2018 Spring Compassion Camp Announced

I am very excited to announce that I will be holding a new class this spring.  We will be holding class on Monday nights from 6:30 – 8:30.   

The dates are as follows:
March 26th
April 2nd
April 9th
April 16th
April 23rd
April 30th
May 14th
May 22nd (This is a Tuesday)

We are fortunate to be holding it at
Old City Hall
45 School St. Boston, MA
Underscore VC 2nd Floor-Board Room

I hope you can join us.  Please let me know if you have any questions.


Cultivating Compassion Training (8 Weeks)

Monday, Mar 26, 2018, 6:30 PM

Old City Hall
45 School St. Boston, MA

1 Members Attending

Compassion Cultivation Training (CCT) is an eight-week program designed to develop the qualities of compassion, empathy, and kindness for oneself and for others. The dates will be: March 26th April 2nd April 9th April 16th April 23rd April 30th May 14th May 22nd In this program, you will learn . . . Increase kindness and compassion for yourself and…

Check out this Meetup →

Dante’s Inferno Canto I Translated by Seamus Heaney

In the middle of the journey of our life
I found myself astray in a dark wood
where the straight road had been lost sight of.

How hard it is to say what it was like
in the thick of thickets, in a wood so dense
and gnarled the very thought of it renews my panic.

It is bitter almost as death itself is bitter.
But to rehearse the good it also brought me
I will speak about the other things I saw there

How I got into it I cannot clearly say
for I was moving like a sleepwalker
the moment I stepped out of the right way,

But when I came to the bottom of a hill
standing off at the far end of that valley
where a great terror had disheartened me

I looked up, and saw how its shoulders glowed
already in the rays of the planet
which leads and keeps men straight on every road.

Then I sensed a quiet influence settling
into those depths in me that had been rocked
and pitifully troubled all night long

And as a survivor gasping on the sand
turns his head back to study in a daze
the dangerous combers, so my mind

Turned back, although it was reeling forward,
back to inspect a pass that had proved fatal
heretofore to everyone who entered.

The Swan by Rainer Maria Rilke translated by Robert Bly

This clumsy living that moves lumbering
as if in ropes through what is not done,
reminds us of the awkward way the swan walks.
And to die, which is the letting go
of the ground we stand on and cling to every day,
is like the swan, when he nervously lets himself down into the water, which receives him gaily
and which flows joyfully under
and after him, wave after wave,
while the swan, unmoving and marvelously calm,
is pleased to be carried, each moment more fully grown, more like a king, further and further on.

As I began to love myself by Charlie Chaplin

As I began to love myself I found that anguish and emotional suffering are only warning signs that I was living against my own truth. Today, I know, this is “AUTHENTICITY”.

As I began to love myself I understood how much it can offend somebody. As I try to force my desires on this person, even though I knew the time was not right and the person was not ready for it, and even though this person was me. Today I call it “RESPECT”.

As I began to love myself I stopped craving for a different life, and I could see that everything that surrounded me was inviting me to grow. Today I call it “MATURITY”.

As I began to love myself I understood that at any circumstance, I am in the right place at the right time, and everything happens at the exactly right moment. So I could be calm. Today I call it “SELF-CONFIDENCE”.

As I began to love myself I quit stealing my own time, and I stopped designing huge projects for the future. Today, I only do what brings me joy and happiness, things I love to do and that make my heart cheer, and I do them in my own way and in my own rhythm. Today I call it “SIMPLICITY”.

As I began to love myself I freed myself of anything that is no good for my health – food, people, things, situations, and everything that drew me down and away from myself. At first I called this attitude a healthy egoism. Today I know it is “LOVE OF ONESELF”.

As I began to love myself I quit trying to always be right, and ever since I was wrong less of the time. Today I discovered that is “MODESTY”.

As I began to love myself I refused to go on living in the past and worry about the future. Now, I only live for the moment, where EVERYTHING is happening. Today I live each day, day by day, and I call it “FULFILLMENT”.

As I began to love myself I recognized that my mind can disturb me and it can make me sick. But As I connected it to my heart, my mind became a valuable ally. Today I call this connection “WISDOM OF THE HEART”.

We no longer need to fear arguments, confrontations or any kind of problems with ourselves or others. Even stars collide, and out of their crashing new worlds are born.Today I know THAT IS “LIFE”!

Heart To Heart by Rita Dove

It’s neither red
nor sweet.
It doesn’t melt
or turn over,
break or harden,
so it can’t feel
It doesn’t have
a tip to spin on,
it isn’t even
just a thick clutch
of muscle,
mute. Still,
I feel it inside
its cage sounding
a dull tattoo:
I want, I want—
but I can’t open it:
there’s no key.
I can’t wear it
on my sleeve,
or tell you from
the bottom of it
how I feel. Here,
it’s all yours, now—
but you’ll have
to take me,

American Sonnet for Wanda C. by Terrance Hayes

Who I know knows why all those lush-boned worn-out girls are
Whooping at where the moon should be, an eyelid clamped
On its lightness. Nobody sees her without the hoops firing in her
Ears because nobody sees. Tattooed across her chest she claims
Is BRING ME TO WHERE MY BLOOD RUNS and I want that to be here
Where I am her son, pent in blackness and turning the night’s calm
Loose and letting the same blood fire through me. In her bomb hair:
Shells full of thunder; in her mouth: the fingers of some calamity,
Somebody foolish enough to love her foolishly. Those who could hear
No music weren’t listening—and when I say it, it’s like claiming
She’s an elegy. It rhymes, because of her, with effigy. Because of her,
If there is no smoke, there is no party. I think of you, Miss Calamity,
Every Sunday. I think of you on Monday. I think of you hurling hurt
Where the moon should be and stomping into our darkness calmly.

I Am Learning How to Be a Flower by Dominque Christina Ashaheed

There is a wisdom that you can claim.
It rumbles and shimmies in your belly.
Low and deep, it is an old and familiar knowing.
A railroad of long ago yesterdays asking us to remember the typography of our souls.
Our own inspired light.
I swallowed a Lilly once and heard the laughter I had been denying.
There are so many songs waiting on the garden of your belly to be given permission to grow.
Who told us to shut out our own indomitable light?
Our own remarkable song.
There is a universe in my body.
I wake some nights the constellation of stars settling deep behind my eyelids
Our memories are older than we are.
We are born into so many stories.
So many ways of knowing.
A long sigh of yesterdays without formal introductions.
But, I am learning how to be a flower.
How to remember my body.
How to commit to her regeneration
How to reassemble these bones into star-shine.
I am learning how to love like lavender.
Stretching out around the sun
until we are singing the same insistent melodies
I am hearing my own voice again.
Becoming a wider girl.
You want to know who I am?
I’m wind-song.
Many mountains moving a rain cloud.
A midnight sigh.
A forest.
An old story.
A new song.
A pink and possible thing.
Sugar cane growing sticky and sweet from an impossible earth.
I am magic.
The lightening that animates the work.
The work that animates the soul.
The soul that animates the girl
The girl who animates the words
The words that make a world
Pulling panties from my palms
I know how to sit naked in a flower garden
Wrap my legs around an old oak tree.
Find the tectonic shutter of every leaf and limb.
Let them give me back the benefit of my name.
Can you see me?
I am learning how to bend easily in a breeze.
A lotus.
A pink bloom in pure water.
I am learning how to be a flower.
How to occupy this body with intention.
How to worship this skin.
How to praise the way it sighs and stretches over these long bones.
It is not a borrowed thing.
It is the most expensive things I own.
…and my beating heart.
I am learning how to seek the sound of my flesh.
How to leap
and dance
and be still.
I am learning how to walk in my own purpose.
How to seek my own divine light.
What a celebrated journey.
What awesome soul stretching thing
What pretty stars in these eyes.
What bravery to love yourself widely enough to lean into your own magic.
To dance your blue-note melody all the days of your life.
I am learning how to BE a flower.
To smile into your wounds until they are petals in the wind for blowing.
To love the vast landscape of your heart.
To let it be a diamond mine in your chest.
A persistent gust of wind.
A meditation.
A love poem.
A Frohman album where you smile with all your teeth and every picture the way your name sounds as it moves through the lips of your beloved.
I am learning how to be a flower.
It is the best thing I have ever done.
In the morning I will walk into a river that greets me like a warm, wide mouth.
And I will remember to be grateful.
For you.
For me.
For the way the earth and all her audacity and wisdom keeps offering us
over and again until we agree to be new.
To be made over.
To be rooted.
To bloom
and open to the sun.
Like a prayer
Or a kiss
Or the bamboo your spine can become
Or the flower gardens we are trying to plant in our chest
Exactly like that.