The World's Gone Made Part 2: The Shattering of the Glass Ceiling

Calvin came home from work the other day and told me about a colleague who "cannot do Thanksgiving" this year because of the election. Daily he comes home and tells me about the latest conversation, the varying topics that now divide her and her family. It was her husband who first brought up the notion that her parents "likely voted for Trump", and with a bit of probing the suggestion was made truth, and her world began to shatter.

Another friend of mine, a singer at church, told me on Sunday that he "cannot do Thanksgiving" this year. He was having a conversation with his parents: his daughters are crying, they are torn, but cannot be with grandparents who voted for Trump. A father's heart breaks; this year, they are a family in mourning and disarray.

The ceiling has been broken, but not in the way we thought. The ceiling of limited thinking has been pried open, and people are being forced into trying to understand the un-understandable – and it hurts. I have experienced my own deep pain, not only for the true sorrow of others’ pain and sadness that I feel in various shades, but also by some of my personal, deep wounds that were wrenched to the surface. When I tried to share my personal wounds, I was hit with a backlash of criticism, name calling, and judgment.

How can standing up for all women, saying I reject the outdated rhetoric that shames and blames women without even thinking garner so much hostility? I am baffled...truly. I used an article which resonated with what I had been feeling. Basically, you can reject what you believe Trump stands for without feeling the need to denigrate a woman to justify your stance.

Is this a defense of Melania Trump? No. Do I think that Melania's pictures, particularly the very sexualized ones, are a good model for young women? Do they represent sacred sexuality? Do they conform to many scriptures that advise a certain bodily purity? Of course not. Do I ideally think that this is good for the spirit and going to help produce fruits of the spirit? Most likely not. Many would argue that this kind of exploitation helps to destroy the spirit. Texts dating from thousands of years, from sages to the Bible, would perhaps confirm that. Am I here with such high arrogance and intelligence to dismiss these sacred texts? Absolutely not. In fact, I aim to the best of my ability to not only follow these very scriptures but to truly honor them.

On the other hand, am I the Creator of the universe, here to judge all of mankind? Thankfully not. For He is so much greater and bigger than any of this. I would also add much kinder and so, so, so, much more forgiving. I know, for I sit in his presence at times and feel his grace penetrate the depths of my being. That little girl inside was once told she was too fat, which then turned into not-good-enough, which got piled on with not-smart-enough, not-nice-enough, not-patient-enough. Enough, enough, enough! My mind is spinning. Don't worry, I can take control of this situation, I have got it. I will prove them wrong. I will be thinner; then I will be enough. I will be better than him or her, I will do and make and be, and, and, and… I am so very tired.

Then I sit with him again, basked in his perfect love, and he says: "Silly child, come rest with me, all is forgiven. In fact, there really was nothing to forgive, you have come to me and I embrace you fully just as you are.”

I read my feed again. What is so hard to understand about not blaming and shaming ALL women? I want to scream: “Why don't you get it?” The same way perhaps others of color or a certain religion are screaming: “Why can't you get it?” I want to say, “I do get it.” Yes, my pain is different than your pain. My walk in this world is not your walk in this world, but pain is pain, is pain. Where is the empathy, where is the compassion?

The shard of glass dug deeper into my already bleeding heart. Does anyone remember Mary Magdalene? Hmm, interesting thought. Melania Trump has become the archetype of the female prostitute, and people are eating it up. They have gone from insulting her mildly to holding up signs that now say: "Rape Melania". Is this the 2016 election, or is this some bad medieval dream? Again people, not about Melania Trump; this is about honoring the sacred feminine. "There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus."

People are in pain from the daggers of glass, forcing us to examine our darkest thoughts and deepest wounds. Some people fear it is the end times. An acquaintance came up to me at church, someone I know (just a little). She said, “Come here”, and gave me a hug. "I see people being ugly to you, and I just want you to know I am here for you." My eyes well up. Kindness and love bring forth the well of tears that heal the soul.

Let us be healed with His sweet and perfect water that we may thirst no more. Let us meet the Samaritan woman at the well, not with judgment and condemnation but with empathy, understanding, and perhaps with a bit of extra effort – forgiveness. And may we truly find hope.

The World's Gone Mad (Part

So the election is over and the US of A has been turned on its head. We all thought Hillary would win, which really was not even a question. Time Magazine had a beautiful cover of Madam President ready for press. The inauguration party was planned; I saw an invitation on Facebook. Kaboom! Not so fast! And then the world went mad. “How could this possibly be?”, cried some 55 million people (plus some 200 thousand more people than the total Trump supporters).

Reality is not what we thought it was. People are shocked, amazed and in total turmoil and chaos. Yoga speaks about an inner world and an outer world. Ideally, we are not to be controlled and dominated by the outer world. One works daily through prayer and meditation to gain a steadier inner world. However, today's outer world tells us the opposite. It says the outer world rocks and controls us, sends us into a frenzy. It stirs our emotions which are put in the forefront, and our emotions dictate reality. It is a collective neurosis, and personal responsibility has gone out the window. Everyone but me is responsible, not only for how I feel, but also responsible to make it better. Universities have cancelled exams and created even more safe spaces, with chocolate, crayons and puppy hugging. Seriously? It sounds like preschool and would be rightly appropriate for preschool.

We send our little ones out into the world for the very first time from the safe space of mommy’s and daddy's home. We want them to feel comforted and alleviated of their fears. But college campuses? Isn't this the very last stop on their way out of mommy’s and daddy's home? Isn't this where they are to have heated discussions, the free exchange of ideas and then be ready to face the big bad world? Believe you me, it is indeed a big bad world out there, painfully so at times. Look at our dear mother nature and how fierce she can be. I can assure you, human nature is not much softer at times (you need only scroll down my Facebook feed). My homosexual, Buddhist friend is posting a particularly provocative nude picture of Melania Trump. He calls her a SLUT in capital letters! Really? I cannot believe my eyes, and my heart feels just even more heavy. Are not major tenets of your religion compassion and empathy? Now you, who so detest those who morally judge your lifestyle, feel so free to do so to Melania? She is a woman who has been given the gift of physical beauty, and who am I to say she should not use that gift to gain power and financial gains in the world? Do I think women's power resides solely in her beauty? Very obviously not, but it is indeed a power that women have, along with intelligence and skills they can develop.

Since when did the liberal, tolerant, left become so incredibly intolerant? What happened to "love trumps hate" now? Another friend says that she has come to understand what happened as follows: 55 million people who voted for Trump are infected with a disease that in due season will take its course and be revitalized into something fresh, new, and good, kind of like the changing of seasons in nature. Another goes to the oft-repeated rhetoric that 55 million people are racist, bigots, homophobic and xenophobic. Neither of these friends mentioned the 55 million number, but I do because I think it is important. One, because it is a huge number, and two because how can you possibly simplify 55 million people into a few epithets or one pseudo-science diagnosis?

Anyone who is close with a family member or one long-term friend can attest to how understanding another human being fully is a really, really complex, multi-layered, multi-faceted task. So without being insensitive to anyone's pain, can we all grow up and act like responsible adults here and try to wrap our mind around what is really going on?

I, for one, although truly disheartened by hate (on any side) am absolutely fascinated by some of the more productive dialogue going on. I have been gaining perspective into worlds I know nothing about. One article was written by a single mother, Muslim immigrant. She explained that she felt unsafe in the current administration, having escaped horrible oppression herself in her homeland and seeing it come to America. She wanted Islamic terrorists to be called out by name and be reassured that she would not be faced with the very things she aimed to flee. She also had some disappointing issues with her Obamacare, and in the end it became too expensive to continue. So very interesting, who would have "thunk" it? Another show on NPR talked about how the democratic party's "identity politics" failed them. Women spoke out about how they felt insulted that it was assumed they would vote for a woman just because she’s a woman. These women want to be treated as full-thinking, feeling individuals, not reduced down to a statistic because of their gender.

Such informative and interesting conversations, but also how nice. How nice that people are indeed not so simplistic that we can figure them out by some hypothetical statistic based on gender, or race, or even religion. Can we not rejoice in the complexity and mystery of the human spirit and stop labeling and going to war with those we don’t understand at first glance? Or is that too scary a space? Is it a safer space to rest within our small world, convicted of our own rightness? The other 55 million plus is just a label, and ultimately the enemy, baffling as that may be.

I saw on Facebook a video of Donald Trump from many years ago, various interviews where he spoke of his love for this country. He was calm, quiet-spirited and sincere. It was lovely to see him speak from his heart long before political campaigns. I find extremely appealing the old footage of Hillary Clinton when she was fresh out of college. There she seems so bright and vibrant, ready to change the world – so lovely to see, before the political campaigns. I saw an old footage of Bernie Sanders.  He was young and handsome and looked so sensitive and vulnerable. He spoke of human beings. He was expressing how we are all intimately connected and affect each other in powerful ways, ways we cannot fully comprehend. It was beautiful and moving, so long before the campaigns. I think often on that Bernie Sanders video, and it reminds me of great music that seems to penetrate to the depth of our souls – no barrier of skin, flesh and bones.

I think about times when I have felt particularly down and vulnerable and the very powerful effect that can be made by one who loves and supports you, who comes in and sits in your presence. Sometimes a word or even a touch begins to diminish that power. But when someone is just there – no agenda to make better, just there, present with you – something magical happens, something deep and penetrating and unexplainable in words, but worth a million in feeling.

Perspectives de Paris and Return to Richmond

Good morning October 26th.

What? Where did the summer and early fall go? Summer was kicked off with Soren's first birthday, which was immediately followed with a whirlwind of non-stop travel and family visits. I came back to a spinning fall, a giant opera monster project, and here I am coming up for air – much needed air, time to digest thoughts and emotions so many to number. It has occurred to me so many times how last summer was different than every other summer so far. Why? Because it was marked by Soren's first birthday. This little beautiful being has changed the course of what was to what is. From now on summer will always begin with Soren's birthday. It seems to be a simple thought on one level, but so profound on another. Sometimes it is these little changes that effect another small change and suddenly a world is transformed.

Traveling so much and seeing family in many places was wonderful and terrible too. I realized how my daily routine at home really facilitates a strong spiritual practice. Each moment has its place and is accounted for. There are bedtimes and school bus hours – they give us a framework and dead line, so to speak – to fit in what is important. When that is gone, there is a certain freedom, but a certain loss too – a loss of structure and discipline, which in short spurts is exhilarating and fun. But over time it can lead to a sense of ennui. I began to feel this at the end of summer after long days in Paris, many responsibilities of entertaining and training children all day, and tending to elderly grandparents who need shopping and meals. The tasks and activities were many, but without that clear framework there seemed to be less motivation and less satisfaction. I missed singing and writing and our two dogs. I had several moments of inspiration with thoughts on what to write, but somehow they were never realized. It is that funny little irony: when you have more time (but unstructured) one sometimes accomplishes much less than with a structured, busy schedule.

Nonetheless, it was a wonderful summer. We began at the beach in North Carolina, then moved on to Northern Michigan. On our way home we had an especially meaningful visit after so many years at my Aunt Suzanne's home. We were blessed with good food and many new plants. We came back to Richmond very briefly. I sang at a gala in DC, and we headed off to France. We did some mountain climbing in the Alps for two weeks and then finished up our trip in Paris for three weeks.

On one of these long summer days in Park Montsouris, I had a particularly interesting conversation with a young Muslim man. It was a beautiful day and I had set up my yoga mat and many toys for Soren on the grass nearby. Pierson was playing independently at a nearby playground and checking back from time to time. This young man was with a couple of buddies and they were chillin’ in the sun. One was playing Pokémon Go (all the rage in Paris). I began to talk with him about his faith and thoughts – thoughts on the terrorist attacks in particular. He said, as one might expect, that he did not agree with these terrorists, but he said a particularly telling statement: "Chacun pratique sa religion comme il le voient." Hmmm, “Each person practices his religion as he sees fit.” Yes, but...if they see fit to kill innocent people because of how they practice their religion, do we not have a certain responsibility to intervene? At what point do we allow freewill (his perspective), and at what point do we say not OK? He also told me that he believes that Donald Trump and Barrack Obama are both Zionists, by which he meant people who are aligned with the Jewish people want to control and dominate the world. This is coming from a young, healthy, vibrant, French Arab college student. Wow, my mind is blown! Imagine trying to convince anyone in this country, particularly now in this acrimonious voting season, that Trump and Obama are actually in cahoots. To be honest, I am not sure what it all means, but it is a testament to how our own perspectives form in part our experience of reality, and how vastly different those realities can be.

Back in Richmond I continued to pour my heart and soul into the monster opera. The monster is not kind and nurturing and supportive. The monster takes and takes and asks for more. In the end he notices the lacunas first and criticizes what is wrong, not noticing all the rights and the goods. I push through to the end. There is success but not without a price. I feel tangled inside. My small, broken child wants to be loved and supported and told I have your back. I feel unsettled, unresolved. I am constantly apologizing, trying to please everyone and yet I feel a lack of respect, under-appreciated.

I reached out to a spiritual advisor at the end of it all. Now that the monster is gone, I want a new challenge – maybe the gold standard 10 mala bead prayers a day. He replies with a small bit of advice: "It should come from an inner inspiration." There it is, put so simply yet just what I needed to hear in that moment. The window opens, the air is fresh and pure. I can see clearly once again. I have been giving, reaching and striving, pouring out and desiring to be filled up, and yet I am left empty, dissatisfied, and perhaps a bit sad. I sit, close my eyes and begin my deep prayers. My mind and breath soften, and gently I am coaxed and lulled back to the truth. My support is there; it is holding me within. It was always there, but I let it go. I was looking outside, caught in the illusion for what can only truly be found within. He is filling me up, holding me, supporting me, loving me. My Lord never left me, and others cannot take his place. The more I long outside, the lonelier I become. I know this, but I forget. I come back and I am reminded of the truth once again. All the longed-for explanations, empathetic comments and acts of kindness disappear. I am fine. I do not need from the outside world right now, and I can rest within. I am home once again.

The Hamster Wheel

So life always feels pretty busy these days. Lately though it has felt more than busy. At times I feel the frantic pace of running from one task to the next like that of a hamster on its wheel. Among the usual (two kids, home, yoga, church and opera), has been a visit from my 94-year-old grandparents. The timing just so happened that they are here during the final days before the big spring show opens. I could also add that this particular show seemed to be wrought with a significant amount of unforeseen difficulties, each one requiring time, energy, lots of extra emails and a certain amount of emotional babysitting.

My toddler seems to have amped up his toddlerhood-ness, both in his ability to get into new perils, and his separation anxiety. He can now stand on tiptoe. His reach is just that little bit longer. This opens up a whole world of new objects to touch, scratch and ideally pull onto himself or the floor creating a crash – the louder the better, so much more satisfying! The separation anxiety has turned into the scenario that he is playing happily, perfectly content, but the moment he sees me he begins to cry and beg to be picked up and held. I literally hide from my baby so he will keep playing happily, all the while trying to survey him without him being able to catch my view. At night my boob is his sleep aid. Calvin has coined him my baby husband, and me his mamma wife.

I usually teach one yoga class a week and occasionally sub, but these last few weeks I am teaching two or three. I feel obliged to say yes because we too are planning our summer vacations, and I will want my fellow Yoginis to feel charitable towards me and willing to return the favor.

I have been and am enjoying having my grandparents here. It is nice to have their company. I especially enjoy having tea with them in the afternoons. Truth be told though, it is more work. I set up and plan three meals a day and prepare medications. I need to plan meals that are not too spicy (much to my husband’s chagrin) and that are easy to chew! On days where we were gone long hours because of the show, I was not only packing lunches and snacks for us, but brainstorming how best to assure a hot meal for them, without worrying about the house being burned down upon return. Turns out the crockpot became my new best friend.

All this not to complain. It is what it is, just more to do and plan. The last show was last Saturday, and on Sunday Calvin and I performed at church. It is Monday, and I am breathing a sigh of relief. Life is still busy, but less so, and I am reflecting back on these past few weeks. Pierson got to play a gingerbread boy and an angel in the show. He begged me for the last how to be an echo too, and he was. He said to me yesterday afternoon, "I am sad the show is over. Hansel and Gretel was my favorite Capitol Opera Richmond show." My heart smiled. All the headaches of that show were dissolved in an instant -- my six-year-old boy loves opera!

I realized during this busy time that the faster you run on the wheel, the faster it goes, the more tasks you set before you, the more there will be. I still managed to make time daily for a minimum meditation, and I trust through what I am told and hope that it makes a difference. But deep inside I know how much more it can be when it is not just another action checked off of a to-do list.

I felt the strong sense of futility at times, like cleaning up Soren's orchestra of pots and pans for the 100th time, full well knowing it would reappear shortly, yet still savoring those 45 seconds of happy play.

Some mornings after coffee I feel like superwoman: laundry (check), unload dishwasher (check), prepare breakfast (check), task, task, task (check, check, check)! Then four o'clock rolls around and I feel done. Sounds feel aggressive. The dog barks hysterically at a passerby just as Soren was getting to sleep. I calm the baby down and just then P storms in, slams the door. The dog goes crazy again. P demands in his loudest outdoor voice his latest material needs for his newest experiment. "I can't help you now P, I am trying to get the baby to sleep." P whines and protests, slams the door, the dog goes crazy, the baby cries louder. Mami comes in and tries "tapper les petits main", which only makes him scream more for fear she will try to take him from me. He needs sleep, not stimulation. Right on cue, a grumpy Papi will chime in: "Somebody take care of that child, I am thirsty, someone get me a drink, and when are we going back to Paris?" The wheel is spinning so fast it is impossible to step off.

My legs are breaking beneath me. It is another day. Heading home from the gym for lunch, Soren falls asleep in the car -- perfect. I move his seat in the sitting room and shut the door to prepare omelets for myself and the grandparents. I have a moment of calm to savor.... but I don't. My mind is active and my gestures are quick. Get the eggs, quick, quietly close refrigerator. Quick! mix, chop, cook, serve, gobble. No enjoyment of the calm, the baby is still sleeping. I have forgotten how to relax, the wheel is still spinning full force and I longer know how to slow it down and enjoy the moment. I stop and breathe and think. I must stop the wheel and learn to walk at a moderate pace and simply step off to sit when needed. I must take the time to look in my children's eyes when they have a need, not to feel annoyed that they are merely getting in the way of yet another task. The tasks are endless, but their sweet innocence is fleeting and worth soaking in.

My husband deserves a happier wife, not one who resents a touch that gets in the way of a task, the task can wait. Maybe someday he will no longer try to caress a shoulder knowing it will be met with annoyance. Maybe someday he will be gone too soon, and I will look back and wish I had taken thirty seconds away from preparing dinner to entertain a hug. We are told and it is true, these things will be eaten by moths, turned to dust. It is nice to look at a pretty home that is clean and orderly, but a little mess, or dinner an hour later is ok too.

The wheel can turn, but I want to step on and step off. I want to come back to what matters most. Intention and awareness are the first steps toward change. I no longer want to buy into the illusion that accomplishing more tasks makes for a profitable day. I want to embrace the truth of what truly holds significance and bring it back to the forefront. The wheel is flowing at a comforting pace, it has learned to rock and lilt, back and forth, like the ebb and flow of the ocean, or a hammock blowing in the breeze. I am here, present, no longer living in the racing, spinning, mind. Life is perfect and I am grateful for good health and blessings. And so the story goes on.

The Subtle Superhero: Humility

So about a month or so ago was Pierson's talent show. He did a beautiful job with his own composition, sung once in English, followed by French. It was a fun evening filled with song, dance, martial arts, pogo stick jumping and instrumental playing. There were costumes and glow sticks and all was well. Parents were required to volunteer in some capacity throughout the process of several rehearsals before the big night. I volunteered for the dress rehearsal. I was never really given a specific task, but I tried to help reign in the mayhem of kids who were stationed in the gym until the march to the theater, then back to the gym at intermission and back to the theater for the second half. I had the pleasure of viewing all the acts before the big night. I got a feel for the magnitude of putting together this event, just over two hours of acts with MCs introducing each number, adding jokes and humor as they did so.

One act struck me though. It was a strange song called "Watch Me (Whip / Nae Nae)”. Two girls came out, one with a whip-it t-shirt, the other with a Nae Nae t-shirt. They each had a microphone and sang this repetitive song, while sort of waving one arm overhead in a kind of lasso motion. I can't tell you exactly what it was that "rubbed me the wrong way", but it just felt kind of off. I told Calvin there seems to be something weird about this song, with its repetitive "watch me" lyrics and strong beat. I said, "it just seems perverted". That was my instinct, and then I left it at that. Calvin however, perhaps sensing something himself, took things a bit further. The next day after the talent show, he began researching online what exactly this whip / nae nae thing was all about.

Turns out a mother's intuition was right on. An adequate description of this song might be: "Verbal pornography masked in urban euphemisms". If you really want to understand click here.  This song getting into an elementary school talent show is innocent enough. The PTA volunteers who put this together, possibly like me, had an initial intuition, and then seeing the many tasks at hand promptly ignored it and moved on to get a show up. But here is where the story gets interesting. Calvin decided to illuminate both the principle and the PTA organizers on the true, grotesque meaning of this song and its inappropriateness in a school talent show. He did not do this in any sort of mean-spirited way, or in an effort to make anyone feel bad, merely out of his own shock at the true meaning of the song and the conviction that we as parents and educators should not be complicit in allowing our kids to learn such songs, lyrics and dance by rote, once we do know what they are saying. He wrote a kind email thanking them for their hard work in putting together such an event, also for the personal time they took to work with Pierson, and then mentioned our mutual intuition, which led to research and then what this song is really about.

He promptly received.......absolutely nothing!! A day or so went by and so Calvin decided, well if the people in charge do not care, perhaps there are other parents who would care, or should care to know what their children are being innocently indoctrinated with while they have no idea what they are actually saying, and what their dance moves are designed to be suggesting. He put a post on FB about the song, its true meaning, and mentioning that he came to know this song through his six-year-old son's school talent show. He tagged the PTA. Suddenly within minutes he had emails coming in.

Hmmm,..Very interesting. When something was exposed, suddenly it became very important, yet when it was still in secret, it did not merit a response. The first response was not from the two organizers of the show, but rather from the PTA president, who responded by avoiding the issue altogether and a response that could even possibly be construed as condescending - something like, I saw your post and I appreciate hearing an audience member’s feedback. What???? This was not about audience feedback. It was about whether this song is appropriate for a school talent show.

The next response was more defensive, something along the lines of "it seemed to me to be presented innocently enough". Well once again, the question is not how it was presented (although the actual "lassoing" gesture with which it was presented is supposed to be representing a man holding a woman by the hair whipping her head around while he "does her" from behind (hence the whip it, in case you did not watch the link)). But actually even that is beside the point. No one would condone a song about killing blacks and Jews in ovens, set in Chinese to a cool beat, just because they did not understand the lyrics. Once one is made aware of what the lyrics (and in this case gestures) do mean, it is obvious anyone would say that is reprehensible and obviously inappropriate for an elementary school talent show. Or for that matter, inappropriate for anyone. Yet these women were digging their heels in, insisting there was nothing wrong!

And here is where I come to the downfall of pride and the superpower of humility. Things could have been so simple. A mere acknowledgement from the initial personal email, and the whole thing would have been done with. It could have gone something like: "Oh my goodness, I had no idea the song meant those things. Of course it is inappropriate for children. Thank you for letting me know that. In the future we will try to be more careful." Done. I am sure Calvin would have responded with a kind word (just wanted you to be aware), and perhaps there would have been a mutual sharing of the shock at the music industry targeting children.

Instead, the information went on FB, and in turn the women felt shamed, and then proceeded to claim there was nothing wrong with the song being in the show. The final email to Calvin said something like "how dare you...how dare you turn something beautiful into something awful and hurtful. We worked our asses off on this show".

This was never about the women's work, time, efforts or even the success of the show; yet this is what it turned into in their prideful minds. This was about revealing the truth of the meaning and intent of a song -- one three-minute song in a two-hour show. In this case the truth hurts. But should we not want to know the truth? Should we not desire to be illumined as opposed to remaining ignorant and safe, all the while perpetuating unwholesome language, indoctrinating our children that a male chauvinist dominating sexuality and a women having a duff (designated ugly fat friend, so she can seem more appealing) are ideas that are just fine?

A humble heart holds such immense power. It is free and safe because nothing can knock it over or break it down. It is flexible and flowing. When confronted with even the most egregious error, it responds with gratitude for the illumination where there was darkness. It wants to be exposed so that it can shine more brightly. It is like a stream that flows, freely. Rocks and twigs may enter in its path, and it will divide or roll over with ease. The water is clean because it moves and it is wholesome to drink.

Pride is like a stagnant water, trying to hold. Standing still it digs in, and the muddy floor gets stirred to cloud the water more. Plants and weeds begin to take root trying to build a wall. Now we have to uproot the weeds to even make way for the light. The stronger the hold the more complex and convoluted things become. The light is hidden, and lost. Humility is like an armor that protects, but it is soft and subtle; it's as if you are embedded in a cottony cloud, and if anyone aims to strike, it goes right through. There is nowhere to catch. It is beautiful and powerful and so simple, like all of God's gifts.

Wisdom from the Mouth of Babes

So the idea of our children being our teachers is very popular these days.

O LORD, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth! You have set your glory above the heavens. Out of the mouth of babies and infants, you have established strength because of your foes, to still the enemy and the avenger. (Psalm 8: 1-2)

Jesus quotes this in Matthew's gospel:

And the blind and the lame came to him in the temple, and he healed them. But when the chief priests and the scribes saw the wonderful things that he did, and the children crying out in the temple, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” they were indignant, and they said to him, “Do you hear what these are saying?” And Jesus said to them, “Yes; have you never read, “‘Out of the mouth of infants and nursing babies you have prepared praise’?” (Matt. 21: 14-16)

I don't disagree completely, but I do think there is a balance to be found. I am glad that we are in an age where children are honored as little beings and are respected enough to have their voices heard. When P responds confidently out loud, or asks a bold question amidst an adult conversation, my heart smiles. I was taught children were to be seen and not heard. I had a fear to express myself freely amidst elders, and even to this day sometimes it takes an act of courage to just be free to be me. That being said, for me it is equally obvious that children need, desire and thrive with clear boundaries and strong examples. They are not all enlightened little Buddhas to be worshiped at every turn. They test and try the patience of those who love them most, and basic virtues like sharing, speaking kindly, waiting your turn, etcetera, need to be taught and practiced again and again. Hopefully we do our best to model good behavior and are not too proud to admit when we have failed to do so. We can then have the gift to model humility.

I really love the authentic originality of pet names that children end up with from their mommies and families. P has gone from bump, to bumpy, P pod, bug and lately "just P". When Soren was only a few months old, P wanted to give him a nickname. Soren had particularly sharp little nails and seemed to like to scratch things to feel them, kind of like nails on a chalkboard for his mommy and daddy! P came up with the nickname Rosefingers. I loved it, so sweet. A few months later when Soren had usurped P's sippy cup with his usual grape juice / water mix, P came around the corner asking where his cup had gone. I told him Soren had it. He replied so candidly and honestly in a low gravelly voice: "Scratchy little hands". I laughed so hard. It was true of course, but in that moment Rosefingers had become a disgruntled scratchy little hands. Isn't it funny how easily our hearts can turn when our will is crossed? Something originally born out of love and affection turns into the worst of criticisms. Why are our hearts so fickle? Needless to say "Scratchy little hands" has stuck and Calvin and I use it regularly with great love towards our little monster (more recently coined with me and P, monster nuggles). Monster because he is into everything, and nuggles from P, for his unique term for Eskimo kisses, which I often give to him, and now he gives to his little brother.

I had another interesting learning moment from P the other morning on our way to church. We were talking en français about his talent show. He used the word practicer instead of répéter. We proceeded to get into a back-and-forth, P absolutely insisting it was a word and me telling him it was not, then giving him a high and mighty lecture about how I care about him and that is why I am insistent – ‘that there may be those that will let mistakes go and continue, and that you will think you are so great when you are not, and that those who really invest the time and energy to try to teach you what is right are those that care and want your best. In fact, instead of arguing back, you should be thankful.’ Calvin told me to drop it, which I did. P got the last word in insisting that practicer was indeed a real word. We went into church and per our usual routine I set him up with some breakfast food in the Parrish hall and sat for a moment with him before needing to head into the choir room to robe. Suddenly it dawned on me clear as light. He is thinking of pratiquer, and it would seem similar in meaning to répéter! In that moment I was so grateful for his insistence, not shutting down like I would have. He stood up for something he knew, and maybe it took ten repetitions to click. Maybe he was being a little stubborn, but so was I. I apologized and he became his sweetest self. We both laughed about what he was trying to say and me not getting it. We hugged and he said “you are the best mommy ever”. It was one of those learning/teaching moments from my P and I felt grateful.

Lastly I think about little monster nugggles. This morning I was trying to get some emails done. Soren was in his high chair complaining, and I took his little musical toy and put it in front of him. He was distracted and forgot for a moment. Of course, this is a trick all moms use. When he grasps on to something he should not and screams bloody murder when you remove it, you quickly replace it with something else. The law of distraction. This morning however it hit me. As adults, we have an issue or a problem and we focus on it. We go over and over it in our minds, replaying the tapes. Then we call our moms, girlfriends, husbands and go over it again. Spiritually we are called to focus not on things of this world but things above.

If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. Colossians 3: 1-3

We are actually told: stop focusing over and over on this or that. The more energy we put on it, the stronger it will become. Cognitive therapy and the placebo effect remind us that our thoughts indeed do form our reality.

So thank you monster nuggles; and Master P for reminding me about the laws of distractions, the power of persistence in your truth, not being afraid to be, but most of all thank you for being my sweet loves and blessing me in this walk of life. I am so honored to be your mommy and pray daily that I can teach you wisdom and joy, and remain childlike and open enough to continue listening and learning from you.

Relationships Are Complicated

As I prepared to write this blog post, ideas swirled around in my mind. I knew the general direction and ideas I wanted to talk about, yet kept finding myself a bit confused, dreamy, uncertain. Usually the ideas swirl. I talk and think them through in my mind, and after a bit of time they coalesce into a linear fashion, and I am ready to sit and write. But this was different. Every time I felt close, something else would drift in, shift and again feel a bit unsteady, just not quite clear or linear. Then I had an epiphany. The crux of this blog post is about relationships, and as the saying goes, ‘relationships are complicated’.

In relationships there is inevitably the other, and the other always remains a bit unknown. There it is: the unknown, and the unknown can be scary, and unclear. Venturing willingly into the unknown requires an act of faith. I admit it, I tend to want to be an island. I am not sure exactly where it comes from, but I see me as usual in my P. He views help as an insult telling him he is not quite good enough, strong enough, able enough. He clenches his little jaw, grumbles an irritated groan and presses on, rejecting love coming his way. We can have a rational conversation about it, and he understands in his mind that the one who wants to help is trying to do good, not harm. But his little, persistent self wants the satisfaction of doing it himself, the satisfaction of a merit accomplished only through himself. Of course upon close examination that is really an illusion, as every circumstance has a myriad of factors that lead up to it and through it, and inevitably the other is somehow on some level part of the whole. But that is beside the point for now.

We all have relationships both to people and things and are in constant relationship to the world around us. We breathe the air, drink the water, and eat from the fruits of Mother Earth. Some relationships seem so simple and easy. They naturally flow gracefully, no need to explain or elucidate. Sometimes just a glance and all is understood. Then there are the others that seem so difficult. You don't even really understand why. It seems even the simplest of suggestions or acts gets confused, muddled. You press through the sludge, explanation after explanation, often ending up farther apart and more confused than where you started. It is a mystery.

God calls us to be in relationship with Himself through his Son. God Himself is in a perpetual relationship, the Trinity. We have God the Father. For me this is the aspect that is so grand, so great it is almost incomprehensible. We glimpse a sense through the great works of art he has created in his creation. We admire the glorious handiwork of a sunset on the ocean, the sheer greatness of the mountains, or a starlit summer sky, and his wonder and majesty are truly revealed. But fostering a relationship here seems a little abstract. The Holy Spirit is for me a mysterious God essence, kind of like the raw material of God, before the word and manifestation, like an essential oil that kindles and awakens our senses subtlety to a truth about to be revealed. Then you have the Son. The Son who is of one being with the Father, who the Father sent out of love so that we CAN know him.

God is love, and an island is not love; an island is fear. Sure we may sense a lighter step when we are on our own only worrying about our own selves, but at some point this system inevitably breaks down and we see the illusion for what it is. We cannot bear the weights of the world on our own shoulders, try as we might. We can know Christ because he is like us in so many ways. Being fully human, we can understand his words, his actions, and his feelings, which this allows us to connect, to relate to Christ the man. But as He is also God, somewhere in this sacred relationship our eyes are opened to something very different about this God-man. He is like us yes, but also not like us, being one substance with the Father. And being without sin, we see a purity in Him and in his words and actions. We see something we do know: “What may be known of God is manifest in them, for God has shown it to them.” (Rom. 1: 19) We also see something we desire, admire, and yet it feels a bit distant, a little out of reach in our daily lives. We come back to Him because he is beautiful, perfect, strong and righteous in equal measure. Yes, now we are beginning to see and know God through Him. He shows us how our world, our thoughts and our actions are upside down. Our priorities are reversed. He says, ‘stop trying to be an island, for you were never meant to be so’. He says: ‘come to me, drink my blood, eat my body, become like me; become one body with me’. What a gift the invitation to his table is, so inviting and yet...It takes an act of faith.

What will happen when I let down the wall that protects me, when I become vulnerable to the unknown? This is the way it's always been, and I have survived thus far. If I don't do it myself, how will it be done right? When God asks Abraham to give up his son, so dear to him, what is really going on here? Do we have a cruel God demanding human blood for satisfaction? Of course not, the Bible tells us God is love. He sent his Son out of love for us. He wants us to be first and foremost in relationship with him. “Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal” (Matt. 6: 19). In other words, we are to shift our focus off of our island and onto Him. We are asked to be there vulnerable and ready to receive what this relationship will bring. We must take off our masks of the person that we want to show the world and be there without pretense or excuse just as we are. And that is no easy task. As we do this though the irony is we become more of who we truly are, who we are meant to be. We can now love our neighbor as ourselves, because we are no longer focused on showing our neighbor how smart, great, fit, intelligent (the list goes on) we are. We are helping the other not to build up our own inflated ego, or damaged self-esteem, but rather simply because it is the right thing to do. End of story, no earning some higher stature -- just because. Through right relationship with the Father, we become in right relationship to the World. But yes, it takes an act of faith.

Peace, Politics, and the Middle Way

Watching all the politics going on for the upcoming election I am constantly brought to this idea that Right and Left really could be called right and left brain. The left brain is good for logic, numbers, rational thinking. The right brain is understood to be more emotional, artistic, altruistic. I am surprised that more people do not see this parallel and say, "Hey, wait a minute, something fishy is going on here". Why in politics do we become so blind and unilateral? Should we not in politics and in life aim to use our whole brain? Possibly, even add to that, in a balanced way? Yoga talks about the middle way, in essence, balance. You know, the old Eastern Yin and Yang.

When we see a woman we can admire softness, curves, gentleness and nurturing qualities, but how much more we admire when we can add strength of mind and body too? Nobody aspires to be a withering violet. When we look at a man, we want him to be strong, a leader and a thinker, but no one wants a brute. We would hope that he would also be sensitive, compassionate and understanding. Yet we divide our political parties into right and left. We pit ourselves against each other, dig in our heals, and insist that my right is better than your right. It seems so strange and glaring to me. I can't understand why everyone does not shout out, "Wait, we are better than this, we are smarter than this!" Why not have one political party of hopeful participants, filled with candidates that approach issues in a balanced way, and the one who is most balanced and able wins? Why do we inherently create divisiveness in a way that makes Peace and Unity near impossible?

I have a friend on Facebook. She is a vegan and a yogi. She often posts quotes about love and peace, generally spiritual in nature. Once in a while though she posts about her contempt for that with which she disagrees, and recently it has been "he is a disgusting individual." I want to shake her shoulders and say, don't you see you have fallen into the trap? The enemy has won. You have become that at which you point your finger and call disgusting. Christ says: "You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye.” He, too, is made in God’s image, a fallen human being. Christ says to those who persecute Him "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." I want to say, “Don't you know?” What good is it to honor nonviolence (Ahimsa, a yogic principle of non-harming) to the animal kingdom if we continue to attack our fellow human beings?

Christ also says we are to forgive “until seventy times seven". Where is our mercy and how large can we make it? We are supposed to be a democracy, yet there are certain rules where even if a majority chooses a winner, that person may well not be the winner. I have to say I don't understand all the rules, and it does not appear in my own admitted ignorance to be democratic at all. I would like to see a political revolution, where we the people say no more. No more pitting against each other. We know better. We know the truth is broader than me-versus-you – the truth includes us both.

The country is more and more divided, both in politics and religion. Studies tell us that

evangelicals are growing. But guess what? So are agnostics, atheists and a purely secular society. The middle road is becoming a hollow abyss with a towering mountain on either side. We continue to prop ourselves up on either side with our rightness, ready to die rather than be wrong. What if we all died to our rightness and were born into a broader view where a balanced brain could move towards something beautiful...

Studies on music show how beneficial it is for the very reason that it exercises the left and right brain. Music and its very structure and rhythm are purely mathematical. Harmony is math, and yet music has the ability to touch our souls at their deepest levels. It can emote the full spectrum of our emotions in such a full and satisfying way. Certainly if music can teach us how right and left brain working together create the most effective result we can bring this concept into our material world in government and society. Let us make those mountains low and fill in the empty abyss with hope, a beautiful plain where all can stand firm and supported by a steady strong ground. What a beautiful landscape that would make.

Purash Charana

So a couple of weeks ago I started a Purash Charana. “What is that?”, you ask. Well, my "spiritual guide", who is president of the Himalayan institute, said it means literally your first step on a spiritual journey. I have to admit my heart sunk just a little when he said that. I mean, after all, I thought I was on a spiritual journey my whole life, and a very focused journey at least the last 10 or so years where I have a regular prayer and meditation practice. On the other hand, a few weeks into this, it makes sense, and it is what it is and where I am now. Basically a year and a half ago, after completing my yoga teacher training, I went to the Himalayan Institute to spend a weekend doing a heart opening seminar, but also to meet Rolf (who I was told is a master) and to be initiated into the Himalayan Tradition by being imparted a personal mantra. A personal mantra is a Sanskrit prayer that you repeat daily with your prayer beads any number of times. One string is 108 beads. The actual, literal meaning of the mantra is less important than the sound as the sound vibration itself is considered sacred and will lead you inward to silence and communion with God, the Divine. 

When I had this initial meeting and mantra initiation with Rolf, he told me to check back in a year's time, which I did last fall. He was very happily surprised. He said that he says that to everyone he initiates, but rarely does anyone actually follow through. At our meeting we discussed my daily practice, which he seemed satisfied with, and it was then that he suggested the idea of Purash Charana perhaps in February. So like the obedient, diligent student I am, I checked back with him in February and he suggested we do my mantra so many times a day for 80 days then plus 8 just as a gift (not as my "homework"). We would check back in then, and he said I would likely experience a lot of joy. Perfect. I hung up the phone confident (after all it was really not any different than what I was already doing). Piece of cake.

Then something really strange started happening. First, it was in regard to our phone conversation. There is this thing I have noticed when you are in the presence of a spiritual master. Everything seems so simple and clear, then you step away and realize there is all this profound meaning in these simple exchanges. These unexpected layers of subtlety and intricacy show up, and soon your mind is turning around all these complex possibilities. Perhaps old insecurities resurface. Suddenly you are faced with yourself, sometimes in ways you thought were long ago let go of and mastered. You are reminded of those little seeds of insecurity, or pride that linger deep below. Welcome to the forest....

Here I was strolling along so nicely in my daily spiritual practice, and now that I am told what to do and for how long, suddenly these little resistances are showing up. Freewill is such an interesting little animal. We all want it, want to be in charge, set our own course so to speak, even when it may be to our own detriment. As soon as someone, or perhaps God says this is what you should do, this is what is really the best for your soul and spirit, there is that little ego, pride, stubbornness that rears its head and says ‘yes, sure, but I really want to do it my way’. The can of worms is opened. It is like the old adage, ‘if you think you are enlightened go and spend a week with your family.’

We create new habits and identities in our lives, mirroring the person we want to be and become, and to some extent we do become that person. I do believe it is possible to transform on deep levels, but often as we are transforming there remains a mustard seed that is still there -- small, but not rooted out. And given the right set of circumstances, it shows its persistent life-force, pushing its way through the dark soil of subconscious into the daylight to be wrestled with once again.

I did not give up. I am still going strong in my Purash Charana, and I will make it I am convinced. But I was surprised how much it brought forth, just that little difference in doing someone else's will, and not just mine. I think the joy will come, but with the upturned soil came first melancholy, questioning, and reexamining things I thought had been fully examined. I am convinced it is ‘all good’, as is popular to say, but also truly good. If we are being challenged, then likely we are growing, and with growth and change we can expect a bit of uncomfortableness. I am grateful that God gives us free will because without that we could not choose Him, and in His perfection he gives us all the time in the world. What a supreme example of loving patience.

Human beings are such strange and beautiful creatures made in His image. Pierson made a funny observation the other day in regards to his little brother. He said, "He is a danger to himself”. So true, and in some ways aren't we all.

"One of those days!"

So a couple of weeks ago I had...one of those days. One of those days where everything is just a little off. School was delayed for two hours; however, Calvin did not get the email until after having dragged a particularly tired six-year-old out of bed, gotten him ready and taken him to the bus stop. After they came back Calvin informed me of the situation as he left for work. Pierson was wrapped up in his coat with his backpack strapped on. He is now fully awake and very bored. Me: "Why don't you take off your back pack honey?" Pierson: "No I want to keep it." Me: "But the bus will not come for two hours!" Pierson: "I don't care". OK, I let it go. Pierson: "Can I see if Harper can play?" " Me: “I guess so." Pierson came right back. Harper's parents got the email and she is still sleeping. For two hours Pierson wandered and fidgeted in and out of the house, with his back pack firmly strapped on. It is now time to take him to the bus stop. This is just the time when the baby is napping and not happy to get into a stroller, when he was so comfortable on his mamma cushions. At the bus stop P immediately begins climbing the snow piles. I don't really mind, but his little friend’s mom does and says, "Hudson get down, you are going to get hurt." Sure enough right at that moment P loses his balance, knocks Hudson, and they both go tumbling down. Thankfully no one is hurt, but I explain to P in French to no longer get up there. He taunts me, inching up, one foot, all the antics, until the bus finally comes. It is 10 AM and I am exhausted and feeling stressed. I will go to the gym and take a nice Yoga class. 

It all starts off well enough. The teacher is very physically accomplished in her demonstrations. It is a very small class and she is giving lots of detailed instructions. I don't really mind, although it does seem to be a little micromanaging for my taste in Yoga. After all, Yoga is one's own practice, always called to listen to and honor your own body. Even though it feels a little bothersome, I understand she is only trying to help. Some comments feel a little pointed, almost irritated, but I figure it is just me. Then about three quarters of the way through the class something really awkward happens. She is doing an exercise and cueing to open from the hip. She is staring at me and talking directly to me. I look down and I feel that indeed I am opening from the hip. She repeats the same cue, repositioning her leg, and is staring right at me and talking directly to me. No doubts now, even others are looking at me. I look down again – I am opening from the hip. “This is so strange”, I think to myself. A little bit annoyed now, in an exaggerated way I reposition my leg (she did let out a sigh, ugh), I and look at her like, “OK?” She then (still looking right at me) says in a very catty way: "Do you just not want to do the exercise?" I am sincerely baffled and aghast. I feel personally attacked; it is so odd. Then she says the foot has to stay down. Oh, OK. Now I get it: she wants my foot down. That is the part I was not doing (nothing to do with my hip, which was the cue she gave three times in a row, followed by the menacing statement). Nothing was said, and the class went on. I was feeling really strange and vulnerable. I tried to finish the class with no eye contact, but I was seriously having a hard time letting go of this scenario and feeling verbally attacked.

At the end of class, I asked if I could speak to her. Two women beside me immediately jumped into the conversation to my defense: "Oh yes, I think you were actually opening from the hip. You are just so flexible." They obviously were hearing the open-your-hip cue as well. I wanted to talk to this teacher not so much to prove I am right (I was opening from the hip) as to let her know she wasn’t cueing the visual she actually wanted to see (the foot flat). Mainly, I wanted to clear the air, explain the miscommunication, and say: “Hey, being pointed out and talked to that way did not feel so great.” The two women who jumped to my defense were sweet, and confirmed what I was already feeling (this was not merely in my imagination), but I was less concerned about that than really having a genuine exchange with this teacher. However, when I did try to talk with her, it was near impossible. She was so defensive and quixotic that I could barely get a sentence out. When I first asked if we could talk, she said ‘sure’. Then as soon as I began to recount my version, she interrupted and cut me off. I literally put my hand up and said: “Can I finish?” Each subsequent attempt to explain the situation was cut off and interrupted also. I started to say: “If I am not doing something, it is not because I do not want to.” She continues: "I have been teaching twenty-five years! You have a beautiful practice. I really meant: ‘Are you not able, do you not want to, maybe because of an injury?’ Oh, sorry if you took it that way....”, etc. etc. She was defending her ego, trying to stroke mine, justifying in my opinion (a bit disingenuously) her choice of words, and finally apologizing, not for anything she did or said, but rather how I (and apparently several other people in the class) took what she said. In the end, she was incapable of just being and listening. She was incapable of acknowledging any responsibility on her part. I let it go. I said before I left: "I just wanted to clear the air".

I felt a little more light-hearted in the moment, but about an hour later it really began to gnaw at me. Especially when I thought: “Wait a minute, even her apology was not really an apology but rather a, ‘Sorry that you misunderstood.’” I cannot know her heart, but it sure did not sound or feel that way in my gut, and as a therapist once told me: “The body does not lie.” The day went on with several other strange mishaps, culminating in my trip to church that night. We were asked to park not in the lot, but on the street behind the lot to allow space for parishioners attending the event (a guest speaker, an author was giving a presentation). “No problem”, I thought, “I know exactly where that is.” However, there was also another event downtown that night and traffic everywhere. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that street was one-way. I ended up sitting in traffic and fighting with other one-way streets until finally, 30 minutes later, I gave up. I got back to the church lot where there were ample parking spots. I took one and arrived 30 minutes late to rehearsal. So that was the end of my day.

OK, so in the midst of a world where there is war, people are sick, some are starving, this is all quite trivial. But this was my life this day. I could not help coming back to what it was in this situation with the Yoga teacher that was bugging me. I realized for my part that I needed to be merciful. Yeah, it did not feel great, but I can imagine there is some deep suffering there to feel threatened by something so insignificant and to react that way. Viewing the way our conversation went – me, a stranger in a Yoga class – I can only imagine how difficult her more intimate relations must be.

There was something else though that felt unresolved.... and this brings me to justice.  What is justice and why do we desire it? If I am honest, what I really desired from that after-class conversation was twofold. The first was to be understood. “I was actually in fact doing what you were asking me to do, so when you verbally ‘attacked’ me it felt unfair”. I wanted her to understand that and then acknowledge her role in it, neither of which actually happened. But looking at it this way, I wanted the injustice of being treated unfairly to be rectified, and that was what would not let go and was nagging in my mind.

We all have a desire for justice, whether personal or political. When we see injustice in the world we cry out for the poor, the abused, marginalized etc. But why then do so many people abhor the idea of a just God? Why do we dislike the notion that a God of love is inevitably a God of justice? I think perhaps for most people the idea that God is just and gives out deserved repercussions to one’s actions seems harsh. I disagree, and here is why. A just God actually creates the space for human beings to be what He calls us to be: peaceful, merciful, and forgiving. We do not have to retaliate because that is not our job. Ultimately that is His job, and when one truly accepts this, then one can become more peaceful, merciful and forgiving. Not saying it is effortless, but the space for possibility seems much larger. If someone comes and murders my family, my whole being will cry "Revenge! Retaliation!" Only by trusting in a just God could I eventually step back, act in Peace, and know fully that this terrible wrong will be made right and perfectly so. This may not stop evil from being enacted in the world, but theoretically for those who believe it, it can stop the destructive circular effects of revenge and retaliation. Without a just God, it seems I would be left to my own devices, maybe enacting justice of my own accord (I might add that when this is the case people generally want more than perfect justice: there is usually the desire for a one-upping kind of justice). The other option: do nothing and remain perpetually dissatisfied.

In his book The Reason for God, Tim Keller talks about an argument for God which involves the idea that most natural desires have a true and real satisfaction that can be met. We thirst and hunger: food and drink are available. We have a natural desire for justice, and yet we know that it is wrong to do harm to another. Does that mean there is no fulfillment for our desire for justice? I think not, and if I can trust and forgive, in small and in large, what a beautiful space is created – a space of freedom, basking in the light and warmth of truth. Nothing to prove, nothing to do, just be and know that all is truly well. My own small feelings of injustice can be absorbed into a plan that perhaps I cannot always understand, but I can still know that what is good and right ultimately prevails.