May, 2013
Archive

  • Am I a Barbarian, Or Are Museums Pretentious?

    Do you like going to museums?  I don’t think I do.  I like the idea of museums as a place to gather while exposed to creativity.  I enjoy art.  I appreciate appreciating things.  But museums are so quiet and sterile.  They kind of take the life out of the art. You are expected to be a poised and unmoved observer as you examine and judge what someone has poured their soul into.  It is a weird context.  Oh, here is a bunch of shit- look at it all at the same time, value it, understand it, be cultured and sophisticated about it… but do so in a soft whisper.  I had to find out the hard way it is frowned upon to say “fuck that cool” loud enough for anyone to hear.

    If you go to museum with someone, you are expected to have some complex academic answer for why you like what you like.  Forget that fact that art is totally subjective and maybe you just like Picasso because you are into the color blue.  If I were to say, “I like this because it is pretty” or “I don’t like that because it is ugly” I would not be valued as a good museum partner.

    But maybe I am coming at this wrong?  Perhaps I am slightly traumatized from my childhood experiences with museums.  That being that every birthday from 4 to 12 my parents forced me to go to one.  I personally don’t know many 7-year olds who voluntarily want to spend their birthday at the museum rather than eating cake while watching a demented clown make balloon animals, but I guess my parents did.  I remember walking around for hours and wondering how long I had to stand there for people to think I did a good job of looking at the painting.

    So when The Munch and I went to Boston for the day, my mom and dad decided they wanted to spend some time with her…. And take her to the Museum of Fine Arts.

    Toni: “Mom, are you sure that is where you want to bring her? You don’t want to go to the aquarium or park or something?”

    My Mom: “Oh don’t be ridiculous Toni.  You loved going to the museum as a kid.”

    I feel you Munch

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  • What Is Your First Memory?

    It’s hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that The Munch probably isn’t going to remember these first 3 years of her life.  What the eff?!  I want credit for this shit!!!!!!!! Thank god I write down every embarrassing story about her, and every great thing I do- so I can remind her until the end of time.  You are welcome Munch.

    Even though we don’t specifically remember our babyhood and early childhood years, they still imprint our personalities, energy, and even cells.  It is kind of wild to think about all the life lessons we internalized, both good and bad, that as adults we will never be able to specifically recall.  Perhaps much of our humor, fears, happiness, or sadness all comes from this mysterious time that will forever be shrouded in a fog.

    This made me wonder what my first memory was.  It was not clear to me, so I sat and thought, and thought, and then it came to me.

    I was on the toilet.  I had just gone poop.  I was calling for my dad “Dad! Dad! Wipe me! I need you to wipe my bum!”  But he wasn’t coming.  I guess I wasn’t paying attention, and I slipped into the toilet.  My bum was submerged and my legs were pressed tightly against my chest.  I was stuck in the toilet with my ass in shit, and shit coming out of my ass.  “Dad! Dad! I am stuck!!!”

    Finally my dad did come, but I think this story explains a lot about who I am now.

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    May 30, 2013 • 2 years old • Views: 2095

  • You Spin Me Right Round Baby, Right Round

    When the Whirling Dervishes come to town you are going to see that shit.  At least I am.  I think it is interesting to witness the practice of connecting to the oneness of all things and the eternal godliness of the universe.  Devotion through meditative gestures and excessive efforts seems like a path towards something.  The mystical journey of truth is not going to be found on my Facebook feed that is for sure.  Even though one seems slightly more entertaining than the other – perpetual bliss and enlightenment vs. a funny video with Jimmy Fallon lip-synching.  Tough call.

    Of course I brought The Munch with me, because if I am going to transcend space and time, so should she.  We got to the front desk and I handed the woman a check as my mandatory donation for the event.

    Lady: “Is that what your are planning on using for your signature?”

    Toni: “Excuse me?”

    Lady: “That’s the signature you are actually using for this check?”

    Toni: “Ummm yup.  That’s my signature.  I guess I should have been a doctor?”

    Lady: “Or paid more attention in school.”

    Things were off to a great start.  I wasn’t exactly sure of the scene upstairs, but I realized pretty quick when greeted with a bunch of “shhhhhhhh’s” that my friend Miriam and I had been talking too loud on our way up.  Everyone was seated in a circle around an empty space and we found our way next to my friend Sarah.

    The Munch was the only child in a five-mile radius and all I could do was pray that she behaved herself.  You don’t want to be that person that everyone resents because they brought their kid.  But at the same time, I think kids should be more integrated into adult situations.  If they are always excluded from things that aren’t specifically kid-friendly then how will they ever know your interests?  If I didn’t bring The Munch with me to things I liked then she would assume I actually think going down a 3 foot slide is exciting.

    The room was very quiet, then the music started to play.  It was subtle, and understated. A flute flittered in the background and The Munch let out this really loud noise/yawn/release that almost perfectly mimicked the pitch of the instrument – just 8 volume decimals louder.

    The Whirling Dervishes came in and started… you guessed it… whirling.  Just going around and around and around themselves in circles.  A man who worked at the museum came over because he was concerned The Munch was sitting on my lap.

    Man: “Does she need her own chair?”

    Toni: “No she is fine. Thank you.”

    Man: “Are you sure?”

    Toni: “Yes thank you.”

    The man then walked back to where he was standing, and The Munch decided I was wrong.

    Munch: “Mamma, I need my own chair.”

    Toni: “No Munch you are fine.”

    Munch: “No I need my own chair.”

    Toni: “Munch you are good.  Just sit on my lap.”

    Munch: “I am going to go ask that man for a chair.”

    She then slithered off my lap to ask the man for a chair. Now the Munch is wise enough to know to whisper at events like these, but the man she was talking to was old, and kind of deaf.  He couldn’t hear what she was saying.  She kept whispering “I need a chair” and he kept pointing to his ear.  She would then whisper “ear” because she assumed he was testing her knowledge of body parts, and things got all confusing.

    So I got her a chair and showed her that she could sit on it and stop harassing that man.  As the Whirling Dervishes spun around and around and around, Munch started fidgeting on her precious chair.

    Munch: “Mamma… I am stuck.”

    She had some how wedged herself into that gap between the seat of the chair and the back of the chair.  Either way I tried to pull her out seemed geometrically impossible.  It was like extracting a flat screen TV out of a bagel.

    Toni: “Jesus Munch.  Which way did you go in? Head first or feet first?”

    Munch: “Umm, my bum.”

    I barely managed to stuff her butt back through the tight space and she was free.  Then The Munch just started walking over to the man who worked at the museum to show him how she could twirl, what the inside of her mouth looked like, her new party shoes and would then remove the shoulder straps of her dress seductively while he desperately tried to pursued her to pull them back up.

    Munch then got hungry, and thank goddess Miriam had a Lara bar.  Of course she had to pee at one point, and then almost insisted that I “talk loud” because her baby needed to “wake up and not be so lazy.”  When the Dervishes stoped whirling the room was silent expect for a loud whisper saying “I don’t want to go Mamma.  I want to stay here.”

    I wasn’t sure if she was a welcome addition to the event, or some old hippies were going to stone me.  But luckily when people started talking they said how well behaved she was, and the man who worked at the museum called her delightful.  It’s a good think old people don’t see or hear that great.

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  • My Murderess Family

    It is not everyday that your mother tells you that you are the direct descendent of a mass murderer.  Especially under the context of bragging to someone at a dinner party.

    My Mom: “You know Toni is Hungarian – from her father’s side.  She is actually related to Elizabeth Báthory.”

    Party Guest: “Oh really? Well isn’t that delightful.”

    Toni: “Who is Elizabeth Báthory?”

    My Mom: “Oh you remember.  She was that famous countess who murdered hundreds of virgins to bathe in their blood to retain her youth and beauty.”

    Toni: “What? How did I not know this?”

    My Mom: “I have told you this before.”

    Toni: “Well strangely enough I blocked it out.”

    My Mom: “Well don’t worry, according to your grandmother it was all blown out of proportion because she was a protestant.”

    Toni: “Right. Of course.”

    I decided to do a little research on my ancestor, and I am not sure I am glad I traveled down this sinister path.  Here are some of my reactions to her Wikipedia:

    “Elizabeth Báthory (1560-1614) inspired numerous stories during the 18th and 19th centuries. The most common motif of these works was that of the countess bathing in her victims’ blood to retain beauty or youth.  She has been labeled the most prolific female serial killer in history, although the number of murders is debated, and is remembered as the “Blood Countess” and Countess Dracula.

    MOST PROLIFIC FEMALE SERIAL KILLER IN HISTORY!  Although I don’t exactly think murdering is a fantastic pastime, if you are going to go for it, you might as well be the best right?  And Countess Dracula sounds kind of badass.  But call me old fashioned – doesn’t wanting eternal youth and beauty sound a little vain? I would almost rather she murdered all those girls because they told her that her thighs were chunky.

    “She was an educated woman who could read and write in four languages. There were several instances where she intervened on behalf of destitute women, including a woman whose husband was captured by the Turks and a woman whose daughter was raped and impregnated.  1578, Her husband Nádasdy became the chief commander of Hungarian troops, leading them to war against the Ottomans. With her husband away at war, Elizabeth Báthory managed business affairs and the estates. That role usually included providing for the Hungarian and Slovak peasants, even medical care”

    Okay so she wasn’t all bad… She didn’t brutally slaughter everyone.  Reading and writing 4 languages! That is pretty impressive!  Not to mention that she had her own version of Obama- Care. Probably branded it “Báthory-Benefit for those I have yet to massacre.”

    “According to all this testimony, her initial victims were the adolescent daughters of local peasants, many of whom were lured to Csejte by offers of well-paid work as maidservants in the castle.  Abductions were said to have occurred as well. The atrocities described most consistently included severe beatings, burning or mutilation of hands, biting the flesh off the faces, arms and other body parts, freezing or starving to death. The use of needles was also mentioned by the collaborators in court.”

    Oh dear… that’s pretty bad.  Did she really need to mutilate hands?  Seems a tad unnecessary.

     

    “The exact number of young women tortured and killed by Elizabeth Báthory is unknown, though it is often speculated to be as high as 650, between the years 1585 and 1610. The estimates differ greatly. During the trial and before their execution, Szentes and Ficko reported 36 and 37 respectively, during their periods of service. The other defendants estimated a number of 50 or higher.”

    That is a pretty huge discrepancy.  And who has the time to kill 650 people?? That is a full time job.  Your jaw would get exhausted from all that face biting.  650 seems like a bit of an exaggeration to me.  But even the low-ball number is still a lot of girls to kill.  This chick seems like kind of a cunt.

    “László Nagy has argued that Elizabeth Báthory was a victim of a conspiracy, a view opposed by others. Nagy argued that the proceedings were largely politically motivated. The theory is consistent with Hungarian history at that time. There was great conflict between religions, including Protestant ones, and this was related to the extension of Habsburg power over Hungary. As a Transylvanian Protestant aristocrat, Elizabeth belonged to a group generally opposed to the Habsburgs.”

    Okay Laszlo… I hope you are right because I am feeling pretty uncomfortable right about now.

    “Thurzó debated further proceedings with Elizabeth’s son Paul and two of her sons-in-law. A trial and execution would have caused a public scandal and disgraced a noble and influential family (which at the time ruled Transylvania), and Elizabeth’s considerable property would have been seized by the crown. Thurzó, along with Paul and her two sons-in-law, originally planned for Elizabeth to be spirited away to a nunnery, but as accounts of her murder of the daughters of lesser nobility spread, it was agreed that Elizabeth Báthory should be kept under strict house arrest, but that further punishment should be avoided.  King Matthias requested that Elizabeth be sentenced to death. It was also determined that Matthias would not have to repay his large debt to her, for which he lacked sufficient funds.”

    Well… this seems kinda shady King Matthias.  But she still did seriously get away with murder.

    “During the trial, dozens of witnesses and survivors, sometimes up to 35 a day, testified. All but one of her servants testified against her, and the one who refused had her eyes gouged out and her breasts removed before being burned at the stake. In addition to the testimony, the court also examined the skeletons and cadaver parts found as evidence.”

    Okay so it may not have been in good form for Báthory to savagely annihilate all those virgins, but seems like a pretty twisted society that would gouge out some eyes and cut her boobies off.  Maybe she wasn’t in the best of company?

    “Three of the defendants – Semtész, Jó and Ficko – were condemned to death. The sentences were carried out immediately. Before being burned at the stake, Semtész and Jó had their fingers ripped off their hands with hot pokers, while Ficko, who was deemed less culpable, was beheaded, and his body burned. Benická was sentenced to life imprisonment, since recorded testimony indicated that she was dominated and bullied by the other women.”

    What’s with ripping off hands and mutilating them?? Do we still do that?

    “Báthory was never brought to trial, but her family had her imprisoned in Čachtice Castle for life. She was kept bricked in a set of rooms, with only small slits left open for ventilation and the passing of meals. She remained there for four years, until her death. On 21 August 1614, Elizabeth Báthory was found dead in her room.”

    Okay this is all really awful.  But she just wanted to stay young and alive for eternity right? At least she had a purpose and wasn’t just killing for the fun of it.

    “This legend appeared in print for the first time in 1729, in the Jesuit scholar László Turóczi’s Tragica Historia, the first written account of the Báthory case. At the beginning of the 19th century, this certainty was questioned, and sadistic pleasure was considered a far more plausible motive for Elizabeth Báthory’s crimes.”

    Oh.  Huh.  Yeah.  Soooooo

    Although my mom can flippantly say I am the distant spawn of this beast of a woman, I have to admit this is all quite disturbing.  I hope that Laszlo and my grandmother are right…. that this is all just a Protestant propaganda conspiracy theory.  But I am not so sure.  So to all those virgins who were murdered by the evil of Báthory’s hands… SORRY you were killed and SORRY you never had sex!!!

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    May 28, 2013 • 2 years old, Family Drama, Musings, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 250

  • What Do you Pray For?

    Some people pray for a world without war.  Others to end famine.  I personally pray for the day I can take a crap in peace.

    Munch: “Where are you going?”

    Toni: “I just have to go bathroom.”

    Munch: “Are you going just pee? Or poops?”

    Toni: “That is my business.”

    Munch: “NO IT’S MY BUSINESS! Oh… you are going poops.”

    Toni: “Sigh. Yes you are right.”

    Munch: “Here let me give you toilet paper.”

    Toni: “Munch, no, give that back to me.”

    Munch: “NO I WANT TO GIVE YOU THE TOILET PAPER!”

    Toni: “Fine.”

    Munch: “Here.”

    Toni: “I need more than square munch.”

    Munch: “You want another one?”

    Toni: “Yes.”

    Munch: “Here.”

    Toni: “Munch, give it to me.  I need more than one square at a time.”

    And with that… she just ran away laughing with the toilet paper.  Leaving me on the toilet to rot.

    Toni: “MUNCH! MUNCH!! COME BACK HERE!! I NEED THE TOILET PAPER!”

    But she had the nerve to just ignore me.  I could hear The Munch laughing in the other room.  So finally I waddled over to the living room with my pants around my knees… and there I found her.  She had taken all the last of the toilet paper and balled each square individually into tiny little balls.

    Toni: “Munch!! Why did you do that? I can’t wipe my bum with dingleberries!”

    Munch: “Maybe you can just eat them?”

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  • March Against Monsanto

    On May 25th a mass protest is being organized against Monsanto.  I do not necessarily believe that protesting alone can change policy in this day and age, yet I do think that it is worth our time to do whatever we can to express our discontent with corporate plutocracy.  If anything it is at least an opportunity to better network with each other.

    We need to be as proactive as possible to an impact on how our food system works.  It is important to organize and educate each other, as well as deeply investigate the companies that are feeding us.  Right now, the best form of activism is being hyper aware of how you spend your money, and not supporting companies that are contaminating the land and their product.

    People are very impassioned when it comes to this issue, and there are many different ways to analyze information.  But no matter what your opinion on GMO’s and pesticides… whether you seem them as problematic or necessary… here are two ideas worth chewing on.

    Do you remember Russia… you know, the country we were at war with for WORLD POWER? Yeah, well they haven’t gone away – even if we did break up their empire.  Recently the president of Russia met with John Kerry and he is pretty pissed.

    “President Putin’s meeting this past week with US Secretary of State John Kerry reveal the Russian leaders “extreme outrage” over the Obama regimes continued protection of global seed and plant bio-genetic giants Syngenta and Monsanto in the face of a growing “bee apocalypse” that the Kremlin warns “will most certainly” lead to world war… At the center of this dispute between Russia and the US, this MNRE report says, is the “undisputed evidence” that a class of neuro-active insecticides chemically related to nicotine, known as neonicotinoids, are destroying our planets bee population, and which if left unchecked could destroy our world’s ability to grow enough food to feed its population.”

    I don’t know about you, but a world war sounds terrifying.  Especially one that is based on corporate greed and a refusal to adapt their business model.  I am not saying Monsanto can’t make money.  Make all the money you want Monsanto.  Have it all.  But maybe not murder the bees while you are doing it?

    I think we all know how important bees are to our food system, and the rest of the world seems pretty concerned that they are all dying.  And if all the bees die what are our options? To get children to pollinate the flowers with their tiny fingers?

    The other thing worth thinking about is that Monsanto impacts the entire world’s food system.  That is too much power for any one company to have over the most precious resource on the planet.  You could have more money than god, but if you are hungry and thirsty you are going to be in a bad mood, and eventually die.  Food is vital.  Our food system needs to be governed by a collective effort, not ruled by a dictatorship.

    There are many things we can argue about when it comes to geopolitical issues, but can’t we all agree that we don’t want to die in a world war, and that eating is important?

    I am inspired by the fact that Monsanto has already been removed from Austria, Bulgaria, Germany, Greece, Hungary, Ireland, Japan, Luxembourg, Madeira, New Zealand, Peru, South Australia, Russia, France, and Switzerland.  It gives me hope that we can do it here too.

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    May 24, 2013 • 2 years old, Current Events, Eating, Environmental Impact, Health, Musings • Views: 115

  • Lying Your Way Out of Trouble… Or into Trouble

     

    When I was a kid there was a Mormon PSA about lying, and in it was this song that went  “When you tell one lie, it leads to another. So then you tell two lies, to cover each other.  Then you tell three lies, oh brother, you are in trouble up to your ears!”

    Catchy right?  Such a powerful life lesson! So you would think I would have known better than to lie to my parents as a child, but I still did it. If you are likely going to get in trouble anyway, why not lie first and at least try to get out of it?  It’s not like if I murdered someone and then told the truth I would not go to prison.  Either way I am fucked, so why not say “I have no idea where they are…. Definitely not chopped up and stuffed into this pot of soup that smells like burnt flesh and decay.”

    This is a story of one of many lies I told my mom and dad as kid.  I was 12 years old and with my best friends Bitty and Elizabeth.  My parents were out for the day, and we decided it would be a good idea to paint our fingernails.  But we wanted to do this lovely activity while watching a movie in the living room.  Because if you are going to be painting your nails fire engine red, you have to be watching “Girls Just Want To Have Fun” in the background.

    Now herein lays the problem.  My mother had just gotten a carpet custom made, and had given me an extensive list of all the things I could not do in the living room such as eat, drink anything but water, wear shoes, makes messes, or walk on the rug.  In fact when we entered the living room we had to crawl along the wall like Spiderman to get to the couch.

    But I figured we would put newspaper down, and paint our nails over that.  Bitty and I decided that it would be cool do one nail pink and the next orange – so we were sharing polishes.  Bitty, however, failed to realize that I had not properly closed the cap on the red, but instead had only placed it in the bottle.  So she grabbed the bottle and instinctively shook it.  The cap flew off and red nail polish splashed everywhere… including all over my mom’s precious rug.

    Toni: “Holy fuck.”

    Bitty: “Shit.”

    Elizabeth: “Shit Fuck.”

    Toni: “Bitty why did you do that?”

    Bitty: “Toni, why did I do that? Why didn’t you screw the cap on???? What is wrong with you?”

    Elizabeth: “What the fuck just happened?”

    Toni: “We have got to clean this up before my parents get home.”

    Bitty: “Well why don’t we use nail polish remover?”

    Elizabeth: “Okay I will go get some.”

    We start scrubbing furiously with nail polish remover.

    Toni: “Son of a cock.  Its not working!”

    Bitty: “Why don’t we add cleaner to it.”

    Elizabeth: “Okay I will make a mixture.”

    The scrubbing continues.

    Toni: “Fucking whore its just making everything pink and the rug fuzzy.”

    Bitty: “Oh god.”

    Elizabeth: “I know… why don’t we try cutting the stains out?”

    Toni: “Okay I will get a knife.”

    Bitty: “Like this?”

    Elizabeth: “Yeah….”

    Toni: “Dude now the rug is pink with holes cut into it.”

    Bitty: “Your mom is going to murder us.”

    Elizabeth: “You mean you guys.  I didn’t do anything.”

    Toni: “Well you are in it now.”

    Bitty: “I am scared.”

    Elizabeth: “Me too.”

    Toni: “Don’t worry I have an idea… I am going to get us out of this.”  And with that I hid the evidence under the bench and concocted my story.

    My parents came home and the first thing they saw was the rug.  Bitty, Elizabeth looked at them sheepishly, but I was poised.  I had a plan, and it was a good one.  I was going to lie my way out of this mess.

    My Mom: “Toni! What the fuck happened to my rug?”

    Toni: “Fiona (our dog) had her period on it.”

    My Mom: “What? How can that be? Fiona is spade?”

    Toni: “It can still happen.  She can still get her dog period even though she is spade.”

    My Mom: “Then why does it smell like nail polish remover?”

    Toni: “Well, because Lily’s dad always cleans his dog’s stains with nail polish remover.  So I thought it would work.”

    My Mom: “Really?  Joel cleans his dog’s stains with nail polish remover?”

    Toni: “Yup.”

    My Mom: “TONI WHY THE FUCK ARE THEIR HOLES CUT INTO MY RUG.”

    Toni: “Well some of the blood chunks were chunkier than others so we had to cut them out.”

    My Mom: “Okay that is it.  Girls.  Separate, I am questioning you each individually.”

    Needless to say Bitty and Elizabeth were not seasoned liars like I was, and the truth came out.   We all got grounded and my mom gave me The Bearenstain Bears book about how lying is wrong- specially annotated just for me.   But we all know that lying wasn’t the real problem.  It was the fact that I ruined her rug…. But there was no book for that.

    Here are the two main culprits…. Me and Bitty… and some of the MANY specialized pages of the Bearenstain Bear Book

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  • Can You Define Spirituality?

    What is spirituality?  No seriously.  What is it?  People often say they are not religious but they are spiritual.  Yet that feels really vague to me with such a broad spectrum of possibilities.  Even my own understanding seems convoluted to myself. Am I still considered spiritual if I worship the dark lord Ungoolu and believe my child is an immaculate conception from the venom of his black seed? But don’t worry it didn’t hurt.  It was only a little prick.

    When I was growing up I went to Catholic Church every Sunday until I was 15 years old.  My father’s mother was very religious, and it was important to her that my brother and I attended mass, so my dad made sure he honored her wishes.  But neither of my parents every told me what to believe.  They just brought me along and exposed me to it.

    My dad was also a professor of ancient Greece, so I was very familiar with their Gods and the stories of Zeus, Hera, Aphrodite and the rest.  So herein laid my conflict as a 6-year old trying to wrap my head around God and religion.  I couldn’t understand why the religion of the Ancient Greeks was now so commonly considered “myth” where the modern religions were said to be “truth.”  What made one a fable and the other one fact?  Why were the gods of the past relegated to fairytale?

    I didn’t like the idea that one religion was right another was wrong.

    My other issue was around the concept of eternity.  My grandmother would tell me that when I died I would go either to heaven or hell forever.  I don’t know about you, but that concept freaked me the fuck out.  Eternity.  Forever.  Still gives me the heebie-jeebies.  I didn’t want to be in either place forever.  Even being in heaven for eternity was a terrifying concept.  So I asked my dad if he ever felt this way.

    Child Toni: “Dad did the concept of forever scare you when you were a kid?”

    My dad: “Of course.  It still scares me.”

    Child Toni: “I don’t want to be dead forever.  I really don’t want it happening for that long.  Why can’t it just be over? What does the after life have to be so long?”

    My dad: “Well, the idea of eternity in the western mind is very linear.  Like a line that just extends forever in one direction.  But the Greeks thought of eternity as cyclical.  So they had this concept called Telos, which means coming full circle.  That always makes me feel better.  To think of time as a circle not a line.”

    Child Toni: “Okay.  Can I have fruity pebbles for breakfast?”

    My dad: “Maybe another time.”

    Even though I had these fundamental questions that made me feel unsettled, I would go to church every Sunday, and I would think.  I would contemplate the concepts of life and death.  I wondered about mortality constantly, but never felt like I was getting any closer to comprehending it.  And then when I actually lost someone I truly loved and cared about I finally understood.

    When I was 20 my best friend died, and it broke me.  She was an angel of a person, and the tragedy crushed my soul.  But I realized that if I still let myself love her, that we would still be connected.  There was an energetic tie that kept us together even if she was no longer living on the planet.   I allowed myself to love her just as much as I ever did and even though I missed her more than anything, I still felt close to her.  I had to let go of the expectation I would ever see her again in a way that my human mind understood, but I would forever hold on to how much she meant to me.

    And then spirituality started to make sense… even if in a very esoteric way.  Thinking in terms of love, energy, vibration, and connection.  It was around the time that my friend died that I started getting interested in Yoga. And through my physical practice came the introduction to the philosophical and spiritual elements.  Although I have never actively studied eastern religion, over the years I have had many experiences with meditation and chanting.  And it is through those practices that have helped me find a small semblance of inner peace.

    It is when I am meditating or chanting that I can turn off that voice in my head that keeps chirping.  The connection to “Godliness” or “spirituality” I think can only truly be felt when the chatter of the ego is quieted.  It’s hard to have a spiritual moment while your ego is saying in your mind’s ear “I think yellow suede boots would make my butt look tighter.”

    So I meditate and chant to help quiet my inner mind.  But I realize that I don’t really even know what I am saying half the time.  I bring The Munch to Kirtan where we chant in Sanskrit, and I could be singing how “I want a pigeon to peck my armpits” for all I know.  But I go because I believe there is healing in mediation and chanting.  That it connects you to the vibration of the universe.  Through those channels you can find moments of genuine noiselessness in your mind in heart.  It is in that silence where the truth is hidden.

    The Munch loves going to Kirtan and all the other new-agey things I drag her to.  She sings along, plays with her babies, and emulates the weird dancing of hippies swaying their bodies around while failing their limbs.  But hopefully through these experiences she will contemplate the greater mysteries of existence and one day find her own beliefs.

    (Notice that Munch is wearing her lady bug bathing suit…)

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    May 22, 2013 • 2 years old, Adventures, Education, Mommy Mind, Musings • Views: 170

  • Crawling Back In

    The world is a daunting, complicated, cold place.  Sometimes we all want to crawl back into the womb.

    (PS… if you think this looks like anything other than The Munch playing hide and seek under my skirt than get your head out of the gutter!)

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    May 21, 2013 • 2 years old, Musings • Views: 709