considering sauces and pickles and meats and teas. But I didn't, so I didn't, and instead I walked down the aisles -- every single one of them -- thinking I should want to try something out of my normal realm, but instead feeling that we over-consume, and don't need as many choices as we are offered, and doing what I tend to do, which is to decide I don't really need it, whatever it is.
So I bought my groceries (the same I usually buy at twice the price ... but a parking lot!) and went to my lovely and full day that included not one but two friend dates, one of which brought me to meet Devin. Who's Devin? He's the newborn (18-day-old) son of my friends Jennifer and Lisa. And what is more Never Done than meeting a baby? It somehow feels fresher and more significant than meeting an adult for the first time. Maybe it's because they've hardly met any other people in their short little lives yet. To think of it, they've hardly even done anything at all in their short little lives -- although I'd probably be surprised at how much he's packed into 18 days. I bet to him, it feels like Fairway felt to me -- a whirlwind of newness, so much to take in, not sure what to do with it all. But most of the time I saw him, all he did was sleep, which looked like a totally appropriate response to being two weeks old. You've got my full support on that one, Devin. I followed your example not so long after seeing you (and I bet your parents would love a little of that sweet slumber as well.) In fact, I think that one of the great things we can learn from newborns is that it takes a lot of rest to be human. I'm going to try to remember that.
Actually, the Never Done activity I planned (and did) for the day was to go to Fairway for the first time. A real New York rite of passage, no? I think I made the mistake though of going in a hurry, because instead of it feeling like a miracle of abundance, it felt like a crush of overwhelm and confusion. Why are there three different places with the same kind of carrots and two places with the same kind of cantaloupes? I think it's intended so lots of people can get at the produce at the same time, but really, it's quite confusing. Also, why is there a sign for gluten free breads and crackers that points directly away from the breads and crackers? Do you scoop your own coffee? There are bags of nuts -- why aren't there bags of raisins and other dried fruit? But most of all, why is it that with so much to choose from, it's harder to find anything out of the ordinary? I went in with big intentions to break out of my Food Coop routine, but I ended up buying what I always buy: lots of produce, yogurt, soy milk, turkey, smoked fish, cheese, sunflower seeds, almonds, and a bar of dark chocolate. (Welcome to my world. It's actually amazing how much variation you can get with this baseline. At the end of the day I had a surprisingly transcendent tofu and vegetable stir-fry, made with rich mushroom soup stock I had frozen some months ago.)
I think if I had had time, I would have wandered through the aisles with a little more attention, considering sauces and pickles and meats and teas. But I didn't, so I didn't, and instead I walked down the aisles -- every single one of them -- thinking I should want to try something out of my normal realm, but instead feeling that we over-consume, and don't need as many choices as we are offered, and doing what I tend to do, which is to decide I don't really need it, whatever it is.
So I bought my groceries (the same I usually buy at twice the price ... but a parking lot!) and went to my lovely and full day that included not one but two friend dates, one of which brought me to meet Devin. Who's Devin? He's the newborn (18-day-old) son of my friends Jennifer and Lisa. And what is more Never Done than meeting a baby? It somehow feels fresher and more significant than meeting an adult for the first time. Maybe it's because they've hardly met any other people in their short little lives yet. To think of it, they've hardly even done anything at all in their short little lives -- although I'd probably be surprised at how much he's packed into 18 days. I bet to him, it feels like Fairway felt to me -- a whirlwind of newness, so much to take in, not sure what to do with it all. But most of the time I saw him, all he did was sleep, which looked like a totally appropriate response to being two weeks old. You've got my full support on that one, Devin. I followed your example not so long after seeing you (and I bet your parents would love a little of that sweet slumber as well.) In fact, I think that one of the great things we can learn from newborns is that it takes a lot of rest to be human. I'm going to try to remember that.
Friday, July 1, 2011
I went to see a shaman
Never Done: I went to see a shaman (in Tribeca)
I don't think I ever expected to say -- or write -- those words in this lifetime, but one of the most wonderful things about my Never Done practice is that it leads me to be open and non-judgmental about new experiences. Three weeks ago, I was talking with a close friend about my lung problems, when she became quite focused and said, "You have to see Shaman Elizabeth."
Without even knowing anything about Shaman Elizabeth, I knew in that instant that I would be going -- mostly because I could tell that my friend's conviction was strong, and that she truly believed this could help me, and partly because when you are doing a Never Done practice and someone tells you to see a shaman in Tribeca ... well, duh. Also, I don't think it's uncommon, when we are bumping up against the limits of what traditional medicines can do for us, to start looking into more obscure healing modalities. So I wrote for an appointment (her closest one was three weeks out) and waited, as my lungs got worse, and I tried more inhalers and prednisone, and then finally got a diagnosis of GERD, which is also somehow often linked to having a deep cough (although nobody can explain exactly how.)
I'm not going to tell you everything about my session, because it feels important to me that most of what she said and did should stay private. But I'll describe parts of it. The first thing is, Elizabeth is a pretty blonde Minnesotan. This is not who I would immediately think of as having a shamanic calling. (I don't actually know if she has Native ancestry -- I decided that it didn't matter to me one way or the other.) She works out of a small room in her loft -- a room like many massage studios - with a couch, a massage table, and a table filled with stones, feathers, bottles of clear liquid, and other talismans. She asked me to leave my shoes and bag outside, and to take off my jewelry. Then we sat on the couch and talked -- Elizabeth with little pretense, and a great deal of compassion and curiosity. She asked me why I was there, and I found it reassuring that this wasn't a test in which she had to prove what she could tell without our talking -- but that she wanted lots of information that would inform the rest of the session. She told me that much trauma that we are dealing with in this life is rooted in our past lives, and that she can find it and clear it out. We talked about a great deal of family history during this time -- ending with my parents' deaths. She wanted to know if they had died worrying about anything, or feeling like they needed to take care of someone. She said that sometimes if that's the case, they don't cross over to the other side, and stay in limbo and attach themselves (and sometimes their physical or emotional needs) onto us. She also stressed that when dealing with a physical manifestation like my bad cough, it's imperative to keep working with doctors -- that these healing modalities compliment each other, not replace each other.
She asked me to choose a stone from a tray, and when I chose, she made a little sound of surprise. She asked me to blow on it three times, and then she took it. She asked me to stand up, and she shook a gourd rattle around me, and made some blessings, and then did something with her hands -- she describes it as working with the energy around me. This was -- for lack of a better word -- the diagnostic part of the session. She told me what she saw, and what she wanted to do to heal it. I will say that what she saw made an awful lot of sense to me, both physically and metaphorically.
Then she asked me to lie down on the massage table and hold my stone -- first on my stomach, and then on my back. This was the heart of the session -- I was probably on the table for 45 minutes to an hour, while she used feathers, stones, stone knives, something she burned, some of the fragrant water, and her hands and voice to clear out what needed to go, and to instill what needed to be there to replace it. What she was doing was actually very literal, which I loved because I could picture the process clearly. I also loved the fragrances of the burning and the liquid -- and that's not a given for me. When she was done, she asked me to sit up, and we spoke. The first thing she told me was that she had been quite surprised at the stone I chose. It's a stone about time mastery -- rarely (if ever) chosen. Time mastery, she said, is about past, present, and future all existing at the same time, and is always associated with advanced healing. She told me that my session was not about past life trauma at all, but about intergenerational trauma -- passed down from my ancestors to me, looping around in cycles, existing in the past and present simultaneously. She said she rarely sees this, and thought it was connected to my having chosen the time mastery stone, which also pointed to the fact that I am already well into the healing process. Also, for those of you who knew them and are wondering, she also let me know that she did not see my parents hanging around in limbo -- that they are crossed over.
She told me more what she had done to clear out the trauma, and to instill something more positive to replace it. She also gave me the bands of protection, because she felt that after she removed all the protections I had in place (that weren't serving me well) that she would be leaving me too vulnerable. The bands of protection are visualized bands of black, red, gold, silver, and white light wrapped around my chakras, and then woven together into a permeable mesh of protection. She gave me a round stone that I can carry around for at least a few weeks to help me remember to invoke the bands of protection. Finally, she suggested I go home and take a hot bath with epsom salts and baking soda. She said she thought she had cleared out a lot from my lungs, but that it probably now hurt in my throat (which it did.) She suggested getting all the way into the hot bath -- all the way so my throat would be under water -- and letting that help clear things out the rest of the way.
The rest of the day was tough -- my cough got worse, and I got a headache, and I got incredibly tired. I wasn't able to go to sleep though -- was out til almost 10PM. But when I finally got home, I did draw a hot bath with baking soda and epsom salts (which I had just randomly bought last week) and sunk down deep for as long as I could, and then climbed into bed and slept better than I've slept in weeks.
I don't think I ever expected to say -- or write -- those words in this lifetime, but one of the most wonderful things about my Never Done practice is that it leads me to be open and non-judgmental about new experiences. Three weeks ago, I was talking with a close friend about my lung problems, when she became quite focused and said, "You have to see Shaman Elizabeth."
Without even knowing anything about Shaman Elizabeth, I knew in that instant that I would be going -- mostly because I could tell that my friend's conviction was strong, and that she truly believed this could help me, and partly because when you are doing a Never Done practice and someone tells you to see a shaman in Tribeca ... well, duh. Also, I don't think it's uncommon, when we are bumping up against the limits of what traditional medicines can do for us, to start looking into more obscure healing modalities. So I wrote for an appointment (her closest one was three weeks out) and waited, as my lungs got worse, and I tried more inhalers and prednisone, and then finally got a diagnosis of GERD, which is also somehow often linked to having a deep cough (although nobody can explain exactly how.)
I'm not going to tell you everything about my session, because it feels important to me that most of what she said and did should stay private. But I'll describe parts of it. The first thing is, Elizabeth is a pretty blonde Minnesotan. This is not who I would immediately think of as having a shamanic calling. (I don't actually know if she has Native ancestry -- I decided that it didn't matter to me one way or the other.) She works out of a small room in her loft -- a room like many massage studios - with a couch, a massage table, and a table filled with stones, feathers, bottles of clear liquid, and other talismans. She asked me to leave my shoes and bag outside, and to take off my jewelry. Then we sat on the couch and talked -- Elizabeth with little pretense, and a great deal of compassion and curiosity. She asked me why I was there, and I found it reassuring that this wasn't a test in which she had to prove what she could tell without our talking -- but that she wanted lots of information that would inform the rest of the session. She told me that much trauma that we are dealing with in this life is rooted in our past lives, and that she can find it and clear it out. We talked about a great deal of family history during this time -- ending with my parents' deaths. She wanted to know if they had died worrying about anything, or feeling like they needed to take care of someone. She said that sometimes if that's the case, they don't cross over to the other side, and stay in limbo and attach themselves (and sometimes their physical or emotional needs) onto us. She also stressed that when dealing with a physical manifestation like my bad cough, it's imperative to keep working with doctors -- that these healing modalities compliment each other, not replace each other.
She asked me to choose a stone from a tray, and when I chose, she made a little sound of surprise. She asked me to blow on it three times, and then she took it. She asked me to stand up, and she shook a gourd rattle around me, and made some blessings, and then did something with her hands -- she describes it as working with the energy around me. This was -- for lack of a better word -- the diagnostic part of the session. She told me what she saw, and what she wanted to do to heal it. I will say that what she saw made an awful lot of sense to me, both physically and metaphorically.
Then she asked me to lie down on the massage table and hold my stone -- first on my stomach, and then on my back. This was the heart of the session -- I was probably on the table for 45 minutes to an hour, while she used feathers, stones, stone knives, something she burned, some of the fragrant water, and her hands and voice to clear out what needed to go, and to instill what needed to be there to replace it. What she was doing was actually very literal, which I loved because I could picture the process clearly. I also loved the fragrances of the burning and the liquid -- and that's not a given for me. When she was done, she asked me to sit up, and we spoke. The first thing she told me was that she had been quite surprised at the stone I chose. It's a stone about time mastery -- rarely (if ever) chosen. Time mastery, she said, is about past, present, and future all existing at the same time, and is always associated with advanced healing. She told me that my session was not about past life trauma at all, but about intergenerational trauma -- passed down from my ancestors to me, looping around in cycles, existing in the past and present simultaneously. She said she rarely sees this, and thought it was connected to my having chosen the time mastery stone, which also pointed to the fact that I am already well into the healing process. Also, for those of you who knew them and are wondering, she also let me know that she did not see my parents hanging around in limbo -- that they are crossed over.
She told me more what she had done to clear out the trauma, and to instill something more positive to replace it. She also gave me the bands of protection, because she felt that after she removed all the protections I had in place (that weren't serving me well) that she would be leaving me too vulnerable. The bands of protection are visualized bands of black, red, gold, silver, and white light wrapped around my chakras, and then woven together into a permeable mesh of protection. She gave me a round stone that I can carry around for at least a few weeks to help me remember to invoke the bands of protection. Finally, she suggested I go home and take a hot bath with epsom salts and baking soda. She said she thought she had cleared out a lot from my lungs, but that it probably now hurt in my throat (which it did.) She suggested getting all the way into the hot bath -- all the way so my throat would be under water -- and letting that help clear things out the rest of the way.
The rest of the day was tough -- my cough got worse, and I got a headache, and I got incredibly tired. I wasn't able to go to sleep though -- was out til almost 10PM. But when I finally got home, I did draw a hot bath with baking soda and epsom salts (which I had just randomly bought last week) and sunk down deep for as long as I could, and then climbed into bed and slept better than I've slept in weeks.
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