tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61979745910526522252024-03-05T04:58:53.551-10:00High Five Max!A place where grief is transcended and used as fuel for transformation. Live radically from your heart. Jai MaxHeather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-76200475109092729182013-05-12T09:50:00.001-10:002013-05-12T09:51:32.214-10:00Bat Medicine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I left everything familiar to be in this land of passage in the Owen's Valley with people who are ferrying me in a way to this shore of serving women who have lost or will loose their children. I have been living in a place of solitude, service and watering. I am a walking practice of keeping everything alive. It is that simple, what I water lives, what I don't water dies...and yet and yet. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The bats have arrived and each evening as the sun drops behind the Sierra Nevadas they put on the most spectacular ballet above the pond. We pull up two lawn chairs, put on hoodies and recline as they swoop right past our faces... incredible. Bat medicine is re-birth. I am a walking practice of that too. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Big things don't happen because we are playing small. Big things happen because we are being asked to grow bigger. And when time moves those big things into a place of past, it is still past-now and an invitation not to leave them behind but to make offerings to their death so that we can re-birth them. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The prefix "re" means <span class="syn" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="gp tg_syn"> </span></span><span class="syn" style="font-weight: normal;"><span apple_mouseover_highlight="1">with respect to</span><span class="gp tg_syn">, </span></span><span class="syn" style="font-weight: normal;">with reference to<span class="gp tg_syn">, </span></span><span class="syn" style="font-weight: normal;">in connection with</span><span class="gp tg_synGroup">.</span> To re-birth is to mark my commitment to how the past is emerging through me now. So as my friend Ivy Ross Ricci so eloquently shares I am able to continually "serve with my story" as I am connected to it now. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It is Mother's Day today. Whether or not we have had children or lost children all of us mother. All of us have cared deeply for things that we have lost and have stories. May today be a day of re-birth for all of us. A day that offers us the vision of potency and power that has awakened our heart's longing to be and stay connected to this way of caring and mothering life. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mother's Day and Master P asks, "Heintz, do you think Max misses you?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My response. "i think so, who doesn't miss their mom"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-4758058610623718652013-02-16T20:24:00.001-10:002013-03-11T07:48:05.393-10:00my story is not unique<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My story is not unique. Everyone has a Max Story. Everyone has a moment where life throws down a wild card of “what the f%c#?” A moment where nothing makes sense and life according to how you have been living it is no longer the paradigm. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My particular story is a love story where death showed up. No one invited him and still he bellied up to the card table. I begged him to go away and instead he upped the ante. I gambled everything for my son and death still won. Some have unabashedly called it “God’s good will” that i lost a child. Others have told me that “everything happens for a reason”. Others throw our "Karma" or even "Lila". </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I just call it bullshit. We like to have reasons for things because we don’t like uncertainty. Death has taught me that uncertainty is my ally.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Death always wins. That bastard always trumps. The question is not why death shows up. The question is how fully are you going to show up for death? How awake and alive are you willing to be when those cards get thrown on the table? Because when you see what you are up against you have to decide: am I going to stay present and open or am I going to withdraw and collapse? Am I going to be a hero at this particular time and place in my own life or am I going to be a victim of circumstance? This isn’t just about you. This is about your children too and their children and your parents and their parents. How you decide matters. And you know that no one else can make that decision for you. You have to make that decision. You can not, not decide. Not deciding is not an option. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This is not a pep talk. This is about choosing a particular path, a path about loving fully even though you know you are going to loose it, a path about choosing to rip wide open, a path that follows a bloodline of sorts that inevitably leads us back to the source from where we began. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I know that millions have walked it before me, some of them giants. I have yet to find the proper route for such a journey. But I have never been all that interested in proper. The pressure of being proper prevents us from really grieving. And grief is what makes death bearable. What a gift grief gives us to be able to hold ourselves in that place where life and death meet, to be on the floor with our heart ripped open, to be in a place where rationality feels futile and all we can do is feel. Rare are the moments when love is that beautifully mad. </span></div>
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Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-8688986137163536602012-10-14T17:57:00.001-10:002012-10-15T08:32:43.530-10:00Zelda at the Car Wash<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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And then there are those moments when I just really miss my son. And my practice and all this time on the battlefield tells me to hold steady, to be still and instead I jump up and down until my own weight shakes my house. I take off my clothes, rub earth and blood all over my body, tell the practice to fuck off and go-for- broke in the madness of another level of heart opening. There are venues in which manners and my commitment to hold space for others is essential, is priority, is service and I can and I do it with grace. But do not be fooled. I am and will always be a work in progress. The moment I think I have some new insight, some kindness, some understanding, some knowing... something new shows herself. It is the size of a cubic centimeter, a small little window into this human heart of mine. So I follow it. <br />
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I am a bit skeptical of people who are impressed with my "grief work". There is nothing impressive about it. Grief is death. Death is messy. I am messy. All I know is that staying in it carries me to a new level of awareness, but each level is its own legend of Zelda. Remember that game? The one where you begin the game with a small shield and then a sword becomes available to you only after you enter the cave... so the awareness (the weapon) is always met with a challenge equivalent to your resource. As you move onto new levels, the game doesn't get easier. What starts out as a cave turns into underground labyrinths. You are frickin fighting for the<i> Triforce of Wisdom</i>. The final level is <i>Death</i> <i>Mountain</i> where you don't stand a chance unless you have acquired the silver arrow. Then there is the Princess of Zelda... enter new relationship and good god... I'm just saying'... it gets more complex.</div>
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Someone who shared how"impressive I am" asked me a few months ago if I have done a lot of processing around the loss of a child. She is a prominent grief therapist in the Bay Area and this converation was over dinner so I felt that she could handle a bit of my skepticism. My first answer to her question was more questions... " do you always refer to people's children as articles instead of pronouns? Can you please ask the question again referring to "my child" instead of "a child? I can only speak for myself". Then I asked her to elaborate on what she meant by process. She meant process kind of like a car wash. You pay to have a machine clean off all the messy as you drive your car through and come out the other side kind of sparkly. These weren't her words exactly but the simile fits her meaning of grief process. </div>
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Here is the thing with "grief process". Only parts of us are mechanical. My opinion is that our work is to transform the mechanical parts of ourselves not fucking wax them. Otherwise we are just adding layers of habitual response when the faculty of grief is to penetrate the layers, to peel back the levels, to enter the labyrinth well equipped because we have done the work. Time doesn't give you silver arrows, only the quest does.<br />
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Grief is not a process with an end result. I am not a conclusion or a consequence. I am interested in being a refuge, a safe place to be with death, to be honest with how she has her way with me, but this is not a place that has a finish line. This is a place that has seen women flip cars to save their children... and if we do want to wash them... we do it ourselves in cowboy boots, bikini tops, and our collected quiver of arrows.</div>
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Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-37673544884247472872012-10-02T10:47:00.002-10:002012-10-02T11:21:42.784-10:00create a little ruckus with your rakusu<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have no idea what it means to grieve properly. Even if I did I would do it improperly. I have no idea what other people experience when they loose their children. Even if I did I would only have the high aim of being present for their stories. I do not know the world of suffering. I have been well supported as I make my way across this groundless landscape. I do not know how to be helpful to other mothers who will be asked to enter a battlefield with their babies on life support. I do have a relatively lavish sense of style when it comes to warrior armor and I am devoted to being a subordinate to bereaved mothers. But I follow their cadence.<br />
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The warrior wear that looks good with grief is more grief. Grief and her radical way of fucking with time. Grief and her sneaky way of hiding in our lungs. Grief and her cunning side-kick shame. Grief and her brilliant way of bringing us into deeper relationship with our own mortality . Grief and her companion Praise. When we are willing to wail, our heart songs can be found there. Grief and her way of worshipping life. Grief and her ability to speak every language. Grief and her amazing ability to take us out of rational mind. Grief and the magical realms that show themselves as doorways into the Mystery. Put that kind of impenetrable armor on and see who shows up for battle.<br />
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You don't go to battle with Heavy Weights like death and expect to come though it unscathed. You do show up ready for warfare regardless of knowing that you are always going to loose. It's a kind of turf-war with reality that we engage in when our mad love of life needs us to defend her. Here is the secret... the armor that serves us in battle will start to feel very heavy if we are not willing to take it off during ceasefire. The armor that protects us can also destroy us if we hold onto it too tightly.<br />
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I just completed my first year of chaplaincy school at Upaya. I am in an environment of big hearted humans committed to being in the realms of insanity. Part of my commitment to stand on their shoulders is to make a rakusu. It's a kind of rendition of the Buddha's robe that I have to sew and wear in my willingness to serve as a chaplain. Rakusus are worn around the neck of Zen Buddhists who have taken the precepts. It is said in legend to resemble the rice fields seen by the Buddha while walking on pilgrimage. It's a kind of warrior wear. One option was to sew it out of all black fabric. Another option was to sew it out of a collection of fabrics that are meaningful to me. I chose to sew my rakusu out of Max's baby blanket. This meant dying it black.<br />
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Let me just be clear. Max's baby blanket is the blanket that I held him when we thought he was going to recover. Max's baby blanket is the blanket that I held him in when I knew he wasn't going to stay. Max's baby blanket is the blanket I held him in as he left his body and the same blanket he was wrapped in when we gave his body to the crematory.<br />
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This was my armor for many many months. I wore it for every ceremony. I wore it the first time back taking the seat of teaching yoga. I wore it to speak with Max's dads. I wore it to get my blood drawn so I could donate my breast milk. I wore it to the frickin' bank. I wore it talking on the phone to other mothers who had their children on life support. I wore it to bury Max's placenta. I wore it when I interviewed to get into Upaya. I wore it to sleep every night. And then one day it was just time to cut it up and dye it black. It was time to turn Max's baby blanket into this tangible form of ceremony. The only way I am able to truly serve other mothers is to transform my story into a sword that travels with me. It cannot stay in its form because getting stuck is not an option. The armor that serves us in one situatian will only save us when we are able to discern when to put it on to go to battle for others.<br />
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And so it is.<br />
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LET (all that) LOVE IN<br />
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hh<br />
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<br />Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-73147678503558509812012-07-22T18:52:00.002-10:002012-07-23T12:33:37.584-10:00Transfer, Transition, TransformationMax's dad will continue to fill up these pages. Our story has felt simultaneously too robust to capture and too fragile to share. This blog has been devoted to the voice of women while intentionally trying to stay bigger than gender. It feels perfect to share this piece below on July 22 from my grandmothers kitchen in SD. The bigger picture is always more clear from a distance. The blog below is also posted on a new blog set up by our yoga studio to continue a conversation about practice, this path, transition and travel. http://www.warriorwonyoga.com/heather/<br />
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Here she is:<br />
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This is another stage of severance with reverence.
Joel Tessier is the new owner of Warrior Won School of Yoga.
Context is the set of circumstances that form the setting for an event. And although at this stage of the game, a change of ownership to the yoga studio feels relatively subsidary, the back story is significant.
This is less the story of my relationship to owning a business, moving a business, and selling a business. That story looks a little like this. I never really figured out how to run one well. I am and have always been a much better yoga teacher than a business owner. I have lots of ideas, less follow through. I detest stability and security and would rather eat nails than play it safe. And although these qualities make for a venturesome and bold life, they do not totally compliment running a business.
This is a story about rescue, resentment, going to the zoo, hair gel, the denying force, autonomy, partnership, love, loss, barefoot running, silks, lifting way more weight than we thought we could ever handle, and what we continue to learn about staying in relationship...even when you want to poke each others eyes out with a plastic fork. This about loving each other a tAhousand different ways. This is about watching Joel give his breath and CPR to my son so that I could be Max’s mom for eight days and learn to be his mother this lifetime. This is a story of Joel not leaving Max’s side from the moment he handed his trembling little body to the paramedics. This is a story of moving into Kapiloani NICU and learning to be parents in an environment where you cannot save your children. This is about Joel only speaking to Max in French because that might be the secret language he needed to stay. This is about Joel trusting my decision to let Max go. It is a story of wanting to support each other but not wanting to sleep with each other. This is about moments of feeling completely isolated from each other because we grieve differently. This is about yelling at each other, because we are meanest to the ones we rely on. It is a story about me learning to trust that men can rise up, show up and follow through. It is a story of me wanting to walk away from Balancing Monkey after selling the house and Joel inviting me to ask bigger questions about what ways I want to serve our community and the teachings. This is about me changing my mind a hundred times and Joel consistently accommodating my inconsistency because he believes I have something valuable to offer. This is about feeling not good enough, not chosen, and then seeing the reflection that we never leave each other. It is a story of parenting our spirit child and believing that sharing a yoga studio would be one way to nourish creation. It is a story of me having to compromise after I spent six hours hanging aerial silks at the Crossfit Gym without asking. I thought it looked modern and chic. Joel thought it looked like an Arabian nights themed high school prom. I called it the denying force. He called it victory. This is about running barefoot around the Big Island on Max’s one-year birthday because no matter what, Joel will always be Max’s Dad. It is a story of me meeting Lani, loving her and seeing Joel happy in a healthy relationship. This is about me knowing deep in my heart that I have other work to do. It is a story of me telling Joel that the next decade of my life will be devoted to grief utilization and serving women who have lost their children . This is about me becoming a Chaplain and Joel becoming a better business owner. This is about Joel being committed to a thriving yoga studio so that I have a place to return to teach and we all have a place to practice. But mostly this is a story about two simultaneously arrogant and humble warriors who are committed to saying “yes” to life with a certain vigilance about trying not to capture it. It is a story of Warriors Won.
I know in my heart that the yoga studio will continue to thrive as a community with a deep love for practice and for each other. As Warrior Won makes this move to new ownership by a man who has supported us from the sideline these past two years, I invite you to stay rooted in practice and each other. Our love of yoga and journey on this path is in our bones and independent of anything outside of ourselves. With all of this said, I deeply appreciate you supporting me and the yoga studio all of these years. Your practice fed me. Your practice housed me. Your practice carried me through the loss of our son. Your practice built Warrior Won. Your practice is putting me through chaplaincy school. Your practice will give Joel a new challenge. Your practice will continue to give me a place to return to and share all that we are constantly being asked to grow into. Pranams Warriors, Pranams Monkeys, Pranams Warrior Monkeys. I love you.
Thank you Joel for housing us, believing in me, and rising up to support the ways I wish to serve. I am committed to our story continuing to nourish the whole.
Love,
HHHeather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-87665811612794296492012-07-03T19:14:00.000-10:002012-07-03T19:23:31.420-10:00when your best friend gives birth to a sonI was actually having a 9pm picnic at Coconut Island. Six hours earlier we had gone for a long walk together. The only way warriors walk these days is if one of us is too pregnant to run. We prefer running. We are predictable in our way of really wanting to feel our bodies. Another offering death at the dinner table makes is a steady reminder to run while you can and even if you are past your due date... at the very least put on your big girl pants and walk up a great big hill. So on Tuesday, June 12 Master P, her unborn son, and I walked up Kuku'au.<br />
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Master P is a book end. She was the last warrior with me to hold Max's body. She took his body from my arms after he had left it and delivered him to the nurses. He imprinted upon her chest. She slept in the blue shirt she was wearing that day at Kapiolani Medical Center for many months and keeps it next to her bedside on the occasions when she needs to be reminded of the work we are here to do. She selflessly served as my cognitive function so that I could just be Max's mom and stay in the medium of in-between worlds during the 8 days he was embodied. While I pumped my breast milk, she rubbed my head. When I received Max's ashes and had to put them in the car, she put him in a seat belt in the back and cried with me the entire drive. She fed me. She housed me. She never once felt sorry for me. She gave me a map for the brand new landscape of a mother who lost her son, called me a warrior, helped me craft my weapon and encouraged me to slay the bullshit and hand out high fives. When I say things, like "I think Max chose us because he knew we would do the real work of the heart", instead of thinking I have gone bat shit crazy, Master P simply says "I think so too". During those moments when I would have preferred to curl up in a dark corner, she put me back in the water on a long board. I would not be doing the work I am doing at this moment if Master P was not in my life.<br />
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Master P being pregnant and having a son 15 months after I lost one was both in the same breath, very normal and extraordinary. Both of us are fully aware that life in all of its robustness, in all of its tenacity, in all of its laboring to actually get through is radically precious. I think it is why Master P, without missing a beat asked my midwife, April to deliver her son.<br />
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So this is how we did it. With the amazing support of April and Rich Pierce...Master P gave birth to Cooper Kai Awesome Pierce at 11:27pm in the horse troff on their lanai in upper Hilo. I got the whole thing on video. A hundred other babies have been born in that tub, each one a miracle. Cooper was nothing shy of a marvel. Master P had the kind of delivery that can modestly be chalked up as "perfect". We knew Cooper was going to stay and still there was a smile of relief when he made it through. His small private victory was also a colossal moment for all of us. There was nothing but Joy. The sadness of knowing that our boys will never ride waves together had nothing to do with the awareness that they will, indeed never be far.<br />
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This is what we keep learning over and over again, grief will move you if you allow it. It will move you deeper into your heart. It will move you away from trauma. It will move you into a place of really LIVING, of celebrating the new life all around, of feeling the pulse of life wanting to live its fullest expression. Here is the thing, you cannot rush it. Grief has it's own time warp. It is different for all of us. Grief will demand everything of you, it is sticky, it is insane and it is also medicine for the whole community if we use it. It will move you into a place of pressing your best friends sacrum while she has contractions over the tub. It will move you into a place of making her a placenta milk shake twenty minutes after she delivers a beautiful baby boy. It will move you into a place of spending the first night with mom and baby in their bed, the three of us all snuggled together, mom and I taking turns poking Cooper to make sure he is breathing. We are so wildly and perfectly human, both warriors of the heart and mothers having no idea what we are doing. Thank god for April.<br />
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Master P. Thank you for letting life move you. April Thank you for midwifing life through both of us. Rich Pierce Thank you for being the most supportive husband on the planet.<br />
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To Breast milk all over the place.<br />
I love you.<br />
h<br />
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<br />Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-7066298650325271522012-05-15T22:46:00.003-10:002012-05-15T23:38:52.834-10:00Death Manifesto from Eureka ValleyI found a long piece of wood in the desert during my time with the school of lost borders (which if you get a chance do go be with them... holy hanuman GO). I wrote this on April 22 with a ball point pen on that long piece of wood of which I hand carved a spear with my knife. There is a certain sharpness that I own. I have added a couple of sentences... since one thing time does offer is a bringing us closer to our own death in all of the forms that takes. I offer it to you to take as you like from the vastness of the Eureka Valley of California from the great big quiet in the spaces in between breaths where Max and his marble players praise all of us, all of it, all of this as holy.<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dear Friends, Lovers, Lovers of Friends, Lovers of Life’s Mysteries and Warriors of the Heart. Please do get comfortable. I know. I devoted my entire life to teaching how to be present, steady and open in the radically uncomfortable but the desert taught me how to take a seat in the shade. Life will bring plenty of heat, plenty of windstorms. When they do come please do offer the gift of asking for help. It will change your life for the better.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Love is not about getting what you want. Love is not about getting what you want. Love is not about getting what you want. And yet love with your entire being. Love radically and way too much. But whatever you do please do not try and capture it. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Remember God, Your Beloved, or Your Big Bird. or whatever it is that brings you into deeper relationship with your heart's longing.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Cut in line and then buy everyone behind you a cup of coffee. Your beauty is your broken so please accessorize your scars by sharing your story. Donate your breast milk even if your babies die. And when someone tells you that you have capitalized on your baby dying, give them a hug. They need it. </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Love your work in a way that you would do it even if you were not getting paid for it. Eliminate the word “should” from your vocabulary. Get to know the invisible plane that is always conspiring to totally support you. Coincidence awareness is learning God's language, so pay attention. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Be shameless, unapologetic, unstoppable and totally vulnerable. When the waves look scary, paddle out. When mother ocean tells you it is too big out there, catch the next wave in. And yes, go heal a broken relationship and then release it. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Use big words incorrectly. Make up your own punctuation. Take off your underpants. Write your advance directive. Drink sunshine. Please just tell the truth. Hoarding it, concealing it or skirting it is both cowardly and time consuming. Truth always works its way out. Go for a run. One day you will not hate it. Divorce your grudges and then marry yourself. Invite all of the Bodhisattvas to your wedding including your mother. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our stories teach us where we have been, who we are now and all that we are becoming while simultaneously inviting us to outgrow them. we are only here to grow. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Replace the word "intention" with the words "compassionate action", you can intend all you want and still be a bastard. Note to self... sacred wounds are not sacred if they continue to hurt the people you love especially yourself.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Give life all of you. None of us are making it out of here alive. Please stay too intense. When your body does go it will have been very well used. Please tell “hope” to fuck off and send someone flowers and a random thank you card instead. Let devastated, broken open and impossibly happy share the same smile. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and keep letting love in. there is nothing else. </span></span></span></div>
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</div>Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-14371794270933384942012-03-30T23:48:00.008-10:002012-03-31T16:49:53.823-10:00Fear is real, So are treasures<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX1-XHwBPOV8VCHTpdWB6SukvB7avmfAnUCx8vjqoeoZKbXdzA6jjfo58VaxV3AVg0FBzG3T3x6NjGeQ9kI5rWg0wzt-0KOwNQXmaxQpD8RpiIaQpI2zIL29foZesaw6ZM04hL5T4ZZy2Z/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX1-XHwBPOV8VCHTpdWB6SukvB7avmfAnUCx8vjqoeoZKbXdzA6jjfo58VaxV3AVg0FBzG3T3x6NjGeQ9kI5rWg0wzt-0KOwNQXmaxQpD8RpiIaQpI2zIL29foZesaw6ZM04hL5T4ZZy2Z/s320/photo.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>For both Max Ka'hanu Bumblebee Heintz's Birthday and Re-birthday I have been in desert landscapes with huge rocks. This morning I drank my cup of coffee on a great big orange stone sofa next to a juniper bush full of bumble bees in Joshua Tree National Park. One sting will kill me. Instead of moving away, I just lay next to them. There is nothing to run from or toward. Just this. Just this. Just this. In my hands <i>The Tibetan Book of the Dead </i>and right there on page 39 is Rilke, “Our deepest fears are like dragons guarding our deepest treasure”. Yes. This path can be a tight rope of reckless and fearless. Reckless would be stepping into the juniper. Waking sleeping dragons is not my work. I am interested in the fear that guards the treasure, and for that I am a student of the dragon slayer. My greatest fear as a mother was loosing my child. One year ago today I held my son as he left his body. Fear is real, so are treasures. None of us stay. Some of us stay longer. My experience is that while we are here, we are here to love. I am bias. I am Max’s mom, but the amount of love that poured through his eight days is jackpot style. What one year has done is reveal where all that gold has been scattered, planted, transformed and transcended. Thank you for sharing your golden sprinkle Max stories with me.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I have been in ceremony for a full year. For many months there was a deep sense of urgency to gather all of the treasures Max was offering. I would pull all nighters downloading his teachings, afraid that I was going to miss something. I believe it was my way of transferring the neglect that accompanies the loss of your children. By the way... this is one of the reasons there is such a charge around TIME for grieving parents. More "time" equates to more abandonment. Of course your children are in the realms beyond time and space where abandonment is impossible. But this is not totally obvious at first. The umbilical chord is still pulsating. Not only is the veil thin, my experience is that it barely exists. Max was right there. The only thing that scared me was him leaving again. I am now anchored in that impossibility. At this one year mark, what I realize is that I have been growing wild fig tree roots. The madness of my willingness to stay totally in it has grounded me so deeply in his teachings it would be like being afraid of the fig tree bearing tangerines. Impossible. Max only stayed up with me all night because I needed to stay up all night. He does not need me. He likes my company. I am his student, and like any great Guru what is being offered is the transformative quality of a relationship with our own heart. It is my journey. This has been one of the most difficult pieces. Max loves me. He uses me as one vehicle to share his teaching. He has many vehicles. But he does not need me. He is pure LOVE. Love does not need.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">LOVE DOES NOT NEED. </span>LOVE DOES NOT NEED.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> I remember at times wishing I could be in relationship with my dead baby instead of my Heart Teacher that I was a vagina portal for. I was wearing a red Angels baseball hat when I realized that was never going to be the case. The former more devastating but more finite and less work. I could have chosen that path. There are really great books for that path. That path usually looks like this: "denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance". That path just never resonated. My path is one of studentship to my own heart. I am lucky. I have a teacher. We each have a unique path to that place. We make offerings and meet extraordinary teachers along the way. Max left for me to go the next level of the heart. For me the question has never been “why”. The question has always been “what now?”. So t</span>his afternoon we went for a walk in that big Mojave Desert with those peculiar spiky, twisted Joshua Trees and those huge monzogranite jungle gyms and here is what the earth shared when I asked “what now?” “Heather, Small human amongst these big rocks. Even these small hidden rocks have big patience. So small human be in the big patience. Be in the big beauty. Keep walking the path.”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">LET LOVE IN</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ9cccVF1XIgZnAMKuE-qUlB1gwSXPS6H_O32AmfNXPJE2R5SLq4mWW1Mre7RBdtiPYxNjKIF6gqzjnuSdtIJSO4TwRLIOsu9cASxXM1W9zTbwOP0wRfs0twICk6eVYQFr5xqH4QLtmr8d/s1600/sea_dragon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ9cccVF1XIgZnAMKuE-qUlB1gwSXPS6H_O32AmfNXPJE2R5SLq4mWW1Mre7RBdtiPYxNjKIF6gqzjnuSdtIJSO4TwRLIOsu9cASxXM1W9zTbwOP0wRfs0twICk6eVYQFr5xqH4QLtmr8d/s320/sea_dragon.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"></span></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-8749924309642944482012-03-15T19:38:00.006-10:002012-03-16T04:45:02.334-10:00You do not bury Placentas... YOU PLANT THEM<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">me following in the footsteps of warriors</td></tr>
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On Saturday, March 3 four warrior women made another offering of their love to plant Max's placenta with me. It has almost been a year. The umbilical chord was so full of life it was nearly pulsating. The rich smell of fresh blood and the crimson color that is women was mesmerizing. I gave birth. I gave birth. Max is such a great big Being that sometimes I loose track that he actually came through me. I did give birth to him and his placenta. I have held both.<br />
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The below is my experience of how warriors serve a mother when she says it is time to bury the placenta of her deceased baby. Here it is.<br />
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you load up your warm clothes and get in the car with her.<br />
you trust her instinct that she knows exactly where to go.<br />
you hike to the top of a mountain.<br />
you nearly fall off the side of that mountain following her to the perfect Koa tree.<br />
you get down on your knees and dig in the dirt with her.<br />
you rub the earth all over your body.<br />
you examine the placenta with such precision that you actually feel the flesh that held her son in her uterus. you place it in the earth with a song.<br />
you let your tears roll down your cheeks and nourish the offering<br />
you smile when the mother says "you do not bury your baby's placenta YOU PLANT IT. I can feel the earth breathing"<br />
you look her straight in the eyes when she tells you "something in my cells has shifted... it is a feeling of re-birth."<br />
you look up at the sky and feel your own heart lift to meet Max.<br />
you share with her your own experience of what you fear most and then share how you love more radically because of it<br />
you walk down the backside of the mountain not saying anything but holding hands in the sunshine<br />
you place your hands on your own pregnant belly and know that nothing is certain, that life will moves through us, and as mothers and all we can really do is love our children<br />
you drive back down from the mountaintop knowing that life will never be the same and yet we love the ordinary... the magical ordinary<br />
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This is the path of the warrior... let them see it in the way we walk<br />
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walk on through, again and again, blood may be planted for beauty to bloom, get the earth all over you, walk through<br />
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all love<br />
hh<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnFjPZIimpkoA21AZsGMTSchXW2-U5Nq_nDYOQHxsTB_dhkYhDF4Q-mdWpzmNg1anKD0ZiZozXlmUu7KyxD8xodN4Jntq67t1td9Xs616YnnyaaZXPeEYBRWUthYLTVFjIMvu3iNjE2kga/s1600/425220_10150579517556549_559751548_9466942_2003713027_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnFjPZIimpkoA21AZsGMTSchXW2-U5Nq_nDYOQHxsTB_dhkYhDF4Q-mdWpzmNg1anKD0ZiZozXlmUu7KyxD8xodN4Jntq67t1td9Xs616YnnyaaZXPeEYBRWUthYLTVFjIMvu3iNjE2kga/s200/425220_10150579517556549_559751548_9466942_2003713027_n.jpg" width="200" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdTw-GiRO6tUmZM7f3cKPa7aNZOVn_T_GZjfh4ym-nI5qZExZ-EZoXDkEdO2cSMA3s3HxszlcXM2WyO_OsAhdE2_MDDvbe31pG-rUvY7oIWCtdzEzEmr5qrWoxcWU20V5gGXFnhu3MNVjt/s1600/429062_10150579517821549_559751548_9466945_428997349_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdTw-GiRO6tUmZM7f3cKPa7aNZOVn_T_GZjfh4ym-nI5qZExZ-EZoXDkEdO2cSMA3s3HxszlcXM2WyO_OsAhdE2_MDDvbe31pG-rUvY7oIWCtdzEzEmr5qrWoxcWU20V5gGXFnhu3MNVjt/s200/429062_10150579517821549_559751548_9466945_428997349_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjvQvtkpHEhSIB_P83-o2d-nUm7RlQ_zLqqCSWxpjUFScpkWKH2lHKycem1KiB9kRZWSDzQKFyoWTQC2FGfwGr5wFBlQfCijJIDi-VAmnJYQ5E_PHnvVNjE2mYglckhiNgGS9lXYBaHMFM/s1600/417088_10150579517976549_559751548_9466946_1597803176_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjvQvtkpHEhSIB_P83-o2d-nUm7RlQ_zLqqCSWxpjUFScpkWKH2lHKycem1KiB9kRZWSDzQKFyoWTQC2FGfwGr5wFBlQfCijJIDi-VAmnJYQ5E_PHnvVNjE2mYglckhiNgGS9lXYBaHMFM/s200/417088_10150579517976549_559751548_9466946_1597803176_n.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwPjVUb1Ya9U8aNia_eAg0xKfIkAWGFlGfueqLXQbrvcta7Yec0Y4m1ZV53WbIfvN8fZ15q84NW3B-B5_BzG3gfMCcOyNfpTFAC7avOqqo6Dg9QFKmEMReSlkON-fLUnXrN3FzYLvdUT4-/s1600/422128_10150579516716549_559751548_9466935_537463418_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwPjVUb1Ya9U8aNia_eAg0xKfIkAWGFlGfueqLXQbrvcta7Yec0Y4m1ZV53WbIfvN8fZ15q84NW3B-B5_BzG3gfMCcOyNfpTFAC7avOqqo6Dg9QFKmEMReSlkON-fLUnXrN3FzYLvdUT4-/s200/422128_10150579516716549_559751548_9466935_537463418_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-86016978585851624892012-02-13T14:21:00.004-10:002012-02-13T16:54:08.874-10:00Please stay "too Intense"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHb1qETUIxACC5Dnb6l13DGzFuZV6q9cnXoFGTlZjX2JKOa3oQ5uUHBrsBi47FkqtSx_RFBGNsnOHN9HBamwf5Tp0M11jcf-cMi81jP98GDXoI2AcHlpJIgky4Ze22-vmwEQp9B-vT47eC/s1600/side+vulnerable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHb1qETUIxACC5Dnb6l13DGzFuZV6q9cnXoFGTlZjX2JKOa3oQ5uUHBrsBi47FkqtSx_RFBGNsnOHN9HBamwf5Tp0M11jcf-cMi81jP98GDXoI2AcHlpJIgky4Ze22-vmwEQp9B-vT47eC/s320/side+vulnerable.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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Max and I have moved out of his chamber. Max's 3 glittery M A X letters came off the wall. I would feel like I am leaving something behind but by now I know that we always are. Sentimentality is a very slippery slope. Places are like people in the way that they carry a certain energy, but hold onto anything to tightly and you will squeeze the life force right out of it. I am living in 300 square feet. I call it the "Bamboo Tube", not much wiggle room except for the narrow passageway to the light. I like it this way. Intense containers with no place to run.<br />
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I suppose I too am an intense container or so I have been told.<br />
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People say the most incredible things to me. It is all well intended, or not... it actually doesn't matter. Please don't waste your time trying to figure out if people are well intended. I am more interested in how we walk and what actually comes out of our mouth. At this stage in the game it is all grist for the mill and yet I have learned something that I believe is worth sharing.<br />
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Very clear people have said to me, " Heather it has to get easier, nothing can be more difficult than loosing a child". Although endearing, "getting easier" is not Max's teaching. Here is his basic teaching, "love is radical, love is our birthright, love is not an economic equation, love doesn't get you anything, and yet the act of loving and ripping open is what we are here to do, be both shameless and vulnerable, stay triumphantly heartbroken and accessorize it with red lipstick and heels." Of course there is the advanced course in playing planetary marbles but let's stick with the basics.<br />
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This practice of staying open and saying "yes" is not bias. Staying open is saying "yes" to life. But saying "yes" to death is also Max's teaching. Things will end. Love will kick your ass. You will loose it. Sometimes love is a moment, a month, a marriage, or a total miss, no matter we get a taste. My teacher Max is all love and no bullshit because all that "love" means to my teacher is that you do it anyway. Trust me we are going to loose it in the form that it found us. So when it finds you, when it comes knocking on your door, make room, write your love haikus, move the furniture because it has a tendency to flood, make friends with it's container but please remember that love is only a current a content of sorts that has no bias for it's container. The best we can do is become a vessel and let it move through us.<br />
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Here is the new piece and one that has taken me a few weeks to understand, an incredible part of loving is also knowing when it is not. Please listen. Vessels must have valves. They are vital. Saying yes to life does not have to mean saying yes to everyone or everything. Discernment is the most powerful weapon a warrior can hone. Letting love out is as important as letting love in. Listen to your instinct.<br />
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Sharpen your skills.<br />
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And please do stay "too intense".Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-57738756757872881902011-12-30T18:50:00.001-10:002011-12-30T18:51:50.564-10:00Full Gestation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR3iVitjo0NctZBjmLi-sPZ5maZBG1CapibM9KNQyxMgd2hGlEZsebZr1hE3zPO9Dcqnw6gLxlkoXRXYCOyD9K6Il83wYtXRNoGQee-wjL7TnxVmSDlu1TyqWD-JDTYF7k_hs21kaXqfQ4/s1600/Photo+on+12-26-11+at+1.52+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR3iVitjo0NctZBjmLi-sPZ5maZBG1CapibM9KNQyxMgd2hGlEZsebZr1hE3zPO9Dcqnw6gLxlkoXRXYCOyD9K6Il83wYtXRNoGQee-wjL7TnxVmSDlu1TyqWD-JDTYF7k_hs21kaXqfQ4/s320/Photo+on+12-26-11+at+1.52+PM.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I have, as of today physically been without Max as long as I have been with him. He left his body exactly nine months ago.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> I am in good company. I am in God company. Come to find out, they are no different. Grace moves through us. I can recognize her as the people who hold me accountable to the highest truth of my heart and ask me to continue living from that place. Look around. These are your people. These are your teachers. These are your warriors. These are your heart song. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Some of my good people/god people live in Tucson. So here I am today at an advanced yoga intensive at Yoga Oasis. I am fully back in my body and bending it backwards, radical syllabus style. This is the place in the yoga practice where you trust that you have put in all of the hours (sweating, crying, building strength, ripping open, refining your alignment, and figuring out the formula) needed to support you for what is next. This is the place in the practice where my teacher Darren Rhodes shares "you have to allow your intuition and memory to move you beyond the formula". In other words... when things get radical, there is no formula. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Here is the one constant: everything is uncertain, everything is groundless and still we practice to create the stability we need. We do not practice to create more stable ground. We practice to create a more stable container. Practice is a reference point. It gives us a place to work from, but it is not the work itself. Life will move through us. We are it's vessel.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">There is no formula. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">There is no formula.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">When radical things happen all we have to rely on is the hours we have put in getting to know the depths of our heart so that we can, and we will rise up when we are called. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">The only real work is the opening of the heart.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Not all heart opening needs to be radical. This is where time has become my ally. The perspective time has shown is this... be gentle with yourself. Rest when you can. Trust me. Your time for night watch will come. Life will move through you. Living a good life is not about getting through it, it's about getting it all over you. But we too need seasons... so in the rest times, in the times in between the really big storms enjoy the ocean for what it is. Take really good care of yourself. Bask in the sun. Ask your heart questions. Be curious. Get to know its longing. Make loving yourself the priority of your practice. Because at some point the formula will not cut it and this path (if we are lucky) will eventually reveal exactly what and how we have been practicing. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Thank you for walking this path with me. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">as we let love in.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Heather </span><br />
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</span>Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-39322038004501067272011-12-15T20:18:00.003-10:002011-12-15T20:28:16.368-10:00accessorize your scars<div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBCpssZIYT3_zMy2CD5u8Pr1WChIjsnLFwRrVpnHv7sWhBYOMbwgOeH2Sti2VeOfvEy43zzwDYLZJ1hw4M8vkrIXVllvy6CKatv3djp-WvGLqpJcSJnH1kqZXC-noDyYuu_0maQalY3Hl8/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBCpssZIYT3_zMy2CD5u8Pr1WChIjsnLFwRrVpnHv7sWhBYOMbwgOeH2Sti2VeOfvEy43zzwDYLZJ1hw4M8vkrIXVllvy6CKatv3djp-WvGLqpJcSJnH1kqZXC-noDyYuu_0maQalY3Hl8/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I have a wall of teachers in my new room. I also have the letter M A X. A friend questioned why I do not have a picture of Max up there with the other open-hearted heretics. My teachers do all share a certain quality of revolutionary . And Max certainly rubs elbows with these masters. I have, however very intentionally never printed a picture of him. Pictures of him decorate the desktops of my electronic devices and yet to frame him on a wall in his perfect form that he didn't stay long in seems futile.<br />
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He is changeless, yet changing forms all of the time. A frame seems too little for his great bigness. For the first few weeks after he left his little body the two of us once again shared skin suits. He came from my cells and I felt him return into me. He moved from my uterus to my heart-erus. The veil became so thin between birth, life, birth, death we wanted to stay very close to each other so not to just disappear. As soon as we figured out how to communicate he quickly found an additional form, and another form, and another form.... he is always recognizable and always beyond the scope of my imagination. He both evolves alongside of me and shows me the way on a path that demands all of me.<br />
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Sometimes he wears roller skates and feathers, while sometimes he wears war paint and armor. Sometimes he is as gentle as a chinook wind, while sometimes as fierce as flooding water. Sometimes he has very furry large feet and a little clumsy while sometimes he has perfectly coordinated bird wings. Sometimes he is an absolute planetary marble playing mastermind while sometimes he is two good friends having a salad.<br />
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He is omnipresent, omniscient, ineffable, and loves girls singing Kirtan.<br />
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He is also happy to just be my son. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">We long for each other. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">This is the beauty of the beloved. The beloved is a perpetual state of longing for the other. When I talk about the awakening that Max shared with us, it is the awakening that essentially we are all in a state of longing that doesn't come from incompleteness. It comes from our heart's longing to be in our baseline state of absolute unconditional love. We loose it somewhere along the line. We forget. We let strange things block us from feeling it. Then we will find it. Then we loose it again. This cycle continues. Then one day we get lucky (when I say lucky I am talking about the <i><b>lila</b></i> kind of lucky, not the winning the lottery kind of lucky) and something radical happens. And when radical strikes it is insane. But If we rise up and really meet it... inevitably we will be ripped open and the raw space of revelation gives us another taste of the sweet perpetual deep longing of the heart. This is beloved. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Evoking a broken heart doesn't take much when we loose are children... and still the work is to stay both broken hearted and ripped wide open. We are actually designed to be in this state. Our cells know what to do. Our hearts know how to connect. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;"> The choice between tragic and triumphant is a very thin sharp sharp razor. Both edges will cut you open. Our work is not so much to heal these kind of wounds as it is so much to accessorize our scars. I wrote a few blogs back that "our beauty is our broken". Dare to stay triumphantly broken hearted. Dare to stay triumphantly broken hearted. It will look amazingly good on you.<br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">Let Love In</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica;">H. </div>Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-82295570116567483602011-11-07T10:40:00.001-10:002011-11-07T10:47:59.053-10:00Rejection is liberation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdzUTLpRiLF8kTzPbEa-3NWB5X_zK8fv0MuZCz2waWO89KF1HA2XV5PjRDo7jr8NrWCOv61HWSAm1xWwQokrdyL7ZCvXEFT0emo1lJtF6R17Ih_p9kXKoi3dR5F_ajSebo-C8CZ7bOHLQn/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdzUTLpRiLF8kTzPbEa-3NWB5X_zK8fv0MuZCz2waWO89KF1HA2XV5PjRDo7jr8NrWCOv61HWSAm1xWwQokrdyL7ZCvXEFT0emo1lJtF6R17Ih_p9kXKoi3dR5F_ajSebo-C8CZ7bOHLQn/s320/photo.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div><br />
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My dear friend Elisha calls rejection "god's protection". I feel very clear about God not giving a rat's ass about a prayer list of our wants or needs but God and I are still working it out. Our relationship is a work in progress. But I put down my weapons the day I helped Max leave his body. Still... I am working on staying in fighting shape. Stepping onto the battlefield is not necessarily about straight up spiritual warfare. Stepping onto the battlefield is the place where we choose triumph over failure when we get rejected. We stay present regardless of the outcome. Staying in a heart broken open space is actually a very victorious place to be.<br />
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Loving is not about getting anything. Loving is not about getting anything. Loving is not about getting anything. Loving is not about getting anything. Loving is not about getting anything. <br />
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Before Max was born I used impermanence as a way to guard my heart. I found a practice of contentment by remaining unattached. I actually had a name for it "compassionate neutrality". I assure you I didn't know any better so there is a kind of ignorant innocence here that I am sharing with you. Then this path of mine presented a new landscape. I can now tell you with absolute certainty, "compassionate neutrality" is bullshit. Nothing stays the same. Impermanence is the path we are all walking. There is nothing enlightened about staying neutral. <br />
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Max isn't teaching us how to stand on the side line and stay neutral. Get in there and get yourself dirty mom. We confuse a survival method of not getting attached with simply waking up to knowing that nothing stays the same. Whether you attach or renounce is not going to change things changing. This life is inviting us to explore the depth of our heart and to bind ourselves to what we love. Get radically attached. How fully, how madly will you love knowing the truth that no matter what, someday you are going to loose it. I listened to Douglas Brooks talk about love this way: "Love will bring you into conflict, disappointment and grieving. Love will fuck you up. But however it is we choose to love is what we will become".<br />
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Bind yourself to the act of loving and see what kind of heart opening happens. I assure you this path is much more challenging, much more risky, and much more authentic than being compassionately neutral. <br />
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and yes... You will get rejected. Do it anyway. <br />
Rejection is liberation.<br />
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L O V E<br />
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HeatherHeather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-77137778582224697132011-09-26T14:37:00.009-10:002011-09-26T22:42:22.164-10:00Invite death to the dinner table<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqR7fpo92FdiQUKFRkIzSJZ0XQUZhRN0mS6rBv331Gd2X1eOzyG1Ri8FDEl97kSqMzqY8D5PYMC5MYRDdMmXXzAhy0Mcitjvo-6cJ3pHcTI24FD1z0-ytF9Fkhy2wl2-LYj_mx6cwM-gLx/s1600/DisneySkeletonDance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqR7fpo92FdiQUKFRkIzSJZ0XQUZhRN0mS6rBv331Gd2X1eOzyG1Ri8FDEl97kSqMzqY8D5PYMC5MYRDdMmXXzAhy0Mcitjvo-6cJ3pHcTI24FD1z0-ytF9Fkhy2wl2-LYj_mx6cwM-gLx/s320/DisneySkeletonDance.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The work is self observation. Sounds simple. It is. But there is something about "simple" that we tend to resist. It may have something to do with our tendency to stay distracted. We can, if not checked find ourselves in a perpetual state of "busy" confusing our essenntial self with our outputs. When we stop and look at our essential goodness, our essential god-ness, our essential brightness what we find is it has very little to do with what we do and much more to do with how we show up to what we are doing. <br />
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One of the greatest gifts Max gave me was absolute stillness. My world stopped. The gift to get down and dirty with the present moment is what really matters. Max invited death to the dinner table to see what kind of conversations we would have with our people... and not just the ones we love, but also the ones we think are not worthy of our love. Death at the dinner table actually made me take a seat right between them so I was able to see the microscopic line between worthy and unworthy. Invite death out for a walk and watch how beautiful the sun sets. Invite death to go for a swim and taste the salty water. Invite death out for a jog and see how fast you can run. Invite death to the unveiling of your masterpiece and see if you care about what people think. Invite death to your self obeservation session and see if what rubs you the wrong way is just you neglecting your heart's longing. Invite death to your busy day and see what really needs to be done.<br />
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When I talk about the simplicity of self observation what I am really talking about is the pretty radical practice of returning to what is truly important. Keeping death on the horizon slices away at the bullshit to keep us perpetually in the ripped open place of our hearts. It is only in the senses of our hearts that we can truly savor the intensity, taste the uncomfortable, see the infinite chances to open, touch the intangible, and really hear our heart's deep longing. If I may, I encourage you to get "busy" with that kind of work. <br />
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Keep letting love in<br />
Heather<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHgybGsRH2kUtLZycD1qVSFsDF4X3TS_tEmS4y0Q4ySYm_rsWcetspskOr2IIYQ7PIazZiEr0QQLCOdYVjMl_kxEoY37hJx5DPQaY_mQi9a348VWmL61J9TyW-nCPK5c7EnaNObAdNfMls/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHgybGsRH2kUtLZycD1qVSFsDF4X3TS_tEmS4y0Q4ySYm_rsWcetspskOr2IIYQ7PIazZiEr0QQLCOdYVjMl_kxEoY37hJx5DPQaY_mQi9a348VWmL61J9TyW-nCPK5c7EnaNObAdNfMls/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-11511350095942423572011-09-05T16:32:00.010-10:002011-09-24T11:38:40.334-10:00Going off the deep end<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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I am aware of the abnormality of my grieving. Trust me, it's not normal to refer to your son that left his body after eight days as "your teacher, master of masters, guru of gurus"... who tells you to keep loving. Keep letting love in. Keep your heart open and broken regardless of the outcome. The boats have been burned and there is no going back. Safe is an illusion. Technicolor is the new mauve so color the walls of this life big and bright. You are going to get hurt. You are going to fail so be as graceful as possible.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjrrmHfACxfHiyKUYM24aTxkQphqJAXt3cNUs2w-5VqJxT8wHriB-izXU1G7Wf4uLUs2VATa4ZO0P1BiGmSRv2wcTABh2RAdsNhKIPgC9Ouz-5cqozGaXJAAsJl5qP6qFKvAg1KulzxgjN/s1600/shorebreak-surf-on-waimea-bay-oahu-t2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjrrmHfACxfHiyKUYM24aTxkQphqJAXt3cNUs2w-5VqJxT8wHriB-izXU1G7Wf4uLUs2VATa4ZO0P1BiGmSRv2wcTABh2RAdsNhKIPgC9Ouz-5cqozGaXJAAsJl5qP6qFKvAg1KulzxgjN/s1600/shorebreak-surf-on-waimea-bay-oahu-t2.jpg" /></a></div>Trust me It isn't normal that I said "no" to a memorial because Max is very much alive in my heart. While it doesn't phase me, it does freak people out. I can say with quite a bit of certainty that I surround myself with very level-headed, grounded, rooted and located Masterminds who talk to me daily about what Max is doing, what Max is up to, what Max is teaching us, or how Max shows up in very unexpected places. I am grateful I have them. They hold me accountable to keep living in the abnormal. When I get worked by the ocean of this rawness they wrap me up in a warm towel, give me a snack, wax up my board and say "get back out there kid, keep living from that kind of conviction". <br />
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Normal says "Heather went off the deep end". People have told me they were worried about me until they saw me at the bank.<br />
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The bank? Really? <br />
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We get a sample of how radically uncertain all of this being human is but instead of really living from that place of no bullshit and all heart, it's just easier to go the bank. Of course we have to go to the bank. It's expected and necessary, but please do see it for what it is. <br />
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Another women shared that she can't believe how open I have been with loosing a baby. That it makes her uncomfortable that I have been public with Max. She shared that she knew a woman who lost her baby and nine months later had another one and that she's totally fine. <br />
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I can't argue with that. Fine is a fine place to be. Fine just isn't for me. I prefer the going off the deep end. <br />
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I am writing this because many of you have swam out to some pretty big waves with me, another way of saying "off the deep end". You have taken a stand to move deeper and deeper into the layers of your heart where the waves of love are intense and the risks are big. You have bravely shared what that surf continues to feel like for you. Thank you for being brave. But let us be clear, not everone is willing to paddle out into really big waves and it's ok. I am interested in living in the abnormal. I am NOT interested in being righteous about it. It's enough just to live from that place. What I don't get to do is drag people out there with me. Or worse, come across that I am somehow more awake for choosing to stay open. I have made this mistake and almost drowned a very dear friend of mine. I tried to drag him out here with me when he has been the one supplying the rations for me to stay out in these big waves. Take it from me, don't do that. It is not up to you who joins you in the line up. I got tumbled and tossed around and may have done some damage. It will need some attention and some nurturing before the trust is there again. Note taken. I'd be in deeper shit if he didn't love me the way he does. I am thankful our friendship survived.<br />
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Max says "keep paddling Mom and recognize the incredible amount of support it takes from shore to make sure you stay alive out there". The opportunity for growth is in every fathom. Be grateful for the near drownings. Be grateful for the bank. Be grateful for the normal. Be grateful for going off the deep end and when needed just apologize.<br />
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Let Love In<br />
Heather<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieJs0JL0GxNOc09DlaliL2QwtquXMp7__WC65XTM72L5GqEuL5JPKR7xfBIRs5SNL126q3aTMwP1TvVVGEn_fTZ2wAdJD5VAODn6VZaKTZ5CG7vfHojahiSBCWwUgBiqTtEpUEFfKSMhla/s1600/DSCF2256.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieJs0JL0GxNOc09DlaliL2QwtquXMp7__WC65XTM72L5GqEuL5JPKR7xfBIRs5SNL126q3aTMwP1TvVVGEn_fTZ2wAdJD5VAODn6VZaKTZ5CG7vfHojahiSBCWwUgBiqTtEpUEFfKSMhla/s320/DSCF2256.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-15348942384489907972011-08-22T21:08:00.013-10:002011-09-24T11:39:13.052-10:00"Yes" go shuffle a 5K<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEPKKJaW4NGHQSdkB4VYwMIY-oWq0h6MixZnAlWZ22zXRUkpaiSQ2AZAdZcJGFJvj8LGw5NY6MF9LKMIBhlVEycm_9BYgEhWdKbQjU8tuZsZy6BgrZTP00KAgIc-PgPZlYk9_MBEqoBXur/s1600/photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEPKKJaW4NGHQSdkB4VYwMIY-oWq0h6MixZnAlWZ22zXRUkpaiSQ2AZAdZcJGFJvj8LGw5NY6MF9LKMIBhlVEycm_9BYgEhWdKbQjU8tuZsZy6BgrZTP00KAgIc-PgPZlYk9_MBEqoBXur/s200/photo.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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Max was born five months ago today. There is a palpable potency around these last eight days of every month. I have shared that I once feared time, scared that as it marched on it would be a promenade away from Max, away from these moments along the continuum that open us up, that rip our hearts well into the realm of god ache. Good thing God has rhythm. Time is just making me a better dancer. Even if I miss a beat Max doesn't seem to mind. He giggles at my messy moves and keeps drumming. Max just breaks it down on his hi-hat "I like your style Mom." <br />
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"Dress your grief up in Blue High Heels and get moving. We have work to do" <br />
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Max and I initially spent a good deal of time together in quiet spaces while he taught me how to listen to his voice. I took lots of notes. This note is specific to an evening at my sister's house a little over a month after Max left his body, "Hey mom, you can do anything. You have a body. Do everything". My response was, "Christ Max you are right. You could have taken me with you, and here I am. I get it. Skin suit wearing is embodiment. Embodiment is god wanting to feel, touch, love, cry, celebrate, endure, walk, run, go to Katmandu, surf and ski in the same day, make ceramic coffee cups, stay up way too late with people that I love because the company is that good, surf 40 countries, serve humans, write a book, sit at the feet of masters," the list continues. Max was giving me the practice of saying "Yes". Not yes to the bullshit ways we feel we need to please people by doing things that don't resonate in our hearts, it's not that kind of yes. It's saying yes to everything we have made up an excuse as to why not. <br />
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Just like Max has increased my sensitivity to the spectrum of the magical realms he is also offering a doorway into the obvious... You have a body. Love it. Utilize it. Rub up against all of your edges. Don't just do one thing that scares you, go out seeking things that scare the shit out of you and then dominate. Embodiment is Empowerment but we need to stretch way beyond our comfort zone for the spectrum of what is possible to reveal itself. Be harmlessly reckless. Be vulnerably bold. Be lovingly messy. And as our Christina Sell shares, please don't walk through life without getting it on you. Get out your list. Start checking things off. If you don't have one, make one. And please do make sure that you aren't good at it before you go for it. <br />
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I hate running. So I ran a 5K. I was so excited I sprinted the first 2 miles. I got a side ache. I stopped. Then an eight-year old dressed in all red kind of shuffled past me and I thought " I can shuffle ". I shuffled past the finish line. The only role I have ever wanted to play was a Doo-Wap girl for Little Shop of Horrors. I finished my shuffle, took my race number 661 off and replaced it with my audition number 26 for the Palace Theater. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyOFTeJRlHsmtfX-pcNo9kA4ho4xLE5barrWz4op0H7TZxM1k2IGS20T10MqfTmbzdpzpiIIPFf5WUgNAC4hrwVB7un_BvSHBzj-GLb27-g8EP5tgrGDQsggjqqHiCSQcgdCpmXUCHp9Ad/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyOFTeJRlHsmtfX-pcNo9kA4ho4xLE5barrWz4op0H7TZxM1k2IGS20T10MqfTmbzdpzpiIIPFf5WUgNAC4hrwVB7un_BvSHBzj-GLb27-g8EP5tgrGDQsggjqqHiCSQcgdCpmXUCHp9Ad/s320/photo.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">shuffling</td></tr>
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What I am saying is go find all of your 5ks even if it means you shuffle. Go find all of your dream roles, belt out some show tunes even if it means you sing off key. Own it, then take your trophies to go, and let love in on your way out the door.<br />
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Let Love In<br />
Heather<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-86578500935951711812011-08-09T23:24:00.004-10:002011-08-09T23:58:39.945-10:00The Cremation Ground is the New frickin' Tea Cup Ride<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVAQQrU6hQ0NC9CpsxhbUrHpKyjFEPI84sVKchXhVbMPYW5h73MiWcO2K7_7Y4ULefA8HW7OxPMD9Dmm8GmT_yLyJD6vJh8hnNsTm57cPlgvzzBzKaC6sdVm3ceqgO7AidaZR-al4KafJa/s1600/run0away+pump.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVAQQrU6hQ0NC9CpsxhbUrHpKyjFEPI84sVKchXhVbMPYW5h73MiWcO2K7_7Y4ULefA8HW7OxPMD9Dmm8GmT_yLyJD6vJh8hnNsTm57cPlgvzzBzKaC6sdVm3ceqgO7AidaZR-al4KafJa/s200/run0away+pump.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">am Back on Oahu on the 3rd floor at the NICU to return that breast pump that I stole. Master P joined me. I wanted to give our nervous systems a chance to integrate the intensity of the eight days we spent in the hospital. It took me a moment to realize after picking up Kim P at the airport that we didn't have to rush to the NICU. Max isn't there. Pulsating proof that my body and nervous system are still highly sensitive and in some ways on guard, at attention, ready to lift a truck to save my son. The strength of a mom is impenetrable. No need to rush. My body is also on an incredible journey. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I also came here to simply hug the medical staff and to thank each of them for serving and loving Max. They are extraordinary. I was able to hold my baby as he passed. I was able to breathe him in. I was able to became a conduit for him to return to the source from where he came. They made that possible for me. They broke any rules that may have stood in my way to being able to experience being Max's Mom. There began my pilgrimage. But w</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">hen a baby leaves, we all grieve.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">They had to go back to work. Other babies needed them. The world doesn't stop and yet all of the support I have been given suspended mine so that I can stay open and experience Max as my teacher. The amount of pure gratitude brings me to my knees. Time is not taking me farther away from Max. Time is spotlighting the very human workload it took for me to be so well taken care of. Time is showing me that Max is the human spirit. He is not just mine. The world is not falling apart my friends. The world has never been more awake. I can feel it in your eyes. Those long lashes of yours batting at the recognition that love is everywhere. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYP0IpbmOTrcF3LRRcoDRpROmPRAaeQpalUy0gPCaj_3bzkppeeVIpTzcpa2-pTwr6Nn85QsRAEYJCF6KjSjfpedvB7UZojapCWgSjsgfT0XRSood0v0n_LioaNeSiBvY7BUTezwMsA8JG/s1600/master+p+HH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYP0IpbmOTrcF3LRRcoDRpROmPRAaeQpalUy0gPCaj_3bzkppeeVIpTzcpa2-pTwr6Nn85QsRAEYJCF6KjSjfpedvB7UZojapCWgSjsgfT0XRSood0v0n_LioaNeSiBvY7BUTezwMsA8JG/s320/master+p+HH.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Being back at the battlefield has a much different feel when your armor is off. Come to find out we brought the battlefield. It travels with us. It's here in my back pocket ready to be rolled out when any of us need it... and we will. We rallied warriors. We fought hard. And we will fight this battle of the heart again and again. Here, sitting in the plain mauve walls of the hospital on the bench that I sat four months ago waiting to be taken into hold Max as he left his body, not a single part of me feels defeated. Rather I am in a state of surrender. The entire electromagnetic spectrum is the new visible light. Technicolor is the new monochromatic. The cremation ground is the new frickin' tea cup ride. God doesn't give us what we want and still God is everywhere. Grace glides with her net as we walk along our edges. Whether we are asked to hang a toe off or jump with our eyes closed...Grace swoops in. Shaken awake Max, redeemer is right, all we have to do is pay attention. All plain mauve walls have magic written all over them. Max is sharing his new set of magic markers ready to illustrate this next chapter. Get scribbling. Get your doodle on and let's do this thing. </span><br />
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</span>Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-12762197219451393382011-07-24T12:10:00.018-10:002011-07-24T14:23:41.007-10:00I ran out of milk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4pEf0WlS3vZr9bkGrKu_rGeIa6e28-HTsANYcnhyphenhyphenos1GcBqBgg2N9v1wVnVUkxjwjfumAAb26nla9wzR3qbFZ-naasv6aZqnPJK2Vrhsu4_6BUW6n2XRkFWIyO-Ge8X-hIJjLtigP9m2E/s1600/IMG_9786%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4pEf0WlS3vZr9bkGrKu_rGeIa6e28-HTsANYcnhyphenhyphenos1GcBqBgg2N9v1wVnVUkxjwjfumAAb26nla9wzR3qbFZ-naasv6aZqnPJK2Vrhsu4_6BUW6n2XRkFWIyO-Ge8X-hIJjLtigP9m2E/s400/IMG_9786%255B1%255D.JPG" t$="true" width="400px" /></a></div><br />
It's time to return the Breast Pump that I borrowedd/stole from Kapiolani Medical Center. That's a picture of the two of us as I was pumping on the Bozeman Airport bathroom floor travelling two months ago. Yes, boobalicious. I stole that fancy silent breast pump so that I could feed other babies while living below the yoga studio. It's a great story of people being bigger than the institution. I will share the whole story another time. <br />
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I ran out of milk on June 30. Exactly one trimeter after Max passed. My ambitious intention of pumping Max's milk to donate to babies in critical care for one year was an arbitrary number. After around 1300 ounces of breast milk later, I had to remind myself numerous times of the ambiguity as the emotional deficit set in. My mind was telling me to act quickly and find nourishment for my baby. It was showing up for me in the constant feeling that I wasn't doing enough for my son. If I could just connect with one more human, or just awaken to one more way Max was communicating with me, or just catch one more piece of magic, or just etc... Of course Max isn't coming back but it didn't stop my body and mind from working endlessly to do so. We want to feed our children even after they are gone. It's beautiful actually. <br />
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I have talked to many of mamas who over the course of breast feeding their children had days or weeks where they weren't producing enough milk and were forced to supplement and the stress that coupled their deficiency. Parenting your spirit child has it's own set of complications but making sure they are fed enough isn't one of them. <br />
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I am sharing this with you to remind you that we are more than our bodies. This is the gift of grief. You are pulled out of your head and into your heart. You are ripped open. Utilize it. I am able to nourish Max by opening my heart more and more and more. Love is not dependent on time, space or embodiment, and clearly way beyond our capacity to understand it. It's not for understanding. It's for feeling. Max has always only ever spoken the language of the heart. It's his language. It's universal. It's never looking. It's never lacking. It's always present and it's always the same message. Let Love In. The more I open, the more receptive I am to his teaching. It's everywhere. It's not complicated. Love and nourish. Love and nourish.Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-69611229777424828612011-07-20T11:38:00.001-10:002011-07-24T12:39:28.828-10:00"It's ok to have a meaningful conversation with your bullshit, but keep it brief"I got in a fight with TSA at the Kona airport. Max's box is traveling with me to Portland. I requested that they don't put him through the x-ray machine. I had a copy of the death certificate. His box clearly says his name "MAX Love. MAX Wisdom". She met my request with quite a bit of resistance. I met her with less and put Max's Box on this silly little metal basket and put him on the conveyor belt. My eyes got a little watery. The lady touched my shoulder with the same hand she was holding her flashlight to check identification with and said "don't worry, he'll be ok in there". I smiled and said "don't worry he's not in there". If my work is to do my best to meet people where they are at then I had to meet her insanity with mine.<br />
<br />
It was my Planetary Marble move a few days ago after saying no thank you to adopting a child. My dear friend Darren Rhodes gave me a copy of "Will I be the hero of my own life" by Swami Chetananananda three weeks after Max passed through. It is a must read for any warrior. I have ordered so many out of print copies from Amazon to give away that I am creating a demand along with a price increase. So I went straight to the source and called the publisher to order more copies. A lovely man named Bob answered the phone and offered me a wholesale price. I took the chance to share with Bob how grateful I am for them doing what they do in the world, putting out the good word in what I am learning to recognize as spiritual weaponry in the current of love. He asked if he could tell Swami about me. ( Pause. All I knew about Swami Chetananananda is that he was a student of Rudi's. To hear that he is still alive was quite shocking.) I responded with deep honor and gratitude. I told Bob that I stay closest to Max in the coincidence awareness. This is one of those moments. Bob then went on to tell me about Swami's birthday and the retreat they have at the ashram here in Portland and that I am invited to come. That was five days ago. I am writing during the in-between space of Swami's teaching and meditation practice. His Plantetary Marble uniform is all orange and no bullshit. He is just as brilliant in person as he is in writing. We are happy to be here for his birthday. <br />
<br />
Max, teacher of teachers, guru of gurus, master of masters reminds me and YOU that in the game of Planetary Marbles there are no missed opportunities. Again, there are no missed opportunities. Read the previous blog post and check me on it, but I am pretty certain that as long as you keep playing, you never miss out. You will probably loose your marbles from time to time, it's all part of it.<br />
<br />
Pay attention. The invitations to play might be in the obvious. The invitations might be hiding in the immediately following. The invitations may be painless, probably not. There is usually some form of sacrifice of our habitual projections of the way we think think things should turn out. Be gentle with yourself. Here is a hint: if the invitation is something you thought of, it's probably an invitation to play Mind Twister and not Planetary Marbles. Please do try not to get caught up in the tail chasing game of signs. Or if you are seeing signs be brave and wait for three of them. The waiting for three was advice given to me two months ago. This simple act of patience will give your senses a chance to cool down and your heart a chance to be heard.<br />
<br />
Remember within every invitation there is an option to Be Bigger and move from your heart. <br />
<br />
I jotted this down during Swami's talk today. "it is best to just stay in the space of love, it is also ok to have a meaningful conversation with your bullshit. But keep it brief".<br />
<br />
So Warrior of the Heart<br />
Even as you chat it up with your bullshit, let love in.<br />
<br />
Love<br />
Heather<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdvjqbbfGkD5TjkW93Py72EWOAOir8IgR9Fy-OnfQo0Amv5gfASMzKcXAf_2xDq4DXBUKl8fAVTQwDwMNGKkRI6LyqKQ86oTZgSa0EpZn1PPaJ5gLrVRjELlrh-8h_m6EEfiFgrfnGOVkb/s1600/IMG_2871.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdvjqbbfGkD5TjkW93Py72EWOAOir8IgR9Fy-OnfQo0Amv5gfASMzKcXAf_2xDq4DXBUKl8fAVTQwDwMNGKkRI6LyqKQ86oTZgSa0EpZn1PPaJ5gLrVRjELlrh-8h_m6EEfiFgrfnGOVkb/s400/IMG_2871.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-67520643992359095282011-07-15T00:30:00.003-10:002011-07-28T23:41:57.519-10:00Two GamesThere are two games to play in my world. I would dare to say there are two games to play in your world too, but it's your world and it would be foolish of me to think that I fully understand your super powers. I am mostly here to remind you that you have them. So get out your cape, Grab your espresso and try to keep up with the universe that is here to support you. The wings on these shoes have air to catch.<br />
<br />
Game one is the game of Skin Suites and Mind Twister. This is the game that we forget we are playing. The rules originally read: "zip up your skin suit but let your light out into the world, play fully in this beautiful body you have been given, enjoy, connect with each other, feel each other, feel everything it's a skin suit for Christ's sake, try to remember that a large part of its beauty is that it's not going to last, oh yeah the goal of the game is not to get stuck in Mind Twister. Then the rules give a brief description of Mind Twister "endless mental gymnastics from old patterned behavior charged with wrongly believing your own thoughts". HINT: You will know when you're stuck in the Mind Twister when what you are saying to yourself sounds familiar, and/or if the phrase "What if" is part of your speech. Have fun and please do try and remember that it's just a game."<br />
<br />
I know. It's tricky. I didn't even know I was playing the game before Max reminded me. As you improve your skill set, the levels change but as long as you have a skin suit an active round of Mind Twister awaits. I just finished a recent game of Twister when a very dear friend of mine found out she is pregnant and having a baby due on or very close to Max's Birthday. From a place of absolute heart she offered me her child. She offered to carry baby full term and give it to me. Mental Twister had a shitload of company for a few days. You can imagine how seductive a newborn baby is for me. You can also imagine how I felt this must be a boon from Max. Baby has the same due date for shit's sake. <br />
<br />
Then Max reminded me of the second game we play called Skin Suits and Planetary Marbles. Same rules as game one but the goal in this game is to realize that you are supported by an entire universe conspiring to help you remember your eternal light in your skin suit. To remember that anything is possible. That grace is ever present. To realize this is to realize that the work is never in the decision, it's in the deciding. There are no such things as missed opportunities. They are infinite. You are infinite. You are going to receive everything you want plus some. The trick to this game is in the "plus some". Just because people want to give you things, doesn't mean you have to say yes. Just because you can manifest anything you want doesn't mean you need it. Discern keepers of the Skin Suits, discern. Being given a baby by two dear friends is extraordinary. But my planetary marble move was in the obvious. Max and I play hide and seek along with the rest of creation. Who am I to say if he prefers to hide in the elephants in the rooms or the space in between the molecules of the air I breathe.<br />
<br />
Whatever game you are playing at the moment be it Twister or Planetary Marbles continue to brave to ask deeper questions. I am learning that the transformation is never in the answer and always in the asking.<br />
<br />
And Of course as you make your move LET LOVE IN<br />
-Heather<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-90024643027684778752011-07-11T00:08:00.000-10:002011-07-11T00:18:46.589-10:00Hiding the baby clothes doesn't work<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiOWAA20OCWP4-s5PFppuUlRRMthUFi_tPiMQqCANFk2L0Z4vLSqLbXkzBevuiK0YuRe4TvPkE2BPU-AbkYTHB1t5XC-PT0S5kP1IUX177SMjSX_knVT_o2tfguPKT8yOaUPHeEXYjOeQ2/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiOWAA20OCWP4-s5PFppuUlRRMthUFi_tPiMQqCANFk2L0Z4vLSqLbXkzBevuiK0YuRe4TvPkE2BPU-AbkYTHB1t5XC-PT0S5kP1IUX177SMjSX_knVT_o2tfguPKT8yOaUPHeEXYjOeQ2/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Many friends have offered to come over and pack away Max's things so I wouldn't have to look at his baby stuff. It's a gesture of love and deeply appreciated. I have amazing friends who have walked to the edge with me. Master P even leapt of the cliff in a blue t-shirt that carried Max back to the nurses after I carried him home. But my way of walking razor edges is to stay open. Packing away will happen once I have unpacked every experience of this loss.<br />
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I call it Max's Chamber. I sleep in the bed where Max was born. Someone asked me if I thought this was healthy. I smiled and said "why would it matter what I thought?" His hundreds of love letters piled on a book shelf above his baby books. His water that broke on his seagrass floor has baptized this sacred site. His alter adorned with relics from the battlefield. His ashes guarded by knives. It is glaringly obvious that being Max's Mom is a privilege. I honor my duty with a hand blown glass vase filled with tuberose and sunflowers, a baby boppy turned meditation cushion, a nursery painting of Ickle-Me Tickle Me transformed into an encoded message that Max indeed moves on the wings of shoes. Of course he does. His stuffed animals from his cousins are great Buddhas. The hat he wore in my arms as he passed is the Shroud of Turin. His temple is my footsteps; is my breath behind these words.<br />
<br />
There is no boundary between the corner where I sit with him and his stacks of baby clothes, baby slings, cloth diapers, bugaboo strollers, and co-sleepers that he was never going to use. I sit next to his baby things. How thin the line between sacred and mundane. It's invisible. All the lines are thin. I prefer walking steep edges where nothing can hide. There is no room on this type of path for hiding or hoarding. I don't think I have a choice in the matter. God doesn't negotiate our paths. Trust me. I have tried. Still argue. God loves a good debate.<br />
<br />
So dear warriors if you are up for it, unpack your pain. Dust it off if you've been storing it. Make a shrine to the most intense moments of your life. Light a candle and begin to burn through it. We are too awake for hoarding. We are too busted open for hiding. Plus we have love to let in. Make some room. Erase any of your man-made boundaries between the sacred and the mundane. Get busy. We have work to do.Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-82900385025351760712011-07-07T23:29:00.000-10:002011-07-07T23:45:56.125-10:00Names of God, cat food and toilet paper<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioVVXA2jnkWj4mrVPjTIPbIWjfvpyMqY3rPkToicRv75T8-8JBfMdyUD7NjUEEr3ESlOz18DqixkBevub63OMiP_fG-NTggsBusHvgT30AWniCJM7XuUHtnvap2Czn1i46FihIXUHYw5mT/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioVVXA2jnkWj4mrVPjTIPbIWjfvpyMqY3rPkToicRv75T8-8JBfMdyUD7NjUEEr3ESlOz18DqixkBevub63OMiP_fG-NTggsBusHvgT30AWniCJM7XuUHtnvap2Czn1i46FihIXUHYw5mT/s200/photo.JPG" width="148" /></a></div><br />
One of the 99 names for god in Sufism is "The Bringer of Death". Another is "The Bringer of Life". I get it, but it's nice to be reminded. It's all God. Me and my relentless conditioning tends to compartmentalize. We cross over in our skin suits and take it seriously. At times I weep in my forgetfulness. Max sits down and cries with me. He's that kind of teacher. "Remember Mom, this being human is just something we sometimes do. You're one of the lucky ones, shaken awake by life's uncertainty. You took your skin suit off and carried me through that very thin veil. But once you take that thing off it never quite fits the same. It's not suppose to. And yet, it is an honor to wear one. Stay disciplined in the alterations and while you are at it please remember to pick up catfood and toilet paper." <br />
<br />
I smile when people tell me things like "life is uncertain, that's so exciting". It reminds me of saying "Lila is winning the lottery". Well, that's one way to look at it. Now-a-days I might replace the word "exciting" with "terrifying". If you aren't slightly terrified then I invite you to try it on. That type of Authenticity is magnetic. Only then does Terrifying become Exciting. I think another name for God should be "the one who invites us to Live in our full vulnerability and then asks us to love from that place".<br />
<br />
Everything is uncertain. <br />
<br />
So line all your people up, especially the ones you are mad at. Tell them all you love um. Tear your own walls down. Dare to be wrong. Kiss their foreheads. Better yet, kiss their feet. This isn't going to last.<br />
<br />
And yes, let love in.Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-14459487214031839922011-06-27T12:24:00.000-10:002011-07-13T13:45:40.107-10:00Stepping into Studentship<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdaJA_FQjzL19TKfKAaeS2bB8jMa0jjTeZX3uvTx9pkrDV8i_qcFRTrH9Ydd-TT_81gxVWF5Kxe_3df5B-KlqDu72CHciszK4OS1ITxFcGEZOZimjVHfkIfxnICnN9PTaJBEST0gyBM9gI/s1600/IMG_1880.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdaJA_FQjzL19TKfKAaeS2bB8jMa0jjTeZX3uvTx9pkrDV8i_qcFRTrH9Ydd-TT_81gxVWF5Kxe_3df5B-KlqDu72CHciszK4OS1ITxFcGEZOZimjVHfkIfxnICnN9PTaJBEST0gyBM9gI/s200/IMG_1880.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br />
I think they have always been there. I have to believe we step into studentship when we are ready, to do so pre-maturely makes it impossible to recognize the gift of true mentors, of true teachers. Max has awakened me to the myriad of masters in my near surrounding and the teachers in my everyday.<br />
<br />
The everyday teacher is in the woman who is rude to you at the tire store, or the woman at the Hilo Farmer's Market who asks very loudly "How'd your baby die?" and when you pause with a look like she just stung you with a taser gun in the side of the head... and instead of her realizing that the question might be insensitive she then asks it again but this time twice as loud "How'd your baby die". As a student to life's mysteries as tempting as it is to teach her a lesson in manners, or sheer crumble by hiding in your car and telling all of your friends to never buy kale from her so that we have stake in attempting to destroy her livelihood, we are invited into studentship at that moment. Pause. Let's be honest. Revenge might feel good for a few days, years, lifetimes. If we take a good look at our habits, revenge can sometimes be sneaky and slide in behind our motivation, anger, shame, or fear. So be on the look out for your old habits of retaliation. Don't get me wrong, people can be fucking ruthless and insatiable in their own agendas. BUT Max is inviting us to be awake enough to be able to approach these moments with "these people" as great teachings. <br />
<br />
What we are up against Wonder Warriors is not the world, but the temptation to feel entitled in it. Max is asking me to be bigger than to fall victim to this current situation of him not staying in his form. I have to watch responses like "please give me a break or please be gentle with me... We just lost our baby". Sometimes that may be totally appropriate. But here is the teaching, loss is our common thread. Now that I have been shaken awake by the loss of my baby we must walk through the world and tend to our interactions knowing that everyone is experiencing or will experience incredible loss of loved ones. <br />
<br />
We must be gentle with each other. The more intense the interaction, the more gentle we are being asked to be. Max has widened our spectrum of compassion and he is asking us to truly hold every person we meet with the tenderness of a mother who just lost her child. We don't just get to be nice to nice people. We don't just get to respond to the callousness with lethargy. We don't just get to respond to the cruelty with retribution. <br />
<br />
Then there are the Masters Max has given me. These are the people who have honed their skills so sharp that what they offer keeps me on that razor's edge of the grief of loosing my son and the realization of birthing my heart teacher. These offerings are the radical ones. The ones that keep me out of my head and in my heart. Like this one, "lucky are the ones who are blessed with a wound that only god can heal." Holy Hell if this is true, then what a gift Max gave. Not only did Max give me eight days to recognize my beloved and our love eternal, he actually swapped our physical relationship with a spiritual commitment so deep it is connected by the umbilicus. The nourishment needed to heal this wound is fed only by that connection and source from which he came. In all of this insanity there is gratitude.<br />
<br />
<br />
I am deeply grateful to have you walking that edge with me.<br />
Let Love In<br />
Heather BearHeather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-18810436042500755122011-06-23T16:29:00.001-10:002011-06-23T16:29:28.869-10:00Christina Sell at Balancing Monkey for MaxWe just keep practicing.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/TO4OhBjVwh8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div><br />
<div><br />
</div></div>Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6197974591052652225.post-74201800606305851252011-06-15T11:53:00.000-10:002011-06-15T12:28:28.641-10:00"The Return Home" a transcript of my first night teaching at Balancing Monkey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_F4HsPHBfdyV0Od-dsMLNvYcIHHd8aSCxDQTOk4fcLdiPKt2_sXpbkOqzA7R_f-BZ4Zgvyam7xE65TqPcaIDmo4UGA4k55bTQqJghK1Gm-fLDst5XVrEYKX52tEQ5CmnoCE-taSjBbBm3/s1600/IMG_1637.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_F4HsPHBfdyV0Od-dsMLNvYcIHHd8aSCxDQTOk4fcLdiPKt2_sXpbkOqzA7R_f-BZ4Zgvyam7xE65TqPcaIDmo4UGA4k55bTQqJghK1Gm-fLDst5XVrEYKX52tEQ5CmnoCE-taSjBbBm3/s320/IMG_1637.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I stepped back into teaching at Balancing Monkey two Thursdays ago. Christina Sell wrote me on April 12 asking if her and her husband Kelly should still come offer the Anusara Yoga Workshop we had scheduled before Max's birth. Here was my return letter:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"My initial response was to move in the direction of re-scheduling you and Kelly in Hilo because it is such an intense and difficult time not only for me but also for the Monkeys. But this is exactly the reason why you have to come. I am certain we have connected Christina because of our deep commitment to walk further into the fire. Nothing about Max is easy. Nothing about Max makes sense. Everything about Max is the radical experience of loving and just how uncertain that journey is, but we do it anyway... I want to step back into Balancing Monkey with you and will plan to return to Hilo right around the same time. I don't think anything about your planning on being in Hilo in June was hap-hazard. I am certain Max has been working on all these heart connections for a very very long time. See you in June Love Heather"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So it is I walked right into that fire and had Christina observe my first class back to move in the direction of becoming certified to teach Anusara Yoga. No small task, but huge is the new small these days. Below is the transcript of the first fifteen minutes of my class.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The Journey Home, June 2, 2011. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is very clear to me that the mission of Balancing Monkey is to facilitate a practice that sharpens our physical and spiritual weaponry so that when life does present its battles, when shit does hit the fan our arsenals have been well prepared. I am also very committed to Balancing Monkey being a place of sanctuary, connection, and community in your life. Max has certainly taught me that we need each other. He is so happy to be with us and to have us all together in his home studio, so thank you for being here.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My story of the last nine weeks is not unique, even in all of its intensity. Max is teaching me so much, a really big teaching for me is that our pain is not quantifiable. We all have a Max story. So I sit with you not as your teacher, but as a mom, as a sister, as a daughter and as a student of life's mysteries. The Journey Home has nothing to do with going anywhere and everything to do with moving deeper into our own hearts. This Journey Home is a Hero's Journey and you my Monkeys, my family, my friends are being asked to make the journey with me. It is very clear to me that the reason Max chose me is because I know you. He knew that you would do the work, the work of the heart. This work isn't complicated, but it is not easy. It is a constant practice of surrender.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What separates heroes from pedestrians is not the challenges of heartache, incredible loss, sadness, and deep pain. The difference is that heroes stay open to the possibility that within the affliction there is a greater truth. Heroes brave to ask deeper questions. The real work is to stay open to our pain. The quest is to move in the direction of our pain with both curiosity and courage. What we find when life forces us to hang off that ledge if even by our fingernails and we finally let go of thinking that we can control or avoid the despair... instead of falling to our own death, grace opens her wings and cradles us. Not only does she swoop, but she plunges, nosedives and darts to hold us in her feathers. Grace is always present. Life cycles are her way of reminding us of the precious gift. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grace is always present, whether we realize it our not. We are never without support in the light of illumination. This is in the opening Anusara Invocation <i>Nispranpachya Shantaya Niralambaya Tejase</i>. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grace is rooting for us. There is nothing esoteric about this. I am speaking to you now from not the teachings, but my experience of Max. Grace wants us to be the Hero of our life. Grace wants us to be a champion of our pain, all we have to do is open. Grace is inviting us to bring light to our suffering by taking what might cause us to collapse, dim or completely shut down and use it as fuel for our own fire. This is that light of illumination. To shine brightly takes work my friends.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Opening to Grace is a practice receptivity but in my experience isn't gentle at all. We sometimes have to rip open to grace, drag our heals, kick the walls and pound our fists on the floor as we open. It's really frickin' messy and there is nothing gentle about it. Being truly receptive is a bold vulnerability. It takes practice. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So let's do it. Bring you hands together in front of your heart. Bow your head and close your eyes. </span><br />
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</span>Heather Heintzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09607769073458867193noreply@blogger.com3