What is Love, Really? (How My Youthful Ideas May Have Impacted My Perception of Reality) Part II

Posted on March 12, 2017 by Baja Rock Pat

(Continued from last week)

I was “in love” with a gorgeous boy in high school. His name was Bob. He looked just like Robert Conrad on The Wild Wild West. He really did. But our family moved to another state just when I was starting to think about boys like that.

I didn’t really date in high school, but when I graduated and started working, I met a handsome boy. I liked him a lot, but I can’t say now if I truly loved him.

I ended up marrying him and we had a child together, but as the months went by, he became more and more abusive until it got to the point where I was afraid for my life and that of our son, so I divorced him. My life at that time, was a nightmare.

Looking back, I can’t say that I felt love for him because the bad memories far outweigh whatever good ones there might have been.

A few years later, I met my current husband. He made me laugh. He was kind to me and we had fun together—went places, did things. I would say that I was in love with him, but this time it was perhaps more of an adult form of love, with some protective barriers put in place. I was apprehensive about getting married again after what happened to me the first time, but we eventually tied the knot.

Life became a whirlwind of raising kids and all that family life entails. I loved every minute of it. I loved being a mom. Those were the happiest years of my life.

But something happened to the love between my husband and me. It got lost in the raising of kids and in the paying of the mortgage.

I love my husband, and I know he loves me, but now that the kids have grown up and moved out, and after reading all that recent hoopla about David Cassidy, I found myself asking myself, What is love, really? Did my innocent devotion to the likes of David Cassidy and Bob, that boy in high school, stymie my chances of ever finding those kinds of feelings within myself, that, to me, were proof of real love? I’m sure that I had those kinds of feelings–fireworks and all–when my current husband and I got married, but was it to the same degree that my childish notions told me they should be?

Because there are so very many different types of love besides the romantic kind, like the love I feel for my friends and my family, and even my pets.

My love for my husband has morphed over many years of having to compromise and get along with someone even when you don’t agree with them. It comes from growing together, then apart, then together again. It comes from being able to finally see the sacrifices that person made for you, for the family you share. That is love. But it isn’t the flowery, floaty, frothy, fiery kind of love or lust, that first made you turn your head in their direction… and wonder… what if?

Does that fiery kind of love really happen to real people or is it just in the movies? Is it possible that the protective barrier I devised could now be hindering my ability to see beyond it?

And why do I love movies like “The Bodyguard,” “The Ghost and Mrs. Muir,” and “Message in a Bottle” where the lovers can never really be together? Those stories that are bittersweet and heartbreaking. Maybe because that’s what my definition of love has shifted to after all the life experiences I’ve had: real love is supposed to be bittersweet and leave you alone in the end—forever longing for those feelings you once shared with someone or for someone, even if for a very short time. (Like my feelings of aloneness after the passing of both of my parents.) Even if you are still married to that person and those types of feelings have gotten lost in the shuffle of life and you forever long for their return.

And what about attractions to people that we can’t or shouldn’t be with? For instance, in my case, David Cassidy and my first husband. Why are we attracted to people like that? Is that really love? Misguided love? Or, in my case, was it my childish fantasies that left me feeling so smitten I could hardly function and therefore ended up cheating myself out of life because I was so enrapt with that one person, ad nauseum? In “The Road Less Traveled,” author M. Scott Peck said that sexual attraction is nature’s trick to get us to spread our seeds as much as possible—survival of the species. Could be, I guess, but that can’t be all there is to it.

I don’t know where I fit in any of this. I keep waiting for that pie-in-the-sky sort of all-consuming, soul-baring kind of love with my husband, but I also know that he does the best he can. We both do. It’s my own fault if I fell into a trap of complacency, of mostly just survival with a few fun things thrown in. Or maybe I just need to change my focus and concentrate on all the blessings I have–and the man (my husband), who loves me in his own way of loving. At the same time, maybe that’s why I have an insatiable need to write. I can create fictional characters to fulfill my ideas of what love is or isn’t. But … in the long run, is it ever really enough?

What is Love, Really? (How My Youthful Ideas May Have Impacted My Perception of Reality)

Posted on February 23, 2017 by Baja Rock Pat

I admit it. I am obsessed with love.

I espouse the notion that love can solve anything. Heal us. Make the world a better place. I look for it everywhere and in every person, place or thing.

But love can be a very difficult concept, or, at least we make it that way. When I was young and thought I was “in love,” was that really what true love is all about? The naive, flowery, sharing a soda, holding hands, dreamy, floating feeling? Kisses under oak trees with falling leaves, walking through the park, spending hours just gazing into each other’s eyes?

Did those notions cloud my perception because I was sure that that was real love and anything less didn’t qualify? (Besides the unconditional love my parents had for me and that I too, have for my own kids and grandkids.)

The other day I saw the following video online about David Cassidy falling off the stage during his concert: TMZ

I took it personally and couldn’t figure out why. I don’t know the man. Never have.

(Today, Cassidy is announcing that he has dementia, which is supposedly the reason for his not being able to remember the lyrics to his songs, and that may very well be true. But I’m not here to debate Cassidy’s mental health, or his personal issues. This piece is about love. The recent news about him is what got me thinking about all of this.)

I was “in love” with David Cassidy when I was a young girl in the ‘70s. I was going to move to California, become an actress, and marry him. Thousands of other girls had the same dream, I knew, but that didn’t hinder me one bit. I just knew that when he saw me, we would instantly fall madly in love and get married and live happily ever after.

That was before David Cassidy was a real person.

In my teenage mind, he was the epitome of the perfect boyfriend and husband. He was handsome, sexy, romantic, caring, sensitive, and had a beautiful singing voice. He seemed to respect women. He had kind of an androgynous look that wasn’t threatening, that was safe and protecting. He seemed smart and kind and all the other things I thought would make the perfect life partner.

Then one day, Rolling Stone Magazine featured an article about David and he appeared nude on the cover—and in the centerfold. I was flabbergasted. I was probably 14 or 15 at the time. The bubble of naïveté that encased my fantasy wasn’t just popped, it was sliced into a million pieces by shards of cold, thick glass and lay hemorrhaging at my feet.

I remember sitting on the floor in the drugstore and reading the article. I couldn’t tear my eyes from the words, “Aw shit man, take drugs,” and the words that spelled out what a “great fuck” he was and much more.

I bought the magazine and took it home with tears running down my face. It couldn’t be! This perfect man—he was all a lie???? Something the TV show and the fan magazines all constructed?

It was inconceivable to me that anyone would make up blatant lies about someone and pass them off as “the truth.” The media had me believing that David’s favorite books were “The Godfather” and “Siddhartha.” Reading “Siddhartha” made me believe that David was a deep thinker and it only endeared him to me more. Reading “The Godfather” at 14 caused me permanent mental damage.

Either way, David Cassidy became an important part of my life, of my newly-forming ideas of what love was all about. I had no concept of sex back then. I really was that naive.

After reading the Rolling Stone article, David was dead to me and I mourned for a very long time. I remember my dad using the experience to teach me that David was a human being just like the rest of us, something my young mind refused to accept.

But to this day, I still love to listen to some of Cassidy’s old songs—the ones where he croons in his soft breathy voice about making me his, and trips to my father’s summer cabin and holding me in his arms—being together. Impressionable young girls take these things personally. At least I did.

And now, seeing what a disgraceful performance he gave on that recent video, I am embarrassed for him. I know that his dad was an alcoholic and that he perished in a fire started from his lit cigarette which he dropped while sitting in a chair because he was too drunk to move.

I also know that David has been arrested for several DUIs and has been to rehab to help him overcome his addiction to alcohol. He apparently has a few issues, but then, who doesn’t?

I heard David, himself, say that those who managed him took full advantage of him, that he never got a cut of any of the paraphernalia with his name and picture on it—books, lunchboxes, bubblegum cards, pillow cases, you name it. I don’t know if any of that is true, nor will I ever. I do know, because Cassidy has said it many times, that he felt he could never measure up to his father’s standards—it seemed that Jack Cassidy was jealous of his son’s fame and fortune—and nothing David could ever do was good enough to earn his father’s love.

It just goes to prove that he is a person just like the rest of us. Just because someone is famous doesn’t mean they are happy or have it all together mentally. I can think of many examples, among them—Michael Jackson and Robin Williams. They had all the talent in the world, and money and admiration, but they had issues. Serious issues.

This leads me back to love.

I based my idea of what love should be, on false impressions of a person I didn’t even know. And now that I’m older, I wonder if those ideas were really what love should be or if they were simply unrealistic fantasies of a young mind. Let me see if I can explain.

So if I have these raw, untainted emotions as a child, are those more authentic simply because they aren’t based on preconceived notions of what something should be? Or are they just fantasies? And, in any case, aren’t these the sorts of emotions that make artists great? Baring one’s soul and raw feelings and observances of the world in a way that provides a connection to others? The fact that the message conveyed is universal?

(To be continued next week…)

All That Matters

Posted on March 1, 2016 by Baja Rock Pat

This is Honey. She is now about four-and-a-half months old. We adopted her from a local animal rescue organization about two months ago. All we know for sure about her is that she was rescued from a high kill shelter in NM. The rest, we can only speculate.

Last week, I took Honey to visit the family who fostered her when she was 9 weeks old, right before we adopted her. I’d never been to their house before, but when I pulled up in front of the house and put my car in park, Honey’s tail started wagging like crazy. She started whining and climbing all over me (she weighs close to 40 lbs. now); she could hardly wait to get out of the car. She never behaves this way when I take her for rides in the car.

She remembered! The house, the people. How could a four-and-a-half-month old puppy remember something that happened when she was 9 weeks old? Nine weeks?! I get goosebumps just writing this.

Some people think that animals are stupid, that non-human lives don’t really matter because, well, they’re just animals. (Same with our natural resources—our water, our air, our forests and deserts—we often take these things for granted as well.) But just because animals can’t use human words to communicate, they certainly can, and do, demonstrate their feelings and intelligence through body language, perception and instinct. I’ve always known this to be true, but I guess it never hit me so strongly as it did when my puppy obviously recognized the family who was kind to her and who so unselfishly became her stepping-stone to a better life.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—love is all that matters. Not just love for our families and friends and those who are easy and convenient to love, but also for those who suffer from abuse and neglect, for those in poverty, for those in other countries, for those who think, pray, look, and live differently than us, for the weak, the dying, the depressed, the mentally ill, and for those who cannot speak for themselves but who are forced to live at the mercy of the rest of us—animals, children, the elderly, the severely disabled.

Hug your dog or cat or horse today. Your children. Your spouse. Your parents. Your grandparents. Your friends. And perhaps do something kind for someone you don’t even know, because obviously, even animals never forget kindness.

Love truly is. All. That. Matters.

I love you, Mom

Posted on May 11, 2014 by Baja Rock Pat

I’m reading lots of wonderful posts online today, and looking at all the photos of people hugging their moms. And when I go to the store, there are countless of choices of floral bouquets and Mother’s Day cards.

I think that’s the toughest part—seeing all those cards.

I used to read every single one—searching for the perfect card to tell my mother how much she meant to me. She was my best friend. My healer, my confidant, the one who loved me unconditionally. I adored her. On her gravestone, I had them inscribe: “Our angel.”

My mother had the softest hands and the warmest hugs. Her smile could light up a room.

Mom taught me to believe in God and she taught me the importance of being a good person—to be honest and trustworthy—even when it’s not convenient or expected, even when no one is looking, and even when those around you are not behaving that way. She taught me that it’s the little things in life that matter most—like being with your family and your friends. She taught me to fish, to cook and to bake, to love animals, and the importance of getting down on the floor with your kids to color in coloring books, to toss the baseball in the backyard with your sons, or that you’re never too old to play Barbies with your daughter.

My mother taught me that hugs are to be given freely, and she taught me the importance of saying, “I love you” because you never know when you will see that person again. Maybe not until the next lifetime. I am forever grateful that the words “I love you” were the last words I spoke to her and she to me.

Is it mere coincidence that when I went to the Pixabay website just now, to find a picture of daisies (my mom’s favorite flower) to insert in this post, that before I even typed in what I wanted to search for–a picture of a daisy popped up?

I don’t believe in coincidences. I had the best mom in the universe.

Happy Mother’s Day in heaven, Momma. I miss you every single day.

The Healing Power of Music and Mysticism

Posted on October 28, 2011 by Baja Rock Pat

Nov. 29, 2009

If my mammogram had been normal, I wouldn’t have found myself in the tiny room with the radiologist that day. As she brought up the round white cloud on the black screen, I sat erect in my chair. Slouching would have been like admitting defeat.

“You have an abnormal spot on your mammogram,” she announced. “We need to do surgery.”

There’s a lot of cancer on both sides of my family, so I was scared. I wondered if I might lose my breast or if it would be deformed from having tissue removed.

As I scheduled the surgery, I prayed. I also contacted my friends and asked them to send positive thoughts.

Then something remarkable happened.

I have a friend who practices Sufism. He’s also an incredible professional drummer. We’d lost touch over the years and I’d tried contacting him, but never had any luck.

For the past two weeks, though, I had a feeling I should try reaching him again.

I sent an email and he responded, inviting me to his concert the following night!

After the show, I told him I’d been having some health problems.

“Do you have any friends who can do a healing with you?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Would you be open to that kind of thing?”

“I’d be open to just about anything at this point.” I felt a sense of comfort even then.

He introduced me to several people and told them to arrange a healing circle dance with me. A week later, I received an email telling me where and when the dances were held and that Sufi master Shabda Kahn would be making a rare appearance at the next dance.

I went.

Entering the building, I became instantly aware of the fact that I was wearing jeans and a Harley-Davidson shirt while everyone else wore dresses or nice slacks. This made me want to make myself very small or invisible so no one would notice me.

As the dances began, the musicians—my friend with his djembe (drum), a woman on acoustic guitar, another on flute, and the Sufi master playing a round, stringed instrument, sat in the center. Three rings of people surrounded them.

Shabda demonstrated the first dance and gave us the words to sing. Holding hands, we moved in a circle.

dancingarmsaround

Although most of the words weren’t in English, the song was about our connection to God, the Divine within.

At first I felt as if I’d been transported back to the ‘60s: women in flowing skirts, people of all ages and colors holding hands, dancing and chanting a melody of peace and love. But as the dance progressed, I saw that my fellow dancers’ eyes were filled with kindness and I felt myself letting go: melting into the music that washed through me like water through a sieve. When I’d stopped concentrating so hard, I found that my body “remembered” the movements on some primal level.

After the first dance, while everyone closed their eyes and stood motionless, I felt energy pulsing in and out of my body in all directions and I experienced a tremendous amount of love and acceptance. It became increasingly apparent that the initial disapproval I had encountered upon entering the room had come not from those around me but from myself. No one there was judging me. My soul began to settle within itself.

When the dances ended, my friend suggested I tell Shabda about my surgery.

“Uh, okay.” I felt self-conscious all over again. I wondered how one was expected to behave around a Sufi master, a person whose superior spiritual background I had no clue about. All I knew was that everyone was bowing to him and yet, he looked just like an ordinary man to me.

My friend approached the master and sat down beside him. He waved me over. We sat facing one another as I told the master about my upcoming surgery. He said some kind words and told me that he would think positive thoughts for me, then the three of us joined hands while the two men began to chant.

“You can join in, if you know it.” The master smiled reassuringly.

But I had never heard these words before, so I sat with my eyes closed, trying to absorb every hypnotic syllable, every inflection of the foreign words. The sound of their voices soothed my soul as I was swept into the warm embrace of MYSTICISM AND MUSIC. I suddenly felt empowered.

On the day of my surgery, the radiologist scheduled to do the procedure was a different doctor than the one who had first interpreted my results. Before taking me into the operating room, the new doctor ordered more mammograms. He then called me into his office to discuss the films.

“If this is what the other radiologist was concerned about, I don’t see it,” he said pointing at the screen. “This is benign. There’s no reason to do unnecessary surgery.”

Was it simply a matter of two different doctors’ interpretations of the results? Or did the healing circle dances I’d attended days before, along with the prayers of my friends from many different beliefs cure me?

I choose to believe in the healing power of love.

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SIDEBAR: Dances of Universal Peace are a means to revivify our love and joy, and integrate ourselves with the power of Peace through the practice of meditative circle dances and walks, with singing and chanting of Divine Names and sacred phrases from many spiritual traditions.

The Dances are all-denominational and everyone is welcome. For more information, please visit http://www.riverrock.org/peace/index.html or http://www.dancesofuniversalpeace.org/

A Gift Of Love: Deepak & Friends Present Music Inspired By The Love Poems Of Rumi

Posted on October 22, 2011 by Baja Rock Pat

April 23, 2009

It never ceases to amaze me how things have fallen into place since my mystical experience at Sammy Hagar’s concert in 2003. I take one step and the next already seems laid out for me. I can hardly not stay on this path. It’s as if the Universe has dictated its certainty since longer than the concept of time.

Last December, I happened upon this CD–selected writings of Rumi read aloud by celebrities such as Madonna, Deepak Chopra, Blythe Danner, Demi Moore, Goldie Hawn, Debra Winger and others. Rumi was a 13th century poet, Sufi and mystic who composed over 30,000 amazing verses.

As I listened to the online sample of this album, I heard Demi Moore’s beautiful voice reading one of Rumi’s poems, “Do You Love Me?”

The words took my breath away. My intellectual mind told me that the poems were written by a man for his lover, but when I listened, the words perfectly described the mystical experience I’d had years earlier. They sounded like something I wish I would have written to illustrate the connection with God I’d felt so fully.

Where does God end and lover begin?

God does not end. God is the ultimate lover, as my experience was the ultimate high. I saw profoundly in that moment, that love, lover and Beloved are one.

God is a constant that permeates and comprises each grain of sand, each human being and each note of music.

In the following video, Jared Harris reads Rumi’s poem “Looking for Your Face.” It is the best example I can give you of how I felt during my soul’s revelation one hot night in Mexico; my entire being floating in the ecstasy of discovering my truth in the “face” of God:

Video by: DrBillRamos

How Does it Feel to Have a Mystical Experience?

Posted on September 26, 2011 by Baja Rock Pat

March 28, 2009

Initially I felt a golden liquid light flowing into me—a light that felt as solid and real as a steel girder. I then felt lifted out of my body, pulled by an unseen force higher and higher, until my consciousness was above the room, above the world.

All at once, I understood on a level deeper than I knew I was capable of, that there was no separation between myself and every living and non-living thing of this world and all worlds.

I was an integral component of all the thoughts that were being thought or had been thought forever—backward and forward in time. And there was no such thing as the concept of time.

Pure love, ecstasy and light poured into me. I was submerged in its essence.

The colors of my tangible world seemed dull and grey compared to the colors of the bliss I was experiencing: vibrant, alive and breathing.

I knew that within this ecstasy was a connection to the Divine—to God or whatever term one needs to use. The feeling was all-encompassing. I suddenly understood the meaning of the word ecstasy, which seems to have become misconstrued in our human language.

I realized in a very deep way that God is, as the Sufi say “Love, Lover and Beloved.” And I was.

And I am…

Book Review: “The Shack” by William P. Young

Posted on September 26, 2011 by Baja Rock Pat

January 26, 2010

I believe there are as many ways to God as there are beings in this universe.

The Shack by William P. Young is about how one man finds God through the atrocity of his young daughter’s murder.

This book reinforces some of the truths I’ve learned on my own journey, primarily the discovery of God in unexpected places and times in our lives.

I also find it interesting that the author mentions music and musicians here, and references James Taylor, Bob Dylan, Moby, Sarah McLachlan, Jackson Browne, Bruce Cockburn and the bands U2, Indigo Girls and Dixie Chicks, to name a few.

Kudos to The Shack for portraying God as alternating between male and female personifications and for depicting God as more than one spiritual entity. For me, these were the book’s shining moments.

I did however, have a few problems with this book. The main issue was that it is a bit too slanted toward Christianity. Although the author goes out of his way to say this isn’t the case, I found some of the concepts confusing. For instance, Young assumes that everyone practices a rite called “devotions.” I had no idea what he was talking about.

I also think that due to the manner in which the story is presented, it excludes a lot of people. Not everyone sees God within the context of Christianity or religion. The Shack makes reference only to The Bible, as if it were the only holy text, whereas there are other books out there that also contain universal truths. Tao Te Ching, for instance, is even older than The Bible.

In any case, this book is written, as all books are, from the author’s perspective, which includes that which he believes to be true and that’s why I forgive these “indiscretions.” There is still a light in this book that will inspire many.

That being said, neither do I think it’s wrong to see God within the context of Christianity or religion. However one discovers God is great. It only matters that you find Him/Her/It/Them–whatever your definition of the Divine may be, and that you realize you are an important part of the Magnificence—that which is in you and also all around you.

Will the World End in 2012?

Posted on September 26, 2011 by Baja Rock Pat

February 4, 2010

I’m sure by now most of you have heard some of the hype about the year 2012: that the Mayan calendar ends there, therefore perhaps the world will end then too. For me, that thought conjures up images of doom and gloom—Armageddon, fire, turmoil and a “you’d-better-have-your-shit-together-by-now- because-if-you-don’t-it’s-too-late” feeling of complete helplessness.

But people have predicted the end of the world for as long as I can remember. In the ‘60s there were cartoons of beatniks carrying signs that read “The end is near.” (Or maybe there really were hippies carrying signs like that, I just didn’t see them because I was too young at the time!)

In 1999, they said we would never get to the year 2000 because computers would freak out and life as we knew it would erupt in utter chaos. Some of my neighbors stock-piled freeze-dried food, bottles of water and gasoline. But the world didn’t end. Perhaps our computers were smarter than we gave them credit for.

Now they’re saying that 2012 will be the end. After all the articles I’ve read and “experts” I’ve heard speak on the matter, I’ve come to my own conclusions.

I choose not to dwell in doom and gloom. I don’t believe God dwells in doom and gloom either. I believe God is hope and light.

I choose that hope and light. Therefore, I don’t think 2012 will be the end. I think it will be a new beginning.

True, we seem to be experiencing many more natural disasters all over the world than in the past. And I don’t know about you, but I sense something different in the air—that our way of looking at things seems to be changing—we are even more hungry for spiritual fulfillment than ever before and a lot of us are no longer satisfied with accepting someone else’s definition of “The Truth” based on blind faith alone.

I think this is great! We cannot grow if we don’t ask questions and discover our own answers. If you’re completely happy with your life, that’s wonderful, but if not, by looking in other directions you may discover what you’re looking for. Or rather, what you’re looking for will find you! But I’ll save that for another post.

My interpretation of 2012 is that people will become more spiritually aware, more tolerant and loving. It’s already happening, don’t you see? The outpouring of love for those who’ve endured the earthquakes, 9/11, the hurricanes and tsunamis—the coming together of complete strangers to help those in need. And maybe the reason for these disasters is to teach us not to segregate ourselves based on the color of our skin or to fight over whose religion is the truth, but to come together as brothers and sisters. We obviously haven’t been getting the message thus far, so maybe these things are God’s way of forcing us to unite.

The mystical experience I had in 2003 was a tremendous gift bestowed upon me. It showed me that nothing is more powerful than love and that there is no separation between me and God and all the living and non-living things of this world and all worlds. I know this sounds cliché, but it’s all so simple really. This is why I believe that 2012 will be a time of rebirth for our world—a new way of looking at ourselves and realizing our connection to one another, to this earth and to the Divine. I’m not saying there won’t be great upheaval, because sometimes this is what it takes to wake us up. If we’ve reached the bottom of the barrel, there is nowhere to go but UP, right? So if we stick together and continue to believe in the power of love, we will emerge stronger than before and find ourselves in a world of new possibilities for spiritual growth and the attainment of our human need to realize God on a personal basis—whatever that definition means to you.

In each and every moment, we have a choice.

I choose love.

Baja Rock Pat

Dance of the Electric Hummingbird

Tag Archives: love

What is Love, Really? (How My Youthful Ideas May Have Impacted My Perception of Reality) Part II

What is Love, Really? (How My Youthful Ideas May Have Impacted My Perception of Reality)

All That Matters

I love you, Mom

The Healing Power of Music and Mysticism

A Gift Of Love: Deepak & Friends Present Music Inspired By The Love Poems Of Rumi

More Questions About Mystical Experience

How Does it Feel to Have a Mystical Experience?

Book Review: “The Shack” by William P. Young

Will the World End in 2012?