easter: tradition

i was on the phone

with my mom

just the other day.

we talked of the upcoming

holiday:

easter.

being far away from

family and friends,

i asked what festivities

would be taking place at home

without me.

the easter egg hunt?

the egg dying?

the visiting easter bunny?

lunch?

brunch?

family photos?

no, she replied.

the usual easter festivities

are on pause

until another year, she said.

because

this year my family finds itself

stationed in various

locations

around the globe.

we are not together.

and so the usual is not

the usual this year.

before i knew what was happening.

i was .... angry.

at my mom.

my mom?

whose children have traveled far

from her by their own accord.

whose children are not filling

her house this holiday.

i was angry at

my mom.

because when you are not home.

you imagine that home still goes on.

in fact, you need it to.

because it is home.

it's your culture.

it's your traditions.

it has made you

who you are.

but what i sometimes forget...

is that MY CHOICES

affect the whole.

MY CHOICES, 

not to be classified as

good

or

bad.

but just as MY CHOICES.

they affect my mom,

they affect home.

my irrational anger

turned to simple disappointment,

all the while giving me 

greater understanding

of myself

of what i want

and what i desire in life.

i realized that i needed

the traditions.

the remembrance of the traditions

when i find myself

a long way from home.

because it is the traditions

that serve as a reminder of

who i am

of who i want to be

and of where i come from.

because sometimes it takes 

distance for you

realize that you need

reminders.

reminders 

of who you are.

who you want to be.

and where it is you came from.

so, dear friends,

make the traditions.

remind your family, your friends, 

your sisters, 

your children, your aunties

and cousins.

 remind them to mark the days.

because someday

you might find that your little girl

has traveled a long way

from home.

and you might find that you miss her on

the special days.

but you can be sure...

you can be sure that the traditions,

the way you marked the days,

while they might have

seemed foolish,

so much work and effort 

at the time.

you can be sure,

that she now holds onto them.

perhaps clings to them

as she is out there

in the world.

as she walks confidently out into

the world,

she holds within her

bits of you

that you gave her

steadily over the years.

she might never acknowledge it.

to you

or even herself.

but it matters.

the traditions,

they matter.

mark the days.

so when distance separates,

you can be reminded.

that is...

if you need a reminder

which, sometimes we do.

this is how my mom celebrated her easter day this year.

with a small red pot of tea, the afternoon sun, along the mississippi river...

this is how i celebrated my easter day this year.

with some friends, a blanket, the afternoon sun, along the river...

happy easter.

dusk.

i could see it from my

 classroom window.

i knew it would be

stunning.

so after my 36 "see you next time!" 

to my students,

i threw my things

together,

waved a hurried goodbye

to my co-teacher,

and i was out the door.

i wanted to see the sun,

to see it say its goodbye

to the day

from the roof

of my apartment.

with my camera,

i stood tip-toe

on the corner of the

drying-rack stand.

i could just see the very last

edges of it.

it cast the most beautifully

haunting shadows and shades

over every object in its sight.

the light

made the ordinary

magical

and intriguing.

while i starred

at the last rays 

of the beams of sun

it seemed that 

everything else went a bit

blurry.

and only the sun

mattered.

colors of a garden.

have you ever walked through

a garden

in spring time?

when the dirt looks hard and tired?

brittle still from remeants of cold that

cling despite the sun's beams?

untilled, rocky at the edges.

torn and cracked from

months of aloneness?

it's hard to imagine.

that something,

that anything

 could

come from: 

grey-ness. dull-ness.

often

i assess the outcome

long before the

growing as even taken place.

i often desire the end, first.

without the process.

sometimes i desire to rush things

to rush people

to rush myself

into the potential

that is waiting.

lucky for me.

lucky for you.

farming is left to the wise.

who know better.

this past weekend.

i attended a yoga purification camp

sponsored by Ayurveda Yoga studio.

a group of 40 Koreans and various foreigners

headed up to a quiet hill location in Muju.

among many experiences,

who is in?

tea meditations

PanchaKosha lecture

crying meditation

laughing meditation

yoga nidra

kriya yoga

hatha yoga

various breath techniques

forest walking meditation

all-night mediation

it feels hard to sum up in any respect.

i was introduced to many new things.

my body and mind fluctuated 

moment to moment

in how open and willing i was to push

and test myself.

all the while seeking to remain respectful

and listen to what was occurring

inside.

the balance.

is hard to have.

i couldn't help but think

that

for something to grow 

there must be a cost.

or at least, there must be intention

and time.

always time.

saturday evening arrived

bringing the deep rumbling desires for dinner.

as we made our way into the

dinning area.

never.

have i been greeted with a meal

so divinely pure.

breathtakingly beautiful.
creatively simple.

the colors.

bright.

the forms.

natural.

the concept.

simple.

so simple.

i don't think

i've ever enjoyed or rejoiced

over each bit of raw food bliss.

celebrated each

color for its color.

each taste for its taste.

each juice for the juice.

"well done. you grew splendidly."

my mind wandered to the 

grey-ness. dull-ness.

of the garden in spring.

the dirt, still caked and tight.

for as far as i could see.

and i was reminded

that sometimes it takes time.

and it's unfair to wish the growing

process away.

because it all belongs.

the slowness.

the dullness.

the aloneness.

the greenness.

the gradual life.

the intention.

sometimes we get to chance

to experience the end

even if we are in the middle.

and sometimes it might seem scary,

the end.

but sometimes

it might be as wonderful

as eating the colors 

of a garden.

and so i remind myself,
be present to the process.
and the colors.