new site

please visit my new website, and tell your friends...

www.sukireiki.com

Suki Reiki is open for (the business of) Healing!

I am so excited. Yesterday I became certified as a Level Two Reiki practitioner, and I am well on my way to becoming a Reiki Master.

Today, I created (the rough draft of) a website to announce my new business, which I call Suki Reiki

to get there, all you do is type:

nancyillman.vpweb.com

I hope you will visit it and I welcome your feedback, including typos - like all of us, it is very much a work in progress!

Namaste,
Nancy

http://nancyillman.vpweb.com

humility of the soul (music)

A few years ago, when I was still new to playing liturgical music, I confided to Cantor Yvonne Shore that I was feeling a bit nervous right before a duet with an very accomplished flutist. "Don't worry about being perfect," she told me, "you're praying, it's not a performance." An accomplished flutist herself, Cantor Shore's musical talents had taken her in a different direction: she is currently the Director of Liturgical Music at HUC.

I learned to internalize this new way of thinking, or feeling, about sharing music with the public, and it has deepened my enjoyment of playing at services, whether it's just for my congregation, HUC, or the broader Jewish Community. I'm merely sharing from my soul, hoping to touch theirs, perhaps. And just like traditional prayer, it's all good.

I've known this for a while about music, but I hadn't really thought of it in precisely those terms. Ever since 1996, when I left an early marriage which left me no room for self expression, I have been playing the violin joyfully, straight from my soul. Whether the music was rock, blues or jazz, it afforded me the freedom to play as the spirit moved me, accountable to the leader of each band only loosely, because I knew they had hired me not for my technical precision or perfection but for my creativity, my musical expressiveness, which I also think of as soulfulness. This was good, because after all those years without practicing, my technique was pretty much shot to hell. I generally played music which didn't require much technique, only a whole lot of soul.

I recently returned to my classical music roots, joining an orchestra for the first time in almost two decades. Since my musical renaissance in the late 90's, my classical music chops had only been exercised occasionally, reading quartets with some generous musicians from the local symphony. Slowly, gradually, my lost violin technique began reappearing. But suddenly, finding myself not only a member but concertmaster of an orchestra, a lot more preparation is required, and I find that practicing is harder than it used to be, but also much more rewarding. Many orchestra musicians complain that only the ensemble's music director (a.s.k.a. the conductor) gets to express himself creatively, but I do not find this to be strictly true.

Unlike jazz or blues, which is largely about spontaneous riffs, or variations on a simple theme, orchestra musicians have every note written out for them very precisely; moreover, it must be played in a very particular way. However, if he is well enough prepared, the orchestral player is able to commune with great composers through their music. Music of genius, when learned thoroughly, affords each player an opportunity to express himself soulfully through his individual instrument. Even as the musicians in each section generally strive to play as with one voice, the soul of a well prepared orchestra musician can uplifted by the greatness of a divinely inspired composition and by the experience of contributing a a bright thread to the orchestral tapestry.

As for striving for perfection in the midst of all this brilliance and precision, I will close here with some words transmitted from spirit through my gifted friend, Georgina Carter:

Striving for perfection in any practice is yet another example of distraction the ego mind creates. Just do the practice and go where it takes you. Your thoughts are not in charge, your soul is, and the soul doesn't need reward; it is humble.

energy around reiki

For many years, I have been carrying around energy - negative energy - about my inability, nay, my failure, to go to medical school. As the eldest child of a physician without any sons, the expectation that I might become a physician, too, was raised rather early on in my life. But I was too squeamish, too deeply affected by other people's suffering, too...chicken, basically. I opted out early, dropping science from my schedule of courses in the tenth grade.

I have always listened and tried to believe it when people told me I was too creative, too much of an artist, or a performer, or a teacher, you name it, to be a doctor, but none of that has done anything to assuage one basic problem. For the past couple of decades, I have struggled with the fact that I have had to watch people suffer physical pain without possessing any of the tools to help them. And I had assumed - for a very long time - that this is how it would always be.

I am supremely delighted to tell you that this is no longer true. And even more so, to realize that those tools are a natural part of me, and that healing can be, quite literally, an extension of me.

I once had the good fortune to meet a woman who had woken up from a coma after a near death car accident, only to discover that she had a brand new singing voice which, when directed at crystals arranged in alignment with the chakras down a person's spine, could faciliate their spiritual healing. I consider that a great miracle, and I am grateful for the work she did with me thirteen years ago, helping me to heal deep emotional scars.

I feel equally grateful today, but in a different way. Lucky, lucky me that I could skip the accident and the coma and just make up my mind to begin healing with my own two hands. I am so grateful to the friends who suggested I train to do reiki, and to my teacher, Bruce Davis, who supports me every step along the way on this exciting new journey.

Isaac's book, All About Words

All About Words
by Isaac Newman, dedicated to Alexander

about the author:
if you want more information, call xxx-xxxx. Isaac is the youngest in his family.

TABLE OF CONTENTS
1. contractions
2. vowels and continents
3. sight words
4. how to be a good writer

CONTRACTIONS

Contractions are like a not complete word. For example: I'm. There's like an apostrophe that takes place of a letter, like when I said "I'm" it really is I am, but if I take away the "a" I put an apostrophe there, so it looks like I'm. Let's go over some words:

1. Let's
2. don't
3. I'm

VOWELS AND CONTINENTS

The vowels in the world are aeiou and sometimes, y. There's always a vowel in a word, for example: me, six, ten, send, cool, to, a, see, I, day, do, are...you get my point. If you see a word that doesn't have a vowel, call xxx-xxxx. Continents are every other letter, these are the continents: b, c, d, f, g, h, j, k, l, m, n, p, q, r, s, t, v, x, y (or not) z

SIGHT WORDS

A sight word is a word in a middle of a sentence, for example: I, is, me, a. Just say a short word.

HOW TO BE A GOOD WRITER

You need good handwriting, and spell words correctly, for example, all of you might think you're a good writer, but it takes practice. And now I'm out of words, so this must be the end.

as Sam sees it

My son, Sam, and I drove to services together Friday night, and the words he shared with me on the way down the hill to Valley Temple have stayed with me since, so that I feel moved to share them with you:

"I like nice people," he said,
"because nice people are happy people,
happy people are good people,
and good people are peaceful.
And when things are peaceful, it is good."

"Oh, Sam," I said, "thank you so much for saying that."

"I'm really good at explaining things," he said, "at making things clear."

And so he is.

suki reiki

while I do reiki she lies on her side
as I move to each new position,
she looks up with anticipation
seeing I am still calm and focused,
she settles back down for more rest

my reiki business will be called suki reiki
in acknowledgement of my very chill partner
Miss Suki Zen Azumi, formerly of Tennessee
she exudes love and calm and goodness
which is just exactly how I want to be

unconditional love is an oxymoron

uh huh, that's right, that's what he said:

"if you say it's gotta be unconditional,
well, then, you are,
by definition, you are
putting a condition on it,
and so it's not realism, you see, not to me"

he likes love the way he's always known it
it's familiar, so he's comfortable that way

never saying the word
not showing affection
withholding approval
doling out criticism and sarcasm,
put downs and one ups

for the youngest children
he keeps a very special stash
of impromptu intelligence tests,
to measure their worth,
and report the grim findings

for his daughter,
he holds a trove of memories
to revisit with me
pointing out where I went wrong
each step of the way

Daddy doesn't understand about love
he thinks I'm missing the point
exaggerating its importance
and unconditional love?
well, that's an oxymoron

I think it's about the saddest thing
that I have ever heard
you are rich with love
when you can give love freely
to withhold it is a poverty

I pity my father
with his three homes,
his fancy cars,
and his dark, empty heart
and yet I love him still

DAYENU

Dayenu is a Hebrew word that means approximately "it would have been enough" and we sing a song called Dayenu at Passover about what God did for us when we were slaves in Egypt. My grandmother referred to Dayenu some years ago, speaking about my parents, from whom I had been estranged. She told me to stop trying, that there was nothing more that I could do. But when she passed away last week, I allowed myself to believe that perhaps there was something SHE might be able to help me to do from the other side...

So, here is my new Dayenu, written today in her memory:

My ex-husband, upon whom I do not normally depend for kindness, said these words to me yesterday:
"I think you should feel really good about yourself. And when you look in the mirror, you should smile, because you were able to be the bigger person and you went up there and gave it your best effort."
DAYENU
he was referring to my grandmother's recent funeral, which, against advice of my therapist, I attended last week in Great Neck
DAYENU
not only did I rise hours before dawn, fly to New York, and rent a car, but I embraced my parents and rode with them in the limousine, and stood beside them at the grave
DAYENU
not only did I stand with them, but I allowed myself to be sequestered with my father while others ate bagels and cream cheese, white fish and lox, in the next room
DAYENU
not only did I sequester myself with him, but I listened patiently as he lectured, insulted and accused me and my children, while my shy, nine year old son stood outside the door, shmoozing with relatives he had only just met that morning
DAYENU
not only did I listen respectfully, but I also responded calmly, quietly, and lovingly, even as the time I had meant to depart faded into the past
DAYENU
not only was I patient and selfless, but I hugged my mother told her I loved her and that I was so sorry
DAYENU
not only was I kind to her on that day, but I called the next day to say we might come for Mother's day so we could all be together
DAYENU
not only did I offer to sacrifice my usual sweet, Yellow Springs, Mother's Day celebration to comfort my mother, but I also called each morning to tell her that I was thinking about her in her time of loss
DAYENU
not only did I call her each morning, but I listened to accounts of my father bragging to her, to my aunt and to others, about how he had really let me have it after the funeral, and how my mother had concurred
DAYENU
not only did I continue to call and listen repectfully as my father set out conditions on my family's proposed visit, and set out even more conditions on the resumption of our relationship...
still, I hesitated to tell them this:
ENOUGH ALREADY!

But I must do so. Mama was right.

morning gratitude

Well, it looks like a daily blog post might be a little more challenging to accomplish now than it's been. Or perhaps not; I'm sitting here now, aren't I? Le plus ca change...

Unless Max wakes up here (which he does about 68% of the time), my day now begins with the speedy brewing of a mug full of french roast and then, as soon as possible, walking the dog. Other days, Max rises at six to take care of Suki before preparing himself to catch the 7am bus to high school.

This also means no more daily sunrise yoga habit for me. But I do not feel any sense of loss; today, I witnessed the sunrise over a slowly passing landscape of lilac and cherry blossoms, bikers and joggers. Upon opening my bedroom door, I was greeted by a tail wagging, face licking, gentle creature whose greatest joy consistently seems to be me the sight of me. It's not so bad.

We've had an eventful first week together, Suki Zen Azumi and I. After returning from DC Sunday night, I rose Monday and arranged both a food and a water bowl in the corner of the kitchen by the back door. Paul took the kids to school so that I could zoom across town for an early morning rehearsal of Telemann before doubling back to pick up my new companion. Then, my friend Mary called, asking me to visit a house she wants to buy. I brought Suki along and had my first taste of ringing a doorbell, only to be ignored by the person opening it. The woman looked pleasant enough, except that her gaze was eyes locked on Suki, way down by my knees; it was nearly a minute before I was acknowledged. Then, Suki was offered water, and I was invited to tour the house while the two of them got to know one another. Hmmmm...could be worse. East time I approached, Suki's tail hit the floor more rapidly and more powerfully than it had been doing, and then, subsided again in volume and tempo as I climbed the stairs or explored the back rooms.

Tuesday, my activities were arranged around whether I could bring Suki along. I worried about leaving her alone too long to meet a friend for coffee, but found she was fine upon my return. Actually, she was overjoyed. I worried again, about leaving her in the car while I ran into the store for essentials, including doggie shampoo and conditioner, a retractable leash, a gnawy bone and a shedding comb, but my return to the car was greeted with the same tail wagging face, licking joy as my earlier return to the house had been.

Wednesday, I took her with me to therapy and, as I arrived at my therapist's office, my sister called to tell me that our Mama had passed away in her sleep. What a blessing. Even though I knew my grandmother had eagerly awaited this transition from pain to peace for some years, it was still nice to be able to process a fresh loss of this magnitude while flanked by compassionate professional and adoring canine.

Thursday, as I did housework, I realized I must travel miles as I clean up this place; crossing back and forth from laundry to bathroom to bedroom to garbage to laundry again, then to linen closet, the clicking of Suki's paws on the laminate and hardwood floors made me so much more conscious of every step I took. Never did I make a single trip without her company.

Of course, I worried that Suki would be deeply disturbed by my sudden absence were I to hop a plane to the funeral the next day, departing before dawn on only her fourth morning in our home. I decided to make the round trip to New York in one day, and to take only one family member with me - nine year old Sam - in order to rock Suki's brand new world order as little as possible. Paul works just a mile from the house, so he was able to take her out for several walks throughout the day. As I travelled from chapel to graveside, midday, I received a text from Paul saying that Suki was sending me love.

I'll tell you this: in addition to my husband's embrace, I looked forward to that unbridled, tail wagging welcome when I returned hime. At 10:30 pm, I carried Sam, who had awoken at 5, from the garage through the kitchen and all the way to his bed, for the first time in probably five years. No sooner had I deposited my 90 pound son upon his cozy nest, stripping him of jacket and tie, socks and shoes, but I was awash in dog kisses from Suki, who had trailed me every step of the way.

Saturday, I took Suki and the boys through the trail at French Park, including a long, muddy, splashy romp through the center of a creek. This was followed by a thorough toweling off in the parking lot, and then a first application of doggy shampoo, at home, which went much so better than I had expected. Result: a clean, sweet smelling, happy dog, and no muddy footprints in the house. Just many, many floating balls of hair.

Sunday came and found us picnicking on the village green, with me resting my head on Suki's flank as we lay beneath a budding tree and watched the boys toss a ball after lunch. By late afternoon, Paul suggested that I take time to practice the violin before it grew too late. We both realized that yet another whole house vacuuming was in order and, for the first time in my recollection, he volunteered to that job himself. Practicing the violin with the sound of a fur sucking vacuum in the background is much more harmonious than you might imagine. As I strained to hear the notes over the whir of the machine, my heart was flooded with contentment.

Every evening brings with it the opportunity for another walk; starlight invariably finding one or more two legged types bathed in its soft glow, with a faithful furry companion at our side.

Yes, I think I could get used to this.

a springtime exit, with love

As the spring blooms riotously proliferate, as the birds' joyful songs crescendo...my grandmother's dearest wish is finally granted.

Early this morning, Mama slipped from this life into a mysterious realm that lies just beyond our ken. I am so relieved for her that she got what she had been so desperately wanting. I am so grateful now that I seized the opportunity to visit with her last December, when I flew to New York for her brother-in-law's funeral. Because her excruciating hip pain had lately confined her to a wheelchair, Mama was unable to attend the graveside service. When, on my way to the gravesite after the funeral, I spotted her sitting alone in a parked car in the cemetary, I immediately climbed into the driver's seat for a little one on one. Mama wanted to hear all about my family, just as she did in our weekly phone conversations. But all she had to say about herself - a topic she usually preferred to avoid - was this: it's just not fair that Harry is gone and I am still here, not living, just suffering, in so much pain. I don't know why I have to live so long.

I told her how sorry I was. There was simply nothing else to be said about it.

It was painful to hear her lament, but it was really nothing new. In fact, I knew before she spoke exactly how she felt. First, her dear husband, Sam, and then, eleven years later, his last remaining brother, had left her behind. For two solid years, if not more, she had told me consistently that she had lived too long, and advised me against following in her footsteps, as if I had any choice in the matter.

Remarkably, I remembered, jut after hearing the news of her demise, that my grandmother appeared to me early this morning around the time of her death. She had wanted to remind me that she loved her family just as much as Papa Sam had done. She had just assumed a different role; she had a very different way of showing it. Papa was dominant, gregarious, effusive and assertive in expressing his love. Mama was more shy, quieter, and more comfortable expressing her love and devotion to family by cooking up a storm...and by giving gifts of exquisite jewelry.

At Hannukah, she was fairly consistent in presenting me with pretty but practical sleepwear. But at birthdays, she stepped it up, big time. While Papa presented me annually with a transfer of stock from them both, Mama gradually gifted me many of her favorite pieces of jewelry. After she had beaten breast cancer in the middle of her life, my grandfather began giving her a piece of jewelry on every anniversary of the cancer's remission. Slowly, she passed some of those pieces down to me. An antique silver cameo bracelet Papa had bought her in Europe. An enormous cabochon amethyst in a sleek modern gold setting. A pair of gold Bulgari earrings set with rubies and diamonds. Heaps of Mexican silver - earrings, rings, bracelets and necklaces she had collected on vacations over the years. And a multi-gemstone pin I had admired as a very small child. I remember when she gave it to me as a teenager. She said, "when you were a baby, and I was wearing this pin at temple, you pointed to it and said "pretty" and I told you then and there that I would give it to you some day. I'm so glad to be able to do that today."

I am so incredibly glad to have those pieces, and not just because of their great beauty and style. They mean so much more to me than any new jewelry would and it was so nice to be able to enjoy them while she was still alive and to be able to tell her so.

Every time we have spoken on the phone the last few years, Mama would say "I love you, you know that" and she said it with meaning. Ever since my parents and I stopped speaking to each other, a few years ago, Mama had stepped up to the plate, as if to fill the void, and become more overtly and verbally loving and supportive of me - as a person, as a wife, and as a parent - than at any other time in our relationship. I am so grateful to her for that.

Mama, you were correct. When I was growing up, I did think Papa loved me more than you did. Sometimes, I had no idea how you felt. But lately, especially these past five years, you have proved that you loved me every bit as much as he. You said you were with us in spirit when you could not make it to Max's Bar Mitzvah, and I know the same is true today. I know I have not lost you. As I told you when I called on Papa's birthday last month, I think of both of you every day, but especially on March 19, and that will always be true. Each in your own way, the two of you gave more love than anyone else I knew in my first thirty years of life. When Paul and I became engaged on the eve of your anniversary, you were the first people we told because I thought I had finally found someone with whom to have the kind of marriage you and Papa were lucky enough to have had. And you have been the only person in my immediate family of origin consistently to express approval, support and loving concern about my husband, as well as all my children, for these past five years.

Moreover, you let me off the hook and gave your blessing to my not trying anymore to get along with your own daughter (my mother). You told me you heard my in-laws were lovely people and that I should focus on building my relationship with them. That was an enormous gift you gave me, trying to help soften a difficult and painful situation by your love and support.

So yes, Mama, I do know that you love me. I feel your immense love for me and my entire family and you will always be in my heart. Thank you so much for everything.

morning gratitude

Suki, the dog, survived her first night here, without incident or accident. Max rose at six am to take her for a walk. Her tail is beating the floor.

The hostas are peeping up, and the hydrangea are budding with alacrity. The daffodils that danced for us as we pulled out of the driveway in late March were still here to greet us, along with a newly blooming cherry tree, and all sorts of hyacinths.

It is the loveliest time of year. During the winter, I muse upon Autumn as my favorite season, but then Spring arrives with such incredible pageantry, and I am smitten. The best thing about travelling east for Passover is that we return to find our home transformed.

What was stark grey and spindly is now softened with bright green. The birds are bursting with pride and anticipation over their newly refurbished nests and the eggs that will soon fill them. It is hard not to be filled with a rush of energy, and the impulse to dig in the earth and help things grow.

Two things I must hasten to help grow are my summer programs for girls - art power, and bloom. More on that later, as I must wake the children.

Enjoy the day!

return to the blogosphere (LONG!)

What a whirlwind...it feels like forever since I last posted.

So, here's a bit of what has been going on in my little corner of the world.

First, I headed to Hope Springs, where I spent a few days with some women I have been getting to know over the past year. I brought my violin along and gave some very small recitals of Beethoven and Rachmaninoff, and improvised along with recordings by Deva Premal and some other new age, far out stuff.

I also did some reiki, although I had been planning not to, for fear of being seen as playing favorites. But people's pain called out to me, and I was thrilled to have some tools with which to respond. A woman with acute abdominal pain told me she suffers from a gall bladder disease, and I was able to place my hands deliberately and lovingly on the gall bladder meridian and focus on giving her some relief. While I did so, another woman asked if she could work in tandem with me, and waved her hands above the first woman's body in ways that I can neither describe nor understand. What I do know is that the first woman was able to get up and go to breakfast, and this is good.

Another woman was clearly struggling to find a comfortable position in which to sit and participate in our firsts evening' circle-shaped discussion group. I went over to her and learned that she was suffering great pain in her knee. Working reiki on her later, I felt tremendous heat radiating around her knee joints, and discovered that supporting and applying focused pressure to the base of the calf provided instant and measurable relief. The woman reported immediate improvement in her comfort level, and the next day said I had helped her feel well enough to sleep through the night when she had feared she would not. She gave me a beautiful mug she had made on a potter's wheel in her basement and glazed in my favorites tones of earthy green and brown.

The second morning there, I noticed a third woman evidencing tremendous difficulty finding a comfortable sitting position. A famous sensualist, she loves massage, so I took a leap and had her climb onto a professional massage table kept on site, and administered an intuitive scalp, neck, shoulder, upper back and foot massage, combined with reiki. At the time, she insisted upon giving me a pair of sparkly crystal earrings she had made herself. Today, I got an email from her, thanking me for having done body work that made a HUGE difference in how well she had continued to feel for the rest of the week at Hope Springs. Boy, did that make me feel good.

In the interim, I have been to Philadelphia and Washington DC with my husband and three children, where we first celebrated Passover with family and then visited every known national memorial, as well as several museums, the zoo, and the cherry blossom festival. Utterly exhausting, but also intensely beautiful and awe inspiring.

Now that we are home, and I have made four laundry loads of progress towards returning to normal, I went out and adopted a dog. But not until first spending the morning reading a surprisingly complex Telemann quartet with three wonderful musicians - two flutists and a cellist - and discovering, somewhere along the way, that I have the most notes by far. Hello! How could this be? Oh, that's right: I'm the one playing the violin. Sigh.

Instead of blogging, I suppose I should be practicing, but I am too wiped to do anything but sit in a terribly slouchy posture and rest my wrists on the edge of the kitchen table and move my fingers around to share a slice of my life with all of you. I just gave Max a strenuous massage. He deserves it; first, he asked very nicely and second, he and his very first real girlfriend broke up last night. My heart bleeds to see him so torn up. But tugging and prodding him seems to have sapped my last drop of energy from me.

Suki, the dog, is stretched out on the cool laminate floor beside me. She is sound asleep. Soon, I will be as well. Then, tomorrow, after a catch up coffee with my long lost local friends, I will resume my attempts to master my part in Respighi's Pines of Rome and the Rachmaninoff 2nd piano concerto. I will do so with greater urgency than I had originally anticipated, seeing as I have just accepted, via email, the invitation to become the sinfonietta's new concertmaster. Now, there is nowhere to hide. I have a lot of notes to learn, and many of them in the high register.

I swear: every time I face another page of really, really high notes to learn, I think "damn, I should have played the viola." But soon enough, I am learning another beautiful piece of violin music, and I am happy again with my choice. I do love the cello rather desperately, and even own one myself, but I soon realized, after purchasing the instrument after my youngest child was born, hiring a baby sitter to let me out of the house for a few lessons, that what I really should do was to brush up my very rusty fiddling skills. It's been a long climb back up, and I still have a way to go before I fully reclaim my former skill set, but I am determined. I figure when a girl gets compared to a Hindu goddess, she isn't about to become a quitter or a sissy.

So, that's what's at the forefront right now: progressing with reiki, practicing the violin, acclimating to dog ownership. Not to mention that it's baseball season, which means four practices a week for my two younger sons, Sam and Isaac. On top of the dance, acting and piano lessons we were already juggling, this is quite a lot for a naturally disorganized woman to handle. Hopefully, the new level of chaos will not cause me to pay bills later than they are due, or fail to register Max for his summer teen trip to Israel, or Sam for his summer camp. I know sosmething will fall between the cracks; it never fails. I owe a client a pair of far out fancy nancy pants, and I owe my memoir mentor another chapter of manuscript. But since I am a mortal, and NOT a Hindu goddess, only possessing two hands and only functioning for a maximum of 18 hours a day, well, it cannot all happen at once.

I've promised to plant sunflower seeds with Isaac tomorrow - he has been asking for eons, but we had to be home to water them every day for the first six weeks at the very least. He no longer remembers the giant sunflowers that shot up in back of the house our first summer here, when he was a toddler. It felt more like a jungle than a garden, so I did not repeat the planting, but now it is time to revisit the phenomena. I wonder what Suki will think of flowers that are nearly twice the height of her owner.

Wow, I am impressed that you read all the way to the bottom of this overdue, oversized blog post. Isn't there perhaps something else you are supposed to be doing? That's all right; I'm sure it can wait. Good Night!