Stand in your power

Wellness Warriors,

On Monday May 11th, hundreds of you will be participating in our online Adventure Cleanse Tune-up (ACT). First and foremost, I am so PROUD of you. You are brave, responsible, brilliant unicorns full of healing potential. Yeehaw!

Many of you have already started to upgrade your cabinets, fridge, pantry and the secret vodka stash in the laundry room. GREAT! Toss what no longer serves you. This is your weekend to move from the darkness into the light. Farewell artificial colors and flavors, preservatives, trans fatty acids (if New York City restaurants banned this stuff, so can you), saturated animal fat, unpronounceable chemicals, whey, casein, gluten, fructose, corn syrup, and hydrogenated non-foods. These are poisons not meant for your regal being.

Remember you are a god/dess. Poo on a plate won’t do! If you don’t believe in your beauty then shut your (former) pie hole and let me do the talking. YOU ARE STUNNING! This world will suffer if you’re not at your best, brightest and most fulfilled. I will suffer if you don’t shine. When you build a daily practice of honoring yourself, thoughts rearrange. The negative hot air loses power as the truth posies push through. Got it sparkle puss?

As a result of your efforts you’re gonna twinkle from the inside out. No one can package that in a fancy French bottle! Remember, it’s not about weight, disease reversal, fixing the blues (or your marriage). Start small. Love yourself at the cellular level.

This tune-up works because it focuses on rebuilding your terrain by increasing your alkalinity. That’s all you need to remember. By consuming more alkaline foods and less acidic foods you’ll feel better, look better, and have tons more energy. If you need a little pH refresher course, please read my recent post.

Only you can ignite the glow! Commit and try to be as consistent possible. But if you flub a day it’s OK. Don’t beat yourself up or succumb to a mega-binge. “Hey, I blew it anyway so why not get high on my favorite drug – food”. That’s dirty self-sabotage speak. This “tune-up” is NOT under the supervision of your ego. ACT and be guided by your higher self. He/she loves you dearly and believes that all your dreams are within reach.

So if you stumble just be kind and remember your divinity. Pay close attention to why and what hit your trigger. Pull out your Food & Lifestyle Journal and scribble the issues OUT of your tissues. Take a walk, bark into a pillow, call a buddy, soak in the tub, rent a funny movie, do what you need to do to break the habit and then slide back into your bikini (even if it’s currently too tight) and dive in again.

Some folks may try and discourage you from changing. They prefer you fat, sick, mad and exhausted. “Oh, that’s dangerous, I wouldn’t do that if I were you! Where will you get your protein? You’ll wither and die” Huh? Since when is a plant-based diet full of salads, veggies, steamed greens, juice, nuts, seeds, beans, sprouts, gluten-free grains and breads, yummy almond butter, pates, soups, smoothies, baked root vegetables, exercise, journaling, telling someone you love them, rolling in the grass while giggling – dangerous? Stand in your power and break from the human herd. Folks like that don’t want to you to look at yourself nude (emotionally & physically) because it puts pressure on them to do the same. Screw that, skinny dip!

I love each and every one of you. Good luck and remember to join the forum. I’ll be posting daily in the Life Lounge section under Adventure Cleanse Tune-up. For a detailed discussion on the different cleanse levels, check the forum.

Peace and power,
Kris

Walking in the Footsteps of our Ancestors

It is a hot summer day, eleven years ago. I am a twenty-three year old Israeli woman who, along with other seekers, is on a trek into the Judean desert, south of Jerusalem. Our guide, a thin bearded man with intense, burning, blue eyes, is a Haredi, a “trembler” — the Hebrew word for an ultra-Orthodox Jew – and a Hasid, one immersed in the mystical traditions of Judaism. Within the Hasidic world, spiritual leadership was traditionally transmitted from generation to generation, from fathers to sons. Our guide’s own great grandfather was a Rebbe, a Hasidic Rabbi, and the son of a Rebbe, spiritual teachers and leaders of their community in Jerusalem.

We are filled with eager yearning to hear the profound silence around us as a higher calling for each of us. Our guide shares with us that he wandered the deserts of Israel for many years, until he heard the revelation of his own true path; until he heard the voice of God. The revelation led him to give up his life as a writer, actor, husband and father and to dedicate himself to the study of the Torah. And he knew, too, that he wanted to help others find their way to holiness by going deep into the Israeli desert – as countless generations of spiritually serious people have done from many of the world’s great religious traditions.

As our guide told us his story, we all felt both humbled and awed, for we all felt we too were seeking to be taken by the hand of the Holy and led into divine light.

Where does that search begin? In the womb? Is it a Call, a Vision, a Quest, a Mission inscribed in our being before we’re ever born? The Babylonian Talmud tells us that before we are born an angel teaches us all the wonders and secrets of the universe, and then, as we tumble into life, the angel touches us just above our lips – in that indent we all have – and we forget everything. Perhaps that is why we are all born with a longing, a dream, the sense that we have a path, a mission, we need to fulfill. For some of us that path is clear early in life; for others, it remains elusive for many years.

And finding that path can be such a scary process. We have so many defenses and fears to give up! On the other hand, perhaps if our individual truths, the bumps of the journey we have to walk, became known to us too early, we would never build the strength of character, never discover the emotional wisdom, never become the “heroes” we need to become to fulfill our destiny in life.

In fact, we who were so eager to discover the magic wand that would transform our lives were only in our twenties; when our guide was still wandering the desert in search of his destiny he was already forty years old.

I watched intently as our guide, like a shaman, skillfully drew on the forces of nature to help awaken the spiritual energy within each of the pilgrims. And the experience not only touched me deeply, but helped me to grasp a truth about myself. This is your lineage, said the voice within me. Understand it. Begin to dis-cover yourself.

For our guide on that desert journey was my father, Yisrael. And I realized that, just as Hasidic dynasties were passed from father to son, so this dedication to the spiritual life was passed from my father to me. My 94-year-old grandmother, Savta Ida, told me that my life task, serving as a vehicle of spiritual energy, chose me when I was just four years old and offered to lay my hands on my Zaydie, my grandfather, to relieve him of his pain and worries.

If my dedication to a spiritual path is in my very genes, my expression of it has been very much my own: as a little girl in a pink tutu, I danced freely, joyously, even ecstatically, as if I were in tune with living energies in our universe. I believe deeply that when the body dances freely it generates a sacred medicine never to be lost, an energy in tune with the natural world and able to open us to new visions. Over the years, I came to dedicate myself to the Dance of Body and Spirit as a way to discover one’s inner truth, just as my father dedicated himself to journeying with Torah into the desert.

I follow the call of the Spirit Dance with a deep knowing and a deep sense of trust that it is my task in this world to guide others into its embrace. I believe that it opens us up to dreaming big, to walking in the footsteps of our true calling, to listening to our inner Liberator, the child within that will show us as our deepest fears, the very ones that can turn into our greatest teachers. Yes, I am my father’s daughter. Today, more than eleven years after that desert trip, I am leading “Dance of Liberation”/TranceDances all over the world, and I am guiding men and women into the rich world of their own spiritual potential.

Join us for in 2010:
A Spiritual Pilgrimage to the Holy Land, Israel. Guided by Parashakti, Zohar Zemach Wilson, Tamar Adi from the Chandra Yoga Center and with guest teachers, Rabbis, Shamans, and other religious cultures and backgrounds. April 5-20. A great opportunity to experience the land, community, culture of Israel and discover our authentic walk. If this adventure interests you, please write a letter of Intent to Liberation@parashakti.org

The Great Depression – Season Two!

Love Dove,

Mallika’s blog last week about saving money by going to the library really got me thinking. After I read it I dashed off to my bill box and added up my Amazon receipts. DANG! It’s gonna be hard to break my addiction, but I’ll give it a shot. I’ve never had a library card. Lame but true. This means I’ll have to be nice to the loaners – my books get battered! I write in them, take phone messages, doodle, dog-ear, use as coasters, etc. Like a little home, I make my books my own and I get real cozy. She’s also so right about spending more time in nature. Lola (the best rescue dog ever) makes her demands known on a daily basis: “Walk me or your shoes are burnt toast.” I go through withdrawals without my woods.

But cut back on movies? Now that’s where I draw the line, Sister!

These are definitely difficult times, and it’s begun to slip off of the headlines and into our own lives. I was a jackass last year – I had some nuts squirreled away in stocks, and of course that little nest went up in smoke. I look out my office window in Woodstock and watch as the stores in my town close. Foreclosure signs crop up on lawns like dandelions. Last week I drove past a long line of people waiting for a job fair to open. What a change from a few years ago when the only thing people lined up for was MTV casting calls and Black Friday sales!

I know the bean counters haven’t figured out what to call this recession-slash-depression, but I say it’s here…The Great Depression – Season Two! And I’m going to fight back like my grandparents did – with MOVIES! (this Depression is now available in blue ray box set with bonus features…)

I love movies. As a filmmaker, flicks are almost as important to me as green juice. I think films are especially valuable to help us get through and make sense of hard times. There’s no better mirror on life than a flickering hero forty feet tall on the wall. One of the reasons the Nineteen Thirties and Forties are known as Hollywood’s golden age is because peeps were so dang broke and bummed that they needed mental time-outs. In many ways, the Great Depression (Season One) was the birth of mass escapism. The pictures were cheap (around 10 cents) and they took you to magical lands with hot babes, grand homes, and epic landscapes. And woven through the spectacle were morality tales that kept us connected to core values. We need these stories today, too.

From Frank Capra’s social-political tales of the common man’s struggle for the American dream against corrupt powers (Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, It’s a Wonderful Life), to delicious romantic comedies (It Happened One Night, Philadelphia Story), Hollywood cranked out hope on a weekly basis and glum Americans ate it up. I can only imagine what it must have been like to see The Wizard of Oz when it premiered in Technicolor glory, or how about Gone with the Wind? WOWZA! Though I must say, Carol Burnett’s Went with the Wind skit was almost as good. How about the dancing? As an old showgirl, I still get a kick out of Fred and Ginger. They always seemed to have smiles on their faces as they swirled my blues away. And those Busby Berkeley synchronized numbers are mondo trippy even today. The list is too big… how about Casablanca, The Maltese Falcon, Sunset Boulevard – have you seen these gems? Jaw-dropping black and white rapture.

The 50’s brought us two of my all time faves, Rebel Without a Cause (James Dean, please have sex with me in heaven) and On the Waterfront. The 60’s and 70’s – now that was a juicy time for anti-heroes! Easy Rider, Midnight Cowboy, Jeremiah Johnson, Coming Home (I LOVE THIS FILM), Five Easy Pieces (HUBBY LOVES THIS FILM), One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, The Godfather, and the granddaddy of mythology: Star Wars!

I just adore guns, the mafia, and space. Don’t you?

The 80’s – one word: ALIEN. Now, that movie was full of spooky, wiz-in-your-pants nausea inducing F.U.N. If I could be anyone other than myself I’d be Ripley. Remember in Aliens (the sequel) when the gnarly monster was about to chow Newt? Ripley stormed over in a tractor suit and uttered my favorite movie line ever – “get away from her you BITCH”. Sing it Ripley!!! I wanted to be just like her. I dreamed of fighting predators in a white tank top and no bra.

…But don’t forget documentaries. Everyday heroes blow the big box office names away. Documentaries remind me of how I fell in love with my Brian. On our first official date we went to see Spellbound. We LOVED it, and spent the rest of the starry night chatting about film, our dreams, and the state of the world while sitting under the Gandhi statue in Union Square, NYC. I really liked him after that. Many movies later (including our own), we got hitched.

Film is soothing. Film opens our imagination and reminds us that even the underdog can – and should – win. For all its pomp and silliness, Hollywood does the Underdog so well.

People often ask me how I got through the early days of my medical shit-pickle. Simple. Creativity. Making my documentary got me through the fear. It was my outlet and I am so grateful to my angel camera. I lost myself in the shooting and writing. When I wasn’t working on my own project, Netflix brought other documentaries that would inspire my story.

Some recent fave docs: Born into Brothels, Jesus Camp, Planet Earth, Grizzly Man, Murderball, Mad Hot Ballroom, The Eyes of Tammy Faye, Control Room, anything Michael Moore, War Photographer (I worship James Nachtwey). Don’t miss the first and still champion rock doc: The Last Waltz.

Here at chez Carr-Fassett, our must-see pick of the past few years is Into the Wild. Breathtaking! Perfect! Unbelievable! Sean Penn got screwed out of a gold statue on that one. Thank Goddess the Academy recognized him for Milk this year! This is also where I should mention the HBO Series The Wire. I know I’m a few years late to the party and it’s not cinema, per se, but dang is it good – and addictive. Hubs and I have been racking up the episodes like whiskey shots, one after another late into the night. Confession: I have the hots for Stringer Bell. Is it ok that I’ve considered putting a murderous thug on my vision board?!?

This weekend, turn off CNN, burn the newspaper in a bonfire, and step away from your internet cocaine dispenser. Rent a flick. Dim the lights, get cozy, and indulge in some good old-fashioned escapism.

What’s on your Crazy Sexy Cinema list? Do share.

Peace & Pelicula,
Kris

Time. Are you good at managing it?

Sprouts!

Good day, dolls and dudes. Thanks for sharing your many great ideas on the blog this week. Our readers are as knowledgeable and delicious as our experts. If you didn’t have a chance to read the $$$ saving tips on going vegan, mostly raw, organic (when possible) post – please do. The comments were off the hook! Also, folks have asked how to access older posts. Simple, click on the word “archive” in the blog roll box.

The topic of today’s musing is TIME. Are you a type A Super Girl/Guy who over estimates your ability to get it all done? Be honest. I know I am. As a result of my very long “YES, I CAN DO THAT FOR YOU – SURE, I’LL GET RIGHT ON IT” list, we hemorrhaged money this week. Why? Because I bit off more than I could chew and let time get away from me. I devalued me. It’s really easy to take care of myself when some else is doing it for me. My 21 day supervised fast/detox was a breeze. They made the juice, I drank the juice. But now I’m home and sadly, I can’t always be trusted to love myself. Poor planning and a willingness to blaze through my boundaries taught me a valuable lesson. Say “NO”. Duh? I’ve written about this loads of times and yet I still do it – I suspect you do too.

Sometimes “NO” is the mantra that inspires the clock. Happiness, spiritual tune-ups, health, and a plump wallet all require consistent attention. When we work too late and don’t plan ahead the stores close. That means no green juice in the morning and a reliance on the take-out/eat-out crutch. Next comes poor food and drink choices, followed by over spending and perhaps regret. When I feel like crap I’m less likely to workout. Meditation can blow me – it’s torture. Do you see the downward spiral? We’ve all experienced it first hand but how often? If you occasionally overextend yourself big whoop, it’s natural and human. But if you give more than you receive on a weekly basis it’s a problem. No fair to you! Perhaps it’s TIME for a New Years Resolution in March!

What are your reflections on time management?

Join me this weekend by planning the week ahead. I vow to shop smart, cut and wash my veggies ahead of time, store them in air tight containers so they last longer, write out some meal plans, soak and sprout my grains, beans and nuts, dust off my dehydrator, burn some incense and go for a very long and quiet walk… Maybe I’ll touch my toes too. Perhaps a bath. Edward (my elliptical) misses me terribly. I miss him too – sorta.

Peace and minutes,
Kris

Boobs

What is it about boobs, anyway? Why do they make people so insane? And by “people,” I don’t just mean men. You can hardly make it twenty-four hours without someone you know complaining about her boobs in some way, shape, or form. And you can’t make it twenty-four minutes without seeing fake boobs on TV.

How did this madness start? At what point in time did it occur to women that a certain shape or size or bounce of boobs would be considered more viable than another? I sincerely doubt that cavewomen were sitting around signing and motioning and grunting about their own and each other’s breasts. I suppose it doesn’t really matter how or why boobs became so important in our culture. But to me, it does matter that millions of women are endangering their lives, undergoing anesthesia and surgery, and forever altering their God-given bodies to have different breasts than the ones they were born with. For what? (Just to be clear, I’m not talking about women who are disfigured or who have had mastectomies.)

I know women constantly say, “If it gives you confidence and makes you feel better about yourself, than why not?” Well, for starters, how about building confidence from the inside? Having small breasts isn’t a problem. Thinking your small breasts are less acceptable than large breasts is. If your breasts are somehow “wrong,” than what’s to stop you from thinking your hair, cheekbones, nose, lips, wrinkles, legs, butt, and stomach are “wrong,” too? Where does it end? Do you just look at yourself and see what “needs to be fixed”? At what point do you say, “I’m fine just the way I am.” Can you say it?

Believe me, I’m no stranger to self-critiquing: I pinch the insides of my thighs, I hold my stomach in, and I lift my ass up in front of the mirror and think to myself, “If only blah blah blah, then I’d be happy.” And as a woman with 32A-minus boobs, I’ve spent my fair share of time imaging how life would be different, better, easier even, with boobs. Sadly, until I was thirty-two years old, I wished my boobs were bigger. What a waste of time. What a waste of self-love and -acceptance. What a waste of me.

Somehow, this year, at the age of thirty-three, it occurred to me: My boobs are perfect. Just because I say so. And goddamn it, I love my small boobs now! I feel so lucky and blessed to have these exact boobs. Not because they’re small, like, “Ha ha, don’t you big-boobed women wish you had small boobs?” No, I feel lucky and blessed because they’re healthy, happy boobs. Women are being diagnosed with breast cancer left and right. To pine away for bigger boobs or bouncier boobs or smaller boobs is not only stupid, it’s pitiful. And on a less dramatic scale, I love my boobs now because it’s so much more gratifying than hating them. It simply feels good loving the skin I’m in. Period.

While so many of us walk around thinking of our breasts as accessories or man magnets (or women magnets, for our lesbian friends), we forget the primary reason we have them to begin with: Breastfeeding. Duh. I can only imagine the bliss of looking down at your newborn nursing and finally seeing your breasts for what truly they are—miraculous, precious gifts from Mother Nature herself. All mammals nurse their young. But we’re the only ones running around obsessing about our boobs and dressing them up like Yorkie terriers!

Life is too fleeting and too valuable to waste one minute feeling bad about our boobs or any other parts of our bodies. For whatever reason, the world we live in values a specific physical aesthetic. But if we can remember that we’re spiritual beings encased in skin and flesh—whether we represent that physical aesthetic or not—life can be dramatically different and dramatically fulfilling. Great hair, perfect boobs, long legs…they’re all fools’ gold. They mean nothing other than someone got lucky in the gene department.

Whether they’re big, small, saggy, or pert: love your boobs. And while you’re at it, love your fat ass, too.