Tonight I realized that it was about this time of year a decade ago that I came to Washington, DC for grad school — a fresh-faced twenty-two year old with a head full of enormous dreams. In my mind, I was going to become a diplomat, maybe the next Madeline Albright (before she said that the death of 500,000 Iraqi children was “worth it.”) Little did I know they would educate me too well: I became so disenchanted with US policy in the Middle East that I knew I could never be part of that machine.

The next phase of my life was coming into my own as an artist and an activist: I wrote dozens of poems and articles and became an outspoken advocate for my two great passions: peace in the Middle East and human rights and informed consent for people diagnosed with mental illness. I led a peace delegation to the Middle East with the Fellowship of Reconciliation, and traveled around the US speaking at conferences about resisting corporate psychiatry and healing ourselves and our communities. I was active with the DC Guerrilla Poetry insurgency and other open mics around town and sometimes did five poetry readings a week. I almost got my memoirs published, having landed a literary agent in New York, who pitched my book to several editors in New York, but had no success in selling it in that form.

In retrospect, it was a rich time for me, but still I felt depressed, depleted, and perpetually enraged. I became sick, both physically and mentally. At the end of this phase, I became a student of Buddhism and began to practice meditation on a regular basis. This experience opened up new vistas of understanding for me as I developed witness consciousness, or the ability to step outside of my thoughts and feelings, if only for brief seconds, and to observe them from a higher standpoint. Slowly, I began to develop an inner life, a spiritual life, which balanced out the completely outward orientation I had had for most of my life, buffeted about like a football by causes and conditions.

The third phase of my life in DC, which I believe dovetailed nicely with my nascent spirituality, began with my pregnancy and becoming a mother. This has by far been the richest experience of my life. The sheer joy of parenting Sami Gabriel would be enough in itself. But as the title of this blog suggests, and as I have been posting about here since February of 2006, parenting is the most powerful spiritual practice I have ever known. I have been stretched to the limits and have discovered how strong I am, how I can expand to meet just about any obstacle or challenge that comes my way. More than any other phase of my life in DC, this phase has transformed me utterly. It has been no less than the transformation from maiden to mother.

Throughout all these phases, my ex was a constant. Sometimes it seemed that he lived on the periphery of my life. He did not share my interests, and we intersected only in the brief spaces in my insane schedule. Parenting briefly brought us closer, but eventually we were torn apart irrevocably. Even after our separation in September 2006, my life was dictated by two pillars: Sami, and the question as to whether or not our marriage would survive. I will admit that the second question hung quite steadily in the background of my life, even after my ex announced last November that he had found someone else. Now, with the divorce, that long chapter has concluded.

I feel like I am on the brink of a completely new life, perhaps my best life yet. It is a truly exhilarating feeling. Of course, I carry within me all the lives I have led thus far, but now I stand on an altogether new path, into which all these others have converged. Today, I don’t need to know where I am going. I trust my feet to keep walking. Regardless of the results of Tuesday’s breast biopsy, which I should know tomorrow, I have this strong faith that surprises me. I have faith in the natural unfolding of things. While I am not without remorse for my unskillful actions, especially those that have hurt others, I would not change one second of this life. My faith is not blind or dogmatic. It comes out of the direct experience of the many lifetimes that I have already lived in this incarnation. While I can rarely ever see it at the time, everything in this life fits together in a way so seamless, so perfect, that it is hard not to be in total awe.

I am reminded of the three refuges on this night. Tonight particularly, I take refuge in the dharma. These are some true refuges in a world full of so many false refuges. I repeat them here — for myself and for you. May they bring comfort to us all.

I take refuge in the Buddha,
the one who shows me the way in this life.
I take refuge in the Dharma,
the way of understanding and love.
I take refuge in the Sangha,
the community that lives in harmony and awareness.