Why are you crying?

It's 7:09am and I have no business writing when the kids are still at the breakfast table, and all I have out for lunch are some unwashed strawberries.  The kitchen is a mess, I haven't flipped through Mr. ESPN's homework folder, nor packed the girls blankets for school, and all three are in their pajamas.  They need to be in the car by 7:45am or my Honey is going to yell, and I just hate sending the kids off to school with anxious energy.  Today is silent breakfast.  We missed Wednesday so it's been a week since we last practiced, and I woke up psyched.

In the kitchen, little Miss bossy sees me preparing her breakfast in a red bowl and starts shaking her head adamantly with a soft whine.  I know this means she wants The Little Pony bowl that Santa brought her.  I transfer the food and hand her breakfast.  A bowl of grits swimming in butter and creme just the way she likes it.  Or so I thought, because now she's shaking her head and crying out loud, "no I want oatmeal."  She only eats about five things and at 24lbs I'm really starting to worry about her, considering that she's turning three in six weeks.  I'm out of oatmeal.  Fed her the last covered in agave syrup yesterday, so I try calming her with a quick cuddle.  It's not working and within seconds little Miss bossy moves passed pissed, and is seriously disturbing the peace. 

"I want oatmeal!"  Now she's full out crying and completely ignoring the "I am practicing silence" sign I keep shoving in her face.  Prima Diva puts her precious little fingers in her ears and motions to me that her sister is destroying her silent mood.  Sighing, I break my silence (which I was enjoying) and whisper in her ear.  "Eat the grits.  There's no oatmeal.  I'll put a cookie in your lunchbox.  Just eat."  Why am I bargaining with a 2 year old?  This goes on for way to long and we are so behind schedule that I give in and start making her a waffle.  No sooner than I have it in the toaster, little Miss bossy starts chowing down on the gosh darn grits!  The room is quiet.  I go back to making lunch.  The morning goes on---faces, feet and fannies washed, heads comb, kisses and hugs.   

I know you've had mornings likes this, and I'll confess to having worst.  When I can't meditate, I breathe and breathe deeply.  When I'm aware of my breathing the most out of control situation is within my control.  It's Monday, and most of us have been hurled head first into a busy work week.  When you start feeling off balanced take a few cleansing deep breaths.  Breathe before that meeting, after lunch, prior to picking up the kids from school and then shuffling them to piano lessons.  Give it a try right now and watch how your day grows.

Namaste Beautiful,

Love, Light and Laughter!

Intentionally You!

 photo by Sadeqa Johnson

After the rejection of my novel I've decided to be still.  I'm not in a rush to figure it all out, make moves or forge ahead.  I'm just waiting, and this decision has actually made me feel good.  I was watching Jay-Z on Oprah's Master Class and he said, "I always intended to be a millionaire by the age of 30," then he continued with, "it's okay to start your life in one direction but then when the opportunity arises to try something else go for it.  There is fear in failure but there is also fear in success."

This got me thinking about Intention and the power behind it.  My Intention has always been to be a published novelist.  Okay I'm lying, to be a New York Times best selling author (there I said it).  The draw back is that I've been holding onto this idea with the jaws of a pittbull, and because of my tight grasp I have been blinded when other opportunities dusted around me.  No, I'm not writing magazine articles, or starting a blog because they will take time away from my novel.  True, but now that the novel is finished, splash around a bit and try on different styles.  Problems are seeds of opportunities in disguise. 

So Intention, what is it anyway?  Intention is to have in mind a purpose or plan, so that the forces of the universe can align to make even the most impossible, possible.  According to Dr. Wayne Dyer, author of The Power of Intention, "Intention is not something that we do, rather it is a Universal/Source energy that we align ourselves with."  Nothing new can begin without an Intention.  Before you meditate (and by now I hoped you've started) your mind is like a polluted lake filled with guppys, kid's swimming trunks and yesterday's lunch.  When you sit in silence you are forcing this lake to be still.  In that stillness you can plant seeds of Intention so that your life will grow. 

Let's start the process of narrowing down Intention by writing out a simple a list and see where it takes us. 

What am I good at?
I'm good at writing, speaking, teaching, easing worries and helping people see things clearly.

What do I want?
I want to be a successful published novelist, write magazine articles, have an inspiring blog, grow my weekly meditation class into workshops that I'll conduct all over the globe, write a book to accompany the class/workshops, speak, interact, be heard.
(Okay, nothing like putting it all out there.)

What is my Purpose?
My purpose is to inspire, teach, touch, heal, and entertain.

How can I serve?
By shining my light on every person I reach and living without judgement.

So what is my Intention?
My Intention is to touch and change people's lives with my gifts of communication (writing, speaking, healing and teaching).

Aaah!  That feels powerfully clear.

Okay, so your turn.  I'm not standing out on this limb by myself so here's your assignment for the weekend.  Take out a pen and paper and start figuring out what your Intention is just as I have above.  Try to be as clear as possible.  Clarity is everything.  Once you've finished, go find a quiet place, light a candle and speak your Intention (claim it).  Then sit down criss-cross applesauce, close your eyes and meditate for at least five minutes (twenty would be awesome but be where you are).  Close out your meditation with gratitude.  Be grateful, be grateful, be grateful.  Then enjoy the rest of your weekend.  Let me know how it goes!

Namaste Beautiful.

Love, Light and Laughter!

Diary of a Rejected Artist

photo by Sadeqa Johnson

The rejection of an artist is so plentiful that you must love what you do in order to keep moving forward.  So many times I've wanted to quit writing and settle for a job working in the travel department of the Newark Museum (that's of course if they would hire me).  The problem is that even when I want to ignore my fierce attachment to weaving words on endless white pages, I just can't.  The words come to me even when I shoo them.  If I stay away too long the pit of my stomach aches, I'm agitated, restless, bored and everything pisses me off. 

I'm saying this because today I had my heart shattered yet again.  My first novel, Love in a Carry-on Handbag was so close to a publishing deal, that I was celebrating by shaking what my mama gave me to raspy rap lyrics all over my kitchen floor.  But just as quick as the two-step I was told, "They passed."  Like seriously?  I'm already dancing and my hair is sweating out. 

My closest friend tried cheering me with, "just think when you tell your success story, all of this rejection will make it that much sweeter."  Terry McMillian was rejected 27 times before getting her deal (and I'm about half way there), but honestly those facts don't ease the crack in my heart and keep my guts from gushing out.  JK Rowling told Oprah in an interview, "failure is absolutely necessary for success."  I know she's right but trust me, if my success was handed to me this morning I would have truly appreciated it.  I've been on the path to publishing for over ten years.  Prior and during my penning, I worked as a publicist for Scholastic and had the joy of working on the first three Harry Potter books.  Exciting right?  I know Jo, and have the autographed copies and a picture of us together to prove it.  From there I went over to Penguin Putnam to work in the adult division, and I sware it felt like leaving undergraduate school for grad and law school combined.  It was incredibly hard work but I had wonderful mentors, and as an avid reader tried not be starstruck when I worked with the likes of Bebe Moore Campbell (my angel in the sky), Rebecca Walker, Amy Tan and TD Jakes.  Working in the office was sometimes insane, but when I packed up for the day my novel came to me on the train, mostly in a tattered black and white composition book---just like the one from grade school.

When my first child was born I stayed home, changed diapers, breastfeed through two bouts of mastitis, massaged a breast that wouldn't drain properly, and lived amidst a house that would not stay clean.  And how I cried.  Tears over not getting enough sleep, over the new skin I was in, the lost of my fancy titles, and being diminished to his mommy (though that name wouldn't actually stick until preschool).  Fat watery droplets over the novel that I had planned to finish and pitch to agents but had very little time to attend.  But I still grabbed my pen.  My husband calls me the most discipline girl he knows, because I show up everyday for the page.  I've shown up through three pregnancy, sleep deprivation, cranky toddlers refusing to nap and hang overs (because what else do mommies do to ease the loneliness of being home all day, but drink wine in the evening hoping it will all go away). 

So I'm a writer no matter what the publishers say, and no matter how many times they turn me down.  I have no choice but to keep putting one step in front of the other.  It's the only way for me to be true to my authentic self, and to stay on the path of discovering who I really am.  It's why I practice silence and meditation and read every motivational journal I can get my hands on.

June will make 11 years that the sensual love story of Erica Shaw, a high-strung publicist trying climb the corporate ladder and escape a family of number runners and Colt 45 drinkers, and her long distances boyfriend Warren Prince, a sexied-lipped trumpet player who can't be with her, but can't stand to be without her have been bouncing through my head.  So I can't give up.  Sure, it feels like my boyfriend broke up with me on a post-it, but I will live.  At my core I know that this moment is exactly how it is supposed to be, because the entire Universe is as it should be.  Everything is perfect.  There are no accidents, so I'm drying my tears and writing. 

Do what you love and do it with gust.  And if you fail, fail greatly.

Love, Light and Laughter!

Musing...a Little on Writing

photo by Sadeqa Johnson

 My second novel is on my desk and although I've fretted over these characters for the last few months I feel like I'm waiting for something to happen.  Do I write about the past or is that just backstory?  What do these characters want?  I read Anne Lamott's book Bird by Bird Some Instructions on Writing and Life when I feel at a lost for words.  She quoted an author who said something like, "beginning a novel is sort of like have the most beautiful christmas ornaments with no place to hang them."  Ding, ding, ding!  That's exactly how I feel right now.  So what do I do?  When I need to get the juices flowing I give myself a writing exercise.  The prompt here is to write about the decade in which you were born.  Memory is an essential tool for writing and you could easily give this a try at home.  Here's a little sample.  Let me know what you think!

One Way Street

I was born in the 70s, many months before Stevie Wonder dropped his album Hotter than July.  I remember the feel of the slipcover in my hand and seeing Stevie with colorful beads, red tinted sunglasses, sweat glistening from his sideburns and his list parted with thirst.  The album was a staple on our record player and I was given permission to drop the needle on my favorite song “Lately” every single day.  Pressed against the floor to ceiling wall of mirrors I stood with a wooden statue as my microphone singing my throat dry.  At five the lyrics of a man singing about his wife vaguely whispering someone else’s name and far more frequently wearing perfume tugged on me.  The passion that Stevie felt for his sinking relationship spilled from my thirty-five pound body as I shrieked off key matching Stevie note for note.  The pain in the piano and his hope that his premonition missed, touched the intimate walls of my soul.  Perhaps it was my own premonition resting on a subconscious level that spoke to the deceit going on in our two-bedroom brick row home.

The 70s was a time of great pride and both of my parents wore curly self-affirming afros.  My father was Muhammad Ali handsome with an Arthur Ashe built.  When he walked through our little corner of South Philadelphia it was with his shoulders drawn back and a flare of arrogance in his step.  He was college educated, owned a small sneaker store on Point Breeze Avenue, and drove a yellow Volkswagon that in the 80s my friends and I called a Punch buggy.  I thought his car was cool because the trunk was in the front and the engine in the back.  My father wore thick glasses and a full mustache.  He smelled masculine, like fine cologne.  On his shoulders he would carry me up to bed and let me touch the ceiling with my hand, he taught me fast math, and how to ride my white bicycle with the silver striped tassels and no training wheels.  I was his main girl. 

My mother was well-liked but timid, prettier than pretty with sad eyes, and overwhelmed with the responsibility of baring and caring for small children.  I can picture her sitting on the edge of her bed in her Indian-print wrap skirt looking into the crib as my brother cried, while my sisters and I splashed soapy water from our bath onto the orange carpeted floor.  We were all born within six years of each other, my brother the only child who made his appearance in the 80s. 

We lived on a tiny one-way street that was as synonymous with South Philadelphia as a juicy cheese steak from Pat’s or Gino’s.  Directly across the street from us lived the twins.  Their home was a stark contrast to ours with a consistent gang of people running in and out.  The front door was always wide open and all of the debris that blew through our block congregated on their property as if drawn by a magnet and then glued.  Even when their mother shouted for someone to close the door it did nothing to keep the flies, because the dented door was missing a proper screen.  I heard the twins mother more than I saw her but when she did emerge from the house, it was in flat house slippers that seemed to groan under the weight of her potbellied thighs and blubbery stomach which stretched her blouse beyond the limit.  Next door to us on the right lived Ms. Francis, the first woman I ever knew who painted on her eyebrows and dyed her hair orangy-blonde.  She smoked cigarettes and as she exhaled, every sound that followed was punctuated with a curse.

Thanks for allowing me to share a little corner of my writing life. Sorry about the spacing of the last paragraph, I just can't seem to get it right.

Love, Light and Laughter!

Silent Breakfast with the Little People

photo by Sadeqa Johnson (Toes)

For the past few weeks my children and I have been practicing silent breakfast once or twice a week.  Mommies I know what you are thinking. How does she do that?  Right?  A chunk of the busy morning and all the kids are quiet.  Well it all started with me.  I've been dying to go on a silent retreat for at least two years and after putting it out in the Universe I was final blessed with the opportunity.   I spent an entire weekend at Kripalu http://www.kripalu.org/ in Barre, Massachusetts alone.  With no responsibility for my family, I drove myself three and half hours to the perfect little retreat in the Berkshires for my introduction to Silence.

The workshop was called Listening Below the Noise which is also the title of Anne LeClaire's book on the meditation of practicing silence http://www.anneleclaire.com/.  Anne has been practicing silence every 1st and 3rd Monday of the month for 18 years.  Interesting right?  A 24-hour day of complete silence.  Anne didn't even break her silence when President Clinton called to say that he loved her book.  Talk about dedication.  I am very fond of the 1st Spiritual Law of Success, "The Law of Pure Potentiality" which stresses the importance of meditation, practicing silence and communing with nature, so I had no problems diving right into the silent weekend.  To describe the peace as tranquil is an understatement.

When I mentioned to Anne that it would be hard for me to incorporate silence into my home life with Mr. ESPN (age 7), Prima Diva (age 5) and Little Miss Bossy (age 2 1/2) she said, "kids have a way of surprising you.  Trust me they'll love it."  As a parting gift Anne gave me three lamenated signs that simply stated "I'm a having a day of silence."  When I gave the kids their signs and explained their assignment they were jazzed and couldn't wait until the next morning for our first Silent Breakfast.  The next morning I woke each child and presented them with their sign.  They nodded and headed downstairs.  Silent breakfast is just that.  The kids must be silent through breakfast and can not speak until they reach upstairs for dressing.  The first day everyone did wonderfully but by the third breakfast Mr. ESPN was over it.  "This is boring," he complained.  I simply reminded him that silent breakfast was a practice not a punishment.  I assure the children that by practicing silence in the morning, it gives them a chance to go to school with their minds clear.  Little Miss Bossy is surprisingly the best at keeping her mouth shut during breakfast, while Prima Diva likes to mime and hand gesture what she wants.  This morning she became frustrated almost to the point of tears when I couldn't figure out that she wanted a paper towel.  We are having our ups and down but like anything it's a journey not a destination.  It's a wonderful way to start the day with the children, and if you don't have children just try it for yourself.  Practicing silence is another way to solve problems and get to the juicy details of your authentic self. 

It's important to remember that intentional silence is much different than accidental.  If you plan to be silent over a stretch of time make an active commitment and like meditation watch how your life changes.

Let me know how it goes.
Love, Light and Laughter!

Nothing Happening?

photo by Sadeqa Johnson

I have found that in meditation it can seem like nothing is happening.  Sometimes my burdens feel so heavy that even when I sit twice a day for five days in a row it feels like I'm just wasting chunks of priceless time.  Last night I was flipping through Yoga Journal magazine and came across this lovely quote.

"Think of a bird building a nest.  The bird goes and finds a twig and brings it back. Then goes and fetch another twig and brings it back.  If a storm comes and destroys the nest, the bird starts over.  Practice isn't always easy.  But the practice leads to deeper things, one by one."

My meditation teacher once told me, "its not what happens in meditation but watch what happens after."  Anne Lamott wrote a book on writing called Bird by Bird which teaches writers to take writing one sentence at a time.  I'm telling you to approach meditation one sitting at a time.  Don't worry about whether you can do it everyday, just start now.

Meditation is the gift that keeps on giving.  So close your eyes, take a nice cleansing breath, and exhale into the peace of silence.

Love, Light and Laughter!

New to Meditation? Quick Tips to Get You Started

photo by Sadeqa Johnson
Namaste All!

Thanks for showing up again.  So here's the skinny on meditation and a few ways to get your practice started.  Of course if you live in New Jersey you can attend my group class on Tuesday nights, but if that isn't an option here's how to begin.  Believe me you will not be sorry!

Find a quiet space
It could be a little corner in your bedroom, or if you like you could designate the entire attic as your sacred space.  Choose an area in which you feel comfortable and serene.  When I have time (which is not everyday) I set the mood by lighting scented candles, incenses and burning white sage.  I prefer sitting on the floor with a pillow cross-legged, and I like to face a window so that it feels as if I'm connecting with the nature of the outside world.   Now if you don't feel particularly flexible by all means use a a chair.  The key is to develop your practice in a way that works best for you.  The truth of the matter is that the accessories are extra, because you could meditate on an airplane sitting next to an smelly man who is scratching and drooling (trust me I've done it).  The only thing you need is the will and want.  But by all means, make yourself comfortable so you'll want to show up again.

How do you meditate anyway?
I practice silent meditation more formally called Transcendental meditation (yes it's the same meditation that Russell Simmons practices) which means I simply sit  for 20 minutes twice a day with my eyes closed.  It’s not a religion, philosophy, or lifestyle.  It’s the most widely practiced, most researched, and most effective method of self-development.  And it makes me feel peaceful, settled, focused and has helped me to live my life on Purpose.

What happens when you close your eyes to meditate?
Three things happen when you close your eyes to meditate, you can fall asleep, have thoughts or go into the gap.

Falling asleep: If you fall asleep during meditation its not the end of the world, it just means that your body is tired and this might not be the best time for meditation.  Try again another time. I find it best to sit up with my back straight while meditating to prevent the body lulling off to sleep.

Thoughts: Thoughts are normal.  Thoughts are a way of releasing stress.  Meditation may be a brand new concept for you so it is necessary to train your brain to be silent.  To chase away thoughts I recommend the universal mantra: So hum.  Say it silently to yourself.  So hum.  When your eyes are close and you find yourself planning your family vacation or making a check list of what you need at the grocery store just keep repeating So hum, So hum to yourself until you feel settled.  The mantra should be used gently and effortlessly.  Eventually your mind will get the message and turn off the chatter.

Slipping into the gap: Ah, this is where the juicy stuff resides.  When we are rested and not releasing a lot of stress, our awareness may settle down and we may slip beyond the mantra, beyond thoughts and into the field of pure awareness.  When we are in the gap we are connected to source, to God to the Universe. 

This is where the magic happens, this is where you plant seeds of intention and my how your life will grow.  Because there are no thoughts while in the gap you may think I haven't said the mantra in a little while, did I fall asleep and the answer is no.  For a brief moment you stepped out of space and time into eternity.    

Was that enough to get you started?  Ready to plunge in?  I would love for you to sit for 20 minutes but if that seems too intimidating start with 5 or 10.  Heck, Oprah says start with 1.  Just remember this is a journey not a destination.  There is no right or wrong way to do it.  Every meditation is a good one.

Let me know how it goes and feel free to comment with questions!

Love, Light and Laughter!

Welcome!

photo by Sadeqa Johnson

I am a writer (author of the novel Love in a Carry-on Handbag in stores soon), stay-at-home mother of three very active children under the age of seven, and the daily demands of maintaining the constant chaos of my household use to make me dread getting up in the morning.  I stumbled onto meditation when my second child's skin was still tender from birth.  Bleary-eyed and suffering from the lonely shadows of mothering two babies while trying to write if only an hour a day, I was depleted and desperate to reclaim a small piece of myself.  I began my practice with a group meditation class held every Wednesday at the local YMCA and from the first Om I was hooked.

My teacher Donna Visco studied Primordial Sound with Deepak Chopra at the Chopra Center in La Costa, CA.  Every week she stressed the benefits of meditating for a fuller life and every class I sucked up her words like a parched potted plant.  Gradually I started bringing my practice home.  Then I discovered meditating before writing, and like magic those sentences and cliches that I labored over started working themselves out, because my mind was now clear and their was infinite space to create.

Five years later I'm introducing my community to the benefits of meditation just as Donna did for me.  I've been leading a class here in New Jersey for the past two years where we discuss topics such as: Living in Abundance, the Power of Intention, Forgiveness, Silence, Detachment, Non-judgement.  We sit in a circle format on cushy pillows with candles ablaze and the smell of sandlewood incenses beckoning peace. Personal stories are shared and then we meditate together silently for twenty-five minutes. 

So here I am today launching Meditation and Moments of Musing for the peace and serenity of the writer and yogi in all of us.  This is where it will all come together.  I'll keep you updated on the discussions we have in my meditation class, teach you how to have a home practice and share the many up and down moments of my musing and writing.  Glad you are here.  Stay tuned for a wonderfully spiritual and creative ride! 

You are what your deep, driving desire is.  -- Brihadaranyaka Upanishad IV.4.5
Love, Light and Laughter!