Glance of Devotion

Last Thursday, one of my personal heroes was buried and my mother attended the funeral of a newborn baby. Life and death held each other's glance from Atlanta, Georgia, where 77-year-old Ray Anderson was buried, across the country to San Rafael, California, where a Latin American baby born without a brain was laid to rest. 

It happens all the time. People die. But when one of our heroes dies, it hits home hard.

Our hearts become draped in dedication to carry on their legacy, to find that place within ourselves that is most committed to whatever it is we are here to do in this life. Ray Anderson founded Interface, the largest manufacturer of modular carpet in the world. He was one of the boldest ethically based businessmen alive. In 1994 after reading Paul Hawken's book The Ecology of Commerce, he set big goals to be sure his business wasn't responsible for depleting the ecological life support systems his grandchildren depended on. Seventeen years ago, he started leading in a way that most CEOs are still not brave enough to do. Yet for Ray, it was outrageous to not be bold.  He set the bar high, and on Monday August 8th he ventured on from his body, leaving a greater charge for those of us who admired him.

Across the continent, my mother Carmen joined the parents of a newborn baby as her tiny coffin was lowered into the soil. When a baby dies, a stream of questions swirls within us, none of which seem to have answers. For 16 years, my mom has been an angel in the lives of pregnant, low-income Latina women living in low-income neighborhoods in one of the wealthiest counties in America. But no birth has ever been quite like this. I'll leave the details out.

What struck my mom most was not the grief experienced when a baby dies. She's faced that many times before. It wasn't how blessed she felt to have been asked by the parents to be the person to carry Baby Genesis out of their hospital room after she had left her body. It wasn't even how the woman's husband never left her side during the entire three-day labor. 

It was faith. 

Somehow, after living through an experience as grueling than anything I could imagine, the couple never lost faith -- in God. They never lost faith that everything is in perfect order. That their baby is not dead, that her soul still lives, as long as she is remembered. For my mother, the most striking element of the whole experience was the everpresent element of devotion to God.

In moments like these, when life in the body makes its swift transition into death of the body, it is God I ponder most. Ray Anderson was a Christian man as are Genesis's parents. For me, God does not live or have meaning in religion, for I don't believe a religious God exists in the big picture. But the God within each of us, the essence of Love itself, the pure spark  of beauty at our core … how do I want to express this spark, most? With this one precious life, what is my way of extending the profound gratitude I feel for being alive? How will I claim my right to be happy, and spill it out widely into the pool of humanity, so that others may more easily choose their joy too?

To invoke extreme courage in us: that is the mark of a hero. To sit beside a woman as she gives birth to a baby who will live less than a day: that is the mark of a hero. 

I smile in thankfulness for Ray, for the baby and her parents, and for my astoundingly beautiful mother. The greatest gift I can give back, to do my part in this cycle of giving and receiving -- all of which is love -- is to express the beauty I see and feel in this world. There is great pain too, but having our attention there too long just makes it grow. 

We are not of this world, but we are in it. Thank goodness the beauty of the human spirit is infinite. 

it's ethics, at the center

My uncle, Dr. Louis Rios MD, is going through a transition. As a general surgeon for more than 30 years, he's now reflecting big time. Between New-Yorican (Puerto Ricans from the Bronx) style joke after joke after joke, as his siblings and he are known for, he asks himself: What has this career given me? How is society better off because of what I have done? What are the ethical issues at the center of medicine, that I might speak to in my later years? How can I help make the field of medicine less focused on money and more focused on caring for the sick?


Yesterday we barely made it out of a late afternoon Florida thunderstorm, parking the boat as the heavy drops began falling. For hours while still out on the water, I stared at the dark clouds on the horizon, letting thoughts float up from within. Somehow, during this week spent traveling with my dad to visit his siblings on the east coast, I have been struck by the power of ethics in my life. Not ethics as enforced or designed by anyone else -- but ethics stemmed from the core of one's own being, from the mind-boggling internal, intuitive guidance system we have all been given.  

This afternoon Uncle Lou (left, with my dad) asked me to read an article he wrote a year ago. In it he expressed, with vulnerability, the sense of abandonment experienced by physicians who don't get the kind of emotional or moral support given to, say, police officers, when someone dies. Doctors lose a patient and are paged on the hospital intercom to perform two more surgeries. Policemen, on the other hand, are substantially consoled and given paid time off to cope with the loss.


Where is the justice in this equation? What might Uncle Lou voice, in journals of medicine, to help bring about a place, an organization, that provides the kind of support doctors need when a patient dies under their watch? 


The power of values flashes through my mind. Sesame Street values like kindness, respect, generosity, care, and appreciation for cultural differences. 


I think of my primary college mentor, Bruce Grelle, who inspired his students to reflect on the values and ethics promoted by major religions like Christianity and Buddhism. Are their spoken values genuinely held by their representative religious institutions?


So tonight in southern Florida at Uncle Lou & Aunt Martha's house, after some California Cabernet and fried Puerto Rican 'tostones' (tohs-tohn-ess), I feel a joyous sense of comaraderie with my uncle, a man of great humor, integrity, class and sensitivity. And I can't help but notice a shared strain of ethics at play in our path -- a strain shared with great passion, as well, by my father, Lou's older brother. 


One thing is for sure. I am not promoting "one right way" -- that there is one dictatorial "rightness" in any human voice, in any one religion or in all of them combined, or in any book ever written. 


When it comes down to it, what I'm saying is personal. My own life is about spotlighting that no matter your age, Sesame Street had a point. And if all we do is focus on being kind, celebrating this astoundingly precious gift called life, being human enough to mess up madly and forgive ourselves, having the courage to ask questions and speak up when something just doesn't resonate with our own internal moral compass... that, I pose, is the primary substance of a life well lived. 


Hats off to the Uncle Lou's of the world. 

Swamis, Ships and Letting Go

Hello fellow Earth traveler friends on this ship called Life!

We’ve reached the next chapter in Jessica’s Adventure Story, and this train is headed north again come late May. I’d thought my stint here would be a year, yet surprise! Seven and a half months it will be.

Why? There are two main reasons for the move. The first is easy to understand and convey; it’s straightforward. I had a contract end in late January. The project went well and I expected to have another client by now. I don’t. Rent here at my cottage is high – fair, but high – and signals say it’s time to let the place go and step into what’s next. The other reason is the “what’s next” part. The best I can say here with words, is that there’s an artful voice inside that keeps gently sending messages, an artful way of living that is calling me to lift my roots again. And I don’t need to know what it’s gonna look like; I trust the voice and feel so grateful for the choice and freedom to listen.

Ego will say there’s a right and a wrong here. The voice has so many different ways of showing up: “I should be learning something else here,” ... “If I leave so soon, it is a failure,” ... “ As with every Life richly lived, there are layers upon layers of ideas and possibilities at play.

Love knows no right and wrong, and the “voice for Love” gives us gentle affirmations that our inner voice is worth listening to, it is wise, it guides us well. 

The moment is bittersweet.

Living in Cardiff, in this architecturally exquisite Dream Come True of a home I found here, has been storybook sweet. Too many ways to share what a high value I have for architecture and living space, so I'll stick with a brief version of one... My cottage is two blocks from Swami’s Beach and the Self Realization Fellowship, former home of Paramahansa Yogananda, a beautiful teacher who had a significant influence on my now-passed Uncle Cheo, who stood when he lived as a vibrant supporter of my poetry and free spirit. As Cheo died, he gave me some of his living plants. One plant still lives, having made its way south with me from Chico’s hot summers and cold, gray winters, to a space-by-the-sea... it has found a living Heaven in my living room, so close to Yogananda’s home, reaching tall into the welcoming skylight, and is healthier than ever.

Dogs are more welcome here than any community I know.  Water bowls on the sidewalk at every other shop downtown Encinitas. Lusa came into the salon with me for my haircut yesterday; it's just an automatic here. Dogs are part of the community. 

Lots of outdoor dining, year-round, all day and night... who wouldn't love that? 

Weather that pretty much EVERY day, has me saying, “Really? It’s this pleasant here?” Ocean air with just the right amount of mist in it, that pours down from the high window above my bed all night long, filling my lungs and heart with grateful breaths. 

More yoga courses than a person could ever need, though, I’ve probably only attended three! 

And the greatest gift that will ever grace my Life – this is the toughest part to leave – are the people I’ve found here. A perfect handful of remarkably solid individuals who have permanently impressioned my heart with their sheer AWESOMENESS, who will always be friends and of course, there is a difference between living two blocks from someone and living 600 miles away.

Even – get this – a new friend who is ready to co-create in business with me, someone who, had I tried to actually design a person to be the most gut-positive match for a business partner for me –surpasses that vision. Not to say that I can’t lean into this from a distance, but still... And hey I might come back. No one knows. What a glorious mystery!

“Home” in a specific geography is not what calls most now; it is how I live, and that I live committed to my art and way of moving through this world – be it writing, photos, films, piano, more writing... whatever forms of expression want to emerge from me in my lifelong quest to put a spotlight on the mind-rocketing beauty of the human spirit. My own, and that of others. It is all from the same Source.

At the end of May, Lusa and I will climb into a UHaul and head north to Chico again. I’ll be based in the cottage and open to adventures in travel – mostly by bike! And I will still be doing whatever I can to bring on new clients for my business, since I’ve put lots of time and thought into creating it, and it is currently my most promising and joyful form of generating income.

Being based in Chico could last for the summer, or not that long, or longer. What I do wholeheartedly embrace about being back there is the extraordinary tribe of community -- including the children. Creative endeavors find fertile soil in Chico, and the mere thought of some of the antics, wildness, delight and creative adventure that Chico is so good at living... makes me smile big. As does the reality of being a lot closer to my nieces and nephews. 

Grief and joy! At last, I think I accept and rejoice in the fact that we cannot know great joy unless we know great grief, and we cannot know great grief if we do not know great joy. (Thanks, Kahlil Gibran.) 

My main desire is to live my version of that fully – and in doing to, to live one big glorious lifetime of living, in co-creative and playful companionship the beautiful souls who surround me.

With immense thanks for your love and friendship!

Jessica

the gift that's stuck inside

Me: Hello Gift, I know you're in there. I hear you calling. I've been ignoring you.


Gift: Yes I am here. I've always been here. My patience is galactic, yet I too want to breathe. You don't always ignore me. But lately I've been shouting. I'm getting antsy. 

Me: Ouch. Sorry I don't always listen. I have been hearing your shouting recently, and it's painful not to let you out. It's strange, Gift, that I feel like I know you so well, and yet I act like I don't know how to start, how to let you out. Other people say I've started, but this voice is like a dam plugging the flow...


Gift: You think a lot. Sounds exhausting.

Me: Sigh...

Gift: I'm easy going. All I am is your joy. You know how to live me out into the world. You've done it many times.

Me: I have?

Gift: Undoubtedly. You are my best expresser, just like all the Gifts in the world have one living channel they most want to express themselves through. I believe in you. I'm excited to dance with you.

Me: Will you go on a date with me? At sunset today, down at the beach?

Gift: My full presence is yours. I can't wait to see the sunset in your eyes. I've asked the ocean to give us some space in the sand, so we can play.

Me: Thank you, Gift. You're so good to me.

Gift: Be easy on yourself. See you at sunset.

Dear Son

A friend asked me to write something for a Baby Blessing she was attending for a friend last weekend. This is what came out. No I am not a mother, but I do feel like all the children of the world are mine to love! If you're attending a baby blessing and like this poem, please feel free to use it as long as credit is given to me, the author (Jessica Rios).


Dear Son,

As you enter this world having been tucked so far in the safety of my womb

May you embody safety by continuing to feel the infinite Love your mom and dad feel for you

You will emerge trusting us completely

And we will meet you by being loving enough to show you 'no' as often as 'yes'

When that is the Love you are asking for

This is the safe container we promise you

Precious son, while this container is created and held for you,

You will be my greatest teacher

May you feel completely free to express yourself

Exactly how you are

Whatever is true for you is perfect and beautiful

And as your mother I ask that you forgive me when

the boundaries I create are too tight or

the freedom I give you is not secure enough to fully trust me and 

make you feel safe

As a boy when you grow more aware of the world's problems, 

May you acknowledge the role men have played while standing in a place of confidence

That men are not to blame, just as women are not victims

When you're old enough to feel butterflies in your belly about a sweet young girl

May you treat her with the dignity of a flower

May you respect her just as you have been shown respect between men and women at home

And when the world suggests that it's not OK for men to feel deeply or even cry

May you stand in the power of what it means to be 'a real man'

And show them 

It actually is

Son, may you make the world your playground

Living in the Light and freedom of someone who is totally loved

Splashing in puddles and 

Zooming in rockets and

Climbing tall trees for all of the beautiful days 

Of your Life

in pure gratitude,

Mama

grandpa

Uncle Lou, 

Thank you for this reminder of Juan Rios Torres' birthday tomorrow! And while an avid writer has your attention... :0)

Since I was very young when my grandfather Juan passed on, I don't remember a lot about him except for the way his laugh pierced through what was otherwise a stern face, and how much he liked to share his lemon drop candies with me. He also passed on a set of his pens to me, knowing that even at a young age I was a writer. That meant a lot. I still love pens. 

When I think about it, the biggest impact he has had on my Life is in the sons he raised. Sons who have an unusually solid work ethic, who genuinely value their family, sons with a sense of humor that would make even the most miserable person lighten up, who keep respectful relationships with their ex'es (living or not) as an embodiment of that family priority, knowing it hurts themselves and mostly hurts the children if they were to do otherwise. Sons who have immense gratitude for your blessings, the shelter above your heads and the food on the table which is much more than you knew as kids in the Bronx. Sons who don't all believe in a religious God, but all of whom, as far as I know, are committed to something much greater than their individual selves.

Often, I shake my head questioning just why I've been blessed with such a remarkable father. And mother, but for now we are focusing on my father's side of the family. 

So thank you to all my Rios uncles -- for what you've done for your families and for who you are as men -- a precious combination of super-stern when it comes to your morals, and ridiculously funny. From someone who has always felt so blessed, in large part because my grandfather Juan Rios Torres raised his son Joey to be a man I can honestly and easily call my hero. And I know my sister and brother feel the same. 

LOTS OF LOVE,

Jessica

this is day one

Day One of this day, night one of this night. A space for me to write, like I've written with hand and pen for 30 years, now pecking keys instead. Narcissus stems poke out in sixteen directions, aglow from the light of an ivory pillar and a white taper, and when I lean in their scent reminds me no words could taste the way they smell. Pleasure is to feel. To feel is to bask in being human.

At one time I'd have wanted hundreds of people to read my words. Today if eight of you do, and through reading you feel more of the Love you are, tonight I will fly in my dreams.

An ascended master once was asked what s/he missed most about having a human experience. Without hesitation, "Sex." And then, "...the senses." And then, a laugh. Nothing really missed, just a thankful memory of pleasure, embodied.

And though I might question how anything could be missed in a state of unlimitedness, I'll rest accepting that the joy of living in Love with the senses is Heaven on Earth. In my Life's moments of feeling the most in touch with who we really ARE, there arises only one urge: to be happy. And for me, that means delighting in the senses. Seeing the world as innocent, forgiven and healed, what room is there for me to want anything else but happiness -- for myself and for e.v.e.r.y.o.n.e?

Lusa snores on her bed, shooting calm from my ears to my brain, oh favorite sound of my beloved dog snoring... deep in a dream while her mom pecks to lay these words. My joy is yours. May your joy be as you are, and were born.

Free.