FAVORITE GREEN THINGS




I'm working on an article about cool green products - such as To-Go Ware's bamboo utensil set, Snow Peak's titanium silverware (below), and Detours' Toocan Juicy urban utility pannier (above).

Do you have a favorite green product or service?

If so, please send it my way.

HOMA SWEET HOMA



On Sunday Maybelline and I went to the Sri Ramakrishna Universal Temple in Homer Glen for a homa for Sri Ramakrishna

A homa is a Vedic fire ceremony. In this case it was four hours long.

Homer Glen is a far-away suburb. In this case it was over an hour away.

Sri Ramakrishna was a great yogi whose teachings live on.

Last September, the Ramakrishna center moved to Homer Glen from the Chicago neighborhood of Hyde Park.



The new complex is massive, and was surrounded by flowers and butterflies.


We were greeted by a kindly gentleman who told us where to put our chappals (flip-flops), and directed us to the chapel upstairs.

It's a little smaller than the Ramakrishna temple in Mysore, but has the same wonderful shanthi (peaceful) vibe.




It also has the same images of Sri Ramakrishna, his spiritual partner, Sri Sarada Devi, and his disciple Swami Vivekananda (who brought yoga to America when he stole the show with his moving speech at the 1893 World Parliament of Religions in Chicago).

Afterwords we went to the fire ceremony, which was held in a tent outside.

Very few people were there at the beginning.

They trickled in little by little over the next. four. hours.

There was chanting, and fire, walking around in circles, throwing flowers and rice, and a lot of standing up and sitting down and taking of the light. The best was the quite burning of fruit, flowers and copper and coins in a bag doused in ghee. Watching things burn is cathartic. But watching things that usually aren't burnt is awesome on a whole 'nother level.



The pujari (priest) was wonderful, and occasionally checked in on us to see if we were still tuned in, sometimes saying, "Louder! Louder!" during the mantra segments. He had quite a sense of humor *and* knew exactly what he was doing.

At the end, he put ashes on our forehead, and we walked in a clockwise circle three times around the tent.

Afterwords we got in line to pay our respect to the ashram's two gurus and receive some prasad (blessed food). It felt a little strange to touch the feet of someone other than Pattabhi Jois.

Then we went inside and ate all of the wonderful home-made Indian food* that had been blessed at the homa.

Shanthi birthday indeed.






-------------------------------

*One never tires of home-made Indian food.

POTHOLE UPDATE






It seems that the city does not plan to repair the pothole anytime soon.

Too busy with other things, I guess.

But not the locals.

By Saturday, someone had added a traffic pylon and another big piece of wood to the mix.





And by Saturday night, it looked like this:

THE SHOCKING TRUTH




It didn't happen after five months in India, in 2002.

It didn't happen during the shorter stints there, in '04, '06, '07 and '08.

But it has finally happened--

After five months living one block from Chicago's Little India,

It is official.

The body and mind are sick of Indian food.

Sick of it, I tell ya.

Finally.

THE EXTREMELY LOCAL NEWS: STREETS AND SAN



Last week a tire appeared in the middle of the street.

Everyone drove around it.

I waited to see how long it would be there, until someone moved it.

Three days passed.

Still it was there.

So I went to take a picture of it.

Suddenly, a man popped his head out of the window of the nearby apartment building and yelled, "I called the city about that hole three days ago, and they still haven't come. Can you believe it?"

I looked up at him.

And then I looked more closely at the tire.

It was covering a huge, deep hole.

Oops.

So on the way to class I called the city, to remind them about the pothole.

They said they'd put it at the top of the list.



The next day the tire was in a vertical position.

Two days later it was on its side again, with a two-by-four sticking out the top.




One week later, the hole is still there.

So is the tire.

And the City That Works is still trying to lure the 2016 Olympics here.






* * *




Earlier this week, they started tearing up Peterson Avenue... even though the fast, four-lane Peterson was in pretty good shape, apart from a few (filled) potholes.







So I wondered, Why are they doing this?

Then I noticed the orange sign.



Stimulus money.




* * *




How cool is it that Wilco is on the back of CTA buses?



It's almost as amusing as the fine print on this:








* * *





Last week the city came and took down a tree across the street.

This week another crew returned with this oddly-named machine,




which did away with the stump.

As if Johannes Vermeer would have wanted it that way.







* * *





I just realized that the song the ice cream truck plays when it goes by several times each day is....

the Conferate anthem "Dixie."

Such a unexpected thing to hear, in such an integrated neighborhood.

REMEMBERING PATTABHI JOIS




The article I did about Pattabhi Jois for Yoga Chicago mag is now online. Here's an excerpt:

"I first met Pattabhi Jois during his 2000 workshop in New York City. I wanted to meet the guru of the practice that had changed my life, whom all of the senior teachers I’d studied with spoke so highly about. I’d started practicing yoga after my mother died, and she had always said to go to the source. So there I was in the front row, waiting to meet the source.

"The first time Pattabhi Jois adjusted me was in janu sirsasana C--the so-called toe-crusher pose--that I’d been struggling with since I first started Ashtanga three years earlier. I worried about my knees as Guruji firmly pressed my knee to the floor and my chin to the shin, but the adjustments were spot-on. “Both hands!” he said, when I put out an arm to steady myself. “He knows where your weaknesses are,” my teacher Eric Powell said after class. He also knew limits. On the fourth day Guruji he looked at my rendition of janu sirsasana C and rewarded me with a satisfied “Mmmmm.”

"After class, I felt a little strange lining up with the others and touching his feet. The mind and body didn’t know what they were doing, but the heart certainly did.

"I went again to Guruji’s New York City workshop the following year. After signing “Happy Birthday” to his daughter, Saraswati, on September 11, I got in line to touch his feet as usual. After a big hug, Guruji looked me in the eye and asked, “When coming Mysore?” “Next year,” I said, not knowing how I would pull it off. Later, I walked out and saw the black smoke of the World Trade Center. Three months later, Pakistan and India were lining up troops at their border, preparing for war. But I had to make good on my word to Guruji. So I went to Mysore anyway--even though I was scared out of my wits (I purchased an open-ended ticket so that I could come home early).



"I ended up extending my trip and spending four months with Guruji and Sharath at the old shala, which held only 12 people. And I received regular adjustments from both of them."

The piece includes recollections from other local students, including Dr. R. Chandrasekhara, who studied with SKPJ in the 1960s and later moved to Illinois. Another excerpt:

“I started learning yoga in 1960 after a friend of mine introduced me to my guru, Shree Pattabhi Jois. I started on a Vijaya Dashami [Dasara Festival] day and spent seven years before I had to come to USA. “I started studying with him at the Sanskrit College (1960) then continued from ‘63 to ‘67 at his house in Lakshmipuram. He treated me as his son, and I became extended family.

“We had to practice on a bare floor because the Sanskrit College did not provide any carpet. We used one towel. Later, we all contributed for the prison inmates to weave a coconut coir carpet.

“His hands-on teaching was exemplary. He taught from 5 a.m. till 9 a.m. and again from 5 p.m. to 9 p.m. tirelessly. He shaped the student’s body to perfection. He taught me well, and I mastered in three years. We gave one demonstration first of a kind in my home town (Holenarasipur) during Ganesha festival. We did not have any camera to take pictures. After he retired, he moved to Lakshmipuram location.

“Steadily the number of students increased, both local and from abroad. He taught me free because I was a student without any income, and I was one of the family. Adjectives fail to describe his magnanimity--always smiling and had profound knowledge of Patanjali’s system. His wife had the same name as my mother (Savitramma) and always made very good coffee for me. It was a devastating blow for him when she suddenly passed away....I happened to visit him to invite him my son’s wedding around the time his wife passed away. I attended his wife’s death ceremony, and he was very gracious to attend my son’s wedding."

The article also includes recollections from YogaNow owner Amy Beth Treciokas and others (that's Amy in the B&W photo, above). Read the rest here (and scroll past the bio to "Remembering Pattabhi Jois" to get to the good stuff).

ROBERT FEDER ON WALTER CRONKITE




My journalism mentor, Robert Feder wrote a wonderful essay about his relationship with Walter Cronkite in yesterday's Chicago Sun-Times. Robert started the Walter Cronkite fan club when he was 14. The newsman was, in essence, Rob's guru.

An excerpt from the essay:

"Every year just before his birthday on Nov. 4, I would send him a tie, which he would wear that day on “The CBS Evening News” as a signal to the club. He acknowledged each one with a gracious note.

"Among my most prized possessions is a photo he autographed to “Fan No. 1.”

"Whenever he visited Chicago, as busy as he was, Walter would make time to see me. Sometimes he’d invite me to sit nearby on the newsroom set — just off camera — and watch him as he put the finishing touches on his newscast and imparted it to tens of millions of Americans. It was as close to an out-of-body experience as I will ever know.

"Early in my freshman year at Northwestern University’s Medill School of Journalism, Walter came to meet with students. I was invited to question him on a panel that also included two very bright graduate students (one of them was Marlene Iglitzen, who would later marry Gene Siskel). I remember trying to impress Walter by asking the toughest questions I could. I could tell he appreciated the effort.

"When it was over, he called me aside for a private chat. He suggested that it might be time to shift my focus away from the fan club and redirect my energies toward my own academic and professional ambitions. He was right, of course, as he was every time he offered his advice and counsel.

"For the next 35 years, we kept in touch. He told me I had a standing invitation for dinner whenever I was in New York. Entering a crowded Manhattan restaurant with him was like watching Moses part the Red Sea."

Read the rest here.

WHY I LOVE AMITABH BACHCHAN'S BLOG:

1. Big B is a wonderful, thoughtful writer. His description of driving through the recent Mumbai monsoon rains puts you right there with him:

"Prateeksha is inundated. The road outside is in waist deep water and the lawn, even though it is built on a rise has filled up and threatening to push the rain into the house. I prepare to move furniture and stuff from the ground to higher positions. Mini waves drift in from the road into the driveway and reach the first step into the house. Water has entered into the reception area and the staff, bare footed pants rolled up, are frantically trying to clear drains of any obstruction so the water can flow out. But flow out where ? On to the road which is waist deep itself. It shall all come back !

"I muster up courage and help and pull out the SUV. Sorry Mid Day, but thats the only one that shall go through in all this mess, and float out into the streets now jammed with people wading through and the cars blocking any movement. I open the door, well just about, to assist a few young ladies in distress who were beginning to lose their composure, and give them a ride towards Jalsa. Everywhere there is just chaos. Its a sea of water all over. I pass by the office Janak and the staff is getting ready to climb on to the tree by the gate ! Water inside the premise and the ground floor is unworkable. Water in the lift, furniture and properties moved to the first floor. Jalsa is relatively dry, the road opposite now a swimming pool, but the basement has a breach. A huge gaping hole has been punctured and buckets and water pumps are being put to use to avoid the electronic panels that are housed there from blowing up !! Making calls for assistance, getting the right people to come and repair, but its in vain. Those that stepped out cannot come back and those that did not step out remain where they are - in their homes ! I get out again to monitor Prateeksha and run into traffic coming my way on the same side that I am driving. The other half of the road is jammed with water and stranded cars. People walking randomly wherever they can can find space and a better depth. Just so tragic ! The TV informs that the tide in the sea is due in and if the rain does not stop it shall push the water in the drains flowing out, back onto the streets. At Jalsa the water in the bedrooms has leaked through despite the tarpaulin protection monsoon covers. I tell them to put towels, swabs, water resistant solutions, anything. Abhishek and family in Singapore with Amar Singhji are unaware and I quickly inform them of the deluge warning them not to come in today as scheduled. I put all the mobiles on charge and the walkie talkies. Fill up water in buckets from the rain outside and store it just in case the power goes and the pumps get disconnected. And wait, and wait and wait…"

2. He writes every. single. day. and holds back very little. Plus he calls the readers "The EF" - his extended family.

3. He has a huge heart and is essentially a yogi - although he would never call himself one (which to me means he's the real thing):

"This is my condition, what of those that do not have the facility that I do !! That shall not be able to get back to their homes because the trains have stopped and the buses are stuck. Of those who may have lost their meagre belongings in their meagre and humble abode. Of those that had made their homes on the pavement. Of those that shall not be in possession of an extra pair of clothing to change from their present drenched lot. Of those that made a daily living through their little mobile food carts and other services. Of those whose temporary huts got washed away. Of those ….

"It just never ends."

DISORIENTATION



I spent a lot of time on the bus Saturday, going to and from the mechanic....

When the bus goes south, it often changes drivers at one particular stop - much to my delight. On Saturday, a broken-looking man got on after the change, and started talking to the new driver. I heard him say something about "just got out of the hospital" and show his wrist to the driver. Whatever he said did the trick; he got on and sat down near the front.

The bus took off. After some time, the man looked up, alarmed, and asked which direction we were going.

"South," we all yelled.

"Does this bus stop at Irving Park?" he wanted to know.

Yes, yes.

"I just got out of the hospital," he explained in his too-loud voice. "I'm a little disorientated."

A few stops later, he lifted his head up again. "Does this bus stop at Irving Park?"

Yes, yes.

A few minutes later, the head shot up again. "What time is it?" he asked.

Someone told him.

"I just got out of the hospital," he explained. "I'm a little disorientated."

The bus turned down a side street to make a detour around the Folk and Roots Festival. The man's head shot up again. "Are we still going to Irving Park?"

Yes, yes.

A few stops later the head shot up again.

"What day is it?"

Saturday!

Again the speech about being disoriented.

At the next stop a man with a beard got on and sat next to the hospital-man.

"Does this bus stop at Irving Park Road?" asked the disoriented man.

"Yes it does," the bearded man said.

"I just got out of the hospital," the disoriented man explained, and rolled up his sleeve to show his hospital bracelet. "I'm a little bit disorientated."

"What happened to you?" the bearded man asked, with genuine interest.

"I got hit by a cab," said the disoriented man. The rest was garbled. But it sounded something like, "It broke my neck."

The bearded man gave him a good look and expertly felt the man's neck. "It's not broken, or you'd be wearing something on it," he said with confidence. He had the authority of the take-charge character Jack, on the TV show "Lost." "Maybe it was a hairline fracture."

"I took the thing off," the disoriented man said.

"When will we get to Irving Park?"

"Don't worry - I'm getting off there," the bearded man replied. "I'll get off with you."

The disoriented man breathed a sigh of relief. His whole being relaxed.

"I just got out of the hospital," he explained.

"By the way, can you spare a dollar or two?"

The bearded man reached into his pocket, got his wallet and pulled out a dollar.

"This is all I can spare right now," he explained. "I'm out of work, too."






After witnessing this little vignette, I became a lot less concerned about my own little housing and automobile travails.....

BUS, BUS, BUS!




In Hindi films, you often see a character holding up their hand and saying, "Bus, bus, bus!"

It means, "Enough already."

I've had enough.

Of the bus....bus....bus.

I've taken the #11 CTA bus back and forth to the mechanic so many times over the past two weeks that I've lost count.

At least I finally figured out that you can use CTABusTracker.com to find out when/if the !@#$ thing is supposed to come.


* * *



THE CAR SAGA


On June 25 I went to the new mechanic to have the AC repaired. He'd done such a good job on the control arm bushings, I thought I could trust him to fix the AC.

I thought wrong.

When I came to pick up the car, he explained in his halting way that there was a problem with the "switch," and showed me where he'd rigged up a new wire that ran around the periphery of the engine. "No problem, AC work fine," he said.

On the way home, I stopped at looked closely at the bill, which had seemed to high. It was. Many of the charges were not what he'd initially quoted me. Plus he'd charged for tax twice. A sense of dread came over me.

The next morning I had to teach a Mysore class downtown, then head to the South Side for a workshop. Afterwords I planned to drive to Wisconsin to camp out with the Dreyfus family in an an air-conditioned yurt. It was a hot, hot weekend, and I was pleased with the idea of all of that AC.

But when I got into the car after class #1, the AC didn't work.

Hot and bothered, I called the mechanic, who told me to come in right away, so he could fix it. I told him I didn't have time.

I also told him that I was unhappy with the math on the bill, which was not correct.

When I finally got to the south side, the car overheated.

I called the mechanic, who told me to pull over and let the car cool down. He said it was a fuse for the engine fan. He asked me where I was, and said he'd drive down (over 150 blocks) and fix it. (This led me to believe that the overheating problem was his fault, which of course it was).

When I finished the workshop, I found him in the parking lot, working on the car. He'd gone through about eight fuses before one finally worked. He said I the car was safe to drive to Wisconsin, and that if I brought the car in on Monday he'd fix the AC.

The car overheated again on the way to Wisconsin. I turned around and came home. No fun for me.

The next day I took the car to the mechanic, who said it had a short in the system (which he created, although he never copped to it). He had the car all day.

When I got it back, the short was fixed.

But the AC still didn't work.

And the next day, I realized the cassette tape that had been in the stereo was missing. And the radio no longer worked.

I was livid.

I brought the car in again the next day.

The mechanic had it all day.

When I got it back the AC did not work. The problem was the switch, but he didn't know which one it was, since there a four of them.

He'd spent all day... getting the cassette deck to work. But the radio was still broken. And my missing cassette was still AWOL.

I was not happy.

I demanded a refund. He wouldn't budge. I said I would dispute the charge for the AC, and tell the Chamber of Commerce that he was a lousy mechanic.

He started laying into me about how he had done all of this work for free for me (huh?) and just wanted me to be happy (HUH?). He said he would get me a new car stereo, which he would pay for, and that he had to take the car to a specialist to pinpoint the problem with the AC, since his machine was broken. He said he'd pay for that, too.

It took me some days before I could speak to him again. In the interim I called the credit card company and started the machinery for disputing the charge.

Finally, last Wednesday (7/10) I brought the car back.

I took the bus home.





The mechanic had the car all day.

During that time he put in a new stereo.

He also took the car to his friend, who told him it needed some small part. But none of the junkyards had this small part. When I came to pick up the car, he showed me a printout of what was needed, and said they were searching for it. He would call me as soon as they found it. He showed me the new stereo.

The next morning, on the way to teach, the new radio stopped working.

I called the mechanic. He said it was under warranty, and he'd exchange it for a new one. He assured me he would call me as soon as the part for the AC came in.

The next day I did not hear from him.

In the meantime, the brakes started acting up. At stop signs, the brake pedal would pull away from my foot and move towards the floor.

On Friday I called and told him that if he did not find the AC part by the end of the day, there would be very bad repercussions for him.

He called back a half hour later to say that he had found the part. But it was in Indiana, and wouldn't be in the city until Tuesday.

I told him about the brakes, and asked the work he'd done could have caused it. Of course not, he said. He said it sounded like the master cylinder, and quoted me a price... which was twice the amount I later found online. Nonetheless I made an appointment to come in the next day (Saturday) to have him take a look.

Sure enough, it was the master cylinder. After much hemming and hawing and calling Dreyfus and comparing prices with my old mechanic, I decided to let him fix the brakes. I can live (albeit unhappily) without AC. But not brakes.

The mechanic said that he would also exchange the radio while he had the car. The junkyard needed to have the old one in order to give him a new one, which meant it would take all day. Since I have no life (outside of taking the extremely slow and sporadic Lincoln Avenue bus to and from the mechanic), I agreed.

When I got the car back yesterday afternoon, after a rather entertaining bus ride (more on that tomorrow), there was no new stereo. Apparently they didn't have the right one at the junkyard. So the mechanic put my old (broken) one back in.

At least the brakes work. So far.

I still plan to bring the car in on Tuesday for the AC part. If he doesn't get the AC working, I'll demand a credit. If he won't give it, I'll dispute the charge til the bitter end and do a Yelp review.

In the meantime I'm taking the car in to a new mechanic tomorrow (after all, the car is my new full-time job).

I want him to tell me 1) what the problem is with the AC and 2) if the car is worth saving.

Although I think I already know the answer to the second question....





* * *





LESSON TIME

The lessons in this seem to be:

1. Control the anger. (The three greatest obstacles to enlightenment are anger, lust and greed). So far I've done surprisingly well. But it's been like the hell.

2. Don't be attached to objects. Apparently this was not learned when the landlord's electricians inadvertently ruined the TV and stereo equipment a couple of months ago, and had to be reiterated. Again.

3. Vasanas and sanskaras don't ever disappear, and can be triggered at any time. (Vasanas are the conglomerate results of subconscious impressions or sanskaras created through experience). In this case, past impressions from dealings with unreliable parents and men have come to the fore and invaded the mind. Again.

4. Don't move to a far-flung neighborhood where you will be almost completely dependent on the automobile.

5. Listen to Dreyfus, and know when to cut losses. He said to get rid of the car about two thousand dollars ago.

THE YOGA TEACHER REGULATION WARS CONTINUE....






The great yogi Sri Ramakrishna always used to tell his disciples that the two greatest obstacles to enlightenment were "women" and "gold" (i.e.; lust and greed).


* * *


Ten years ago, The Yoga Alliance was created as a voluntary licensing organization for yoga instructors and schools. The idea was to create a set of standards before the state stepped in and started doing it. (It also seemed like a way to make money). The group came into being after I'd started teaching yoga, but not long enough afterwords for me to be "grandfathered" in. Hundreds of hours of teaching experience were required for that to happen. The other option was to take a training at one of their certified schools... which didn't yet exist. Anyway, many local teachers and studios thought the group was bogus - until years later, when YA got so big that students stopped signing up for teacher training programs that weren't certified by them. (Teacher training programs are a huge source of revenue for these schools). Suddenly, everyone got in line and joined the group.

Recently, some states began making noises about regulating the schools that train yoga teachers. They want a piece of the pie, of course. And they've been using the Yoga Alliance's registry of certified schools for reference. Oops! Here's an excerpt from yesterday's New York Times article, by A. G. Sulzberger:

'In April, New York State sent letters to about 80 schools warning them to suspend teacher training programs immediately or risk fines of up to $50,000. But yogis around the state joined in opposition, and the state has, for now, backed down.

In other states, regulators were not moved. In March, Michigan gave schools a week to be certified by the state or cease operations. Virginia’s cumbersome licensing rules include a $2,500 fee — a big hit for modest studios that are often little more than one-room storefronts.

Lisa Rapp, who owns My Yoga Spirit in Norfolk, Va., said she was closing her seven-year-old business this summer. "This caused us to shut down the studio altogether,” Ms. Rapp said. “It’s too bad, because this community really needs yoga.”

The conflict started in January when a Virginia official directed regulators from more than a dozen states to an online national registry of schools that teach yoga and, in the words of a Kansas official, earn a “handsome income.” Until then, only a few states had been aware of the registry and had acted to regulate yoga instruction, though courses in other disciplines like massage therapy have long been subject to oversight.

The registry was created by the Yoga Alliance, a nonprofit group started in 1999 to establish teaching standards in an effort to have the industry regulate itself. In a recent newsletter, the alliance warned its members that nationwide licensing might be inevitable, “forcing this ancient tradition to conform to Western business practices.”

“We made it very, very easy for them to do what they’re doing right now,” said Leslie Kaminoff, founder of the Breathing Project, a nonprofit yoga center in New York City, who had opposed the formation of the Yoga Alliance. “The industry of yoga is a big, juicy target.”'

Read the rest of the story here.

ALZHEIMER'S + YOGA

Elizabeth Kadetsky's excellent essay in yesterday's New York Times examines the parallels between her mother's Alzheimer's and the in-the-moment-ness of yoga.

An excerpt:

Today, at 69, she has less of that charisma — she has been diagnosed with the disease in its early to middle stages. But she has at least as much of a quality that I, earlier, modeled myself on, and later came to admire in her: a quirky, rather peculiar nature that could be summarized as an insistence on living in the moment. By concentrated meditation on the moment and each moment that follows, the yogi gains sacred knowledge. So these days, I sometimes believe I am not so much losing my mother as communicating, more and more so exclusively, with that side of her that exists only in the present.....

Alzheimer’s is about living in the present. To exist outside of memory is to occupy the moment wholly. For instance, my mother quit smoking around the time of her diagnosis. As she explained it, she’d have the urge to smoke, would forget to light up before she got her hands on the pack, and so broke a 50-year addiction. It seemed the craving no longer got stuck in her memory circuits, and so easily fell away.

Read the rest here.




*I was partway through the piece when I noticed how unusually well-written it was, and scrolled up to see the author's name - which rang a bell. Elizabeth Kadetsky is the author of the 2004 memoir First There is a Mountain: A Yoga Romance - which is about BKS Iyengar, and is highly recommended.



---------------------------------

Thanks to Annie and Sherry for the head's up

DISCO DEMOLITION....



...is sort of the opposite of yoga.

It happened 30 years ago today, when a young DJ named Steve Dahl invited his listeners - aka the Insane Coho Lips anti-disco army - to attend a White Sox doubleheader at Comiskey Park for 98 cents and a disco album - which he would blew up on center field between games.

Some 80,000 teenagers showed up, but the stadium only fit 50,000. Many of those who couldn't get in brought ladders, and scaled the walls.

After Dahl blew up the records, the fans stormed the field and the Sox were forced to forfeit the second game.













This video contains some priceless local news coverage (highlights include a young Bill Curtis mispronouncing the word "melee," an angry local resident popping a crunchy snack into his mouth mid-interview, footage of long-dead newsmen Gene Siskel and Johnny Morris, and a petulent Steve Dahl wearing unbelievably gigantic eyeglasses):





Dahl's Q&A with himself about DD in today's Tribune is entertaining, plus there's video.


This TimeOut piece has some bite to it.



This Reader article isn't half as good as the reader comments, posted at the bottom.


It's about a free exhibit of DD photos by Diane Alexander White taking place this Sunday from 5-8 PM at the Music Garage, 347 N. Loomis (312-997-1972). It'll feature
music by her kids' band, White Mystery.



Coho!

"I WON!" - AMMA IN CHICAGO





I'm finally back from the parallel universe that is Amma's North American Tour.

I spent three days at the Yorktown Westin. Each segment of the program began with waiting in line for a hug-token, finding a seat, and waiting for the hugging saint to appear.

Partway through her walk into the hall, she would halt (usually while standing atop a sari laid out for that purpose) and people from the local sangha (community) would do a puja (religious ritual) with her. Then she'd kiss each of them and move to the front of the room.

In the evening, this would be followed by a talk and a brief meditation. In the morning, it was just the meditation - which became far more powerful each time we did it.

Then there would the the waiting waiting waiting for a hug. Each person is given a token with a letter and number, and there are tote boards that show which one they're on. While waiting, you can shop, eat, have your Vedic astrology chart done, shop, do seva (selfless service), shop, leave and come back or learn about Amma's many charitable activities.

You can also hang out with your yoga teacher friends, whom you rarely see these days except in India and at these events.

Or, in the case on Saturday, you can wait in line four times for a token, only to be turned away four times. Apparently newbies come first, and if you had a hug on Friday you don't get one on Saturday unless everyone else has had theirs first and some tokens are left. One wanted to plead one's case: But one is single and parents are dead and there are very few hugs these days and it has been a rather rough year so far, and this will go a long way. But one did not.

(Friday's hug, by the way, was a heart-melting experience).

Saturday began at at 6am with a very special Vedic Homa (fire ritual) for world peace. It went on for over two hours. It took place outisde, in the chilly morning aair. There was fire, chanting, ghee, flowers, ashes, and kirtan (call and response chanting). It was wonderful.

But by Saturday afternoon the senses were overloaded, and I had to retire to the hotel room for a long, long nap. I was up in time for the evening service.

The grand finale was Sunday night's Devi Bhava service, where Amma appears as an incarnation of the Divine Mother, and no one is turned away for darshan (hug).

Nonetheless I approached the token-giver with trepidation. Would I be interrogated again? Would I be turned away again? Would this be yet another lesson in non-attachment? I almost leapt with joy when I received a token and deciphered that the 11 on it actually meant I-1. As in, "I won."

The meditation practice that goes with the Devi Bhava is incredibly powerful, and the hug that came later even moreso.

It made the mind calm down to a place of peace and stillness, and filled the heart with gratitude and compassion.

If only the feeling would last....

OUMOU AND AMMA



Malian Wassoulou musician Oumou Sangare plays Millennium tonight (Thurs) night at 8PM. My friends tell me it's not to be missed. How often do you get to see one of West Africa's foremost musicians play one of the most stunning, acoustically perfect outdoor venues in the world? Read more about Oumou here, and find out more about her concert here.

Keralan hugging saint Amma will appear at the Yorktown Mall in Lombard Friday through Sunday. I know for a fact it's not to be missed. How often do you get a chance to have darshan (an audience) with a living saint? Read my article about her here, and find out more about her visit here.


Both women are barrier-shattering feminists.

And both events are absolutely free, free! FREE!

FEAR OF FLYING





Last night I dreamed all night that I was doing floating jump-throughs with straight legs. It was inspired by Grimmly's detailed how-to post and video, here.

This morning I awakened to this thought for the day, from the Divine Life Society (which was uncharacteristically inspiring, rather than the usual chiding):



You are the captain of your soul. You are the creator of your destiny. Do not ask, "What can I do?" you can do everything.

- Swami Chidananda.


You see - anything is possible.

BHAKTI II




The body and mind were pulled out of their lethargic slump on Tuesday.

During Mysore class I noticed something new on top of the stereo: a homemade-looking CD with "Amy and the Ananda Bliss Tribe" scrawled on it in marker.

After class, the body felt too tired to practice. The mind was dull. The spirit was buried somewhere below.

So I lingered outside with the students.

Finally I went into the studio.

I put on the CD.

And suddenly the body and mind were charged.

As kirtan wallah Amy and her group sang, it was like all of the debris and exhaustion were cleared away.

The spirit soared.

The spine tingled.

Going thru the sun salutations and listening to Amy, et. al sing about Lord Shiva, Jai Ma and Govinda, I felt like a nine-year-old (only much happier),

Amy is a bhakti yogi, and all the love and devotion she put into the CD come out when you listen to it.

I can't wait til it's finally released.

BHAKTI LADIES




Brown Dog Lady and I visited the local Krishna temple on Sunday.

First, we put on saris at my house. Well, BDL did the wrapping. She really knows what she's doing.

It was my first time at the temple apart from some trips in the late 1980s to Govinda's, their now-shuttered restaurant.

The minute we walked in, we could hear the chanting.

BDL knew the ropes. After dropping off our shoes, the first stop was the store - where I became enchanted with the conch shells. I've been wanting one for eons. The clerk told me there's a trick to blowing it. I couldn't figure it out, but decided to buy one anyway. But the charge wouldn't go through. "Another time," I said, handing the conch back to her.

Then we went into the temple, which is large and airy, and was once a Masonic Hall.




The only other temple I've spent much time at is at the Ramakrishna ashram in Mysore. There, the women sit on the left and the men on the right in quiet contemplation. You can hear a pin drop there, even though it's in India. The Ramakrishna ashram feels like home to me.

At the Krishna temple, the men are on the right and the women are on the left. No one is sitting. Everyone is clapping and singing to Lord Krishna and dancing. The air is filled with their happy devotional songs.

I was exhausted from one of the biggest teaching (19 classes) and social (many engagements) weeks in recent memory, so it was like a torture for me. Plus I'm an introvert. Sitting and going within feels natural. Singing and clapping requires a lot of energy.

Bhakti yoga tends to attract the more emotional personalities. Since I've been advised to channel my desires into chanting, I thought it would be good try the thing that is more difficult.

I tried.

The body and mind were sooooooooo tired.

But as the Gita says, What is poison in the beginning becomes nectar in the end. That is the definition of sattva.

I think this applies when one is fully awake.

After the singing ended, there was a lecture on the Bhagavad Gita. I enjoyed sitting still and looking at the colorful deities on the altar while I listened.

Later there was sattvic (no onions, garlic or heavy spices) food.

Little Miss Pitta Dosha loved that, too.

While eating I asked Shiva if he knew how to blow a conch. Of course he does.

So before we left he helped me choose one - and showed me how to use it.

It feels AWESOME to blow it.

(Not sure if the neighbors agree).

And BDL and I will be at the temple again next week, for another festival.

Well-rested of course.

RIDIN' THE STORM OUT: MONSOON COMES TO CHICAGO




On Friday we experienced one of the biggest, longest, most dramatic series of thunderstorms in recent memory.

It began at 3:30AM, came and went for most of the day, and ended after nightfall.


There was so much water coming out of the sky that it was like driving in a whiteout. Traffic on the expressways slowed to a crawl (except for the invincible few, usually in SUV's, who kept driving fast anyway).

Plus there was thunder and lightening. Lots of it. And very closeby.

Pets hid in closets and under beds.

Streets and basements flooded.

Traffic signals stopped working.

There were power outages.

During one of the final thunderstorms, around 7:30PM, there was so much wind the trees seemed to be bent horizontal. it looked like a hurricane was hitting us.

And the trees took it the hardest.








* * *








The next day it was 90 degrees and sunny. Soon, the air was thick with cloying, energy-sucking humidity.

Debris and downed trees were everywhere.

But everything smelled nice and clean.

Apparently summer is finally here.

(You know it is when you see the corner grocery store-cum-juice bar setting up to sell coconut water and fresh sugar cane juice right out on the street).

AN ENCHANTED EVENING

FAIZ ALI FAIZ
Uploaded by Accords_Croises. - Music videos, artist interviews, concerts and more.

Last night Shiva and I drove down to Millennium Park to see Faiz Ali Faiz play a free concert at the Frank Gehry-designed Pritzker Pavilion.

It was 72 and sunny.

And it was Shiva's first time at Millennium Park.

The Pavilion is stunning to see, and acoustically perfect. It makes both the eyes and ears feel happy. (Not that we are here to indulge the senses).




We found second row center seats, where we were joined by Student M.

The concert was amazing, and again caused the crown of the head to vibrate. Shiva spent some of his formative years in Pakistan, when he would go to hear qawwali singers, and gave Faiz high marks. He told me how fans would throw so much money on the stage when Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan played that when he stood up at the end it was like he was standing in the middle of a mountain of money.

Within two minutes, the man in front of us got up during a gap in a song, and threw a wad of money onto the stage.

Soon, everyone was doing it.

We were all transported by the music (Faiz and party were wearing shinier, more over-the-top outfits than Sunday night but played just as well).

Again they got a standing ovation after the song posted above.

We stuck around after they finished, and eventually the singers came out. I got to shake Faiz Ali Faiz's hand and tell him "Bodachai" (excellent) and "Sucria" (thank you... in Hindi).

Shiva says there probably won't be an informal meet-and-greet the next time Faiz comes to town; he's going to be big, big, big.

I asked him if he could find out how old the angelic young tablas player was (according to Bindi, you're not allowed to perform onstage until you've been playing for 12 years, and on Sunday we'd decided the boy was 16 and had started when he was four). Turns out he's 25. Then Shiva found how long he'd been playing; 15 years. He too is going to be a huge star.

Finally, the party left the stage and we went to use the loo. When we came out, we saw 3/8 of them (including the young prince of tablas) smoking cigarettes.






Next we visited The Bean, the giant reflective bean that's actually a piece of art by Anish Kapoor called Cloud Gate.




Then it was time to go wading and see the video installations that spew water. Delighted children splashed about here, there and everywhere. An Indian(?) family asked me to take my picture with them, since I was in full Indian dress (including bindi).



I wanted to show Shiva The Bridge to Nowhere, a ribbonlike stainless steel 925-foot Frank Gehry-designed pedestrian bridge that looks cool but doesn't seem to serve a functional purpose. The last time I'd been on it was in the winter of '05, after ice skating.

We ended up on the wrong pedestrian bridge. At the end was a stunning crystal-colored boxlike building that seemed to be made of glass.

It positively glowed, and seemed unreal - like something out of a futuristic fairy tale penned by Ludwig Mies van der Rohe.




After awhile. we realized it was the brand-new modern wing of the Art Institute.

And there were people inside!

I assumed it was some private party.

Nevertheless, we followed the bridge to its logical end, and kept going.

We went inside.

We had no idea where we were going.

We walked past the security guards. I kept waiting for them to stop us. They didn't.

We felt like we were getting away with something.

Somehow, we ended up in the ancient Indian and Persian art section.

The first thing we saw were ancient sculptures of Vishnu and his consort.

Then we saw Lord Shiva with a very small Parvati on his lap - a version I'd just read about in the Yoga Yajnavalkya.

We saw an ancient scroll, depicting different forms of Vishnu.

We also saw some Jain saints.

Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful.

Afterwords we went to a garden area that Student M knew about, and put our feet in a long, narrow wading pool-cum-man-made creek. We made wishes and threw in some pennies. No one told us to stop, or asked us for money. It was like being in a parallel universe. Prakriti (the material world) felt like Purusha (God, bliss).

It was still 72 degrees, but dark and clear. The bandshell was lit up in a thousand colors. People were playing on the lawn. The air smelled of trees, flowers, cut grass and other fabulous things.

We swung our feet and talked about yoga, yoga, yoga, and grooved on the bliss caused by the concert.

And it was wonderful.

LAST SUNDAY'S NYC MEMORIAL FOR PATTABHI JOIS



Read an account of last Sunday's NYC Memorial for SKPJ here.

The writer missed one thing - that Dharma Mittra was also there (which is a huge comfort to me). According to Catesy, Dharma sat down with everyone else.... until Eddie Stern got him and led him to the VIP section.





--------------------------------

Thanks to Catesy - whose head appears in the linked post's top photo - for the head's-up.

CONCERT TIP OF THE YEAR:
FAIZ ALI FAIZ AT MILLENNIUM PARK THURSDAY
AND IT'S FREE!

FAIZ ALI FAIZ
Uploaded by Accords_Croises. - Music videos, artist interviews, concerts and more.

Bindi, The Colonel and I went to see qawwali singer Faiz Ali Faiz and his party tonight at the Old Town School of Folk Music.

It was the best show of the year.

And they're playing again Thursday at 6:30 at the famous Frank Gehry-designed Jay Pritzker Pavilion at Millennium Park. For free!

Faiz Ali Faiz and his party -- two harmonium players, two tablas players and three backup singers-cum-clappers -- were mesmerizing and mind-blowing. The music made the crown chakra tingle.

The last is because qawwali is Sufi devotional vocal music, wherein the singers go into a tracelike state as they sing the praises of God (anyone remember Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan? The first time heard him I was, like, what IS this, and ran out to get it). Sufism is a mystical movement within Islam that seeks to find divine love and knowledge through direct personal experience of God. Often listeners, and even artists themselves, are transported to a state of wajad, a trance-like state where they feel at one with God, generally considered to be the height of spiritual ecstasy in Sufism, and the ultimate goal of the practice. So the concert was like a type of bhakti yoga (the yoga of devotion) - which has the same goal.

The vocal range is not to be believed, and they get so engrossed it seems like they'll lose control. The harmonium and tablas players are some of the best in the world, and flew along right with them. If you've not seen someone jam out on a harmonium, you've been missing out.

It is so rare and wonderful to see so many world-class musicians making pure devotional music - and to see so many men (with great hair) literally singing their hearts out.

The audience couldn't help but get swept up in it too, clapping and singing along and raising one hand just before each chorus.

There were a couple of standing ovations, too.

For the record, Faiz is a seventh generation sufi singer from Pakistan, and this was his first trip to the US.

Thursday's free concert at the Jay Pritzker Pavilion is a rare opportunity to see him and his party in one of the most impressive and acoustically perfect outdoor music venues in the country.

And it's free. Free. FREE!

See you there!

ENDLESS APRIL





It is effing cold in Chicago.

It goes up to 70 at the most during the day.

Usually it only gets to the 60s, if that.

More often than not it's in the 50s when you wake up.

It goes down into the 40s at night.

It rains, like, all the time.

People are wearing layers.

The clever ones are calling it "June-uary."

They are saying things like, "It's not global warming, it's global weirding."

As someone who suffers in the heat - and whose car AC gave out last year, and who travels to India during monsoon in order to avoid the heat - I kind of like it.

Actually, I love it.

For now anyway.



-----------------------------------------------------------------



Photo of paleta-wallah snapped out my window on a recent school day. It was 80 degrees. Muy calinete. By nightfall the temperature had dropped to 40. Pinche frio. No wonder the people here don't age well.

TWO FILLUMS IN ONE WEEK: UP AND ENLIGHTEN UP



Last Thursday there was a free yoga teacher preview of the documentary Enlighten Up!, about a filmmaker named Kate Churchill who chooses a candidate - a charming but skeptical journalist Nick Rosen who's never done yoga - to take classes with a variety of yoga teachers until he becomes enlightened....or not.

They start with New York City teachers, including Cyndi Lee, Sharon Gannon and David Life, Alan Finger and of course Dharma Mittra - who says "God is everywhere," is incredibly attentive, and teaches him headstand.

Next they go to LA for Regular Guy Yoga, where the dristi (gaze) is on the "T&A" in the class.

After that they go to Hawaii to see Norman Allen, the first American to practice with Pattabhi Jois in Mysore back in the 1970s. Allen stayed for months, living with Guruji and his family, and got to know the practice inside and out. He's been teaching yoga in a remote area of Hawaii for eons, and doesn't tour or spend time promoting himself. He's there if you look for him, and comes across as the real thing. He also has the most subversive line in the film, telling young Nick to "Go f*ck yourself," which alone is worth the price of admission; I think it is his way of telling him to "Go within." (Read Guy Donahaye's riveting 1999 interview with Allen about the olden days in Mysore here).

Finally it's off to India, where they go to Mysore and see Pattabhi Jois, who talks about the four external limbs and four internal limbs of yoga, as well as practice, practice practice. Seeing him brought tears to the eyes. I still can't believe he has left his body.

Then they go north to Pune to see Mr. Iyengar, who said he did postures for over two decades before finding the spirituality in the practice. Finally they interview bhakti yogi Guru Saran Ananda in Brindavan.

As Cody writes in his wonderful review, "Nick’s conversation with the Guru is - pardon the pun – enlightening. The emotional and spiritual center of the movie is revealed in one simple quote:

"'It’s not what you do, it’s why you do.'

"Talk about killing the Buddha! A dedicated yoga practitioner goes out to make a film that proves that yoga works and instead she discovers that yoga doesn’t really matter at all! True enlightenment (or perhaps, true contentment) can be found merely by living selflessly – by rooting individual actions in pure intentions. Sure, yoga techniques can be wonderful tools for gaining self awareness and stripping away the dross that obscures our true selves, but yoga is certainly not the only path to enlightenment. For some people, it actually might not be a path to enlightenment at all."

Highly recommended for anyone interested in yoga and/or spirituality.

It opens Friday, June 12 at the Landmark Century cinema. Filmmaker Kate Churchill - who used to be with Chicago's Lookingglass Theatre - will appear at screenings on Friday and Saturday nights. Details here.


* * *








After the weekend from Hell, SportMarty and I went to the airportplex cinema on Western to see Up! in 3-D.

It was just the thing to cure the troubled psyche.

The story was wonderful.

The 3-D was subtle, not distracting and in-your-face.

The best moment came when the curmudgeon-y old man stopped clinging to the past and gave up all of his worldly possessions in order to help someone else.

Suddenly, the whole world opened up to him.

Hmmmm......

In some ways, it was more about yoga than the other film.

Highly, highly recommended - especially for those whose hearts or minds need a little healing.



* * *


An added bonus: We parked on Logan Boulevard, and on the walk to the theater saw a wonderful sight; there's now a skateboard park under the expressway. It's an amazing use of a dead space, and it was hoppin.'

BRIEF UPDATE

Things on the homefront are at a new low, so not much posting right now.

Suffice to say the LL came over at 9:15PM Friday and pounded on the door - just five minutes after I got home - demanding to be let in "to see the new windows."

Suffice to say I learned yesterday that the electricians appear to have ruined not just the Sony boombox I use everyday (replacement cost $200) but also the cable box, DVD player, VCR, CD player, cassette deck, stereo receiver and DVD/TV converter.

It's just stuff, but still......

Many sanskaras are coming to the fore.

If anyone knows of a cheap, safe, quiet, warm, sattvic rental apartment in Chicago, NYC or Raleigh please contact me immediately.

BARRY SILVER'S PHOTOS OF PATTABH JOIS'S VAIKUNTA SAMARDHANEV PUJA IN MYSORE....


.....are wonderful, and can be seen here.





I like to view them while listening to this:







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The photo of Guruji is (c) Barry Silver 2009; if you look at the slideshow, you'll see that the garlanded portrait is much, much larger than real life (much like Guruji). For those keeping score, I found this link at the Elephantbeans blog.