If I made a list of ten people in my life who have taught me invaluable lessons they would be the following:
1. My bubby, which is Yiddish for grandmother, who taught me to silence my self and listen to the spirit within.
2. my wife, Zoe Davis, who taught me that love was and can be unconditional.
3. Miguel Don Ruiz whose writings helped me bring an end to my own suffering.
4. Osho, whose writings helped me to understand the difference between belief and faith
5. Dr. Diane Samdahl, who gave me the courage to face my demons and insecurities
6. Meg Christian, who reminded me that it is all about the journey and that “great wisdom from painful experience is an inside job!”
7. my mother, Roslyn Kamin Jacobson, who taught me that love was the greatest gift one could give
8. my son, Nicholas Maurice Chambers Jacobson Johnson, who taught me the transformative power of love and faith.
9. Jorge Rieger, who is a constant reminder to me that the larger our welcome and affirming of human diversity is, the greater our understanding of the Creator is.
10. my father, Avram Lyon Jacobson, who taught me the importance of being responsible for one’s behavior and words.
Read moreWeek 1, Day 4 – A Sense of Place
I cant remember the last time I thought about my childhood home or my room, but I can see it ever so clearly. It is funny how sometimes when you stop and close your eyes, you can see things so clearly. The funny thing is that the space I felt most connected to spirit was not a physical space, but an emotional space with my Bubby. Whenever I was going through something I would see her when she still lived nearby and she would say come sarah bella let us go for a walk. We would walk in silence until suddenly she would stop and say something very profound to me and then we would go back to the house and the rest of the family. There were other places in my own home that made me feel connected. One was the sewing room.
Read moreWeek 1, Day 3 -- Faith Makes It Possible
The whole time I was typing this sentence and saying it in my head, all I could hear was the sound of palms on my djembe. The beat was similar to the sound of a very simple beat on my drum. After a while it becomes like a heartbeat and the separation between you and the drum just seems to fade. Even sitting here, I can still hear the drumbeat in my heart as I type one more time how faith enriches my life. I do not even need to open my eyes to look at the keyboard as I type. It is as if my eyes can see without even being open. The sound of the keyboard feels like a drumbeat as well. I am reminded of how I felt the first time I heard this all women’s drumming troupe, voices of Africa perform in Geneva, New York. I can still hear Nana saying to this primarily white audience how she was going to bring out the inner jungle in us. She did with me and I left there that night with my first drum and have been drumming intermittently ever since. It is one of those things that I do which makes me feel connected to the world and reminds me that I am part of something even bigger then myself.
Read moreWeek 1, Day 2 – Hope Holds the Opportunity
One of the things I came to realize after journaling yesterday was that 10 minutes was just not enough time for me to really go as deep in my writing as I wanted to go. I found myself writing about wonder periodically throughout the night and throughout the day today. One of the things I found myself wondering was if I had other biological family members out there in this great big world. Every once in a while someone will tell me they met my twin somewhere. I have always wondered if my biological parents had any other children with or after me. If so, where are they? Would I even recognize them if I were sitting next to them? When I was younger, I used to wonder about this more then I do now, but sometimes I still wonder about this. Sometimes I wonder about my foster parents. I wonder what made them become foster parents. I wonder what they enjoyed most about caring for me. Sometimes I wonder why I am still alive. I wonder how I managed to survive the fetal distress I was born with. Sometimes I wonder how my brother Jess is doing and if he will ever find it within himself to speak to Mark or me again. Sometimes I wonder if I can ever make it through the day without questioning something.
But there are so many other things that make me experience wonder then just questions about what I do not know.
Read moreWeek 1, Day 1 -- Wondering
What was really interesting for me was that after I typed up these directions, I needed to step away from the computer. My brain seemed to be focused on this logical way of thinking. It seemed as if typing these concrete directions made me feel less connected to what was really going on inside of me. I found myself feeling as if I should be sitting here writing some sort of academic essay. Answer the questions please. I have always hated trying to write for others. it seems as if takes away the freedom and the connection to self and others. it becomes a job, rather then a form of self-expression. Probably the one thing I wonder about the most these days is why I allowed others to neglect, reject and abuse me. I am pretty clear on why I stopped the abuse, but sometimes I wonder why I even allowed them to do it in the first place. why did I choose to believe the criticisms and negativity of others. why did I stop believing I was worthy? Why did I stop believing in my own gifts? In my own intelligence?
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