• Bio

Rebecca Jane

  • Garland of Words

    February 22nd, 2019

    This garland of words attempts to engage in an intimate reading of the bestselling novel Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens with the sensibility and sensitivity of a yogi.

    Just for fun, I tried this breathing pattern: while reading Owens novel, I inhale slowly and deeply through the pursed lips as if drinking in Life, and exhale very slowly and completely through the nose.  Breathing and reading so slowly and deeply, I place my gaze and easygoing concentration on one word then the next. This makes the act of reading a very slow and sensual meditation.

    In this way, let us awaken the wisdom of the ecstatic tremor here and now.

    Try it, Beloved Friend. For now, breathe slowly and deeply through the pursed lips while we focus together closely on this one scene in the novel.

    Tate is the young man who teaches Kya to read. Eventually their physical desire to touch each other reaches the climactic point where they must kiss.

    In this moment, Tate asks Kya a loaded question, “Where is your Ma?” Kya reveals the heartbreak: her mother abandoned her. In his turn, Tate shares the loss of his mother and sister in a fatal car accident. United in the psychological scar of Losing Mother revs up to the moment when they smash lip to lip. Here goes:

    “And just at that second, the wind picked up, and thousands upon thousands of yellow sycamore leaves broke from their life support and streamed across the sky. Autumn leaves don’t fall; they fly. They take their time and wander on this, their only chance to soar. Reflecting sunlight, they swirl and sail and flutter on the wind drafts.”

    These leaves, flying, no, soaring into death, spark joy. In the spirit of feeling the freedom that is Death, Tate rises and invites Kya to play, to catch as many leaves as they can before the leaves touch the ground. In the height of fun, they bump and lock in their gaze.

    “He took her shoulders, hesitated an instant, then kissed her lips as the leaves rained and danced around them as silently as snow.”

    Where the Crawdads Sing, page 124

    Owens writes the scene with the grace of a wildlife lover. Her expression gives a sense that the bliss these characters enjoy in this kiss is the bliss always in the trees, the leaves, the birds, the sky, the marsh, and the stars — all joined together in the Dance of Life. What’s more, Tate and Kya’s kiss brings awareness to the inner life of trees, leaves, birds, sky, and star as these beings eternally tremble with the same energy that humans tremble with when two humans kiss.

    Tate and Kya’s moment of union creates bliss in the human physical body, the intense pleasure of two beings kissing. Often it takes kissing for humans to remember the bliss quiver of life that is always present in every piece of life. This is a state of being that we long to connect to with a human physical body; but what does it take to maintain the human body to be completely free of any pain or discomfort and to abandon all that we are to pure thrill and excitement? We long for this state of pleasure because in this state it is easiest to sense the Sacred Tremor that is always there, or what tantrikas* refer to as Spanda. (*Please note that tantrika is simply a spiritual adept who knows how to weave the energies of the sacred into every dimension of life: eating, shitting, fucking, fighting, the comic and the tragic — to a tantrika, it is all sacred). The question is this: how do we sustain this state of pleasure, freedom, and ease every moment?

    In certain yogic breathing exercises, we purse the lips and breathe through the mouth. This way of breathing stimulates the tenth cranial nerve, the vagus nerve, the longest cranial nerve, which goes all the way from the head to the abdomen, stimulating heart, lungs, and digestion. The vagus nerve, when stimulated and refined, brings circulation, respiration, and digestion into synchronicity.

    Kissing the lips of another being feels so satisfying because we engage in a moment in which one being’s vagus nerve syncs up with another being’s vagus nerve, creating a moment of physical union. The vagus nerves of two bodies spark simultaneously. Two hearts drum at once. Lungs lift and shift. Digestive dance within two bodies comes to a welcome pause. The link is so gratifying that one kiss can even unite two beings for years or even lifetimes. One kiss united Kya and Tate. And kept them tangled psychologically and spiritually long after their physical bodies endured years of separation.

    Kundalini Yoga Master and Maha Tantric Yogi Bhajan once taught the Trikuti Kriya.  In this kriya, we chant the Wahe Guru mantra. When we chant, we focus the sound Wa at the belly, Hey at the heart, and Guru at the lips. On Guru, the lips purse out stimulating the vagus nerve. If the yogi maintains one-pointed focus on the lips while vibrating Guru very powerfully through the lips, then the exercise reveals itself not as a physical exercise but as a sensual and playful act of kissing the Wah Hey Guru mantra. 

    If humans think it feels nice to lip kiss each other, well contemplate all the possible pleasure of kissing the Wahe Guru Mantra! Kissing Wahe Guru gives the sensation of kissing infinity, and it continues as an Infinite Kiss. Embracing the Trikuti Kriya as a Sadhana while one reads Where the Crawdads Sing can possibly give exalted pleasures because the tremor in the words and the nerve tremor in the body can collaborate to give a perception that every moment is a divine smooch, a mystical merge with a marsh, and a grand, exalted, salty coupling of wildlife with humanity.

    I guess this is what it means to read with the sensibility of a yogi. It means to perceive the story dissolved until it is no longer about Kya and Tate, but about polarities coming into union: reader and writer, wild and tame, boy and girl, past and future, up and down, spring and autumn, hot and cold, literate and illiterate, leaves and roots, modern pubescent physical desire and ancient yogic mystical wisdom, pleasure and pain, on and off, loneliness and companionship, life and death. The totality of polarities included. No polarity left behind…

    All polarities unite that is a state of yoga. Pure and simple union.

    May all beings realize the ways reading while breathing through the pursed lips creates unity with the Infinite. May all beings realize the deep pleasure of practicing Yogi Bhajan’s Trikuti Kriya every day as a way to experience Sacred Kiss. And may all beings continue to feel the ecstatic tremor within making out with G.O.D.

    Sat Naam!

    Cover of Where the Crawdads Sing designed by Meighan Cavanaugh

  • A Book Review & the Himalayas

    February 14th, 2019

    The writer in me longs to communicate and reveal conflict; the yogi in me longs to be in silence and unity.  My first travels to the Himalayas brought to the surface the tensions between these two dimensions of my being. 

    When I journeyed to the Himalayas for a yoga immersion in the Fall 2017, I received a golden opportunity to travel with a well-known yogi and his students.  My job was to pen down and transcribe his teachings.  I thought that my writing journey and my yogic journey finally received an opportunity to merge.

    I am generally reserved.  I get to know people intimately before I am ready to share.  When I started to open up to this group of traveling yogis, a deeper conflict vexed me:  back home among my writing friends, no one expressed much enthusiasm for the benefits of the practice or the esoteric dimensions of yogic philosophy that fascinate me; meanwhile, among my yoga friends here bumping around in this old bus on this dangerous road from Chandigarh to Leh, there was no interest in lyrical writing.  No one shared a joy for reading.  So, I got to wondering:  How shall my writing life and yoga life resonate a sense of communion?  If no unity is possible, will the deeper yogic exploration of consciousness compel me to give up writing?  Or, conversely, will the word-lover in me — and my love for literary writing — urge me to abandon yoga practice? 

    Himalaya: A Literary Homage to Adventure, Meditation, and Life on the Roof of the World is an anthology that offers me companionship through this inner conflict.  This collection of over thirty essays reveal a range of voices.  Ruskin Bond and Namita Gokhale are astute editors who created a gathering that perceives the Himalayas from all angles.  This book offered me a way to reconcile my spiritual practice with my writing life. 

    For instance, in his essay “Ladakh Sojourn,” Andrew Harvey contemplates: “Every object in the light of Ladakh seems to have something infinite behind it; every object, even the most humble, seems to abide in its real place.” 

    This reminded me of practicing meditation at Lake Pangong.  We stared, unblinking, at the space between our eyes and a mountain.  We gazed so long with empty minds at the space between our eyes and the mountain until every object grew blurry and dissolved.  In his essay, Harvey continues his mind’s wandering over the myriad ways Tibetans, Kashimirs, Ladakhis, and Muslims live, struggle, and pray side by side in this ancient mountain town.  I welcomed everything I gazed upon to show me how to abide in my real place.    

    Arundhathi Subramaniam’s presence in this anthology fills me with deep pleasure.  She is a kindred spirit.  She travels with her teacher, Sadhguru. In her essay, “Just a Strand of Shiva’s Hair: Face-to-Face with the Axis of the World,” Subramaniam struggles on an uphill trek toward Mount Kailash, her whole being so fatigued it hurts to breathe.  Her essay describes her inner journey, one in which her consciousness shifts from respectful observer to cautious participant, and finally, reluctantly, she realizes she is a devotee.  This is the kind of inner crossing that the Himalayas inspire.  

    There is a theme that repeats in yogic stories wherein the seeker comes to realize that book knowledge is inferior to lived experience.  As a reader and literacy advocate, I am always uncomfortable with this theme.  Finally, I have found that this anthology supports my personal notion that a book gives an experience; reading is an experience.  Perhaps in the past some yogis and sages realized that books do not give ultimate spiritual experience, but books are not the problem. The problem arises when there is any sense of upholding one kind of experience superior over another. Books are not superior to lived experience. Nor is lived experience superior to book knowledge. Neither is higher nor lower. We bow to both.

    Now, I remember the feeling of cold stones touching my forehead when we bowed on the bank where the Indus and Zanskar Rivers meet.  With my consciousness flowing over memories of my physical journey to the Himalayas mixed with reading the anthology followed by arriving to the end of writing this essay, there exists a flow that comes to a meeting where my awareness blooms.  There is reconciliation.  I realize I shall write as a way of paying homage.  My every act of writing can be an expression of bowing to these mountains, to beloved teachers, writers, readers, yogis, sages, scholars, poets, friends.  I secretly contain this intention — may every word I write open a sacred space within me; and may every spiritual discipline light the secret flame burning on the shrine within that sacred space.

  • Words to Sculpt the Cosmos

    February 5th, 2019

    The purpose of life is to love the Word.

    This is a writer’s inner journey at play with yoga kriya (Trikutui Kriya), Sadhana (daily practice), Shabad Yoga (chanting So Pukh), while enjoying an ecstatic love relationship with the Sacred Tremor (from the Yoga Spandakarika).

    I am a lover of yoga and a lover of words, and my practice involves merging these two. Words are all welcome to arise here on this blog as they please. I am simply giving words the space to arise. I am acknowledging and bowing to words as sacred beings that have consciousness. Thank you, Beloved Words, for being my gurus and my companions when others have abandoned me. When those whom I have held dear choose to walk away form me or are suddenly taken away from me, the Shabad / Sacred Word is the only companion that remains.

    Rise words. Rise. I am here to listen.

    Here is a Vision Quest for today:

    Morning places a soft hand on my shoulder to comfort me while I weep. She tells me to keep heart. Though today I must bury a dearly beloved One, a dear one who was so close to me, Morning is here. Though I must move into a state of deep grief, Morning assures me she has something to offer . Morning looks so ravishing in her crimson gown, even through the veil of tears flooding my eyes. Morning raises her empty palms before my face and says, “Here is your gift.” The gift is invisible, yet also incandescent; it has no fragrance but carries the fragrance of roses. The gift floats before me, then lovingly makes its way into my nostrils and my mouth. The Gift is My Breath. Morning has brought me The Gift of My Breath. I must grieve; I must breathe. I must move on. Thank you, Beloved Morning, for bringing me My Breath in this moment.  

    Sat Nam.

  • Thresholds and Twilight Zones

    April 24th, 2018

     

    Now, I am spinning with joy.

     

    I have just joined the San Diego Threshold Choir.

     

    This is a volunteer organization that offers the service of singing to people who are on their deathbed.

     

    It is an honor to use my voice and my heart in this way.

     

    I love to sing.

     

    I am not a professional.  Few people have ever told me I have a beautiful voice.  In fact, though I have longed for it, no one has ever requested me to sing to them.  But nor has anyone ever told me that I should not sing to them.

     

    Whenever I sing, there is almost always a voice in my head that says, “What are you doing?  You are no Tori Amos or Snatam Kaur.  Why are you singing so loudly and with so much love and confidence?  Maybe you should shut your mouth and keep quiet.”

     

    This voice in my head is not me.

     

    Now, I could waste a little time wondering, where ever did that inner message come from?  After all these years that I have been singing in a variety of situations from college choir to morning Sadhana with Kundalini Yogis to Music Together circles with Mamas and Babes, why would such a critic still exists inside of me?  Hasn’t this voice gotten the message that no matter what it says, I will sing?

     

    Or, I could just keep singing.

     

    As for now, I am bowing my head to those few people who have ever told me that I have a lovely singing voice.  Their kind remark has given me the energy and nerve to step up to use this voice to serve.

     

    I am eager to begin my adventure with the San Diego Threshold Choir.  It may seem that the people who are visiting the dying are paying a service to those who are dying.  That may be true.  But I also recognize that being invited to pay a dying person a visit to sing to them is one of the highest blessings that a dying person could give to his or her visitors.

     

    It is actually a high honor to be in the presence of anyone who is on the threshold to pass from one lifetime to the Beloved Beyond.  The dying being is in a twilight zone; this means he or she is not fully alive anymore, but nor fully dead yet.  These twilight zones are where the Amrit, the nectar, flows most freely.  And wherever the nectar flows freely, I grow soft, open, receptive, willing, and joyful.

     

    May we understand threshold spaces as spaces of infinite possibility and enchantment.  May we realize this possibility and enchantment to grow in love and ecstasy.  May we continue to request those near and dear to us to sing to us and to sing with us.  May the next words I say to the next person I see be, “Please, sing!”

     

    Sat Naam!

     

    Sing-the-Cosmos1

     

     

  • Mother’s Prayer for Safe Schools

    March 8th, 2018

    Violence is a fixture that churns deep in the American psyche.

    Violence pervades our most seemingly innocent experiences, from going to the mall to walking through the park.  No  matter what it is a typical American does on a typical day, violent images, memories, song lyrics, movie scenes, words, ideas, stories, and language accompany every move we make.

    To appreciate the depth to which we are steeped in violence, we need to appreciate the workings of the subconscious mind and the subtle realm.  We need to become more deeply conscious.  We need to be deeply aware of the ways that glorification of violence influences the subconscious mind.

    In America today, most people do not want to admit it or do not choose to notice, but violence exists as a prominent leader in the American Subtle Consciousness.  Most people are not paying attention to the subtle realm.  Why should they?  After all, the subtle realm is subtle.  And if you do not practice any form of yoga, meditation, or mindfulness, chances are you have no idea that the subtle realm even exists.

    The first gross solution is to get rid of guns.

    The solution for the mind is to clean the subconscious of its garbage.  The way to do that is meditation.

    Pushing measures through the government and legal system are useless.

    Instead, change the brain!

    Here is a sure fie way to protect children through violence:

    Chant the Mother’s Prayer for Her Child eleven times as your child falls asleep at night.  Even if your child is grown and moved away, chant this prayer for your child every day, eleven times a day.  Do this every day without fail.  While chanting, expand your awareness to swaddle every child — even your inner child — in this blessing.  Sat Nam!

    subconscious.mind

     

  • Yoga with Haiku

    February 9th, 2018

    Rebecca Jane's avatarRebecca Jane

    The Five Tattvas Haiku

    Earth 

    We pass a dark house.

    Inside, a woman ready to die,

    sings a full moon hymn.

    Water 

    Walk close to the edge,

    so our Friend can push us

    into the cold pool.

    Fire 

    We Sit together

    in this burning yogi cave.

    The empty bowl sings.

    Air 

    We chant the true name.

    The cave fills with strong, cold wind;

    yet, there is no sound.

    Ether 

    Hush and divine void,

    the seers enter Samadhi.

    Silence hums and spins.

    Beyond 

    Words melt, light breeze–

    All within these empty hands,

    Now Great Cosmic Love.

    burning.cave

    View original post

  • Yoga with Haiku

    March 16th, 2017

    The Five Tattvas Haiku

    Earth 

    We pass a dark house.

    Inside, a woman ready to die,

    sings a full moon hymn.

     

    Water 

    Walk close to the edge,

    so our Friend can push us

    into the cold pool.

     

    Fire 

    We Sit together

    in this burning yogi cave.

    The empty bowl sings.

     

    Air 

    We chant the true name.

    The cave fills with strong, cold wind;

    yet, there is no sound.

     

    Ether 

    Hush and divine void,

    the seers enter Samadhi.

    Silence hums and spins.

     

    Beyond 

    Words melt, light breeze–

    All within these empty hands,

    Now Great Cosmic Love.

    burning.cave

     

     

  • 40 Days of Radiant Words

    February 18th, 2017

    Day Forty

    Wahe Guru!

    Ah!  Just dwelling in the pure joy of reaching Day Forty fills me with enough naked wonder. The ecstasy of the universe dances within every cell of my body!

    I have brokien an old habit.  I can continue to practice to 90 days to create a new habit.  And if I continue to 120 days, the yogis say, that makes the new habit a part of me on the level of the soul.  The soul will never forget the new habit.  Continuing onto 1,000 days is the path to Mastery of that habit, provided I do not miss even one day.

    But before I make any plans to move onto tomorrow, I will stay intimate with Day Forty and be happy.

    I can safely say that I am a more conscious communicator today than I was when I started this practice.  I can contemplate every word I speak, think, write, and repeat with care and reverence, giving Each Word the honor that it deserves.  I can enter this contemplation and share my expression with royal courage that is supported by my refined Radiant Body.  What a blessing!

    May I dwell in consciousness, not to be overcome by the intellect.  May I co-exists with all other beings with great intuitive ease and with a genuine intention to uplift myself and others.  May I recognize the beaming soul that exists within each word and within all beings everywhere!  Sat Nam!

    Please join me in practicing this meditation for 11 minutes a day for as many days as serves your soul:  Meditation to Develop the Radiant Body.

    Question for reflection:

    What words would I think, write, speak, and repeat if I knew that whatever words I think, write, speak, and repeat must happen?

    constellations-2
    hummingbird

  • 40 Days of Radiant Words

    February 17th, 2017

    Day Thirty Nine

    My husband is a busy lawyer.  He works harder than anyone I know.  He and I like to keep strange hours.

    For instance, last night, in the middle of the night, we watched the The Daily Show with Trevor Noah, an episdoe from several days ago.  We watched on this little laptap, as we choose not own a TV.

    Trevor Noah had invited a guest onto the show, Ezra Edelman, the man who created OJ: Made in America, an 8-hour long documentary about the OJ Simpson trial of 1994.  The critical point Edelman made was that when the African American community was cheering for the OJ verdict, many Americans expressed their judgements and felt affronted.  Many were quick to view the situation as a problem with the American love of celebrity, sex, murder, and courtroom drama that made for a spectacle that allowed OJ to get away with murder.

    But, what Edelaman pointed out was that the OJ Simpson trial illuminated a deeper, more troubling psychosis: the relationship between the African American community and the Los Angeles Police Department had a history defined by police brutality.  From Edelman’s perspective, the African American community finally witnessed a dynamic that they had never experienced: a black man got into trouble with the law, and he was able to walk free.  Edelman made the point that there was so much revelry and celebration around the verdict not becasue people were cheering for a celebrity, but they were cheering for an outcome in a criminal justice system that had historically treated the entire African Amerianc community unfairly.

    Edelman repeated these words: “You don’t get these moments very often.  When you get a moment, seize the moment.”

    I love moments.  I’m a yogi.  All we have are moments.  Seize them. And cease them.  Ceaselessly.

    I feel an urge to reflect.  What does a yogi’s vision of a collective community ceasing the moment look like?  I would jump for joy to see a whole community, including everyone of every color, shape, size, walk of life, babies, pets, insects, and trees included when we all agree to practice One-Minute Breath for three minutes on the Spring Equinox 2017.  Inhale for twenty seconds.  Suspend the breath for twenty seconds.  Exhale for twenty seconds. Slow everything way down to take a collective breather.  Now, wouldn’t that be something to cheer about?  It’s worth hoping for; it’s worth dreaming the impossible dream.  It’s worth envisioning every being all together stopping and dropping what they’re doing for three minutes to breathe consciously.  Three minutes is all it would take.  Imagine!

    Please join me in practicing this meditation for 11 minutes a day for 40 days:  Meditation to Develop the Radiant Body

    Question for reflection:

    What words would I think, write, speak, and repeat if I knew that whatever words I think, write, speak, and repeat must happen?

    synchronized-meditation

  • 40 Days of Radiant Words

    February 16th, 2017

    Day Thirty Eight

    Writing is a habit that I can’t seem to break.  I write every day because it is an impulse and a comfort.  I write so much that I often forget what I have written.  Below is a poem I wrote that I had forgotten all about.  Some time ago, Guru Meher asked my permission if he could share this poem with his yoga students.  That felt nice, that someone liked my poem enough to share it.  So, I am going to share this poem here because I guess this means it is sharable, especially with those who like to practice one minute breath.

    One-Minute Breath

    Take twenty seconds, now, to inhale:

    1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14  15  16  17  18  19  20.

    And hold that breath in while you read the following words

    over the span of twenty seconds:

     

    What words can we speak to Law Enforcement

    that upon hearing them Officers

    would feel appreciated and at ease to

    Inhale for twenty seconds,

    Suspend the Breath for twenty seconds,

    and Exhale for twenty seconds to

    know clear answers

    then act?

     

    We’d all breathe the breath of sages.

    We’d all breathe then act.

     

    Now, exhale for twenty seconds and read these words:

     

    What words can we speak to Black Men

    that upon hearing them they would know their worth,

    feel an endless pulse of Deep Respect, and

    know that the History of Royal Spirit, the History of True Strength

    and the History of Courage course through their veins?

     

    We’d all breathe the breath of saints—

    Twenty seconds in.  Twenty seconds hold.  Twenty seconds out.

     

    the Rest

    is History.

     

    Now inhale for twenty seconds while reading these words:

     

    What words could we speak to the Victims of mass violence

    that upon hearing them their Untimely Deaths

    and their loved ones’ Grief

    could transform into

    The Great Gift—the psycho shift—that would illuminate

    diamond-mind awareness within

    the consciousness of the New Humanity?

     

    We’d all breathe the Grief into fearlessness.

     

    Now, hold thisbreath—dearMaster of Life—

    for twenty seconds, and read:

     

    What words could we speak to World Leaders

    that upon hearing them they would humbly serve

    with genuine interest in continually feeding the hungry,

    educating the ignorant, providing dignified

    health care for the infirm; and, they would

    lead with deep sensitivity and clarity so as to

    uphold human equality, dignity and contentment

    beyond liberty and justice for all?

     

    We would all breathe and lead with kindness.

     

    Now, exhale for twenty seconds while you read:

     

    What words could we speak to Children

    that upon hearing them they would rise and thrive—

    bold and loving—hearts echoing the sound of ancient tribal drums,

    romp dance, be rhythmic and fly with Rhyme

    keep Time and Play the joyful beat

    Infinity: alive, alive, alive?

     

    We’d all breathe and be free.

     

    Now, inhale for twenty seconds while you read:

     

    What words can I speak to my own heart

    that upon hearing them I would be certain that I am

    tuning out the neurotic and psychotic noise

    of media, of the violent throng;

    and, I can tune in to—even intimately touch—

    the purity of my own soul?

     

    We’d all inhale.  We’d all exhale.

     

    Now, hold the breath for twenty seconds while you read:

     

    What words can gods and goddesses, the One God, and the

    Generating, Organizing, and Delivering force of Creation

    speak as one voice

    that would be heard by all beings,

    and that would reassure us

    that, no matter what, we are deeply loved, and

    all will be well?

     

    May the Creator of All That Is adore the Creation.

     

    We’d all breathe.

     

    Now, exhale for twenty seconds while you read:

     

    If we speak, write, and sing such words,

    Who will hear them?

    If we speak, write, and sing such words,

    Who will understand them?

    If we speak, write, and sing such words,

    Who would be listening?

    And if—globally—we synchronize

    our One-Minute Breath

    for just three minutes—

    just three minutes in the history of this planet—

    wonder what new life We could breathe into Creation.

    Please join me in practicing this meditation for 11 minutes a day for 40 days:  Meditation to Develop the Radiant Body.

    Question for reflection:

    What words would I speak, write, think, and repeat if I knew that whatever words I speak, write, think, and repeat must happen?

    soundwaves
    sound-waves

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