Sep 9, 2010

Posted by Sonia Morrison in Uncategorized | 14 Comments

Kudalini and Kittens

Good morning, My kundalini was awakened dancing the Argentine Tango last night. More on this later.I was counting whiskers on my cat before realizing I need to dash off to work. I sure am enjoying my own company these days. Just a quick hello before dashing off to work. In honor of my friend, the nurse, Terry, who just returned from Burning Man. Here is a poem to ponder.

Discovering Kindness In The Storm

(Photo: Guillermo.D)

Sand storms bring out interesting conversation.

That’s what I was thinking as fine dust hit every inch of my face, flooding my sunglasses and burning my eyes. I pulled a white bandana up over my face, and then — as suddenly as it started — it ended.

The three people seated around me came back into view, I took a sip of water, and we continued where we left off. Just another late morning at Burning Man.

One of those all-stars was an A-list entrepreneur and former top-tier investment banker. Trained at Harvard as a lawyer and forged into the consummate dealmaker, she had literally built economies from scratch. Moments before the sandstorm, she had passed me a piece of paper.

No one is immune to moments of doubt, no matter how successful.

From Palestinian-American Naomi Shihab Nye’s short collection, Words Under Words,


Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.

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