SPITS - Suitcase Diaries

I've got spit on my mind...Tyee Spit, Rebecca Spit and Sidney Spit. It all started in August during my visit to Vancouver Island...

Rod and I spent many twilight nights down at Tyee Spit in Campbell River enchanted by the sight of clusters of small classic rowboats manned by 2 or 3 members, and aspiring members, of the Tyee Club as they fished for salmon. The boats must be rowed. One or two fishermen cast unbaited lines of a specified weight and wait for the tug on their line. If a salmon of over 30lbs is landed in the boat, the angler becomes a member of the Tyee Club.

The age old nature of the pursuit of the salmon transports me to ancient, mythical times. One night as I watch the fishermen/women, I imagine canoes paddling upstream.

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In 2010 Rebecca Spit was covered in jelly fish.

They lurked in its waters making it unfit for swimming, so I wasn't too eager to spend a sunny, warm, perfect for swimming, afternoon at this Quadra Island spit. Incredibly, crystal clear, cool waters greet us. I swim, drinking in soul's refreshment, while Rod and his sister Sue chat and read.

Families, kids and dogs are also enjoying this long-awaited glorious, summer day. It is perfection. I relax like a happy, wet dog (hopefully not as smelly) in the back seat of the car on our way home.

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A few days later, on the drive back to Maple Bay from the Genoa Bay Café, where I shared a delicious fish and chip dinner and a jug of sangria with my friends Irene and Garth, Garth tells me of a film he knows I'll enjoy - OVER BEAUTIFUL BRITISH COLUMBIA: AN AERIAL ADVENTURE. Irene knows that he's offering this evening of cinema, in hopes that it's magic will capture my heart and ensure my return to my spiritual home.

From our comfy chairs, we fly in a bird's eye view over cities, mountains, forests, rivers, waterways and shores. Of all of the scenes that we pass over, Sidney Spit captivates me. As luck would have it I leave for Sidney the next day (Tues) to spend a few days at my friend Marlene's.

At 10 a.m., on Thurs, for a meagre $20, I board the catamaran ferry from downtown Sidney, headed for Sidney Spit.  About 45 people, including a very energetic and enthusiastic public school class and 2 excited dogs enjoy the 30 minute sail. Though I plan to explore for only a few hours, 1 o'clock and 3p.m. sailings pass by.

In 1985 the Purple Martin population was down to
5 breeding pairs. Thanks to the success of the nest box
program, the number went up to 650 breeding pairs,
in the the Strait of Georgia, by 2007.

This is the sandy part of the spit. The upright logs
were placed to decrease the threat of erosion  by
the incoming tides and waves. This is what it looked
like when I arrived...

And this is what the same spot, viewed from the ferry
as we headed home at high tide.
Note: there is much more to the spit than this section; a lovely
forest and field comprises about 2/3rds of it.

I return on the last sailing at 4:30 landing me in downtown Sidney on the last market evening of the season. I count my blessings as pass by stalls filled with sensory delights, as I walk home to Marlene's, tanned from my outing and contentedly munching some doughy, fried delight.

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Sept 8th after witnessing the raising of Hosagami totem pole on the Lieutenant Governor's grounds I go over to see the newly completed carving of The Salmon People that graces the Government House Bandshell but am disappointed when I realize that I can't stay to see its unveiling. A small booklet honouring the event contains the story of THE LEGEND OF THE SALMON PEOPLE explaining why the salmon return annually to the Fraser River.  This carving symbolizes the respectful interrelationship between this beautiful land, its people and animals.

There are different versions of the Salmon people, but I'll tell you the tale from the booklet of a time when the salmon stopped swimming up the river. The animals, who depended on the salmon for food, devised a plan to steal the son of the Chief of the Salmon people who lived, as people, in a village on a beach by the ocean. The animals paddled up the Fraser River (this is the scene depicted in the carving) and Mouse chewed holes in all the canoes; the Salmon people had to transform themselves into fish in order to follow. The animals tossed clothing in each of the tributaries of the river to "entice the salmon up each stream". The salmon have returned every year since then...

And yes, like the Salmon and the Purple Martins, I'll be returning next summer too.

Tales from the nursing home

Last Thursday, in passing a group huddled around the strapping man slumped in his wheelchair I became the witness.

"You're NOT dying." His wife says; her tone slightly exasperated.
"No really, you are so healthy. Remember yesterday? You were going a mile a minute. We couldn't keep up with you." A nurse cajoles him, hoping to shift him out of his funk.
"Maybe all you need is a little hug." A personal care worker leans over his wheelchair, embraces him, rubbing his back as if to deliver the hug even deeper into his being.
The tightly formed group laugh gently in their attempts to rally his spirit.

I know this man, Lorne. I see him almost every time I come to provide Shiatsu for E, a fellow nursing home resident. It's clear to me that he is not his usual self. He is handsome, with thick white hair; possessing a gentle nature and ready, perfect smile. His upright, strong posture is a testament to the once physically fit, vibrant man that he was and so he looks younger than his 70 plus years. The toll of Alzheimer's insidious progression brought him here a few years ago.

But today, his sense of suffering wafts off of him forming a grey wispy cloud that invades the atmosphere. He sits deflated and crumpled, as if the air has been let out of him. Uncharacteristically, he makes no eye contact.

Continuing on my way down the hall I witness another scene playing out unbeknownst to the group clustered around Lorne.

At first all I see is the backs of 2 paramedics. As I come closer they are the model of efficiency, arranging tubes, other life saving equipment and straps on a gurney. Wordlessly, they step into position for transport. An old woman lays under the gurney's white sheet. The practiced calmness of the team and her quiet, acceptance and stillness make it difficult for me to determine her state of emergency.

It is a few days before the full moon; things are afoot. Terrors and fears are shared communally.

*         *        *

The black charge nurse from the West Indies, the eldest of 19 children, is telling tales, laughing and shaking her head. "Imagine that" she says, "a bunch of them throughout the day, insisting that they have to get to the front door. At one time there were 5 from our house and a few others from some of the other 4 houses all lined up in their wheelchairs waiting for the "bus" but nobody could tell us where they were going." She puts her hand on her hip and nods her head with firm assurance, "Just that the bus was going to pick them up."Then she leans over speaking confidentially, "There was no bus. It was a Sunday." 

It's the middle of a cool, starry summer night in 2009. Moonlight shines brightly through the window at the end of the hall, casting eerie shadows upon the carpet. Some residents are roaming about or sleeping restlessly. Mom's been unwell so I've come to maintain vigil outside her doorway; a big armchair serves as a makeshift bed. Periodically I'm awoken from my light drifting as nurses and staff come and go checking vitals, turning and changing Mom as needed. I'm glad that Gail, one of Mom's favourite nurses, has stopped to talk. She takes in stride all that goes on in the home, in the minds of the residents and is respectful of their other-worldly experiences.

"Of course the next day it was as if nothing had happened. Full moons, yup strange things happen on full moons." She walks her cart of meds, drink and snacks down the hall to sooth another soul who's slipped between the veils. "We notice it and so do hospitals." 

*        *        *

A few days later, Mom's greatly improved and so we're getting ready to head out for a "spin". I bundle her into her chair so that she can grab some rays and hopefully watch children playing in the adjacent park. An enormous stuffed dog has appeared at the base of Mom's bed. Did she take it from another resident? Things "have legs" here and this is quite possible. Though how would she have managed to get him in her room without someone noticing? Maybe it's a gift from her "friendly visitor", Jill.

Power animal totems in nursing home

I need to make sure he's where he should be. In an environment where people own so little, someone would definitely be missing him.

Gail tells me, "No, he's a friendly visitor too. We use him to comfort residents when they seem a little beside themselves. They like his size and softness of his fur. He'll stay with her for a while and when she no longer needs him, he'll go on to someone else who does."

Does she realize she's talking about him as if he is animate, I wonder?

The stuffed animals we give to young children serve as their confidants and protectors. Their soft and cheery appearances make them perfect for snuggling and comfort. But in dreamtime they come to life helping the child fend off any terrors of the night by giving them courage, standing beside them or intervening when necessary. They also serve the elderly who drift from one world to the other and in between.

SUITCASE DIARIES - Food - it's just not the same "sniff"

I'm going to be a sucky baby and whine in this entry. I'll tell you why...

Can you say ambiance?

It all started 16 days ago on a lovely, late summer's, evening, Sun Sept 9th when I stepped into the MOSSWOOD HOLLOW RETREAT CENTRE dining room in Duvall, Washington. Most of the Dream Teacher Training I students had already arrived. We began introducing ourselves and chatting casually as we stood before a massive, elegantly set dining table which was as long as the room was wide. The multiple candles shone and glowed off the windows surrounding the space accentuating a warm welcome.

Soon after we were invited to take a place...and we were served the most delicious, delicately flavoured, perfectly plated fare imaginable. And, I mean SERVED.

I've been to many retreat centres. The food, which varies in quality, tends to be wholesome and tasty but at all of the centres self-serve is the order of the day so the plating is whatever I can make of it. Settings are non-existent as it's grab a knife, fork and spoon, give your thanks and have at it. Having worked in kitchens from: dishwasher, to food prep to bussing tables and waitressing, this is no biggie for me. In fact it was difficult at first to allow others to serve me.

I tried to describe how I felt about being served and dining at a beautifully set table to a fellow Shiatsu therapist/friend (who was once a chef herself).

She said, "You felt like you were being honoured. That the work you do is important, supported and valued." That's it exactly! (Just now, I realize that I dreamed this very phrase - deja vu - seriously :) )

In return I truly honoured the food that was presented to me with a silent thanks and an audible, "Oh, this looks (smells, tastes) amazing," or something to that effect, and took my time to savour each bite. We all did. Dining was leisurely and the room filled with stories of our lives and our dreams shared over a glass or two of wine (Picked up on a run into town by some of the group; purchased with contributions of a few bucks donated to the cause.)

Brekkie was the more casual buffet-style which suited me, a night hawk who rouses slowly and delicately, just fine. The serving table was filled with fresh breads, fruit, yogurt and special offers of the day even gluten free pancakes, soy milk for granola and other dietary options were there for the taking. Many of us were asked if we'd like a cheese-free egg dish to be specially prepared; Sandie could whip it up if we so desired. But pancakes, french toast and other items won over my taste buds.

Even the Stellar Jays eat well at
Mosswood Hollow

Every lunch and every dinner 23 dreamers were served; 16 meals in all and each one a treat for the senses. Lunch and dinner came with delicate salads of fresh mixed greens tossed in the lightest of dressings; sometimes topped off with orange, red or yellow edible flowers.

Dessert portions (also served both at lunch AND dinner) were modest, just right to cleanse the palate and leave a gentle sweet taste in my mouth. Ice cream was a popular offering. To my surprise I found Sandie's milk substitute "ice cream" better than the dairy version! Cookies (delicious chocolate chip, warm mmm. Shhh I took 2. Slipped one into a napkin and took it up to my room in "Griffandor" for a late night snack - yum.) a wheat free chocolate cake to die for (Sandie's grandmother's recipe) and the most amazing version of baklava I've ever tasted (I took mini bites to make it last longer!)

Salmon, whitefish, burgers and red meat, Moroccan chicken, asparagus, green beans, tiny perfect potatoes...ah...

SANDIE I miss you!!! It's just not the same.

And thanks so much to Paul, Hilary, Shepherd, "Sam", Dave and anyone I may have missed for all that you did to make me/us feel so welcomed and at home.

I can't wait til next year!

CLICK HERE ON MOSSWOOD HOLLOW RETREAT CENTRE and feast your eyes! Read the whole thing and I dare you not to salivate when you check out MEALS. Oh ya, on OVERNIGHT ACCOMMODATIONS see the top middle picture and the bed in the left corner - that's where I slept in what my room mates and I lovingly called "Griffandor".

SUITCASE DIARIES - Totem Raising

I have returned from a most fabulous 6 week adventure out west; to Vancouver Island and the state of Washington.

I'd hoped to blog about my adventures as I went along my merry way but my way was w-a-a-a-a-a-y too merry for me to put pinkies to keys other than to write to Rod. I have been in a permanent state of :) the whole time. So, over the next few weeks I'll tuck in some of the reports of my adventures through edited letters that I sent his way (You don't want to read the "poopsie, schmoopsie" mushy stuff, do ya?...Didn't think so.)

Here's the overview of the 3 legs of the trip:

1. Rod and I attended the wedding of my niece Tiffany and her hubby Rich and spent the rest of the first 3rd of the visit with family, friends and food with a little trip to Tofino added to the mix - more about that later...NOTE: See blogpost SUITCASE DIARIES - 1 
2. After saying good bye to Rod at Campbell River airport, the purpose of the middle 3rd of my trip was to: visit friends in Maple Bay, Sidney and Victoria; talk about dreams, lead dreamcircles and provide one-on-one dreamwork sessions as well as Shiatsu treatments; and attend events/classes at the Iyengar Centre of Victoria - more about that later...NOTE: See blogpost SUITCASE DIARIES - for Derek and Carole
3. During the last, third, leg of my adventure I attended Dream Teacher Training with ROBERT MOSS at MOSSWOOD HOLLOW in Duval, WA - more about that later... check out my TWITTER feed & AWAKENING CHOICE DREAMS on occasion as many of these entries will show up there.

The entries will appear as the spirit moves me, in no particular order. Just look for SUITCASE DIARIES

Sat, SEPT 8/12

What a fabulous day!!!

I went to Government House this morning with Adelle for the raising of the totem pole carved by Tony Hunt, a member of the well known Hunt family of carvers. This event was part of Victoria's 150th birthday celebration; one of many others happening around the city today.

As we walked through the familiar grounds I told Adele of the nights that Sorel and I would sneak into the gardens after hours just to sit by the pond under a starry sky, talk about our hopes and dreams of the future and pick a few flowers to grace our humble abodes.

And as I watched the gathering crowd, I remembered the summer I spent drawing the native artwork - totems, carvings, the painting on the front of the long house within the exibit, small decorative items amongst other things - in the Museum on the grounds of Thunderbird Park. I remembered seeing the Hunt name associated with many of these works of art. And, as I daily passed through the park, I watched native carvers help a totem pole emerge from a trunk of wood.

Speeches were given by Lt.-Gov Steven Point (of First Nations heritage), Tony Hunt (carver of the pole). Elders and members representing many native communities were invited to speak if so moved.

Hunt mentioned that he was present when his grandfather, Chief Mungo Martin, carved the original Hosaqami totem pole that stood in Portsmouth, England for 30 years. In fact his grandfather gave his young grandson a chisel to help with the work; Tony's initiation into the family craft was begun. The original pole, commissioned in 1959 to commemorate the relationship between the Canadian and British navies, was damaged beyond repair. It was returned to Canada and was laid to rest on the grounds of Government House so that it can, "disappear back to Mother Earth," Hunt said.

This pole was commissioned to honour the original work and to celebrate Queen Elizabeth's Diamond Jubilee. Chief Hunt's son and grandson were amongst the carvers who produced the pole that was raised today making 6 generations carrying on the family tradition.

Hunt talked about Mungo Martin House (Wawadit'la) in Thunderbird Park and the pivotal role it played in lifting the ban on the Potlatch ceremony (from Wikipedia - "Potlatch, in Chinook jargon refers to the "different ceremonies among [the] many nations of the Pacific Northwest that... [include] feasting, dancing and giving gifts to all in attendance."[1]) which had been banned in Canada in1884. Amongst the "reasons" for the ban listed in Wikipedia I found this one very interesting - "this behaviour was deemed possibly as a destabilizing force in the nation because it was so dramatically opposed to the values of the ideal "Christian capitalist society"[2]...


As I understand it, when the building of Wawadit'la was finished in 1953, Wilson Duff (the museum's anthropology curator at the time) commented that now the house was complete. Chief Mungo said that it wouldn't be a real house until a Potlatch was held to honour and empower it - setting the wheels of repeal into motion. The opening ceremony for the house was the first time a potlatch was "legally" held after the ban was removed from the Indian Act. (The ban was virtually impossible to enforce. Hunt and many others continued to risk being arrested, during that time, as participants in potlatches in many First Nations communities throughout the province.)

The pole lay face-down. Ropes wrapped around it connecting it to pulleys and stabilizing trees. Two elders came forth and chanted to begin the ceremony. Elders, veterans, carvers and other first nation's people in the crowd were asked to help pull the pole into position.

But before this, Point, noticing a granite outcropping in front of the stand, encouraged the children to come close, sit upon it so that they could have a better view from which to serve witness so that they might one day tell their grandchildren of this most historic event; that they were there. He said, "This pole reminds us that different cultures need to live in harmony"...  it represents... "a new time for us all to stand in the same circle." In his powerful voice he chanted a song to B.C., our home. (I got a CD of it, profits from sales are going to help young women living on the street).

I held my breath during the initial attempts as the pole hovered at a low angle, the ropes creaked as it swayed and then returned to the cradle with a "thud". Patiently, the group co-ordinated their effort, guided by a man on the mic. The pole began to rise; he told them to stop as the thunderbird (eagle) came into view so that he might comment on it. They resumed, "stop" he said, as the whale below came into view and we saw the hole that Lt.-Gov Point contributed to the effort. They resumed, "stop" he said again as the pole leaned, so close to being upright. He announced,"I'm going to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back." Laughter rippled through the anxious crowd. I've come to learn that ceremony isn't complete without humour.

When the pole was firmly upright, I moved to the rock beside the statue of Sir James Douglas (also commissioned for the Queen's Silver Jubilee and unveiled on May 21/12, sculpted by Armando Barbon who was in attendance and introduced to the crowd) to get a better vantage point. The drumming, singing and dancing began (Hunt's son and grandson dancing proudly with the others) as a young eagle flew overhead and the scent of pines wafted through the air on a light, cool breeze.

Unfortunately I couldn't stay for the rest of the celebration (a feast of salmon, bannock and more) and the unveiling of THE SALMON PEOPLE a carving gracing the face of the bandshell, as I had to get ready for my trip on the walk-on ferry to Seattle on Sunday.

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1.^ Lutz, John. “After the Fur Trade: The Aboriginal Labouring Class of British Columbia, 1849-1890” in Labouring Canada: Class, Gender, and Race in Canadian Working-Class History, ed. Brian D. Palmer & Joan Sangster. Don Mills, Ontario: Oxford University Press, 2008. P.26

2. ^ibid P.28

Suitcase Diaries - for Derek & Carole

©Nance Thacker '82
appeared in Yoga Center of Victoria Newsletter
around the same year
click on item to enlarge

I'm going all over the map as I write about my trip on Vancouver Island but what the hell it's my blog, eh!?

Today I had truly wonderful and amazing experiences. What particularly warmed my heart was the open house at the Iyengar Yoga Centre of Victoria. There I sat with a former teacher of mine, Carole Miller, amongst a crowd of students, yoga centre teachers and staff members listening to my yoga teacher Shirley Daventry French along with her husband Derek French - an anatomy teacher of ours during my yoga teacher training and mentorship days - talk about the benefits of yoga.

I hadn't seen Derek since '86 when I left the island. I ran into Carole at an event at the synagogue 2 years ago and I last attended Shirley's class this past Thursday morning.

In true French fashion the presentation was peppered with spontaneous humorous asides. As I listened I was reminded of interactions and creative collaborations with Derek that ended up in the Yoga Centre of Victoria Newsletter such as the yoga snakes and ladders game and the letters to the editor that went back and forth between us - I recall one I wrote in which I took offense to his term "paste-up gang".

Derek French & Shirley Daventry-French

Ann Kilbertus, Shirley & Carole Miller

During his talk Derek recalled a particular cartoon, that I thought I'd entered into my pictures the day before I left for this trip but have discovered is not in my stash. I will find it upon my return and post it later. But there was also reference to "newness" the term coined by Norma Hodge (the teacher who introduced Iyengar yoga to Shirley and Derek during that eventful stay at Yasodhara Ashram that started the whole ball rolling) for the sensation - often confused for, but which is not pain, that one can feel during asana practice.

©Nance Thacker '85
published in the Yoga Centre of Victoria around that time
click on image to enlarge

And, after the talk Carole mentioned some cartoons I'd done prompted by her experiences as a young mother trying to maintain a daily practice as a householder with a husband and twins.

So, this one's for Derek and Carole
P.S Carole's kids were responsible for the cartoon that appeared in this blog post AHIMSA & REFLECTION ON VIOLENCE

Suitcase diaries - 1

Hi all,

Since Aug 8th I have been travelling on Vancouver Island and having w-a-a-a-a-a-a-y too much fun in the process to write my blog entries.

Rod and I came out for our niece's wedding in Campbell River and stayed there for 16 days venturing out to local haunts, visiting with family members and eating w-a-a-a-a-a-y too much. Mid way into the visit we drove out to Tofino and stayed there for 2 nights. Rod returned home on the 24th to a heart warming poo and puke filled welcoming from PBG and Tiny Perfection while I've stayed out here spending time in Maple Bay (in North Cowichan), Sidney and now the Cook village neighbourhood (my old stompin' grounds) in Victoria. On Sunday I'll head over to Mosswood for Dream Teacher Training with Robert Moss.

*       *       *

Rod and I, along with his brother (Rog), his wife (Di) and our nephew (Shaun) and (Meaghan) his wife (does that make her my neice?) ... were welcomed at the airport by Rod's parents "the folks" and his sister (Sue) and her hubby (Paul).

During hysterical greetings we were gifted with sugar donuts that Sue had purchased from the "donut lady" at the COMOX VALLEY FARMERS MARKET the previous Sat. On Sat the 18th a pilgrimage to find and honour fresh sugar donuts and their maker was in order so we made the trek to the market to find ORGANIC ACRES - THE JAM LADY.

Although the sign says THE JAM LADY
she'll always be the DONUT LADY to me.

It's all so delicious looking but it's the donuts
that are calling my name!!!

The Jam/Donut Lady shows me this cartoon
- a synchronic moment!

As I dug into one of her tasty warm sugar treats I said, "You know in Hawai'i some people are greeted with leis, garlands of flowers, but at the Comox airport we were greeted with a bag of your donuts. I think that they should make leis our of your donuts."
She says, "Funny you should mention that. I have a cartoon in my cash box of a guy walking out of a bakery with donuts strung around his neck. The caption reads, "we ran out of bags". And, since I found that I've been looking for plastic donuts to string around my neck to wear at the market."

I see the name of the entertainer and am reminded
of my wonderful time in Hawai'i earlier this year.
Ah... all island life is magical!

We are asked to take a survey in this most fun way.

On the WHERE DO YOU LIVE? card
I am the little red dot at the bottom in OTHER.

We leave the market, on this most sunny day, to go in to Courtney in search of...more food which we find in abundance at MICHAEL'S OFF MAIN BREAKFAST LUNCH AND CHEESECAKE. Though the food looks and is delicious (I'm told); too satisfyingly stuffed with donut, I simply have coffee and watch as Rod and Sue chow down.

I know the date says 2010 but we made an encore
visit during this trip too

Somehow, on our way to the car our olfactory senses and taste buds are serenaded by HOT CHOCOLATE'S chocolates so, of course we have to answer the call. Though it seems impossible for me to eat another bite, I somehow manage to savour a peanut butter truffle.

And, the car groans as we motor our way back to Campbell River.

FOR THOSE INTERESTED IN DREAMWORK AND DREAM HEALING check out my latest blog entry at AWAKENING CHOICE DREAMS

I get it now!

As a housesitter in Victoria in the early '80's, I moved from house to house every few weeks. When I could have been stranded between residences, I was always offered an extended stay of an extra day or even week at the beginning or end of a sit; in most cases, this was enough to fill the gap.

But, when the periods between houses were of longer duration, free accommodation was offered to me by my friends Bud on Moss St in Victoria, and Jim and Jennifer in Esquimalt; I am ever grateful to them for their kindness.

I am also grateful to Swami Radha for allowing me to stay in whatever room was free at Shambhala House Victoria (now called Radha House in honour of Swami Radha) on such occasions.

In '78 I was a temporary resident at Yasodhara Ashram. When it came time for me to leave, my big concern was how do I bring what I have learned into my life in the world. How do I integrate it into a real world model? Swami Radha knew that this was a common challenge of spiritual seekers and she opened these houses with the intention that they enable people to "stay in touch with their ideals while living in the world". Shambhala House offered (and I took part in) classes in dreamwork, kundalini yoga, satsang and other aspects of yogic self-study. Spiritual practices weren't relegated solely to the support and isolation of an ashram, as their purpose was enrich one's daily life, daily practice was essential and these programs provided continuity.

It was at this house that I became acquainted with the use of mantra outside of its identification as a formal practice during satsang and meditation. Swami Padmananda and other residents (who came and went, including Swami Radha) would go about the house humming or singing the repetitive refrains of their favourite chants while they washed dishes, wrote, cooked and went about their daily chores. When they weren't chanting (or Swami Radha wasn't present), Swami Radha's beautifully delicate, vibrato emanated from tape decks playing Hari Om, Om Namah Sivaya and others; the house was filled with monotonic sound.

Being of a different generation, I can't truly say that I appreciated the power and value of chanting day in and day out at that time. On the rare occasions when the house was my own, my exuberant nature couldn't be contained and I danced through the house and sang with enthusiastic abandon to the tunes of John Denver, the Blues Brothers, Boz Skaggs, Billie Holliday, Eric Carmen, Janis Joplin, Kenny Rankin, jazz, rock and the blues.

© Nance Thacker 1982
click on image to enlarge
(Shiva is considered a destroyer of obstacles)

But I get it now! Having lived a few more decades as I truly seek to bringing forth compassion in action and free myself from delusions and negative emotions, I find myself chanting silently or quietly - Om Tare Tuttare Ture Soha (This softer, gentler chant to the white Tara of compassion was recommended to me as being a better balance for my nature than Om Namah Sivaya which I had been chanting to Siva the God of destruction.), or the Gayatri mantra - which I learned much later in the '90's after falling in love with this version which I first heard played during a savasana in a yoga class...