Category: religion

art, religion, travel, yoga

Step 178: Greek Expectations

Christa Avampato

“The proper response to a great work of art is to enter into it as though there were nothing else in the world.” ~ Huston Smith, religious scholar, on the occasion of his 90th birthday

I’m leaving for the airport in a few hours to head to Santorini, Greece for a yoga retreat with Shiva Rea. Because I’ve never been on a yoga retreat, I’m a little nervous about what I may find. Is it really a personal journey or is it a collective group journey? Is it both, and if so, where is the line? Is my purpose to connect with others or to tap into my own sense of well-being?

In preparation for my trip to Greece, I stopped into the Rubin Museum of Himalayan Art yesterday. They have a set of exhibits now that reflect many of yoga’s historical and spiritual teachings that I studied while in my training program. There were Kali and Durga and Shiva. There were the familiar and powerful lotus and warrior asanas. The sculptures that truly captured my attention depicted Vasudhara, the Buddhist goddess of abundance.

“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” said a voice behind me.

George, a museum guide, appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He must have noticed how taken I was with the Vasudhara statue. With his kind eyes and seemingly unlimited knowledge of Hinduism and Buddhism, George walked me through the exhibit on the 3rd floor, giving me historical context, explaining the casting process of the sculptures, and describing the meaning of the intricate details of each piece. He closed out impromptu tour by explaining that Heaven and Hell are not considered destinations to Hindus and Buddhists; they are within. They are a daily choice.

I thought about that idea as I walked through the other floors of the exhibit. A question came to me as I looked at some of the other installations. I went back down to the 3rd floor to ask George about it. He was gone. Nowhere to be found (and the Rubin Museum is a very small museum with nowhere to hide.) It’s possible he went on break or maybe his shift was over.

For a second, I thought maybe he had been placed there just for me. He showed up just when I needed him, even though I didn’t know that I needed him, and he enriched my experience. Our encounter showed me that it’s possible to be on your own road and still connect to others in a meaningful way. Maybe the two are not separate at all. Just show up with everything we’ve got, as if there is nothing else in front of us except this next step, and see what we find. A little real-time foreshadowing for what’s to come in Greece? I hope so!

I’ll be off the grid while I’m away. I’ll be writing every day in my notebook and sharing those experiences when I return on July 5th. Να είναι καλά!

home, religion, yoga

Step 114: Little Altars Everywhere

Christa Avampato

After a few months of thinking about creating an altar, I finally made one. It’s simple: no extra furniture required, a colorful cloth dish towel, 2 tea lights and holders, 2 small Chinese Buddha statues, a Nataraj statue, a Ganesha statue, some sage leaves, incense matches, a tiny bowl ceramic bowl from Japan that my friend, Rob, gave to me, a mala bracelet, and a set of Tibetan prayer beads that were given to me by a Buddhist priest in Salt Lake City. S small blue bindi from my teacher, Tracy, sits in the center.

All of a sudden, it all came together. I finally just decided it needed to be done, and the pieces fell into place with practically no effort on my part. A friend of mine in my teacher training told me about a store called Scent Elate in Hell’s kitchen. There I found two of the statues of Nataraj and Ganesha, as well as the matches and the sage (which were a gift from Mo, the owner of Scent Elate). I bought the mala bracelet in Whole Foods on a recent grocery shopping trip. The two Buddhas I bought in San Francisco’s Chinatown a long time ago. Along with the Tibetan prayer beads, those two Buddha statues survived my apartment building fire. In many ways I felt that they protected my life. Despite that they were out in the open, surrounded by smoke, there was never a speck on them and they didn’t ever smell of smoke. I found the tea lights, tea light holders, and towel at Crate and Barrel while redeeming a $15 gift card.

I love this altar in my home and it reminds me that everywhere out in the world, we can find little altars, places where we have tiny, holy moments that show us the way to enormous learnings. Ella’s community lemonade stand. Each of those gorgeous flowering tress in Riverside Park. The tables of restaurants where I share meals and laughs with friends. My tiny cafe table where I do most of my writing. The flower bed that used to be in my grandmother’s backyard. My niece’s high chair where I’ve fed her meals. These are little places where the universal divine rose up to the surface to show me the way. My way.

If you’re out in the world finding places that provide you with little glimmers of truth, I’d love to hear about them.

Easter, holiday, religion, Spring

Step 94: Easter

Christa Avampato

Easter Sunday – this was always my favorite holiday when I was a kid. We would all pack up and go to my Grammy’s house. We’d eat a delicious meal, followed by lots of candy. We’d hang out and the flowers would be blooming as everyone smiled in their very best Sunday clothes. Every Easter I spend some time remembering those times, missing them, and so grateful that we had that time together.

Because of all of my yoga training this weekend I didn’t go home for Easter this year. This morning I got an e-card from my mom that concluded with “Happy Easter. Happy Spring. Happy Everything.” All religious affiliations aside, that’s how I think of Easter. A time to wish everyone ‘happy everything’. (And I have to say I’ve been thoroughly impressed with the incredible e-cards I’ve been getting lately. They are elaborate and stunning. I’d like to keep them in an on-line library of some kind! Check out Blue Mountain cards and Jacquie Lawson.)

I also received a message from my friend, Moya, about her upcoming trip to DC. She wished me a Happy Easter along with this message, “I like the idea of sacrifice and of enduring and being rewarded in the end.” I’m with Moya and her beautiful sentiment. Everyday we make sacrifices for the sake of the long-haul. We hope all of our hard work and effort pay off in the long-run even when that hope seems foolish in the short-run. Easter reminds us that persevering in the face of difficulty, keeping the faith when we have no practical reason to do so, and continuing to show up with the very best we have to offer today despite the troubles we faced yesterday and will likely face tomorrow, has a magic, a power that just cannot be explained rationally. It’s just pure faith.

I love Easter and Spring because they show us that our future, our own re-birth, is in our hands AND helped along by a mystical, beautiful, universal energy. Whether you celebrate Easter as a religious holiday or not, I hope that this sense of possibility and the beauty of burgeoning life after a very long winter is yours today and every day going forward. Happy Easter. Happy Spring. Happy Everything.

The image above is not my own. I can be found here.

education, learning, politics, religion

Step 3: Things I Don’t Know

Christa Avampato

Last night I was settling back in to my New York apartment while the wind whistled through my windows. It was so loud at one point that I couldn’t sleep so I flipped on the TV to CNN. Chistiane Amanpour was reporting about Muslim radical extremists in the U.K. Though I watch the news regularly and read several newspapers, there are some topics that still confuse me. The complex network of Muslim radical extremist groups is one of them. I know all the vocabulary though I don’t know how it all hangs together. And this bothers me.

I started thinking about all of the things that I know just a little about, and how much it bothers me to have holes in my knowledge. I don’t like the phrase “I know enough just to be dangerous.” I’d much prefer to know enough so as not be dangerous but be able to speak intelligently on a topic.

In this new year, there are a few topics that I’d really like to dig into and understand in depth. Here are a few of them:

1.) WHAT – I know little to nothing about Islam and its many factions. I’d like to take a small step toward piecing together the popular vocabulary that surrounds this religion. It’s influence is growing in leaps and bounds, dominating our news waves. I should understand it more clearly if I’m to have a greater understanding of our own foreign policy.

HOW – My friend, Amy, is very well-versed in the topic so I’m going to ask her to give me a little crash course during one of our catch-ups. I’ll also ask her for some primer books, blogs, and news services that would be a good reference for me.

2.) WHAT – I’ve been practicing yoga for a decade though have not read some of the sacred texts that serve as its base. I also don’t know the Sanskrit names for all of the asanas (poses).

HOW – At the end of February I am going to begin a very intense yoga teacher training program to master this material. Every other weekend, I’ll be practicing 9 hours on Saturday and 9 hours on Sunday, for 14 weeks. In addition, the program also requires meeting 3 times per week after work, independent reading and writing assignments, and class attendance at the studio once per week. It is a rigorous program that will require a great deal of focus, though my passion for the art and science of yoga will make the rigor a welcome circumstance.

3.) WHAT – The news stories I love most are those that showcase the Power of One. I’d love to read more of these stories in 2010 to understand the psychology of this personality type, and there are a few people that particularly intrigue me. There are several sources that catalog the journeys of these kind of people. Two I particularly like are NBC’s Making a Difference segment and Dafna Michaelson’s 50 in 52 Journey.

HOW – I’ve ordered a few books that share the stories of Geoffrey Canada, the Founder of Harlem Children’s Zone, and William Kamkwamba, the 14 year old in Malawi who built a windmill for his family armed only with a local library book. These are incredible stories of people who saw a need in their communities and set to work to meet that need with little or no resources except their own ingenuity and passion. Could anything be more inspiring?

religion, The Journal of Cultural Conversation, travel

The Journal of Cultural Conversation – Lessons in Spirituality and Why I Hugged a Tree Yesterday

Christa Avampato

This is a post by my writing pal, Laura, on her latest adventure in Peru. Enjoy!


I grew up in a very Catholic household. Before my super cool mom married my equally remarkable dad, she was a nun. I won’t elaborate – that should explain most of it.

For the full post, click here.
change, faith, religion

My Year of Hopefulness – Holy Water

Christa Avampato

In the center of Cartago there is a church known as La Basilica de la Virgen de los Angeles. In 1635, it is told that a statue of the Virgin was found in the forest by an Indian girl. She took it home and put it in a box. When she returned to the forest the next day, she found the statue again in the same place. When she went home, the statue was gone from the box. This same sequence of events happened to her several more times. She told her priest about the miracle and he took the statue from the forest and locked it in a box in his church. The statue performed the same miracle, and so it was decreed that the Virgin must have wanted a church built over that very spot in the forest.

On August 2nd every year, Costa Ricans come to La Basilica as a pilgrimage, some walking for days across the country and crawling on their knees from the start of the aisle up to the altar. Several of us went to the church yesterday and today to witness the extreme devotion that Costa Ricans feel for this church and for the Virgin Mary. They come here to ask for help and healing and peace and luck, something we can all use a little more of. There is a river that flows under the church and there is a small spring where people collect the holy water in bottle, wash their faces in it, and drink it as an elixir of all things in their lives that they wish to come true, things that they wish to change.

I am not a religious person, and haven’t been for a long time, though I do find religion to be a compelling area of study and I do believe fervently in a higher purpose and power. I do believe we are all connected; my religion is simply kindness. Hearing the miracles that the church has performed for people in Costa Rica, I felt compelled to pay my respects, to ask the Universe for help me now at this time in my life as I make big changes to transform it into the life I want to live, and I did wash my face in the holy water.

Sometimes, we must accept that there are things that do not make sense to us, things that happen and sources of power that we cannot see nor explain. I don’t know if the Virgin appeared in the forest and I don’t know that a church needed to be built on that site in Cartago. I do know that faith is a very powerful feeling, that it is capable of accomplishing that which we cannot possibly accomplish without it. I do believe in our ability to change, and every once in a while I believe that miracles really do happen. Today, was one of those days.

I left the church and I did feel a little bit more brave as I headed back to the house. Perhaps bravery and our ability to change that which we do not like in our lives is a miracle in and of itself.

death, dying, gratitude, happiness, peace, religion

My Year of Hopefulness – Trinity Churchyard

Christa Avampato

A happy side effect of losing close family members at a young age is that I never feel uncomfortable with the concept of death. I often talk to my relatives who have crossed-over. I think about them all of the time; I find reminders of them everywhere; I feel their presence in my daily life. On and off in my life I’ve done volunteer work in nursing homes, with hospice, and in critical care facilities in hospitals. It’s something I’m considering doing again – there’s so much to be learned about life from the dying.

Because of my comfort with death and dying, I find comfort in places like cemeteries. They’re such peaceful places. On my lunch break yesterday, I went to do an errand and went past Trinity Churchyard, this tiny plot of land that sits at the corner of Wall Street and Broadway. It’s a small green haven among the concrete and constant construction in the area. It is the final resting place for a number of famous New Yorkers, Alexander Hamilton being the most iconic figure there. I couldn’t resist stepping inside for a moment. Once I crossed through the gate, the noise of the city seemed to dissipate. I don’t know how that happened. The sunshine seemed a little brighter, the air felt a little sweeter. It actually felt homey.
Much to my relief, many other people were seated on the benches that are dotted along the cemetery paths. People enjoying their lunch, talking with friends, sitting quietly, thinking. It was a sweet thing to see the living and the dead co-exist in such an easy harmony. It’s exactly what a final resting place should be.
I felt drawn to take a look into Trinity Church as well. I felt like I was peeking into someone’s home. It’s a fairly small church when compared to the likes of St. Pat’s or St. John the Divine, but it feels warmer, like a place where you could take your problems and worries and ask for help. In the main hall, I felt like I was so close to something holy, a kind and empathic ear.
In the back of the church there is a small chapel meant for quiet contemplation and prayer. There was a man at the front weeping, softly. He must be going through a very hard time. I lit one of the candles just outside the chapel and took a seat in the back. I thanked God for helping me through these last few weeks, offered up my immense gratitude for my wonderful friends and family who have been so supportive and helpful.
Just before I left, I found myself saying a little prayer for the man at the front of the chapel. I don’t know him, will probably never know him. I don’t know what he’s going through but it must be something very difficult. I prayed that the same strength I’ve found in the past few weeks will touch him as well, that somehow the strength and positive outlook that’s been such a gift to me will find its way to him also. With all of the abundant blessings in my own life, I felt that it was the least I could do.
faith, hope, love, relationships, religion, yoga

My Year of Hopefulness – Is Human Connection More Powerful than Prayer?

Christa Avampato

“The way is not in the sky. The way is in the heart.” ~ Buddha

How often do we raise our eyes to the sky and ask for help? I find myself doing that from time to time. Today I got word from a partner of mine on one of my projects that we are facing some critical obstacles. I asked if there was anything I could do to help. “Pray,” she said. “Lots.”

Now, I know she’s doing much more than praying. She’s actually working her tail off, jumping through dozens of hoops to keep us moving forward. I find that with any trying circumstance, the default solution is to pray. But what are we really doing when we pray? What am I doing as I go to my yoga mat in times of distress? What am I asking for and who am I asking it of?

Maybe prayer is better directed not up towards the sky, out of our reach. Perhaps it’s much more powerful if we turn in and not out. When I go to my yoga mat and create an intention for my practice, I’m asking for help and guidance and assurance. I’m tapping into my creative well. I’m actually searching for my soul and its wisdom. It’s an overwhelming idea if I think about it too long. Can we actually tap into the energy and light around us, all around us, by looking in?

My experience has demonstrated than the answer to this question is a resounding ‘yes’. Yoga and Buddhism have some basic tenants that I try to keep at the forefront of my mind, especially during difficult times: 1) the world will provide us the exact learning that we need at the exact moment that we need it and 2) to tap into the energy around us we must recognize that while we live in this world, we are not of it. Our souls are old. They have been through many trials. They are the ties that bind us to one another. They have knowledge far beyond what we carry within our minds and our own limited experiences. Meditation, yoga, or any other contemplative practice bring that soul knowledge to our consciousness.

While in Virginia, I used to teach yoga classes at my business school. They were my small way of making the stress that all of us felt in our studies a bit more manageable. (This Winter I’ll begin my 500 hours certification process. It will be a long road, though one I have wanted to be on for some time now.) I would close each class with a simple statement to my students that a teacher of mine used to use: “the light that is in me, honors that the light that is in you.” I’ve found that connecting with people, one heart to one heart right here on the ground, has brought me more lasting joy and peace than raising my eyes and prayers to the sky. I have more faith in us and what we can do together, here and now, than I do in anything else.
The image above can be found here.
faith, New York City, religion

My Year of Hopefulness – One tiny step toward faith

Christa Avampato

“For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I in the midst of them.” ~ Matthew 18:20

I stopped going to church a long time ago. I felt let down by organized religion, constrained and burdened by being called a sinner no matter how good I was. I found faith on my yoga mat, in nature, in people – no church-going required. Lately, I’ve felt the need to find a place where I can go to be only with my spirituality, to feel that I am close to something divine, a place big enough to store my troubles while I sort them out.

Tonight, I stopped by the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine because it’s beautiful and I like the way the choir sounds. I went to the 4:00 Evensong. They didn’t sound quite as good as they did during their rehearsal last week, though I still felt some kind of comfort being there with other people who were also there to listen to the music. I was able to pray and ask for help and strength for the coming week, and felt lighter when I left than when I entered.

Just outside the cathedral, the white peacock that lives on the grounds was strutting around the church green. I had previously only seen him from a distance. He’s beautiful, with a long, flowing tail, and a crown of slight feathers. I whistled a very soft whistle, and to my surprise he came running toward me.

A woman next to me, looking at the peacock, asked, “?Como se dice en ingles?”

I speak a tiny bit of Spanish and replied, “peacock.”

“!cómo extraño! En español, decimos pavo.” (How weird. In Spanish, we say “pavo”.)

I nodded, not knowing what else to say and a little embarrassed by my very limited Spanish vocabulary (which ironically I was working on just a few hours prior to my visit to the Cathedral.)

She continued, “Que la iglesia no es hermosa? Es como en el cielo existe.” (Isn’t the church beautiful? It’s like Heaven in there.)

I agreed with her, “Sí. Es como el cielo.”

I wondered how she knew what Heaven looked like. She seemed a little kooky and I was reminded of that show Touched by an Angel that I used to watch with my mom when I was a kid. The woman smiled and left me alone with the peacock.

I don’t know if this is the start of a new chapter of faith for me. I do know that it was nice to be in the presence of something larger than my own existence for a while, a place that gave me a small glimpse of what Heaven might be like.

career, economy, faith, fear, health, job, religion

My Year of Hopefulness – Cathedral of Saint John the Divine

Christa Avampato

Yesterday, I found myself leaving the emergency room of St. Luke’s Hospital. I had developed a “subconjunctival hemorrhage” and a slight amount of “petechiae”. This is a fancy way of saying a very small blood vessel popped in my left eye and I had a few tiny red freckles around both of my eyes. I was panicked that I was experiencing the beginning of a very serious medical condition. Turns out that all of my blood work and diagnostic tests came back completely normal. I’ll just look a little weird for a week or so.

I called my mom to update her and let her know that nothing was seriously wrong with me. I wandered down the street, into the children’s sculpture garden of the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine. As I was explaining to my mom that I was just fine, I found myself tearing up. Maybe they were tears of relief, or fear, or maybe it was frustration with the week I had just finished. Over the past few days I have discovered many more of my friends have lost their jobs. I’m beginning to wonder how I’ve been so fortunate to escape that situation in this economy. I work very hard, though not any harder than my friends who have been let go from their positions. I’m beginning to think that luck has a lot to do with it.

I sat in that sculpture garden for about 20 minutes and had a good cry. The sun had come out, the wind was blowing, and I felt lost. I’m worried about the uncertainty we’re all facing, despite the fact that I have managed uncertainty so many times before. I feel like the ground is shifting beneath our economy, and there is no sign of it settling down any time soon. I was angry for my friends who have been let go from their jobs – hard working, talented people who were seen as a line item on a company’s excel spreadsheet, an expense rather than a resource and an investment. I felt shaken.

I had never really looked at that giant sculpture next to Saint John the Divine. It’s a collaborative piece of work based on Noah’s Ark and the triumph of good over evil. The Cathedral has been closed for some time for renovations and recently re-opened. I was weary from my hospital visit though felt drawn into that incredible cathedral. I wandered in and it was nearly empty. The choir was practicing and I felt drawn to sit in the center of the space, letting that beautiful music wrap around me like a warm hug. Though I am not a religious person, I felt that God was very close to me at that moment, that he knew what I was going through, and wanted to help.

I let my eyes tear up again, I was cemented to that seat, transfixed by the music. After a little while I got up and walked around the edge of the cathedral, stopping to look at each of the small chapels. The light shone through them so brilliantly. I had never seen stained glass that colorful and perfect. By the time the choir stopped, I got to The Poet’s Corner, a small area that pays tributes to literary greats such as Mark Twain, Herman Melville, and Gertrude Stein. They each had their names and birth date engraved into a stone, along with a quote they famously wrote.

One quote particularly caught my attention. Theodore Roethke said, “I learn by going where I have to go.” I thought about this quote all the way home. It reminded me that I have places I need to be, where I’ve committed to be, and there are things for me to learn there and to take somewhere else. Today, I just need to do what I have to do. The acts of hope and faith are a daily process. Just keep showing up.

The image above can be found here.