All the trappings are just that: traps.

All the externals are insignificant when faced with Life’s greatest meaning. The only problem is, most of us don’t even get close to glimpsing, let alone actually living in, the true meaning that is at the core.

“Divinity is the core of every person.” The Eternities, Swami Parthasarathy

“The goal of all religions: to discover your true nature. Draw the Divinity out of the matter layers that veil It. The word religion means that which binds one to the origin.”

So the question remains: do you believe the origin is outside of you, distant, unreachable and to be feared? Or something innate in every single being, something deep and profound and which has no recognition nor relevance in material goods or concerns?

And here’s one to ponder: all argument, all anxiety, all fear and all discomfort reside in Attachment.

I can hear you protest. I’m not attached. And of course you try to belive it. But we both know it is fear talking, not the truth walking. We are all attached to something or someone and the simple fact is that we are attached to multiple somethings and someones and those attachments weigh us down, prevent us from breathing.

Not literally.

You breathe in and out all day long, sometimes in quick staccato gasps because of panic or worry or desire. I’m talking about the elongated, purposeful breath, the one that slows you down and energizes you all at once.

We are all guilty of wanting to be first, best, most important, most beautiful. There is something in that list that rings familiar for each and every one of us, but the ultimate truth is that all that is subjective is subject to wither and die while all that is objective can have no impact nor peril on the steps you take, the progress you make.

Have you ever climbed a mountain? It is the perfect metaphor for ascending life’s challenges. My lovely boyfriend Dan sent me an essay recently that likened climbing a mountain to any challenge one faces in life and here’s what I remember from it:

Prepare. Listen to the stories of others who’ve gotten to the summit before you. Get yourself in shape for the climb is always longer than you expect. When you get there, and along the way, stop frequently to appreciate the views. After you’ve done it, tell everyone about it. Share your experience, tell your story. And move on to the next mountain. One is never enough. We each have a job to do.

Life is a series of mountains and if we cower in the shadows, at the base, looking up and wishing we could feel the clear air and inhale the minty sunlight at the top, we will never actually get there. When you are afraid, you stop yourself from truly living.

What are you doing right now? Stop to experience it, to remember it, to appreciate.

And then move on. You’ve got mountains to climb.

I think we were sold a bad bill of goods on freedom when we were growing up.

I think most of us thought freedom meant the ability to run crazy, run wild, do anything and everything without any repercussions or negative effects. When in truth, freedom is the ability to make choices, to have options, to walk down any road, to think for oneself.

To practice a religion that not everyone else practices.

To eat different foods. To buy food anywhere, at any time. To earn as much money as possible – or as little as you need to scrape by.

To live in the city or the country, with the person you love, regardless of gender, belief or religion.

On this, America’s Independence Day, I am reflecting on the meaning of freedom for so many reasons. This summer, I am free from worry and anxiety because I have found a fascinating and true course of study: Vedanta.

I am free because I get up with the dawn to study and I try to reflect at the end of each day to gain objectivity and free myself from attachment to people, to material goods, to drama.

This morning, as my children and I drove past the Huntington Woods parade on our way to the Birmingham Farmers Market, I mentioned how lucky we are to live in a land where have so many freedoms. And I mentioned how much I dislike it when certain populations here in America do not recognize the 4th of July or Thanksgiving because they are not holidays in their own religious tradition.

I won’t trash particular schools or sects here, but many of you know what I’m talking about. Schools that are in session on Thanksgiving and individuals that hide inside when a red-white-and-blue parade goes by. Because it’s not their primary focus, their religion.

But the very fact of living in America is the gift of being able to observe as we choose, without excuse, without penalty. People can leave work in the middle of a normative week because of their self-chosen religious holiday and not lose their jobs. They can not eat at employer functions because the food does not meet their personal religious standards. That’s the freedom of living here – and for that, we should all be grateful.

Tonight, we are joining old friends for the Huntington Woods fireworks and I dare say, fireworks are the best expression of this notion of freedom.

Exploding shapes and paintings of vivid color against a peaceful night sky, as if mere words cannot dare to convey all the passion and emotion we have in the face of being raised on a landscape of supreme freedom.

Enjoy your lakeside celebrations and your barbecues. I will. But keep in mind, we are here and we are as good as we are because we have never had to endure the force of fear that keeps so many people in this world in a cave of ignorance. God Bless America.

I’ve been studying Vedanta philosophy for the past two months and it is transforming my life, my work and my relationships.

The messages are simple and clear:

Do work for work’s sake.

Do what you CAN do and stop worrying about what you can’t do. From a place of what you CAN do, you will be able to do more.

Love is universal identification, not individual preference.

Have an attitude of gratitude.

Forgive on the spot.

In a relationship, focus on your duty. Give, rather than take.

Those are little easy nuggets, but the message is far deeper and profound. It’s a lasting approach to LIFE and to truly living. And I recommend just dipping your toe in if you want any chance of success and happiness.

One immense by-product of our society today is DRAMA. Everyone spins out of control with dramatic interpretation, emotion-flinging and roiling in the woe-is-me drama of it all. Of anything. In the workplace, between friends, at home.

And it doesn’t need to happen. That’s the easy secret. It’s all in our minds. And if we can just shut up those niggling voices, we will be so much better off.

It’s not about you, it’s not about me, it just IS. Think about that. Ingest it. Carry it on your tongue. Nothing is personal unless we make it so. It’s how we interpret things that get us into trouble.

Personal attachment – that’s a downfall, friends. We can love, we can cherish, we can mourn when we lose, but if we are to lead happy lives, we must use the earth around us, not depend upon it.

Today will be 87 degrees in Michigan. Bright sun. The plants will settle in the wind. Tomorrow it’ll be milder, in the mid-70s. Today is a good day and so is tomorrow.

Universal Identification. Try it sometime.

(more…)

The words echo in my ears, almost daily: it’s not personal, it’s business.

We’ve been sold an establishment perspective that personal and business should never mix and we buy into it, much to the detriment of ourselves and our businesses.

I am unlearning all the societal trappings of business so that I can create a company and a work mode and an ethic that represent my values, that convey the attributes I wish to surround myself with. And it’s working. Having compassion in business, caring about the projects you’re devoted to, seeing more than the bottom line – that make a difference both in quality of life and in quality of work.

And so I grabbed the Wall Street Journal yesterday when I saw a large headling on page R7 that said: “The Power of Compassion.”

It was the story of bedside manner and a life worth fighting for. The mere presence of doctors who don’t give a damn versus those who took the time to sit in quiet conference rooms and let their patient’s family vent.

And it was a metaphor for every single one of us who does business of any sort. Are you the kind who goes about your mission with dedicated indifference? Or do you take the time to listen to whatever story your customer offers forth?

Believe me, in this day and age of troubled economies and desperation, the power of compassion can make all the difference between a job well done and no job at all. 

(more…)

 ”You know, Mommy, the 4 Questions aren’t really questions – they’re more like statements,” said Eliana.

Asher sang the entire kiddush, the prayer over the first cup of wine. Shaya did the 3 of the 4 Questions in Hebrew, showed us his paper-plate frog and sang “No, No, No, I will not let them go…”

Invoking the memory of my late grandfather, my children negotiated the return of the Afikomen (I gave them Barnes & Noble gift cards and silver dollars, just like Grandpa Artie gave me) and we ate matzo ball soup, hard-boiled egg in salt water, brisket and matzo seven-layer cake.

It was a blissful night and by the time we all fell into bed very late, the perfectly circular moon brilliant yellow in the night sky, we were connected in a way that I’d always hoped I’d reach with my children. We cuddled and watched the National Geographic special on the scientific plausibility of the 10 biblical Plagues before drifting off to sleep.

When I was a child, the Passover seder lasted an hour, with my grandfather presiding over the head of the table and everyone present reading an English paragraph or two. We sang a few verses of Dayenu, ate my grandmother’s strawberry fluff and homemade gefilte fish and strategized under the table how to steal the Afikomen from between the pillows on which Grandpa sat.

At my first Orthodox seder, in Jerusalem in 2000 alongside my then-fiance and 30-some of his relatives, I learned that I was obligated to ingest a gigantic shmura matzo sandwich with romaine lettuce leaves, haroset and horseradish – and I could not eat the real meal, nor even speak, until I did so.

I didn’t love it nor did I love the way my soon-to-be nephews fell asleep on the floor of the hotel ballroom because it was hours past their bedtime and the adults were so focused on following every single word of the Haggadah. Later, I hated the weeks upon weeks of preparation, scouring my house, locking up cupboards with duct tape, covering the counters and lugging trunks full of dishes from the basement.

For me, Judaism has always been a personal pilgrimage to meaning – not to rule-following nor to God-fearing. Just striving to find definition for our days, inspiration and the rich flavors of a shared heritage.

Last night, as we drove away from my parents’ house (we surprised them after our private seder by ringing the doorbell and proclaiming, “Elijah’s here!”), the kids and I spotted the very full yellow moon.

I almost couldn’t drive, I was so focused on the craters of the orb, so clear in the night sky. “I think the moon is coming closer to the Earth,” Eliana theorized.

“It’s like we can reach out and grab it,” I said.

“But we can’t, Mommy,” Eliana said. “It’s all the way in the sky.”

“Maybe there are aliens living there,” Asher suggested.

“Aliens aren’t real,” said Eliana. “Do you believe in aliens, Mommy?”

“Well…it’s hard to believe that we are the only living creatures in the whole universe,” I said.

“But people can’t live on other planets,” Asher said.

“True. So maybe other types of creatures can and they are aliens,” I said.

And we drove home, toward the moon but never reaching it, pondering the meaning of it all and the many definitions of existence.

(more…)

Ok so it took a day or two and asking my son to help me remember what he said that evening together in the park.

It was between hopscotch and the climbing structure that Asher said, “Do you know the key to getting out of quicksand, Mommy?”

“No,” I replied.

“Don’t struggle,” he said. “It makes it worse.”

Hmmmm…I thought. That’s a metaphor if ever I heard one. Which I said to my 8-year-old boy only to hear, “What’s a metaphor?”

“Um…it’s when you say one thing but really it means more than just the words.” I got a quizzical look and then we were at the playscape and that was far more compelling.

But really. The key to freeing yourself from quicksand is to not fight against it, because it’ll only sink you further in.

Take it for what it’s worth, people.

(more…)

Sunshine helps. And so does loving where you are at this very moment, doing what is right in front of you.

The people you’re with. Whether it’s perfect silence in your corner office or you catch a glimpse of blue sky out the quiet window. If the music playing on your computer speakers is from a CD someone you love made for you over the course of two weeks.

If, as you sit in this moment, you recall little bits of perfection – in the hug from your lover the night prior, the navy blue paint of your bedroom walls, the taste of your favorite coffee, the fact that your children are at school happily on their way.

And then there was the weekend just ended – of sunshine and clear air and walking along city streets, drinking in the sites that have been waiting there for us to notice.

The knowledge that you are not only OK, you are exactly where you should be and everything is truly going to be alright.

The belief that you can do exactly everything you want to do and do it with grace.

The notion that the possibilities are endless and the world has opened its arms to you.

The idea that forever begins right now, and you are at the head of the line.

The comfort that you have chosen good people to fill your life with and discreetly waved goodbye to those who drain you of your purpose.

And the innate knowing that you are making a difference, as you set out to do, and making this world a better place. That is our mission. Get started.

(more…)

Last night was fitful and rife with dreams. I was looking for an apartment to live in and my aunt and my mother were guiding me away from a complex that was 30 years old. But the newest buildings were put up in the last four years, I insisted. No matter. They pointed out the precarious staircases where I’d tramp up and down alone in the dark night. And the buildings were by the water and an industrial park and just very echo-y and desolate.

I was alone. Where were my children? And this past week, Shaya’s been complaining that he hates school, that he is bored. Today, his teacher told me he’s been so angry this past week. My 3-year-old is angry, and I can’t sleep. In the bed, he was next to me, arrived there sometime late in the night, but still I couldn’t sleep. He was sound as a whistle.

There is nervous energy all around me today. I am interviewing Rebecca Rosen – am I nervous? Is there trepidation? She’s just a person, even though she speaks to Spirit for a living. Hell, I speak to Spirit, too, just not as well nor as frequently as she does.

On Friday, my ex-husband barraged me with accusations that I am not raising my children with Jewish values because we eat non-kosher food and drive on Saturday. He pointed his scrutiny wand at my family, saying they’re not Jewish enough. He yelled at our 7-year-old when he insisted he will marry for love and only love – religion be damned.

Is he beyond scrutiny? When did Spirituality and Heaven and God and Goodness become obscured by dogma and rules and stern fingers, judgmental gazes? It’s all I’ve ever known religion to be, even when I was trying to see the goodness in the strictures.

But surely, at the beginning, at the SOURCE, there was goodness and integrity and true connection with higher knowledge.

Why is it so hard for real people in this life to see that?

(more…)

MLK Day, 2010

High atop one of the lone skyscrapers in suburban Detroit, a group of interfaith leaders convened on a gray cold day in January to brainstorm how various faith communities might work together to level the landscape. A landscape rife with separation and segregation, even all these years after the civil rights movement blazed its way through the nation.

Here in Detroit, we are still so separate. Never the two shall meet…and it cuts across various faith groups as much as intrafaith. I know well the divisions within my own Jewish world and I’ve never liked them.

But years ago, I believed that the separations between Jewish denominations was due to lack of understanding and a misguided view of how each community finds meaning.

I was wrong. One of the reasons we are all divided is that we wag our fingers and judge what the other does. And you know it’s true.

I lived for 8 years in the Orthodox world, subverting my liberal beliefs and hiding my questions about the practice of relegating women to behind-the-divider status. What, exactly, is the threat of a woman’s voice amid religious prayer? Why are men so fragile that they need protection from view and song of their feminine counterparts?

Are we not partners in this? And really, that question is not just about men and women in Orthodox observance, but it’s about Jew and Christian and Muslim and Ba’hai and all the various differences and “others” in this world of faith.

Are we not all saying the same thing - that we are not so arrogant as to believe the world starts and ends with us but that we were put here to make a  difference and to find meaning and to illuminate the path for those who are questioning?

Yes, we do the same thing, we hold the same beliefs and yet we separate ourselves out of fear and discomfort of the way the words sound in a different inflection, in a foreign language. It is, in a word, ridiculous. Think of how much more time and energy we would have if we did not pour it into anxiety and fear.

Last fall, in the sunny Saturday of the first day of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year, I took my kids to the green landscape of Cranbrook. We hiked the grounds in open sun, under tall trees, beside the rippling lake. We climbed rocks, lay in the grass, ran among the gardens.

At the river in the back of the property, we sat on the bank and tore little pieces from stale bread to throw into the cascading waters as symbols of our “choices.” It’s an old ceremony known as tashlich, where the bread crumbs symbolize sins washed away in the fast-moving river.

Only for my young children, I changed the wording. “What choices would you like to make differently in the new year?” I asked them and I asked myself, and we took turns, from mother down to 3-year-old youngest, and we answered in earnest.

After, walking back among the gravel and trees, we were quieter, reflective. It was, for each of us, the most meaningful new year celebration of our lives. And our synagogue was open air, vast sky, bright sun.

There are many who would judge me for making this choice, but I relish in it – for it was the freedom of thought and a desire for meaning that propelled me to substantiate the celebration in a tactile way.

And that’s what I mean. I don’t care what others think because I’ve found my own meaning. And I’m not judging what they do either – stay in synagogue all day long, or find answers in all manner of faith groups. They’re yours for the choosing.

This life is not about finger-wagging and punishment. It’s about learning, building, refining and celebrating. All of our traditions teach us this in one way or another.

Today we celebrate the birth of Martin Luther King, Jr., a man who wanted to level the playing field so all could play. It’s a message for every single one of us. If only our ears are able to hear it. 

(more…)

I had but a few minutes of quiet this morning from when I awoke until the kids came streaming into my room. And in that time, I pulled up the bamboo shade above my bed and watched the sky turn from sea-blue to pink to strings of yellow-white sun and a striking day in all its brightness right outside my window.

By then, Asher had arrived, and Eliana too. She with a book for us to read, Eric Carle’s Pancakes! Pancakes! We burrowed down into the blankets and then I found Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises on TV and we watched the toreador’s waving red at a fairly tame bull while a woman with a pillbox hat cheered from the stands.

And then Shaya slinked in, finding space between his sister and his brother, and Asher was reading The Hardy Boys. And so it was a good morning, a good beginning, on a slow day in January, just after the new year.

With the beginning of a decade and the ending of fear, I am hoping for peace and simplicity in 2010. I am paring down the clutter and the poisonous people and becoming highly selective of who gets close.

In 2009, I battled with individuals who lacked character. I struggled to fit them into the fold of my path but really, they never did. There are remnants, now, spilling over into the new space but as soon as I clear the air and banish the threads of poison from my midst, the sunrise will shine brighter, the snow gleam under the sun.

There is a flower the peeks up through the sun, determined as ever to fight for its very breath amid the death of winter. The crocus is beautiful, full of color, and strong. It noses its way through the snowbanks to see the light of the sun and feel the warmth of promise on the wind.

I have long believed in the infinite possibilities of each day. I refuse to believe in betrayal, even though it abounds all around me. I am truly a glass-half-full and it is into my aching words that I pour whatever discontent or disbelief I stumble over on this knotty path of life.

But life is good. It is the one true gift and one thing I took from my days in religion was a simple morning prayer, which recognizes in the sunrise, the very miracle of each new day, of the next breath coming, of morning as a new chance to start fresh.

(more…)