She is also a singer/songwriter and award-winning children's performer.

(Published in The Ottawa Citizen, Ottawa, Canada)

Hawaii's 'sacred' massage: It feels like waves on the ocean and the therapist dances while administering it. When is a massage a spiritual experience? When it's Lomi Lomi, writes Wendy DeMos

The Lomi Lomi Massage

By Wendy DeMos

Though I've tried almost every type of massage from shiatsu to Thai to your basic Swedish -- and they all have superb qualities -- none has lifted me to such exquisite serenity as the Lomi Lomi.

Other massage techniques are meant to relax or heal or balance chakras, the "energy centres" of the body. Lomi Lomi is meant to "open your connection to God, enhance your intuition and help you grow as a spiritual being and become more enlightened," says Jaime Constable, my Lomi Lomi massage therapist at the Provision Centre in Ottawa.

Sounds like a tall order for a massage. Whatever it's meant to do on a physical, emotional or spiritual level, it feels fabulous -- and it's catching on all over North America and Europe.

Lomi Lomi is a full-body massage, done on a massage table, just like a regular massage. I lie directly on the surface of the table, but under a sheet, first lying on my front. Halfway through the treatment I roll over onto my back.

What is different about Lomi Lomi compared with other massage styles is that Ms. Constable often works under the body, between the back and the table. That's when it most feels like ocean waves caressing me. The sweeping motions that Ms. Constable makes so effortlessly feel like they have lifted me into another time and space.

What's almost as amazing is that Lomi Lomi is done mostly with the arms and not the hands. Rather than fingers, Ms. Constable uses her forearms and upper arms to slip under my body -- between my back and the table -- and create the wavelike motions.

In fact, most of the massage is done with long strokes using her forearms and upper arms. To sweep under my body comfortably and effortlessly, Ms. Constable uses lots of massage oil, so be ready for a shower afterward.

Where did this new massage style come from? This particular type of Lomi comes from the Island of Kauai, where the Lomi Lomi is considered a rite of passage ceremony, says Ms. Constable.

In ancient times as well as now, the shaman of the village receives a vision of who is next to receive the Lomi, she says. That person comes to the temple and receives Lomi from four to six people for eight hours to several days.

Now I could go for that. I'll set aside a few days for continual Lomi Lomi and report back once I come back down to Earth.

Those who feel like they're in a trendy New Age spa when their massage therapist puts on a little Enya music will broaden their holistic horizons even further when they first encounter Lomi Lomi.

"Whenever I do any form of healing, I always set a sacred space," Ms. Constable explains. She also clears the space with smudge or incense.

After this, she "sets the energy" for the Lomi Lomi session and dances around the table to "bring myself into alignment with the energy and with the client."

She calls this movement the Flying Dance. It is performed at the beginning and end of the session.

I don't notice anything but hear a bit of rustling around the table. I was in another world. A blissful one.

Most practitioners learn Lomi Lomi as apprentices, says Perth-area practitioner Alani Kuzma. The form it takes varies from one place to another in Hawaii. Some practitioners might place warm stones on the person receiving Lomi, for example. The techniques are passed down in families in Hawaii, much like some families pass down a signature lasagna recipe, says Ms. Kuzma.

The dance is an integral part of Lomi, but the form it takes varies from one practitioner to another. Some therapists use a variety of the hula dance, while Ms. Kuzma uses a form of temple dance.

Her record for giving a Lomi Lomi massage is 10 consecutive hours. "The legend is that Lomi would go on from one to 15 days -- until there was no tension left in the muscles. It was like a fresh start."

She describes it as very gentle and not like deep tissue work, although some therapists may work on stubborn knots in the muscle."It's like water wearing away rock," says Ms. Kuzma. "And it's so soothing."

Lomi Lomi is relatively new to Ottawa, and to Ms. Constable. She began training last March when she saw a demonstration in New York and was immediately intrigued, drawn initially to the dance element.

"I consider each Lomi Lomi a sacred experience, a spiritual experience. I often go into a meditative state while in session, feeling the flow of the energy, and being sensitive to what the client is needing each moment," she says.

"My clients have described their experience to me in many ways. Most often people say they feel as though they are being cradled in their mother's arms, that it is nurturing and powerful. They feel safe and cared for. It has been compared to floating on an ocean with the waves caressing the body."

Sometimes she works with other practitioners such as Ms. Kuzma, and they do group Lomi Lomi sessions. "It allows people to go deep and let go of the stress," she says.

Ms. Constable also receives Lomi body work and says it's been very powerful."It isn't often as an adult that we are held in so sacred and loving a space," she says.

Jaime Constable can be reached at the Provision Centre, 375 Richmond Rd. 715-9088. Her Lomi Lomi treatments start at $60.

Other Lomi Lomi practitioners in Ottawa include Samantha Ireland at 613-233-4151, Angela Thomas at 613-277-0532 and Alani Kuzma, who will be running a week-long intensive Lomi Lomi training program in January. For more information call at 613-326-0614.

Wendy DeMos is an Ottawa singer/songwriter, freelance writer and massage therapy aficionados.

(Published in The Ottawa Citizen, Ottawa, Canada)

Just my kind(ness): Kindness as a way of life

By Wendy DeMos

Kindness is becoming a buzzword these days as growing numbers realize that big houses and fancy cars aren't cutting it in the happiness department.

Just ask Bill Mills, a consultant who aims to bring meaning into our workplaces through kindness.

He doesn't believe in the adage, nice guys finish last.

Finish last at what? he asks.

"Acquiring the most toys? Winning the biggest market share? A relative of mine works for a company whose formal vision statement is world domination! I asked him, 'Why? Isn't doing well -- even really, really well, -- good enough? Do you want to be known as the guy who owned the biggest house? Bought the fastest car? Dominated the world? Is that really what you
want?"

Instead, Mills, 51, focuses on kindness. And one way to be kind, he says, is practicing what he calls non-judgmental awareness.

"People don't like to feel judged," he explains from his home in Manotick.

"Kindness is not only being aware of them, but also being aware of me and my reactions to what's happening. Judgment absorbs energy that might otherwise be used for clear-headed action."

And the results of the kindness approach?

"People tend to open up," he says. "They give themselves permission to be more of themselves. To try things that they might not have tried otherwise. They experiment with ideas more, speak out more, reveal more of who they really are. They innovate, laugh and learn more. They connect with each other -- and with me, more."

And that, he says, makes his workshops creative and fun.

Mills started to focus on kindness in his work about 12 years ago when he felt restless and changed jobs often. He says he realizes now he was "looking for love in all the wrong places."

"Whenever I became restless or bored, I moved out of my job instead of moving in on myself to see what was missing -- inside of me -- that was creating the urge for me to move on." He changed jobs often, he says, because "it was easier to move out than move in."

It was at that point that he decided to look at himself honestly. He discovered that he was very judgmental.

"I constantly evaluated -- usually in a negative way -- every experience I encountered. Instead of being kind and compassionate, I was harsh and critical. As a result, I wasn't really enjoying the world I had created around me."

He embarked on a journey of self-discovery that included meditation and yoga, ultimately learning how to let go of judgment and incorporate more kindness and spirit into his work and life.

"This allowed me to enrich the experiences I was already having instead of wasting so much time and energy looking for new ones."

It was this self-discovery process that led him to found a training and consulting firm, Inner Formation (www.innerformation.ca), in 1991.

Mills now sees bringing kindness into the workplace as his life's mission.

A similar story comes from Ron Camacho, 45, a motivational speaker from Chelsea who uses humour to energize people and help them work better together.

When touched by humour -- or kindness, he says, "I experience a sense of well-being and appreciation for life. And because I know how wonderful it feels to be the recipient of a kindness, I like to pass it along."

"It seems that in our fast paced world," Camacho continues, "we have forgotten to share positive feedback and kind thoughts with each other, words of support, encouragement, appreciation and words of thanks."

Indeed, in the stress and complexity of our lives, says Jack Kornfield, author of A Path With Heart, we may forget our deepest intentions. But when people come to the end of their life and look back, the questions that they most often ask are not usually, "How much is in my bank account?" or "How many books did I write?" or "What did I build?" or the like. If you have the privilege of being with a person who is aware at the time of his or her death, you find the questions such a person asks are very simple: "Did I love well?" "Did I live fully?"

Spiritual traditions

Kindness is certainly not a new concept, as most spiritual belief systems support being kind and non-judgmental.

The Buddhist tradition, for example, says that real happiness comes from the state of mind of wishing others to be happy.

"Normally we see our own happiness and others' happiness to be different things," says Duncan Gillis, teacher at Joyful Land Buddhist Centre on Somerset Street, "sometimes even competing things. But the Buddhist point of view says they are completely interdependent."

We can only be truly happy to the extent that we have love and compassion for others, says Gillis, 34. "To the extent that we lack these, we experience suffering and discontent."

Gillis believes that it is only when we open our hearts to care about how others are doing and to an awareness of their suffering, we are released from the prison of self-obsession and all the neuroses that arise from it.

Of course, the Christian golden rule proclaims we "do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

Then there's the Jewish tradition, in which acts of kindness dominate teachings. Though you won't hear about these kindnesses because a component of the Jewish faith is chesed, or giving of oneself to help another without regard to compensation or any form of glory.

Even Wiccan beliefs include kindness in its tenets. For example, the Wiccan Threefold Law says that a witch who commits a harmful act can expect three times as much harm as his/her action caused; and if he/she commits an act of kindness, he/she can expect three times as much kindness as a result.

Random Acts of Kindness

To some, simply having a person's full attention is the kindest act. To others, it's financial generosity.

To Ruth Hawkins, 44, a government official with the Health Department, it's a neighbour and "earth angel" who helps Ruth when it's most needed.

"When my children were quite small and I was working full time outside the home, it was not unusual for my friend Gloria to just do things unexpectedly that showed her care and concern," she says. "One time in particular stands out in my memory. I had just gotten home from picking up my six-year-old daughter from the sitter and my twin, three-year-old boys from daycare. It was late, everyone was hungry, and I had not even had a second to think about what to make for dinner. The phone rang. It was Gloria. 'Have you made supper?' she asked. No, I had not. 'I'll be right down, I have a few leftovers.' Gloria arrived with a full dinner, including salad and dessert -- enough food even for lunch the next day. I felt blessed by her kindness, her generosity and particularly by her awareness that I needed a lift.''

Or take Chris Mills, 54, a public health specialist. She says it's hard to pick an example of kindness because she's experienced so much.

She focuses on one episode that took place while in her teens. A couple of teachers and her probation officer together rescued her from a bad living situation and "probably made the difference between me going to reform school and, instead, finishing high school, going on to university and turning out to be a pretty healthy adult despite a not-so-great start in life. Their kindness changed the entire course of my life."

In Autobiography of a Geisha, author Sayo Masuda, after a difficult life with few kindnesses extended to her, reflects on what ultimately brings her joy and hope.

She reminisces about the joy she felt as a young child being given a sugar cube by a stranger.

"It's not just children; everyone seems to be deeply touched by unexpected joy brought to them by others and is unable to forget it."

Masuda continues to tell of the tenderness she felt as an adult as she passed by a crying child and eased his pain by giving him her attention and care.

"That child will be grown up by now, and if he hasn't forgotten me, whenever he sees a crying child he'll want to say a kind word and wipe the kid's nose. And when that kid grows up, he'll do the same. To do something kind for another is never a bad feeling; it fosters a spirit of caring for other people. And who knows, after a few hundred years have passed, human being
may even learn to cooperate with one another. What a lovely place to live this world would be if only people would feel affection for everyone else,and all the ugliness of the human heart were to vanish -- our envy of those better off than ourselves and our scorn for those worse off.

"Yes, that was it," Masuda reflects, "I'd try to teach children that if they felt glad when someone gave them even a single piece of candy, then they in turn should give to others."

Wendy DeMos is a singer/songwriter and freelance writer.

(Published in The Ottawa Citizen, Ottawa, Canada)

What's in a name? Spirituality, wisdom, purpose

By Wendy DeMos

Every three years, Carl Marsak changes his name.

"It has been my experience that one name simply cannot capture all of who we are,'' says Marsak, 41, a grad student of religious studies at New York University.

His name has been Mark, Konchog Yeshe, Gabriel, Mahesh, and even Schmuck, according to his wife, he says in jest.

He doesn't change his name legally. Rather, "I play with how I
represent myself to myself and select others.''

Marsak is part of a growing phenomenon.

Sumati, 40, who once went by Christine Caliway, changed her name 11 years ago after meeting Ammachi, a religious woman who was visiting the San Francisco Bay area, near San Rafael where she lives.

Ammachi, which in her native language means revered Mother, is considered a living saint in her homeland due to the many humanitarian projects she has created and oversees.

Meeting Ammachi was one of several occurrences in Christine's life that contributed to her transformation from a ``party girl'' to a woman wishing to improve herself and the lives of others.

Christine was so moved by the unconditional love and selfless service that Ammachi demonstrated, she says, that she decided to undertake religious studies with her, she says.

Many people in the Indian spiritual tradition receive a "spiritual'' name after studying with a teacher for some time.

After two years of learning meditation techniques and participating in service projects for the poor and needy, Christine asked Ammachi for a new name that reflected all the changes she had made in her life.

She was given the name Sumati which means "one who has a clear and pure heart and intellect.'' It comes from the ancient religious language of India called Sanskrit, which is used in a way similar to Latin in the Catholic tradition.

"It scared me,'' says Sumati, who leads a violence-prevention
seminar for teens in Marin County, California.

She never intended to use the name in her daily life. Initially, it was more like a personal anointment.

It took seven years to begin using it.

After spending the day with a friend Sumati knew from Ammachi's program, she attended a seminar on relationships. Without much forethought, Sumati walked into the seminar and wrote ``Sumati'' on her name tag instead of "Christine.''

"On a subconscious level, I felt like I wanted to learn to relate to people with a clear and pure heart and mind. Just like the meaning of my name.''

After the seminar, Sumati began using her new name whenever she met someone new. Now most people she sees regularly know her as Sumati.

A few of her older friends have a hard time with the switch. "And my family still call me Christine and will never call me Sumati.''

But she enjoys hearing her new name.

"It feels good because it reminds me of what I'm striving for.''

Changing one's name is an optional stage in a personal search for spiritual fulfillment, not a tenet of a particular religion or set
of beliefs. It is a practice with no leader, manual or rules.

Name changing, though still relatively rare in North America, has
become more prevalent in recent decades as a growing number of people explore different ancient religious traditions.

Indeed, name changing is not new. For instance, it has long been seen in the aboriginal culture of Australia. Each child is named at birth, explains Marlo Morgan, author of the book Mutant Message, but it is understood that as a person develops, the birth name will be outgrown, and the individual will select a more appropriate label.

"Hopefully, one's name will change several times in a lifetime as
wisdom, creativity and purpose also become more clearly defined with time,'' says Morgan, who wrote about her adventures as she journeyed with Australian aboriginals for several months across the continent.

Frequent name-changer Marsak suggests that even an enormous number of names could not capture who we are, but by opening ourselves up to the possibility that we have the right to play with how we represent ourselves to the world, our lives are enriched.

"Through conscious name changing,'' he says, "we can learn to explore our different ways of becoming that ultimately spring from the same source -- God.''

Many spiritual traditions such as Buddhism, Christianity and Judaism have name-changing rituals associated with being born into a new way of life or a fresh spiritual identity. As Caroline Sherwood notes in her book Naming: Choosing a Meaningful Name, the practice is common in Tibet, particularly to denote a new stage of life, such as the taking of religious vows.

In the Bible, when God changed a person's name, such as Abram to Abraham and Sarai to Sarah, it signified investing the life with new meaning, points out Sherwood.

Today, changing one's name can be a means of spiritual development, an attempt to establish an independent identity or simply a way of feeling more comfortable with what the world labels you.

In the entertainment field, musical artists such as Madonna, Prince and Sting chose their own names to powerfully establish public personas. Recently, following a period of upheaval, performer Puff Daddy changed his name to P. Diddy, apparently as a means of making a fresh start.

Then there are those who've been given names that don't fit or that they simply don't like. Some of us live with these names our entire lives, while some change them.

Take Shyama, 38. She disliked her birth name, which she refused to give for this story. "I looked it up once in a name book and it translated as `to be weary.' Yuck,'' she says. "Also, it's a name that could be feminine or masculine. I didn't like that either.''

Shyama also felt a new name was necessary to more accurately reflect her purpose so she asked her spiritual teacher for a name while living in an ashram, or spiritual community, in Michigan. And part of living in the community was to reveal one's wisdom through a name reflecting that particular stage in a personal journey.

"Most of my new friends there had spiritual names and I liked that. It was sweet and the names had such deep meanings.''

Shyama means beautiful one.

"I loved the name so much,'' she says. "The sound of it feels so soft, sweet and gentle, qualities that certainly needed nurturing in me at that time.''

Shyama is now a yoga instructor in Corte Madera, California, where she is known solely by her spiritual name.

"Sometimes people ask what my name was, and I rarely tell them,'' she says. "On the rare occasion that I do, or allow them to guess, they usually say something like, 'Oh, Shyama suits you so much better.'''

Six years ago, Vijay was at a point where his spiritual life was becoming his major focus. A trip to India proved to be a three-month sabbatical to immerse himself in the spirituality of the country.

"I did not go there intending to get a new name or even necessarily to spend a lot of time at an ashram.''

But after feeling profoundly moved by the teachings at the ashram, he decided to take vows to give up the material life. Part of the process was a new name.

"To receive the name Vijay was a ritual marking my transition to a spiritually focused life.''

It means mastery of meditation, and has taught him much.

"When I first received the name, I thought, 'I've been compulsively mastering things all my life, I'm trying to get away from that.'''

What he had to learn instead, he says, was true mastery, which doesn't come from straining to figure things out or accomplishing goals.

"It comes from surrendering and letting go to a deeper place in my being that knows, feels, and acts from a place of love and truth rather than from the strivings of ego.''

When Vijay returned from India to the San Francisco area, he continued using his new name.

"I believe my new name helped me shed some old identities and see myself in new ways -- more free, awake, in touch with my feelings, more heartful and alive.''

In communications with his family, however, he uses his birth name.

"They wouldn't understand.''

He also didn't think the corporate business world in which he worked as a partner in a strategy consulting firm would relate to the idea. In retrospect, doing this made Vijay feel like he had a split life: half spiritual and half corporate.

Vijay, 39, now works for himself as a management consultant.

"The split is not nearly so pronounced,'' he figures, "and I feel like my life is becoming integrated into one whole.''

So much so that Vijay is considering using his birth name Konrad Knell again.

"The other reason is that it always felt a bit strange to have an Indian name, since I'm not Indian. It felt like I was running away from my genetics, my heritage, and my family. I probably needed that for awhile, but now those parts of me are being reclaimed and integrated.''

Konrad, he says, means "wise counsel,'' which says a lot about how he wants to see himself in the world.

"Maybe,'' he concludes, "my parents were smarter than I thought.''

Wendy DeMos is a singer/songwriter and freelance writer.

(Published in The Ottawa Citizen, Ottawa, Canada)

Housing with an Environmental Twist: Building Homes with Garbage and Air

By Wendy DeMos

There's nothing like necessity to get those creative juices flowing.

That's what it took for a few inventors to think up practical, affordable and environmentally sound housing structures.

Take Louis Rompre and his BioBlocks, for example. These fibre-based building blocks require no heat, refining or resins and therefore produce minimal pollution.

These are no ordinary blocks. They are made of garbage. The individual blocks can be pressed from shredded wood and bark left over from lumber mills, or wheat, barley and other cereal waste from agricultural refining plants, or even waste paper and plastic from government and industries.

"There's almost no limit to what we can use. The key point," Mr. Rompre says, "is that we're turning waste into resources.

"There's waste everywhere in the world," notes Mr. Rompre, 42. "Just turn around and you'll see a mountain of it somewhere."

He and BioBlock partners Brad Robinson and engineer Bob Platts developed the idea in 1995 when Mr. Rompre and Mr.Platts, inspired by Mr. Robinson's ongoing work with alternative housing, decided to join forces. They started
a company called Internatural Building Systems, Inc. (IBS).

"I wanted to do my bit," says Mr. Rompre "and I figured this would make a big difference to reverse negative trends such as too much waste and the incredible need for housing. It's such a simple technology that anyone could build with it."

The need is commonly greatest where resources are fewest, "BioBlocks are especially useful in dealing with post-disaster or post-conflict reconstruction."

For example, an organization in South Africa is currently negotiating with IBS for the use of BioBlocks. In this case, block materials could include sugar cane, thatch palm and banana stalk, abundant in tropical climates.

But, you need look no farther than Wakefield, Quebec, where Mr. Rompre lives, to find a BioBlock structure. Look for what's called the Honey House -- a building used for processing and extracting honey -- in Lascelles, a village of 500 just north of Wakefield.

Tijs and Vivian Bellaar-Spruyt, owners of the Gatineau Hills Honey Company, considered using straw bales to build their beekeeping facility, but chose Mr. Rompre's BioBlocks because they seemed sturdier.

Mr. Bellaar-Spruyt liked the fact he could use any kind of waste material. "We used shredded bark from the local lumber yard. They were happy to see us take it away."

The Bellaar-Spruyts have processed honey in their BioBlock structure for two years. "We're so happy, it's unbelievable!" says Mr. Bellaar-Spruyts.

He explains how this past winter the temperature dipped to -38 degrees C, but the insulation property retained the temperature at no lower than -3 degreesC, without any heat.

"That's quite exceptional."

With such favourable results, BioBlocks are ready to step beyond the prototype stage and into mass production. But like any new company, the principals are looking for investment capital. "It's the beginning of an industry," Mr. Rompre predicts confidently.For a more high-tech approach to housing, meet architect Don Mill.

He wanted to design a home that was sufficiently warm for Canada's polar temperatures, portable, inexpensive and interesting enough to soothe his sense of esthetics.<

Enter the ThermoShelter, a building technology that combines energy efficiency with simplicity. The story began in 1997 when the 47-year-old Mr. Mill took a trip to Alaska on his motorcycle.<

It was the "proverbial middle-age break from a city workaholic architect's existence," he explains.

On the way he stopped in Atlin, a town of 450 on the B.C.-Yukon border where the flame of hope and romance saw him returning to buy land and plan the first house. Although, over time the relationship ended, a strong and sturdy ThermoShelter remained.

In the planning stages, he asked himself elementary questions such as 'what is a house?'

"Physically, a building is at least two components," he reasoned.

"The membrane, or skin, keeps out the water and the insulation modulates the temperature for creature comfort."

But, he asked himself, what if a structure could be made from only these components? Figuring it a worthy experiment, he forged ahead.

He briefly considered using straw bales, but thought it was "more complex because although the walls are radical, the roof is conventional and I wanted to remain minimalist."

The answer was EPS or expanded polystyrene, a new form of Styrofoam. With one part resin to 50 parts air, the building is essentially a compressed air structure. Greenpeace recommends it over other insulation because the manufacturing process doesn't create ozone-depleting gases, plus, it's recyclable.

These insulated, rigid foam blocks form the primary element of the ThermoShelter. This foam, weighing just over a pound and costing less than $2 per cubic foot, is cheaper than a conventional wood-frame house. However, says Mr. Mill, "its real savings come after the first winter."

The roofing membrane is made of galvanized sheet metal, readily available at approximately 50 cents per square foot.

While B.C. is home to Mr. Mill's structures, he also plans to build elsewhere, including Northern California. Also he has a commitment from a San Francisco-area school district to put one up as an experimental classroom. The earthquake-resistant nature of the structures makes them perfect for land-shifting regions.

The ThermoShelter is also recyclable and reusable, so if the weather becomes unbearable, you can simply pack up the house and go.

Environmental concerns figured strongly in Mr. Mill's design. "In less than two centuries, industrial forestry has provided the primary material of most of our small buildings and at the same time 90 per cent of the natural habitat has been lost," he mourns. "The peaceful spirit of life is screaming in agony."

Mr. Mill does not suggest that sustainable forestry has no place, simply that the "scale is not conducive to promoting the human spirit, not to mention survival. So," he continues, "we must experiment and challenge our concepts of house and shelter."

For more information on the ThermoShelter see www.ThermoShelter.com.

For more information on BioBlocks, please call Louis Rompre at (819) 459-3233.

Wendy DeMos is a singer/songwriter and freelance writer.