Unlike so many Americans with African roots, Barack Obama is lucky to know which country his family hails from.  It’d be like knowing merely that you were European…  Italian?  Portugese.  Belgian?  Finnish! Scottish?  Not many of us would be comfortable with such vague information.

When I was in 5th grade, a relative of my father’s - perhaps a 2nd cousin, we were not at all a close family - sent us a request for information; she was doing a family genealogy. I was very intrigued, and offered to help her.  Sadly, she broke my heart by sending me a very condescending letter. What she didn’t know was that, 14 years later, I would solve the mystery that ended up stumping her.   At the time of publication, her volume left a mystery:  was the “John Harrington” on the neighboring lot indeed the father, the next link to the past?  At this point, due to a lack of paperwork proof, that strain of the Harrington tale “ended”.

For myself, I wondered why no one tried to start from the other end - to start where Harringtons started and see if they could find evidence bringing a John Harrington to that town in that time…

I forgot all about that thought until, at age 25, newly arrived in Ireland, my brand-new map in my hand, I became transfixed (without a thought in my head) with a little island off the coast of County Cork:  Bere Island. Nearly a week later, having gone to a music festival and traveled around a bit, I claimed Dublin as my own town.  Told a new friend about my neat and mysterious experience with Bere Island, to which he said, “Well sure, that’s where the Harringtons are!”  and proceeded to bring out his phone book, which actually included the professions of at least some of the listings.  The first one he showed me was (first name?) Harrington, ferryman. For a small island, there were lots of Harringtons.  I knew that, though there were lots of Harringtons in England, that my family was Irish.  Several visits to England had never brought any feeling of familiarity, had solved no personal mysteries. Discovering the Irish connection really did. (More about that later in a later post!)

It was like my cells recognized their own roots.  So….  Intuitive - or genetic?  Who cares, really?  It was a deeply confirming experience.  As far as I’m concerned, it’s like the question about the chicken and the egg.  It’s irrelevant really, which came first:  What’s important is the connection between them.  And that’s what you get when you know your roots.

I’d been so very zen in the many months leading up to the election.  Que sera, sera!  Whatever will be, will be. I was calm and surrendered - and ready! Prepared for any untoward surprise -  another stolen election, martial law…

But a different kind of surprise was in store for me:  I was anxious!  Not wanting to be by myself, waiting for the results, I looked online to find an appropriate election party.  Not hard to do, in Seattle!  By the time I got into the inner sanctum of The Showbox (scores of people were turned away; I waited…), well, by that time, CNN had called the election.  Skeptical (not wanting to be unprepared and taken by surprise), I held back until I heard that Obama Had Taken Florida.  I became unglued, crying, joyful.  HOPE-ful, and in a room filled with radiant, joy-filled strangers, all fans of, and some actually employees of - The Stranger, the host of our party.

When I left, walking the one block up 1st Avenue toward Pike Place Market, I passed a homeless man, muttering to himself. But when I listened carefully, I realized what he was saying!  It was:  “Freedom……  Real freedom……”

Within 5 minutes, though, it was too LOUD to hear anyone muttering quietly to themselves.  Cars and cabs drove by, honking, while people whooped and hollered, hugging strangers…. Then the same cabs came by again, with the same passengers, cheering, waving, over and over again.  I knew that the inhabitants of these cabs were racking up quite a tab, and that they weren’t the kind of people who could easily support such an expense.  But I also knew they would never regret their choice, this night.  TONIGHT.

Maharishi Mahesh Yogi used to compare meditation with pulling the arrow back on the bow:  pulling the arrow in the  opposite direction prepared it for stronger, more focused action later.   My time in San Francisco was like that.  There was time spent with my powerful (and beloved!) daughter, Sophia, being an integral part of her life and budding art career (www.sacredmuse.com), but, other than that, it was time spent pulling the arrow back on the bow:  not much looked like it was happening.

Now, back in Washington, called back by the siren’s song of Seattle and, indeed, the entire Puget Sound (it’s quite a chorus!), I see the results of the apparent “nothing” I was doing in San Francisco.  During my last night there, spent in Sophia’s tiny studio apartment, I hardly slept. Blissful, divine energy pumped through me and a renewed life-focus strongly resurfaced, clarified and intense.  The frustration of San Francisco, the backward-seeming time spent there had resulted in a strenghtening of my resolve to be free, to spread freedom - - and to become a stronger beacon of darshan, which required a deeper surrender.  I gave it.  I gave it my all, and cried in bliss and gratitude.

Everything had been increasing in “juice”, in flow, as I had approached my return to Washington state.  The wind was perfectly positioned at my back; suddenly every move I made resulted in three steps forward instead of just one. The “backward” steps I’d been taking in SF, where every forward attempt resulted in the reverse direction, was suddenly paying off.

So - Don’t assume you know what is happening.  …And when you want to lock into judgement of what is - or is not - occuring, remember those times when, with the broader perspective of time and experience, you’ve been grateful for what, at the time, seemed like cold, hard knocks! God invented tough love!!

I’m looking for a really smart tech person (I am not skilled in that department!). For blog issues, website work, computer questions, and the like - not necessary to have design or artistic ability, just the ability to implement it!

I’d like an ongoing relationship, where I can call or email you with problems or new projects, and you would help me in the next day or two (or three). Ideally, someone I could meet with in the Bay Area, as when tech-speech people ask me questions, I’m often not even sure what they’re asking me. Easier, then, when they are right there, looking at the same computer screen. (We could possibly use a webcam pointed at my computer screen as an alternative, if needed.)

My preference? Honestly, a younger person and a non-professional. From my experience, they’re more likely to be enthusiastic and to think outside of the box. Younger, non-professionals are more likely to tell you when they don’t know how to do it, and also less likely to want to do your website their way. Very fluent English is essential, as I am, as I’ve said, pretty lame at understanding tech talk to begin with.

If this is YOU - or someone you know - contact me: (415) 200-8292

One of the perks of living in city is the occasional opportunity to be on the cutting edge….

Today (in San Francisco) I was part of a focus group, discussing and RIDING the new A2B electric bike. What a blast! I left with a feeling very similar to the one I had when I watched Who Killed the Electric Car?  These vehicles have an organic feel to them, I swear! I end up feeling a little like a kid does when it’s fallen in love with a puppy or kitten:  I want one!

Note  added July 28th:  I have good reason to believe that the problem mentioned below is being fixed at - or in the general vicinity of - this moment! So now on to the original post:

My blog entries are not showing up most-recent first, but in the order they were written in, so it looks like there is never anything new!  I haven’t been able to correct that yet…
SO: I would like to reward some people who ARE reading this nearly-invisible entry!

Three people will be given half-price sessions if they set up an appointment
this Monday - Thursday, July 21st - 24th. Call toll-free: 888-321-1981 or email shanti@shantimai.com

For information about my work, see http://www.shantimai.com/services.html

I just saw the 2001 film L.I.E.  (which stands for Long Island Expressway) last night, and today I can’t get it out of my mind. It’s haunting, moving, unpredictable. The questions is, is it addictive? It is a very, very rare thing for me to want to see any movie a second time, and I know for a fact that I’ll be watching it again someday. I am a strong fan of Paul Dano, whom I loved in Little Miss Sunshine, without knowing who he was. I’ve now corrected my mistake!  And, to say the least, I’m impressed, very impressed with the work of first-time filmmaker Michael Cuestra. Check it out:  L.I.E.

Fathers play with their children and their dogs, and talk with their neighbors’ children, all on a beautiful oval loop of large, rather grand, identical brick duplexes. Their wives share maids and baby sitters, one of whom is a lovely married neighbor, pregnant with her first child - she merely walks past one matching two-doored home to get to work.

Everything is peaceful and rather homogenous. The homes are strangely familiar to me, military brat that I am. I feel like I’m in a time warp, like I’ve gone back to the 50s and early 60s, a very disturbing and unsafe time for me.

So though it appears to be a lot like a 2008 version of Mayberry, I keep wondering about the Stepford Wives (and sons and husbands)…

It’s a good opportunity to be present with my thoughts, to watch my projections. And the environment, physically at least, is idyllic!

Sometimes I find myself being too accepting of whatever wants to come down the pike. Rather than taking the reins, I’ve recently been a little too busy listening, too busy waiting for guidance…. I guess it’s like trying to help someone who seems to be okay with everything - - it’d be easier to help them if you had a clear idea of what they did and didn’t want!

So I’ve been a little too acquiescent. There’s surrender, but there’s also a definite need for co-creation. This week I grabbed the reins and set about to make a bit more structure in my free-wheeling life. And incredible and rather instant results is what I’ve gotten in return. So now I’ll dance!

I clearly see the “Good Girl / Good Boy” complex in some clients. It’s easy, as I was so very attached to it, myself!

I often got away with things, in elementary school, that other kids were punished for. Strangely, I could chat while the teacher was talking, write letters in my desk, chew gum. I even once slapped an annoying boy placed next to me because I was seen as his antithesis: He was a Trouble Maker, I was a very Good Girl. Because of this labeling, my slap was seen as appropriate, which I found a little disturbing, but in no way did I want to threaten my GG status.

At home, we were regularly punished for things we hadn’t done, and other, frightening and dangerous things happened to us, as well. It was like I lived in two diametrically opposed realities. I held on to my school identity for Dear Life.

One day, my school reality stood my world on its ear: I was caught talking in class - - and sent out, with my two chatterbox-conspirators, into the hallway. I was appearing as a Bad Girl, and the other sixth grade class was about to witness my - our - disgrace. I may have been the one responsible for the brilliant cover we spontaneously developed, or I may have merely been the grateful recipient of a brilliant serve. Anyway, picking up the long, black stapler that still lay on the floor where we’d SO recently finished our Good Girl task of helping the teacher by putting up her bulletin board, one of us saved the day.
As Mrs. Wilson’s class rounded the corner - dangerously close to our disgrace - one of us “held” a previously-stapled poster board item, asking the others, “Does this look straight?” to which her Good Girl friends replied, “It’s a little too high on the right”. Mrs. Wilson’s kids never knew the difference. Some part of me wondered, though, a little about myself… though I would never have known to call it Indentification.