Inspired by Yoga. Rooted in Living.

Yay Play!

2010-04-03T20:40:00.000-07:00

I recently had the pure parental pleasure of watching my kids participate in the positive politics of the playground. (I just love alliteration.) The sun, having warmed the cold winter ground and dried out the early spring wetness, provided a perfect picture for play.

While we enjoy the rainy invitation to say indoors, when the sun calls us outside to play how can we refuse?

Our journey took us to a local farm for ice cream (the playground was closed for an Easter egg hunt) and then to another playground. It was enchanting to witness the best in children. Kids reaching out to one another to play tag and hide and seek, including anyone with a desire to join in.

Watching the freedoms exercised and experimented on the monkey bars, in the sandbox and among the various slides and nooks was truly eye and heart opening. Kids just playing.

The energy was palpable as a physical sensation, as well as a frame for thought and feeling. Total feeling.

My mat unrolls, creating an instant context for the experience about to unfold, one that inevitably leaves me feeling fully. It is this freedom to explore my physical limitations (a line which changes daily) and the joy of discovery that keeps me coming back to the mat.

A Yoga class can be like a bunch of kids playing.

The playground may not always be peaceful and a Yoga class can take on numerous characteristics. The good news is, no matter the circumstances or location, we can tap into that sense of play.

Yay Play!

Dude, Where's My Yoga?

2010-03-22T18:30:00.000-07:00

Dude, Where’s My Yoga?

This is the question that pops into my head the moment after...

I overreact, or appropriately react, to one of my children’s infractions (or just plain kid moments) in a decidedly un-Yogic volume

I react badly to the drivers misbehaving on the road
or my body tenses when I see a driver on the phone or texting behind the wheel (especially when my van is kid-full)

the conversation takes a gossipy turn and I find myself participating

I judge a situation unfairly

Dude, where’s my yoga?

I’ve only become tolerant of the word, dude, in my early 40s.

When talking about our experiences driving with our kids in the car, a very good friend of mine told me that she says “Dude” in lieu of dropping the “F” bomb.

While I used to avoid dropping the “D” word, I now find it a satisfying substitute for flipping the bird. I know a deep cleansing breath would probably have a similar effect, ending the need to drop any [insert letter of choice] word or extending of any middle digits. It’s just that sometimes when I come to that particular clarity, the moment has already passed.

That’s why I practice.

My practice, on the mat, bubbles when I meet the metaphoric Dude poses I used to want to avoid that I now look forward to exploring. The Yoga reveals itself in familiar moments, off the mat, when I make fresh choices.

Several years ago (before I ever stepped foot on a Yoga mat), around my brother’s dining room table, we were reminiscing various childhood memories and laughing at our youthful antics. There was a moment when the energy shifted slightly, though still light in nature it held the air of wisdom about to be imparted.

He said, through pursed lips, that he remembered watching one of my sisters “bait” me often. Under his breath he would chant, “Don’t take the bait. Don’t take the bait.” Nine times out of ten I would take the bait; I was predictable enough for her to know which buttons to push to successfully bait me every time.

While it would have been extremely helpful to know that’s what was happening at the time it was happening, it was equally as valuable to learn it when I did. I now had the language and context to deal directly and make better choices, without resorting to habitual behavior.

Since that dining room table chat, my whole relationship with that sister markedly improved. We were always close, but from that moment forward I had a more active role in keeping our relationship equal and healthy. All I needed was the awareness which led to the language which, in turn, became mindful (and compassionate) action.

This lesson surfaces when I find myself in similar situations of feeling like I’m dangling from a hook. Regular Yoga practice provides me with a portable context for almost any situation. There are still those moments when I mindlessly revert to form before remembering to breathe; but more often than not I find myself unrolling my mental mat when presented with a challenging moment.

Yes. I still get annoyed by ignorant behavior, small-minded moments and a lifetime of acquired pet peeves. But, maybe I’m a little less annoyed and find humor more often and more quickly. I am certainly more mindful and able to step back, reassess or let go when necessary.

So when I ask, “Dude, where’s my Yoga?” I already know the answer.

The Story of our Lives

2010-03-13T12:56:00.000-08:00

Two things that exemplify “home” to me are books and a piano.

I love to read and look at the spines of varying sizes and colors which contain universes of stories. I took piano lessons for five years as a young child, but only dabble on the keys today.

The connection to these things started early, in my childhood home, where books lined the walls and our upright piano greeted us, daily, with the possibility of music. My father was an avid collector of antique books and my mother often dazzled us when she’d sit at the piano and whip out one or both of the songs she remembered from her piano lesson days.

There is much more to be said about the people and events in our lives than the things that clutter our spaces. But sometimes, the most ordinary object can tell volumes about a person and once the person is gone from our lives, for one reason or another, that ordinary object becomes magical.

The other day, FedEX dropped off a few boxes of what remained from my grandparents’ belongings. Mostly, they were filled with Sherry glasses, salt & pepper shakers and other things of little monetary value. The soup terrine that was always perched on their buffet is now part of our story. I never saw the terrine in use, but I do make soup and will give it the meaning for which it was intended; to my children, it will always be Great Sally’s Soup Terrine.

In the world of ordinary objects, my mat has become a talisman. This narrow strip, designated for my practice to take flight, is nothing more than a man-made cushion. Yet, when I unroll this ordinary object, it becomes a sacred space for me to explore my story a bit deeper.

When I tuck my mat under my arm, my children sigh and know that I am off to a Yoga class. All three of my girls have their own mats and have had their own experiences with yoga. As they grow and become who they are meant to be, their mats will take on meaning relating to their stories, but will always have roots from home.

Home is where the story starts.

While the objects in my life are more like bread crumbs, now, than stones, each crumb creates a part of my story before it dissolves into the bigger story.

What’s your story?

Ahimsa ~ Do No Harm

2010-03-09T11:39:00.000-08:00

The cardinal rule in my house is Ahimsa. I borrow this beautiful tenet of Yoga as a tool to help teach my kids compassion. My children all know that when mommy says, “Ahimsa” that I’m reminding them to do no harm to themselves, each other and the world around them. I always make it a point to define the word every time I speak it.

Several months into introducing this wonderful word, we were sitting at the dinner table and it comes up. “Ahimsa,” I proclaim trying to practice it myself even as I say it. There is silence. Then a tiny voice (that of my four year old) tentatively chimes in with, “What does harm mean?”

All this time I was distracted by thinking they needed to know the “big” word and neglected to meet them where they were. “Harm” seemed like such a harmless word, one that in its abbreviated nature seemed universal.

It was a simple moment filled with awareness and a drop of profundity.

Life can sometimes be assembled by these types of assumptions. What trips me up, at times, is when one’s habitual patterns that typically inform a certain outcome, take me by surprise. This usually happens when that person hits his or her internal “refresh button” and breaks the habit. When that moment of “waking up” and acting in a present, mindful way is responded to in kind, a symbiotic exchange is created and life is being fully lived.

When I was a student of mediation at the Shambhala Center (I say was, because it’s been many years since I walked through their doors or have had a disciplined sitting meditation practice), I remember one of the primary lessons was that of breaking through our cocoon of habitual patterns. I find the lessons I learned there pop up in every day scenarios on a regular basis.

Since I’ve found my way back to my mat following more than three months of absence (due to surgical healing), I am confronted with this notion of meeting myself where I am and practicing Ahimsa along the way.

Always mindful of living in a beginner’s mind (without getting stuck there), I find myself now living in a beginner’s body. This beginner’s body, however, is sort of the grown-up version of its former self.

In my first days of practicing Yoga, every experience on the mat was filled with curiosity of the unknown. The language, poses, philosophies and less than tangible energy that passed between & among the various participants (teachers & students alike) landed on me as I began to integrate them into my pool of understanding. While my curiosity is still regularly peaked and my general understanding is still journeying toward clarity, I now have a foundation of experience that has created some land marks.

While my body is reacquainting itself with the motion of the practice, the physical memory is still vibrating underneath old habits. It is my challenge to honor this new state of mind and being. Now, my cardinal rule is Ahimsa. I’m not distracted by lofty goals of perfect poses, but am hearing the smaller instruction of modifications and using them as the stepping stones. I will do no harm to myself, others or the world around me.

Definitions:

Ahimsa: Do no harm.

Harm: Hurt

The Universal Heart of Sadness

2010-03-02T12:49:00.000-08:00

These past few weeks have been colored by loss, touched by sadness and re-infused with life.

For a while it seemed like the cycle of life was claiming friends’ parents at an accelerated rate. While we were saddened by this loss of life, it was a reminder of our shared fate and preview of our age. Then we lost three friends, all in their forties, and the view shifted.

In my last post, I was trying to make sense of an old friend’s death. What I didn’t include in that post was that it was on the heals of hearing about our friend Flavia, who died of cancer a couple weeks before Jon fell at the hand of some undisclosed illness.

The air had become dense with loss but life continued its relentless march forward.

Then the wildfire network that is Facebook, revealed the untimely death of another old friend and dear soul. David Nolan. David’s sharp mind and huge heart were his calling cards. He could elevate any discourse with original thought and critical thinking stemming from his open heart. It is both tragic and poetic that it was a major heart attack that took him too soon from this earth.

So much of Yoga is about opening the heart. It sounds simple but is deeply profound. As our time on the mat is limited, so is our time off the mat. We work to realize our potential in each pose with every breath. There’s a heightened sense of consciousness on the mat as we’re being guided and encouraged to stretch our limits to the edge. As our shoulders and hips open we make space for our hearts to follow. This physical openness reflects a deeper expansion.

When loss or tragedy hits close to home, it is my heart that bears the burden; I’d rather it be open soft and wide to better balance the weight, than closed tight and resistant unable to feel what’s real.

I am so grateful for Yoga. It is a real life practice that reflects the challenges of living and teaches how to remain open in hard times.

What I choose to take from this time of crazy loss is to limit regret by not putting things off and minimizing the pool of potential by realizing as much of it as I can.

Flavia Roncelli. Jon Crawford. David Nolan.

Namaste, my friends! The light in me, bows to the light in you!

Live in Love. Rest in Peace.

2010-02-24T19:05:00.000-08:00

On the mat, we learn to be present. We focus on our breath & movement and all the spaces in between, while snuggling up to our edge. This climate makes the ground fertile for opening up to possibility in a potent, mindful way. We practice lessons on the mat that we hope will join us in our lives off the mat. These lessons live out loud in the moments of our lives, to varying degrees, depending on how open we remain during our daily rhythm.

I found out yesterday that one of my best friends from high school died.

Jon called me eight years ago and left a cryptic message, one that put me off a bit. I was nervous to call him after not talking with or seeing him since the late 80’s when we’d already begun to grow apart; a couple of days later I called and left him a message. When I didn’t hear back from him, I didn’t pursue it and life went on. Periodically, he would pop into my mind, but I was content to live with my happy memories of him. If I’d been awake, would I have contented myself with letting it go without any effort?

I wonder who is perched on the periphery of my life now, unnoticed, whose voice I’m not hearing.

When I’m on my mat, deepening my practice to truly meet my edge, do I honor the hours of effort and sweat that got me here or does all progress live in a bubble? How do I honor Jon now, in hindsight & absentia? His friendship was a pivotal one in the world of who I was and the paths I chose that brought me here. His spirit lives in who I’ve become.

While Jon’s significance in my life waned over the years since high school, his death has brought our friendship to the present moment & magnified lessons lost and lessons learned.

Love, like our spirit, does not disappear, it just changes form.

Rest in Love & Peace, old friend!

Falling in Love

2010-02-18T19:04:00.000-08:00

It’s still February, which means it’s still all about love on this blog (though love will be featured in many forms well beyond this month).

Right now I’m feeling the tingle of new love. It is the love of an unexpected dream, becoming clearer ever day and slowly becoming real.

I felt this feeling when I was dating my now husband at the start, and as the romance began to weave its way into my daily life. I felt this feeling when I unrolled my mat for the second time and still had no idea what to expect, only that I was meant to be there. I am feeling this feeling now, as I am beginning to discover a part of myself all grown up, but with a youthful relish I’d thought long since dormant.

I miss my mat and am looking forward to resume my asana practice (next week), but have been well Yoga-nourished through writing, breathing and blossoming in unexpected ways.

It will be a long journey to get my body reacquainted with the physical practice, but the good news is that I get to fall in love all over again. I get to practice patience with myself, leaving a lot of room to grow perhaps not into the self I was but the person I can be.

So, as I’m returning to more than just a beginner’s mind, but a beginner’s body as well, I am returning to the sensation of falling in love. And, while I’m growing a new business and forging ahead in the direction of my dream, I am falling dizzily in love with possibility.

There’s poetry in falling, whether it’s with a person, a direction, an experience, yourself or something altogether different. There’s beauty in knowing that you can be true to your love and at the same time, fall in love the rest of your life.

romance |rōˈmans; ˈrōˌmans| (noun)

2010-02-13T08:08:00.000-08:00

romance |rōˈmans; ˈrōˌmans|

noun

1 a feeling of excitement and mystery associated with love : in search of romance.

What I like about this definition is how easily it can be translated into one’s daily journey, transforming the ordinary into something special.

It’s been a while since I’ve engaged in any formal practice (body still in healing mode), but the love, excitement & mystery surrounding my practice still ride my breath and inform my heart. I’m approaching a place of great anticipation with regard to diving back onto the mat. This excitement yields to the unknown and is cradled in love.

I guess this means that there’s an aspect of romance associated with Yoga!

I’ve always felt love on the mat, but never imagined it a romantic love. I guess it goes to the idea that love is love; in its wholeness, it embodies endless components--all inclusive and indistinct from any definition.

The italics at the end of this dictionary definition, in search of romance, implies a journey. As a single person, in search of romance in the form of a partner, I was single-minded in this pursuit. Love was in abundance in my life and the more I felt it the more I wanted to share it with one person.

And then February would arrive loaded with love under a microscope.

Valentine’s Day became a day that belonged to couples and seemed to exclude the bigger notion of love. Even though I’m now happily married with children, Valentine’s Day still pushes my buttons.

Love is important enough to honor on more than just one day which is why I’m taking the whole month to highlight love. The celebration, however, is ongoing and never-ending.

In my efforts to keep love all-inclusive, I would be doing a great injustice if I ignored the romantic love that nourishes me from the inside out. So, in the spirit of romantic love (and not the Valentine’s Day definition), I will dig out a love poem I wrote a long time ago that captures a moment of romance & all-consuming love.

From the Filing Cabinet:

Untitled

A glimmer from your eyes

Inspires spontaneous words of love

It sings of days gone by

And further ones above.

Your love is rich like chocolate cake

There is nothing to compare

For when your eyes reach my gaze

My soul yearns for its share.

It leaves my body for just a moment

To contact yours inside

It breathes you in and then back out

Within my heart to reside.

My heart is full with daily bliss

The ordinary details of each day

Among my blessings I count you high

When beside your body I lay.

So be a kid with me when moments call

And reach deep when needs arise

For when it’s all said and done

Together we are the prize.

This is an example of love manifesting in nature. This heart-shaped branch greets me every morning as a reminder that love can be found in the most unexpected places if your eyes & heart are open.

Happy Valentine's Day, One & All!

The Secret of Love

2010-02-08T06:46:00.000-08:00

There is a secret to love. It’s unique in its nature.

That is, the more you love the more you can love.

I whispered this truth over and over in my eldest daughter’s ear when our second daughter was born, and again to both of them when our third arrived. This simple profundity is clearer every day.

Love.

I am baffled by this expansive force. There are times I can’t imagine loving my children more than I do in that moment and then tomorrow comes and I do. When I think I have enough friends, that love is stretched to the limit, I meet someone I feel I’ve known my whole life and realize there are no limits to loving. I think of the love my husband and I felt for each other on our wedding day and now see it as the bud it was, watching it flourish every day.

Yoga weaves a similar sense of boundlessness which is no less baffling. How is it that these physical poses and stretches can be so magical? Is the partnership of breath and mindfulness that powerful? What is it about this practice and its philosophies that inspire such strong feelings and experiences on and off the mat?

Love.

Whether it’s a family member, friend or experience, there are similarities which encourage this mystery of love to unfold. Each is a landscape of discovery, opening up to possibility with every new moment.

Love is life's permission to explore and rejoice, be still and recognize a universal sadness. It is whole and ever-growing.

Remember, the secret of love is that the more you love, the more room you have to love. Don’t keep it to yourself; spread the word.

Ambient Love

2010-02-06T08:59:00.000-08:00

Love can arrive in unexpected ways.

On the mat I find love in every drop of sweat that rides my breath. Every movement holds a physical or emotional memory that releases love in one way or another. The scent of Nag Champa incense makes me smile & adds to the feelings of love while it transports me to places where love reigns.

Today, I am in a converted warehouse coffee shop waiting to meet an artist to discuss a logo design. Sitting here, amid the daytime activities of those around me, I am “on my mat” being transported and feeling the love.

I love this place.

It has a small town vibe and isn’t very crowded, but it also feels charged with creativity and possibility. Pockets of people discussing projects and fleshing out details, while individuals occupy corners, reading the NY Times, rocking babies in strollers or typing away at their laptops. There’s a writer talking to her editor about wanting her chapters to flow into one another without the reader getting attached to any character or action (love how she explained it) and a group of men, who look like web designers from the dot com years but are really discussing green building construction projects. I love the energy generated by brains storming with ideas on the road to fruition.

Conversations cross over tables and aisles when locals recognize each other or strangers feel inspired to start chatting. The door opens and in comes in a hooded man bringing in the cold breeze he’s shielding himself from, followed by a professional looking lady who gets her coffee to go. A woman in a wheelchair navigates the space with ease and her smile invites others to join in the exchange of words and ideas.

The neighborhood feeling is inescapable.

Then there’s me, drinking my coffee and eating my pastry, waiting to meet an artist to discuss my logo. But I’m early by a good twenty minutes. Before he arrives it’s just me, notebook still tucked in my bag, listening and observing the surrounding activities. This is one of the things I miss from living in Manhattan. Not just everyday, pedestrian eavesdropping, but ears perking to words worthy of attention.

While I’m waiting for my interesting creative meeting to begin, the space has thinned out, leaving the funkiness of the place and beat of the music to fill the air. That, and the anticipation of what’s to come.

This is much the same as the feeling of falling in love.

Love Is...

2010-02-02T07:39:00.000-08:00

I love the idea of celebrating love.

When I think of Valentine’s Day, though, it’s not that celebration that comes to mind. I think of Hallmark doing great business, flower shops selling out of roses, couples out for romantic dinners, people attaching the essence of their love to that day & feeling sad when significant others forget and people whose love is no less potent but who may not have one special person with whom to share it on that day.

It’s February. Rather than focusing the celebration of love on Valentine’s Day, and exclusively on romantic love, I will use this month to dabble in various expressions of love.

When I was in college, some friends were talking about their love lives and one of them had mentioned that she said, “I love you” to the guy she was dating, after just days being together. I offered my opinion that it seemed too soon for that sort of declaration. My friend, Dana, then blurted out (in a sort of snarky way), “That, from YOU! Miss I love Everyone.”

I froze, searching for my truth. How could I be someone who approaches most people with love and still think it was too early for her to say it out loud to a new boyfriend? (Now, the answer seems fairly obvious.)

I was (and still am) unapologetically a hippie at heart. I like to frame things through the lens of love (though sometimes it can be challenging & I miss the mark). Dana’s comment, though, caught me off guard and I didn’t have the sense to answer it as I would today. And that is, in my daily expressions I love my parents in a different way than I love my husband who I love differently than I love my kids, friends and pets who I love in a different way than I love the ocean, trees, mountains & forests. That’s when I break it down and recognize love's various shades, grades & levels of intensity.

When the silence before sleep descends, however, all of those variants blend into one picture of love, where there are no distinguishing lines. I am reminded that love is love.

As I rediscover my Yoga practice, with the temporary physical limitations I must honor, I will extend love's reach & set my intention to love where I am now. I am grateful for a body & mind that are open to being flexible & surprised.

Rather than catagorizing love any further, I will take this month as an opportunity to use this space to express, share, explore & celebrate the ever-giving gift of love.

Spare Some Change?

2010-01-28T19:14:00.000-08:00

This morning I received $4.30 change for pastry I purchased at the bakery, with a $20 bill.
A little while ago, I changed a poopy diaper and left my toddler clean & dry.
At bedtime, I watched my kids change from their day clothes into pajamas.
Throughout the day, I observed my mood change several times from exhausted & frustrated to silly & elated, leaving it to settle in contentment.
Occasionally, I change my mind.

We all know that change is a life constant, yet when it takes on a task more complicated than coins or wardrobe choice, we often meet it with resistance. Time takes the edge off the initial shock of change, until the next shift occurs.

Recently, I observed someone I love discover new facets of herself. Witnessing this vulnerable meeting was a beautiful example of the depth & possibility of this life journey. I cannot help but wonder how her self image changed as she met this new part of herself.

For every person who meets life’s changes tentatively, there is a change junky, unable to stay in one place for too long (not limited to geography). Leaping from experience to experience, job to job, thought to thought, as if fast-paced change will somehow keep the inevitable at bay.

Somewhere between fear and recklessness lives reason...and change.

Yoga is a perfect laboratory for experimenting on how to cope with change. Every time I meet myself where I am, on or off the mat, I practice easing myself into change & acceptance. On the Mat, I have a designated time & place to pay attention and notice the changes that have landed in my body & mind. Off the Mat, I try to remember that as each breath has a distinct quality, I must honor that each day is also unique and will hold possibilities the previous one did not.

It is my daily challenge to meet those changes with gentle grace and humor. And when I fail to live up to the challenge, I know there will be change to spare.

Magical Minds

2010-01-22T09:29:00.000-08:00

Tuesday night the tooth fairy flew in for a visit.

We have a clump of trees in our back yard that we call the Enchanted Forest; this is where our fairies live, asleep all day and alive all night. She’d been circling our house for days, waiting for my six year old’s tooth, dangling by mere threads, to fall out.

When the time came she swooned in, leaving a wide-eyed child full of wonder and a great story, evidenced by four crystals (and a dollar) in a shiny sac! A little bag of magic! ***

I remember when the Tooth Fairy would visit me, silent & without solid form, leaving a shiny quarter under my pillow to be discovered in the morning. The magic would happen unseen & unheard in any conventional sense, but was experienced & felt in such a deep place that it remains active today.

It is this portal of the possible that follows me onto the mat and then back into my life. I may have a different relationship to the magic in my life today, but I still believe. When I’ve worked through Crow pose preparation over & over, never to find the right balance, and then one day it just happens, that’s a magical moment. Briefly, my shins allow my feet to find flight, while balancing on my arms. Nothing visible has changed in my approach, but my body takes me there with just enough effort to break a sweat.

The Asana Fairy occasionally tucks the charms of our practice under our mats to support us so we can fly.

Being able to surrender, whether it’s to the fantasy of fairy tales or the notion of one day falling into a challenging pose to its full expression, takes a shot of imagination and a dose of faith. In the end, though, it’s the practice, the doing, on and off the mat, that makes the magic.

My mother loves the saying, The harder I work, the luckier I get. I would modify it to say, The more I show up and open my heart & mind, the easier I can see the magic that swirls around me.

* * *

*** This little bag of magic came from Angelical Whispers (click on name to visit website). I received a beautiful hand-written note with my order, and when I suggested creating "Tooth Fairy Bags," was met with imagination & love. It is a magical place!

The Bubble Game

2010-01-17T13:11:00.000-08:00

A very dear old friend of mine posted these photos on Facebook the other day, immediately transporting me to another place and time.

This time and place predates my formal Yoga practice, but embodies some of the same allure. Imagine an intentional community of peaceful-loving people all dancing together to their own tunes; this is a Rainbow Gathering. If each one of these individuals had a mat instead of a tent, it would be a most colorful & inspiring Yoga class! (In this story, each one is a bubble.)

When the light hits it just right, a bubble can reveal the entire spectrum of the rainbow. It is poetic that these photos, and the piece below “From the Filing Cabinet,” were both born at a Rainbow Gathering; the event, itself, took place in a clearing in the woods, surrounded by participants and spectators, alike, everyone active in their roles.

The inspiration came from a spontaneous game that gathered momentum and meaning with every moment. Enter Todd, with a very large “bubble wand” and a lot of bubble juice, contentedly making huge bubbles with care and obvious joy. Someone else joined him and began waving her hands beneath an enormous bubble, keeping it from hitting the ground. Before long there were several bubbles in the air being cared for by passersby who wordlessly joined in.

The picture was quite beautiful. The collective intention was to keep the bubbles aflight. This became increasingly challenging, as the bubbles began to outnumber their human counterparts and occasional breezes began blow. Still, as bubbles broke and others took form and flight, people were alternately laughing and silent in their concentrated efforts. This went on for some time without losing any of its original freshness. When it was over, everyone sensed it and the game ended as organically as it had begun.

When I look back at the various experiences that make up my personal history, it doesn’t surprise me that Yoga has formed my current path. Tadasana may not change the world, but if I breathe with intention while rooting down and floating up, I may infuse that moment with something special. Keeping that bubble from crashing to the ground won’t cure disease or magically promote world peace, but it may bring attention to, and elevate, that moment. Strung together, these moments can make a difference.

* * *

From the Filing Cabinet: Periodically, I will be posting relics found in the filing cabinet I referenced in the post, Something Old, Something New 11/11/09. This one is from a Rainbow Gathering, circa early 1990s.

The Bubble Game -- Or, The Meaninglessness of Soap

It is my opinion that there is no game as inherently existential as the Bubble Game. The ground rules are as follows: Huge bubbles are created--out of dish soap and glycerin--for the purpose of saving. The rules need never be disclosed verbally. The information is contained within the universe and silently passed to each participant. Anyone can join the game and there are no time restrictions. The only requirement is the facilitator of the bubbles. Once the bubbles are born, it is the unspoken responsibility of those on the game board to keep the bubbles alive for as long as possible. It is known from the start that the bubbles cannot ultimately survive. The bubbles provide insight through colors, shapes and directions of flight. Each moment in the survival techniques of the players is filled with meaning and conviction. Every time a bubble breathes, it is that life that counts; when it ceases to breathe, another one is born. Sometimes manipulating their direction, other times following their lead, necessitates total consciousness. Being completely immersed in the menial task of bubble preservation forces even a fleeting congnizance of the temporal nature of things.

Yoga Love

2010-01-13T14:55:00.000-08:00

I love Yoga!

I love entering a space designed for non-competitive contemplation, curiosity and discovery.

I love leaving my ego at the door and sometimes forgetting to collect it on the way out.

I love being part of a collective energy focused on the journey.

I haven’t taken a class in six weeks due to some body healing requiring rest. I’ve been finding other ways to practice to keep the body/mind connection fresh, including writing this blog, dusting off my meditation cushion and paying attention. There have been some beautiful, unexpected moments of clarity as I’ve been forced to slow down.

While I can find mini mindful ways to fill the space left on my mat, nothing can really take the place of sweat earned from a vigorous flow or lighter step that follows Sivasana. It will be some time before I feel that familiar glow & easy glide; fortunately, I don’t have to wait to be mindful in the literal & figurative bending, twisting & stretching that goes with living.

Last Sunday, a friend coordinated a moms’ night out starting at a local Yoga studio (YogaLove) and ending with cocktails and a nourishing meal. It was a beautifully balanced evening. I decided to go, with the intention of under-doing it rather than snuggling up to my edge (which is where I tend to perch myself). I went, knowing that I could not do any of the Warrior poses or other asanas that would compromise my healing. I thought, at the very least, I would unroll my mat (the one from two posts ago) and just breathe the Yoga air.

I had never taken this teacher’s class and had never before practiced with anyone in this group. But, walking into this space armed with my old frayed mat, fresh perspective, beginners mind and all-encompassing desire to be there, it was like coming home.

I briefly filled the teacher in on my limitations and was immediately welcomed with what I call, YogAcceptance, the favorable meeting of each person where she is. The invitation to practice is not limited solely to the able bodies that bend and twist with ease, but to anyone who shows up.

So, I couldn’t do Pigeon Pose, but I could open my hips with Ankle-to-Knee; I couldn’t do Triangle, but I could sit in Hero Pose, hands in Yoga Mudra behind my back, and open my heart with the same intention. I found a comfort zone around finding modifications that, whether or not were addressing the counter part exactly, kept me present and practicing. It was a virtual inversion, turning my practice upside down.

I love the real-life-ness of Yoga, that it complements any situation and offers an on-going opportunity to open up or go deeper.

I love that Yoga unites, not only body & mind, but life & all of its beautiful diversity.

I love the unconditional nature of Yoga.

What do you love about Yoga?

Practice. Practice. Practice.

2010-01-08T10:54:00.000-08:00

I took my first Yoga class 11 years ago, but have been practicing all my life.

It started with that first breath and continued, often unnamed & without guideposts, until awareness entered the picture offering a welcome setting to continue the exploration. The breath comes naturally, the mindfulness requires effort. Yoga and meditation have created a structure within which I may play, learn, practice and grow; learning a basic technique has given me the tools to create a sacred space around myself at any time.

We cry following that first breath of life. I recall the relief I felt after hearing each one of my newborns release their first sound along with their first breaths. My response found itself in a sigh, another expression of sound attached to breath. Joni Mitchell sings, “laughing & crying you know it’s the same release.” Both are conditions that express emotion while requiring a little extra breath than casual moments. This is just the beginning of the journey and is often found more in organic expression than mindful moments.

My first and most long-lasting models of warriorship are my parents. I didn’t realize that’s what they were until I began studying and found the word that best described them. Warriors. My father’s unconditional love and non-judgmental perspectives & practices complement the depth of my mother’s unrelenting fearlessness and boundless curiosity. Both of them are beautiful models of generosity and process-driven-grab-life-by-the-shoulders-and-shake-it-up-ness! Their collective accomplishments are formidable, but have never derailed them from knowing that we have the capacity to learn as long as we have breath.

Yoga is not the only process we refer to as a Practice. We Practice medicine. We Practice Law. And then there’s the old joke, “How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice. Practice. Practice.” The implication is a simple and beautiful one, leaving us room to fall and pick ourselves back up; we are human and on an evolutionary path that is not set in cement. Sometimes the cobbled stone causes us to trip, pause or slow down. Enter mindfulness.

I had a voice teacher in Manhattan who embodied the essence of mindful practice and warriorship. His students all seemed transcendent in the warm glow of his instruction. He taught a very specific technique in a unique style that always left me feeling timeless and totally satisfied. Again, it came back to sound and breath. I was never a singer by trade, but he always made me feel like one. He is almost 83 years of age now. His eight decades of making music and creating creative communities in New York City lays a loving & always relevant hand on all he touches. No longer teaching voice, he remains timeless and inspires with each breath.

Looking back at studying acting at NYU/Circle in the Square in the late 1980s reveals something of a Yoga practice. In our voice class, for example, we regularly moved into Plow Pose and Cobra and focused our minds often on our breath and touching sound. Being in the present moment was a big part of the acting techniques we were learning. Many memories like these emerged as my formal Yoga practice began to take flight.

It was then I realized that Yoga is truly a life-long practice that doesn’t necessarily start with your first steps on the mat or first salute to the sun. It begins with a spark of awareness and intention followed by action. All that’s required is to show up, breathe and pay attention.

And along the way ... Laugh. Cry. Sigh.

So, how do you get to [insert personal destination/goal here]?

Practice. Practice. Practice.

Get a Grip ~ But Don't Get Stuck

2010-01-05T08:28:00.000-08:00

There are plenty of times when slipping is a good thing, like skating or sledding, sliding or gliding; on a Yoga mat is not one of them.

It never occurred to me that a sticky mat could be anything other than just that. When I first dipped my big toe in the Yoga waters I rented a mat each time, not knowing if this was a practice that would stick with me the way my hands stuck easily to the rental mat.

When I began going more regularly, I considered getting my own mat. Then, my friend who introduced me to Yoga gave me her mat since she had just gotten a new one. It was a whole new experience. (I’m the youngest of four, so not only am I used to hand-me-downs, but almost prefer them.) It was a little worn with the beautiful practice of its former owner, purple, sticky and mine. I now had my own magic carpet that was going to take me to wondrous places.

Time and practice did its number on this mat that had served me so well; I was ready for a new one. I ended up sampling a few different brands, hoping one would help me keep my hands from slipping in downward dog. I did the soap in the shower, small amount of detergent in the washing machine and various mat wash sprays. Nothing seemed to work. Was it me? Was I secreting some mysterious mat-resistant sweat that was neutralizing any sticky mat-tributes? I was even sold on a type of mat that was sure to grip me back. It seemed to work for everyone else, but I was consistent in my slippage. I found myself missing that old, worn, fraying mat so I dug it out. I haven’t taken it to a class yet, feeling strangely uneasy about its state of disrepair.

Looking at this mat so full of history, I was struck by a memory that made me laugh.

My childhood dream of being an actress led me to some really fun experiences including a pre-college theatre program at Carnegie-Mellon. The program had a dance part that required the proper shoes and other various dance-related clothing & items. My mom had taken me to the Capezio store to prepare for this program. The dance audition room was packed with a most diverse group of people. The line I will draw here is very broad and does not in any way describe the nature of the individuals, capture the sights, sounds or smells of that room, but it does tell a story.

The kids like me, for whom dance was not our primary reason for being there, were all adorned with shiny new shoes and perfectly woven leg warmers (it was the 80s). We were chatting and getting to know each other, while those wrapped in dance-worn clothing, with no new-car smell left, were stretching and smiling with quiet confidence. I imagine you can guess which group was relegated to the introductory class and which to the advanced.

Perhaps it’s not the state of disrepair that embarasses me about my mat, but the implication that perhaps I’ve moved groups. I’ve always been more comfortable in my beginner’s mind, keeping daily goals within reach and my mind humble. Unlike my many mats, I can easily get stuck in novice mind. Considering the fact that more than a decade has passed since I got my Yoga feet wet knocks me happily off balance. There are still so many poses I cannot yet express fully, but my worn out mat tells my story in a way I also cannot yet fully express.

On my quest for a mat to stick with me on my Yoga journey, I must also get a grip; to stick enough not to slide and to grip enough not to hold on too tight.

Sound Byte View ~ Looking Back & Charging Forward!

2010-01-04T06:17:00.000-08:00

2+0+1+0=3 and we all know that "3...is a magic number."

Wishing you all a magical 2010!! ♥

When I first joined Facebook, I realized that I began thinking in sound bytes. In some cases, almost observing the moments to label them “status-ready,” before fully participating. While I still enjoy a good “status,” since the novelty of being on Facebook has waned so has my desire to caption each moment.

There’s an application which lists all retrievable statuses and gives you your own Status Stats. One of the stats shows your five most used words, in order. Bits and pieces of my life map, dating back to the summer of 2008, were assembled & labeled according to the statement du jour.

The meaning of some moments were more memorable than others, leaving some lines drifting without a context from which to view them. Without a context, these lines may range from the relatable or poetic to the silly & utterly absurd and back to the banal. Sifting through the many fragments, I found a few gems which have become mantras for meditation, and others from the rubble that hint at challenges yet to be met.

Moving into the new year, before I look ahead I take a mindful glance back. On a family bike trip through the Czech Republic, I was riding along leisurely with my mom taking in the interesting topography and vibrant colors. She pulled over and stopped. I rode up to her and asked her why she stopped. She turned to me and said, “Sometimes the view is behind you.” Sure enough, we turned around and arm in arm we beheld, with awe, the beautiful landscape with fresh eyes.

Here’s a sound byte sampling of a life journey, a "status" scrapbook. I’ve edited down the list to the ones that might most resonate here, with a splash of daily reality checks every now and then for perspective. (I recommend this as a personal exercise, whether it's status lines from Facebook, a journal or simple stillness. Take a look back, then charge forward.)

Most Used Words: #1: love used 21 times ~ #2: feeling used 17 times ~ #3: day used 15 times ~ #4: loves used 15 times ~ #5: facebook used 14 times

Status Bytes:

loved basking in the kindled glow of our menora illuminating our colorfully lit christmas tree next to our beautifully hand-carved wooden buddah. happy holidays to all!
is sending out healing love and vibrations to those beautiful people in the concentric & intersecting circles of my life who are suffering and coping right now. The love is strong!
Good morning star shine. The earth says hello.
Goodnight Moon
is stretching my creative wings and circling my thoughts with wonder
voted
just had a venting session with the poor woman who answered my call at the pediatrician's office. now say, ahhhhh!
wonders if, as a rule, one must lower or let go of expectations completely in order not to be disappointed.
is laughing at the silliness of it all!
head back, squinting into the sun
has a crush on Cornel West
Fri October 2, 2009, 5:39 am: Happy Birthday, Ghandi! Namaste, all!!
is grateful to fb for revealing the beautiful depth of formerly "forgotten" or "lost" friends. I find myself marveling at the gifts you all bring to this world!
is trying to think of something clever to say about having strep. i got bubkus!
played the part of soccer coach for a team of 4 year olds, today. is there nothing i won't do for my kids?!!
is looking back at 108 sun salutations and ahead to an amazing autumn!
A new year, like a new day, new hour, new minute, new moment, is filled with opportunity & possibility.
will bring in the new year with little ceremony & much mindfulness
put the kids down to sleep and am now putting politics to bed for the night.
is sometimes torn between always being the peacemaker/cheerleader and speaking my mind, but is grateful for amazing friends who are there to engage equally in thoughtful debate and potty jokes! :-)
Fri September 11, 2009, 4:42 am: witnessed. remembers. has you all in my heart today.
is in the stillness between the happiness of celebrating our anniversary on 9/9 and the sadness of mourning the tragedy of 9/11.
loves the practical uses of Yoga, like twisting around in the car to accomodate the needs of tots or forward bending over the laundry basket to open the door that the 2 year old decided needed to be shut. Yoga, it's good for the soul and helps you get things done! :-)
is grateful for hot showers
wonders if "entitled" people realize they're not truly entitled
loves my neighborhood and all the amazing people who make it the special place it is. You are wonderful gifts wrapped in enchanted centuries-old trees.
officially, and sadly, announces the end of ARTisZEN ARTS...something special.
loves that something a simple as a hammock can improve the quality of life and an already beautiful day
sometimes the easiest things to do are the most difficult to get done
unwraps a little bit of the gift of life every day.
is balancing on the edge of here and there. I guess that puts me right here right now
Goji berries
is curious how the senses can be heightened at the same time the mind dulls.
celebrated freedom, today, with Free Space! (You guys rocked!!). May all beings be happy & free. Have a great 4th!
actually heard circus music in my head while getting the kids ready for camp this morning.
is back to one.
has been dancing under the pines with amazing family and friends in Maine and is now home dancing to a more familiar beat.
is iron fist in velvet glove wrapped in spinach and covered with frosting
is feeling the power of words and empowered by their force, when used artfully.
is somewhere between here and there, but keeps on losing footing and falling into now. Ah...
is sad and awed, watching the neighbor's neglect result in the tearing down of an old and beautiful tree.
is taking stock of the meaning & expressions of warriorship at home & abroad, for great causes & everyday challenges and in hearts, minds & bodies. For those who have bravely charged forward in the past and for those who are battling today, thank you!
laughs maniacally in the face of chaos! moohaahahaha!!
is connecting the dots.
is feeling the love
is feeling all sorts of silly!
is coming back to the breath. aahh...
is feeling connected to all the mothers out there and wishes each and every one a beautiful day!
bows to the light in you
is on the road again...sort of...loving the now of it all!
can't stop tapping my toes! Grateful Dead!!!! Can you feel it in the air?
has become a detail in an item on the list
still gets the chills when Barbra sings!
thinks therefore gets stuck
is free and grateful to be
is great at starting things but not always as good at finishi
sees glimpses of clarity through the mist
"om-ed" in unision with my 3 year old and 19 month old. It was pretty cool.
is contemplating a Sisyphean journey and wondering if the boulder will be made of rock or expectation
is in the motherhood spin cycle
honors each of you for your place past & present
is so proud of Brian for creating something truly special in ARTisZEN ARTS!
is pushing pause
wonders how many clowns can fit into a small mind
has just been nipped by instant karma. It only stung for a moment.
is investigating peaceful warriorship. Will let you know.
trusts the unseen powers
thinks integrity is sexy
got the baby down by chanting "OM"...love that!
is grilling in winter. Oh yeah, that's right
is abundantly human
is still tuned in but may need to drop out soon due to bedtime for the tots
is ready to do what needs to be done
is feeling the urgency and awe of now.
is in awe. When else can you feel history while it's being made?
is comforted that we are all part of great cosmic joke punchline.
is straddling the river between mythical fiction and misty reality
loves the magic of simple joys, like hot chocolate on a cold day
is turning into a Disney character. Hero or Villain, it's anyone's guess.
wishes you all great moments of laughter, reflection, pause, peace and love this holiday season and always!!
is reminded daily of the wide gap between theory and reality
is thinking facebook is the biggest party with a most excellent guest list
is one step closer
is happily being held together with scotch tape & string
is unraveling little mysteries one clue at a time
is bits & pieces
is falling apart, but not falling down...yet
is remembering what it feels like to be five ~ its ups, downs and inbetweens
is contemplating contemplating
is admiring the flow from a distance and will rejoin it later
is going with the flow
is documenting unlikely beauty, with help from Tanya
is leisurely floating down the rabbit hole
thinks facebook is a bit like looking in a funhouse mirror
is practicing
is feeling life's magic and its poetry
senses enchantment in the air
is going to practice yielding today
wishes everyone a Happy Thanksgiving. Thank you for being part of the love-fest that is gratitude.
loves bic pens
is feeling the love
thinks that heart-on-sleeve is a beautiful fashion statement; chip-on-shoulder-pad...not so much.
believes that magic & reality are not mutually exclusive.
is grateful for our president-elect, Obama, for raising the national mood.
can't believe Jerry Garcia has been gone for 13+ years. :-(
is giggling at life's challenges...everyday!
is fascinated by the facebook experiment
is baffled by talking points.
is not proud. It's Mac'n Cheese for dinner tonight!
got misty watching the girls experience the magic that is Broadway.
made yummy dinner with the ever mysterious sweet dumpling squash.
is open to the idea of hope
is tickled by the absurd realities of parenthood.
is feeling very critical of the dangerously low levels of critical thinking.
loves when new friends become old friends, and old friends become family
has not had Internet service for several days, finished a novel and is the middle of another book. Hmmm, wonder if there's a link

Aching for Asana

2009-12-28T19:10:00.000-08:00

My body is aching for asana.

An ache has literal and figuratve meanings as does asana; this is poetry. The ache in my side reflects the ache in my heart; while the asanas, physical poses, embody an ancient wisdom that reaches deep beyond the body.

I was thinking about this idea of “aching for asana” and began to wonder how deep the ache went. My mind, for its own reasons, tuned into the movies, Fame and Flashdance. Memories of being a teenager, aching to act and work toward fulfilling that dream like Jennifer Beals’ character did in the movie, brought up the ancient ache of my youth. Yearning to flourish in this demanding field was a definite identity marker.

My whole young adulthood was centered around this idea of my professional future. When it became clear that this was no longer my dream, I felt a little lost and a new ache surfaced. This was a beautiful example of the porous nature of identity and how easy it is to get stuck in our ideas of ourselves. It was a time of soul searching and questioning and learning to be still, all of which ached & reappear as needed.

This new ache was different. This was not the ache of an unfulfilled dream, it was an aimless ache with no origin or goal. None of these aches fully defined myself, nor did they permeate my daily life adversely. But they were felt.

As my children are growing and time is opening up creating new space, I am again looking into a hazy future. This time, however, I have an inner advantage. When I’m on the mat or cushion (which I recently dusted off), the fog has more clear patches that keep widening and the questions seem less daunting. My existential aches are more like growing pains than crises.

I don't know what this increasing clarity will reveal, but am confident that there is something special awaiting discovery. The now subtler ache for what's to come is now a gentle reminder to first take notice and then move into action.

Writing these thoughts down, knowing they are not unique and that someone out there is nodding her or his head in understanding, is a beautiful reminder that we are all connected. There is a calm in knowing I’m part of a human network of people all going through this life with the set of tools we’ve acquired along the way and that, for the most part, we are not so different.

With the new year approaching, the atmosphere is filled with resolutions, goals and good intentions for this arbitrary fresh start. I have found myself overwhelmed by the weight of this energy, so I choose to take my fresh starts as they become necessary, whenever that may be.

My very first teacher once told me, face to face in the doorway of the studio, “You have unlimited do-overs.” (I hope you’re reading this now and know who you are.) Those words open up doors of forgiveness & possibility any time of year.

It is magical to watch how the seeds sown at different stages, take root and often blossom in surprising ways and at interesting times. This is a thank you to all the teachers, on and off the mat, whose positive marks have been made both indelible & temporary. I think there might be something alive in that paradox.

I have not been completely without practicing. There have been a few tentative downward dogs and some limited stretching on the floor. Still unable to flow I count on my breath. While my body still aches (physically to heal and spiritually to practice) and is eager to re-enter the world of regular asana practice, I am grateful to have this forced time to expand and further probe the inner workings.

The ache is now a dull echo, heard and felt, but essential and light.

To ride the wave of the last post about toasting, I again raise my glass and repeat a toast my father sometimes says and that is: "May your present happy days be your future sad ones."

Make some beautiful memories and laugh a lot!

Happy New Year!

Love & Peace 2010!

A Toast to You:

2009-12-24T18:24:00.000-08:00

I had a roommate in college who had a toast she would make every time we had cocktails. She would raise her glass, take a breath and say, “To new friends, old friends and absent friends.” And then, CLINK.

Among the many toasts that circulate the clinking of glass, this seems neither too trite nor too profound, though has tinges of both. The ritual of toasting begins the, sometimes, mindless act of drinking with a moment of mindfulness. We say our words of toast, take in the words with whatever meaning they hold, touch our glasses, take a sip ~ or swig, whatever the mood ~ and resume what we were doing before the toast was made or move on to the next moment.

My glass is raised

My newest friends are the readers of this post I haven’t met but am glad to know, while my new friends are the amazing individuals I’ve met in the last seven and half years since I moved from Manhattan.

My old friends are treasures from high school and college and that undefined time in my 20’s and early 30’s when life was so rich with varied experiences there is no central point of reference. Some of my oldest friends (and I can call them that since we’ve connected on facebook) are those whose memories are longer and, in most cases, a bit vaguer.

Rather than solely thinking of people who are absent from my life, I remember that I am also absent from the lives of old friends and acquaintences. In fact, my former roommate whose words inspired this post, is an absent friend to me as I am to her.

I will end this post and this toast as it began:

To Old Friends, New Friends & Absent Friends

And add:

Future Friends and Friendly Strangers

Happy Holidays and Every Other Ordinary Day!

The Beautiful Burden of Memory

2009-12-20T15:00:00.000-08:00

Facebook has put me in touch with many people I had put out of my mind for a long time. It’s been a blast reconnecting with people whose names and images conjure up memories that have also long since lain dormant. This whole experience has brought up old angels and demons of thoughts, alliances and actions of my past.

I find myself looking at old pictures, trying to remember people’s names from different camps, theatre experiences, group activities and travel, so I can search for them and see what they're up to. There are still a few people with whom I would love to reconnect and still others I’ve “hidden” from view, but still honor as people who have, in one way or another, helped shape who I am. People I’m sure won’t remember me, respond with memories I’ve lost or stories that take me back to the moment as if I’ve inhaled the vapors of a memory tonic.

One of my best friends, who has long since become more like my brother than friend, refuses to join this growing network. While I’d love to share some of the fun gimmicks and games on Facebook with him, he has been in my life for nearly 26 years so it hardly seems necessary. He is still in Manhattan (in the apartment we leased together in 1992) and our lives have moved in different directions. We don’t see each other or speak as often as we’d like, but he is still one of my oldest & dearest friends. We have seen each other through every phase of life since the summer I turned 16.

When we are together, I’ve been told, we can make others feel a bit lost in our conversation (he would say he sometimes gets lost when it’s just us talking, given my non-sequitor impulses). All it takes is a word, a gesture, a look and we break out in that belly deep laughter that can make your sides ache. Time and distance have not weakened this reality, I imagine in part because the memories we share are still so potent. We have so many shared moments that words sometimes just get in the way.

One day, about 15 years ago, I had a thought that turned to a shudder. I realized that this easy manner we share has to do with the fact that we shoulder the burden of memory, together. When you know someone long enough this is bound to happen. The shudder I experienced that day came when I had that mortal moment of realization that one day one of us won’t be here anymore.

Once one of us is gone, the burden of those memories is bound to become heavier. Who will laugh at the otherwise empty gestures? Or bite his bottom lip at the implication of a past indiscretion? Who will put me in my place when my memory deviates from his memory of the same event? Who will be my historic mirror, for better or worse?

I am using my friend as the example, but the same holds true for my first family with whom I have already shared a lifetime of memories and my now primary family whose broad shoulders are adding precious memories, daily.

The generations that are growing up with Facebook, and other yet to be conceived social utilities, will likely collect their “friends” as they move in whatever directions their lives take. It’s an immediate, almost indiscriminate action, to add everyone they know to a list of “friends.” Their names may fade in significance over time, but they will live on the list without need for any in-depth searching for old emails or trolling of memory for last names (maiden or married).

My generation never imagined that once the events and experiences of our youth turned to memory, that we would be revisiting them in this manner. Mistakes of our past could remained buried in the recesses of memory; exciting thoughts of our budding selves could be left to flower into a subtle smile at the mere thought. High School reunions had some significance beyond just getting together; there was an element of surprise and conversations that caught us up on life’s milestones and details. In this way, we shouldered the burdens of our own memories.

The world is changing so fast, who can predict what will come next or how it will affect the comfort zones in which we live. So whether I’m on Facebook navigating a world I never imagined, laughing without obvious cause by a friend who glanced at me sideways, struggling with a Yoga pose I’ve done a hundred times or I’m standing in the moment of a fresh memory, I will take pause to breathe and roll my shoulders back and down.

They must remain strong and supple to carry their life-long load.

Rocking Chair Yoga

2009-12-15T10:00:00.000-08:00

I am fine, but need to take several weeks to heal from a recent procedure, which will prevent me from productively practicing Yoga on the mat. But I refuse to stop practicing. I see and feel the benefits of Yoga in every step and with every breath. One of my teachers reminded me that as long as I can breathe, I can do Yoga.

While my body is working its way back, my spirit remains active and curious.

While I don’t consider flicking the television remote control an actual asana, sometimes it can be the conduit to a yogic experience. In one of my hazy moments, I landed on a program called, “Yoga for Life” ~ hosted by Kurt Johnsen (veria tv channel 162 on Verizon FIOS). It’s not a spectator show, but more like an active Vinyasa class. Sitting in my rocking chair, unable to fall into any expression of the asanas, I found myself breathing to the rhythm of the instruction and imagining myself on the mat. In some moments, I felt minor shifts in my body as it tried to articulate the familiar poses. (I will look for this program again once I’m more mobile.)

Instead of focusing on what I couldn’t do, I began to tune into what was available no matter how limiting. Within my own limitations, I found a surprisingly expansive space. Spreading my toes and really feeling the floor, its textures and support, brought a new awareness to my foundation. Finding Tadasana, even while my posture is necessarily hunched over, temporarily, redefined my idea of how to lengthen and root down. A few neck rotations released energy I didn’t know was trapped. Rolling my shoulder blades back and down, aligning my head and honoring my neck, brought an unexpected smile to my face.

I’m getting stronger every day and must be vigilantly aware of my limitations without getting stuck in them. Baby steps eventually graduate to leaps & bounds.

When we first started dating, my husband used to greet each morning by saying, “Happy new day.” Each day opens up to the potential of being surprised and growing beyond expectation.

So to all of you who are reading this, Happy New Day!

Taking Pause

2009-12-08T19:44:00.000-08:00

Hello Readers.

I don't want you to think I've abandoned my post. I am pausing to breathe through some minor physical healing, but will return as soon as my head is a bit clearer.

If you're on facebook, you may find mini updates on my page of the same name (just search Drop & Give Me Yoga!). Feel free to add your voice there by putting out comments and questions to our beautiful, diverse sangha. Let's begin a magical brew of ideas. Who knows what surprises are waiting to be discovered?

Please continue to check in and I will be back soon!

Wishing you all a peaceful, meaningful & loving holiday season!

~Namaste and a hug~

Sangha Spotlight ~ Karen Caggia ~ Shine On

2009-11-29T04:21:00.000-08:00

When my husband and I were house hunting we happened upon a realtor at an open house, with whom we clicked immediately. She found us our dream house then faded out of our lives until one Friday afternoon when I took my two older daughters to a Family Yoga class at the Prancing Peacock. There was Karen, our realtor from seven years earlier, teaching the class! The connection we made when we first moved here remained strong and relevant. It made sense that the first person we met in our now history-laden home should be the first person I interviewed for this blog.

We agreed to meet at a local breakfast place. Karen came in with her usual effervescence and infectious optimism. We greeted each other like old friends, immediately chatting and sharing stories. Both of us on the path, curious where it may lead and charging forward, hearts wide open.

Curious about her beginnings, I asked Karen what her interests were when she was a kid. She told me that she was a competitive swimmer when she was younger, though her spirit was less competitive than it was joyfully along for the ride. She loved every moment in the pool and always felt great when she emerged. When she finished telling me about how she felt in the water, she took a breath and smiled. “Yoga feels great,” she sighed while seemingly being washed over by that particular memory and making the current connection.

Through the years Karen experienced her life with big eyes, enthusiastic and curious. At sixteen, Karen was a lifeguard at the outdoor pool at the Trenton Psychiatric Hospital. This four year experience was extremely rewarding and helped to shape Karen’s desire to help and nurture others. She always believed that motherhood was her destiny, but as a child also entertained dreams of Olympic swimming or possibly becoming a famous criminal attorney. While the shape of our childhood dreams may change form over the years, we bring our particular talents and sensibilities with us, however they manifest.

Karen took a Yoga class when she was 28, but her aerobics-mind took over, leaving her to feel that Yoga wouldn’t be able to keep up with her. “I guess I wasn’t ready to receive it at that time in my life,” Karen reconciled. That was a time when she didn’t realize the value of slowing down, so never even stayed for the stretching time at the end of her aerobics classes. She enjoyed life’s party, married and had three sons.

In her mid-forties she spent summers at a swim club where she and her friends would talk about trying Yoga. They talked about it a lot. Then, Karen decided to do it. At 48 years of age, she took her first class (since the one 20 years before) through Pennsbury Adult Education at Makefield Elementary School. “I actually fell asleep during my first Sivasana,” Karen remembered. She continued, “Linda Carl was the teacher; her style was so loving and gentle and she helped open my eyes to the beauty of Yoga.”

In Linda’s class, Karen remembered, “We did Leg Cradle Pose and it brought me to tears.” When I asked her why she cried, she said, “Rocking my leg brought me back to childhood.” She had spent so much time taking care of others, including the joyful caring for her husband and three sons; Yoga gave her the opportunity to take care of herself. Linda’s class lit the Yoga fire in her belly, inspiring the need to try new studios and teachers, and sample from the glorious Yoga buffet.

She started visiting Yoga studios all over the local map before discovering her Emerald City.

It wasn’t a Yellow Brick Road or ruby red slippers that led her to her destination, but a soft voice guided by an open heart. Karen recalls, “It happened on a dark and stormy night when I was driving home from Pennsbury High School with my son. We were driving down Stony Hill Road when, just near the train tracks, something caught my eye. I don’t know how I saw it, so small and unlit, in the dark and between the raindrops, but there it was. Yoga. A sign for the Prancing Peacock loomed there, receded from the road, calling me.” They stopped the car and Karen wrote down the phone number. She called the number, met its proprietor, Liz Connor and connected. Karen begins this part of her story, “I found a home.”

Karen admits to having some amazing influences along the way, including her parents who instilled a strong sense of compassion in her. Her mother embodied a spirit of faith and charitable work and her father would ask Karen and her siblings daily, “What have you done for the betterment of mankind today?”

Karen feels that all of her teachers have contributed their wisdom and love, adding flavor and dimension to her practice. She is adamant that every teacher at Prancing Peacock, including the teachers with whom she trained, inspire her and bring something new to her practice. She feels compelled, however, to take a moment to further honor Liz Connor’s presence in her life as a mentor, teacher and guide. “When I have felt insecure, she has seen something in me that I couldn’t. She has faith in me when my own faith fails. She really sees me as I am and has enabled me to begin seeing myself through a wider, more compassionate lens.” She ends this part of her story the way she began it, “With Liz and at Prancing Peacock I have found a home.”

Practicing now for close to five years and teaching for one year, Karen continues to see her life on this path opening up and extending to others. She laughed when thinking about her days in Catholic school when the nuns would say they were “called” to their stations of service. She admits to just not getting it. As someone who feels she was “called” to this practice, to share it with as many people as she can, Karen now gets it. “Once I found the mat and fell in love, I understood.”

Still a professional realtor, I asked her how life has changed personally & professionally since embarking on a life on the mat. Professionally she said, “Working in real estate can be extremely reactive in many situations. I often find myself in the role of counselor. Buying and selling houses can bring up major issues and when you’re dealing with people you are also dealing with their hearts. Yoga helps me to absorb and not react when things get tense in negotiations. I can take a step back and be in the moment. Now, I’m deeply grateful for every job I get and find joy in all I do. Personally,” she said, “I’m better able to take a breath and take a step back.”

Karen’s enthusiasm for the practice extended to a friend from East Brunswick, NJ, who came down to Prancing Peacock for a class. “She came down with a friend and I taught a class with just the three of us,” Karen told me. It turned out that her friend’s family owned a building with a vacant space, suitable for a small studio. As a result of her Yoga experience, her friend was moved to open a Yoga studio in that space. Not a regular practitioner, herself, she opened it up to Karen. Karen feels that, “It has become a blessed opportunity to hone my skills and speak my truth. While I’m not a shy person, I’m not always comfortable being the center of attention. Even when I dabbled in theatre, I was always behind the scenes. What a wonderful place to stretch my wings.”

Yoga is a natural extension of Karen’s open, artistic nature. She majored in Art in college and lives a life of music. She loves “treasure hunting” (yard sales) and making unexpected vignettes out of her finds. She has a side business called, “Ocean Gypsy.” The name itself honors her love of the water and the seeker within, that continues to guide her.

Those who practice Yoga understand that the path may lead in many directions. Karen’s long-term vision of her practice goes back to her lifeguarding days with the prisoners at the Trenton Psychiatric Hospital. “I would love to go to prisons or shelters for women and teach them Yoga to empower them to know that where they are now is not where they need to be. I believe it would change the atmosphere of their lives while inside the facility and would nourish the people they’ll become if & once they re-enter the world outside. I have a friend who is a rape counselor. I know it would be challenging to get this group of women together, but I would love to share Yoga with them, too.”

Karen’s love for her husband and children is palpable. You can feel her gratitude as if it were your own. “I am grateful to be able to practice and that the practice found me. I love how life is shaping up and can see it unfolding unexpectedly. I’m not nearly done. I hope to have the opportunity to do all the things I have in my head. I have a lot to do. This practice radiates out, inspiring us all to Shine On!”

* * *

Karen teaches Family Yoga at Prancing Peacock in Yardley, Pa ~ Fridays at 4:15pm

(click on name for website and information)

She also teaches two beginners classes, Tuesdays 12:30pm & 5:30pm, at Exhale Center for Art & Wellness located at: 223 Route 18 East Brunswick, NJ. (732) 247-6900.

Fun Karen Facts

Do you have a favorite pose? Why? Fish Pose because the heart space is open wide. Can’t speak enough about what we do for ourselves in each pose.

What is your most challenging pose? Chattaranga and bringing the leg up in high lunge.

Memorable “AHA” moments on the mat? I had an “OMG” moment early on when I did a split. From that, I felt that anything’s possible.

Do you have a favorite Sanskrit name to say out loud? Chattaranga Dandasana

Do you have any rituals for before/after you practice/teach? I breathe. I used to think the “cleansing breath” was funny and a little strange. Now I revel in it, it’s become ritual.

Thank You! We are all links in this chain.

2009-11-25T19:51:00.000-08:00

It's Thanksgiving, a day designed for collective gratitude. There are those who are regularly tuned into gratitude in their lives while others are not. Even if you are someone who is mindful and present enough to get this, what makes Thanksgiving different from usual moments of giving thanks, is a national intention. It’s a day when everything shuts down for the purpose of mindful, ritual gratitude.

Tonight, I took my regular Wednesday night beginner class and feel like Thanksgiving started tonight. My teacher, who truly inspires me, asked us to write down five things for which we are thankful and five things we intend to be thankful for throughout the next year. For the purpose of this entry, I will list them here:

Now:

Family
Friends
Life’s abundance
Being on the mat
Getting the cosmic joke

Future:

Surviving and thriving in the wake of life’s challenges
The continued health and well-being of my family & friends
Growing on and off the mat
The new things that come into my life
Being. Breathing.

When I looked at my list before tucking it under my mat, my first thought was, of course friends and family, and then realized I had written them down almost automatically. Later, when I returned home, I looked at the list again. This time, I really thought about my family, each member for who he or she is and was overwhelmed with feelings of awe and love. They are amazing models of love, compassion and commitment who have been part of shaping my world, some since my birth and others since their births. Then, images of various friends began to pop into my head & heart, bringing with them their own stories of adventure and inspiration. I went down the list and visualized each item in the context of this great gratitude and the words began to breathe.

However you spend this day or feel about its mythology, there is something powerful in the number of people, links in this great chain of gratitude, who will be participating.

Namaste.

Life's Floor Boards

2009-11-20T19:43:00.000-08:00

When I took piano lessons as a kid, my teacher told me I had to learn the classics before diving into rock & roll. This, she implied, would provide me with a foundation from which I could do anything. In a similar spirit, one of my mother’s parenting philosophies (which I know was not unique) was that it was their job, as parents, to give us roots so we could one day sprout and exercise our wings. I always really liked that image.

I live in a neighborhood which is home to many trees that were part of William Penn’s original nursery (so I’ve been told). Walking through the intertwining & interconnecting streets, one can tell the ancient trees from their younger counterparts. The variety of flowering & non-flowering trees, their shapes & sizes and many shades of green give expression to the flora foundation of this character-rich neighborhood. It’s hard to believe it all began with a seed.

Our feet are our physical foundation.* They are what enable us to move through the world without much thought or notice. I have a Yoga teacher who tells us that Tadasana (Mountain Pose) and Downward Dog are the foundations for all the standing poses and to find stability there first. This instruction always evokes the image of human roots and the elusive wings that result. I have definitely noticed increased stability in my body over the years, in these seemingly simple poses, and recognize when they take root off the mat. The forward bending required to clear the floor of the day’s toys that never got put away, the reach to the top shelf for the hidden chocolate stash or simply standing in line at the grocery store have all found a new place of ease.

When I lived in Manhattan, apartment living required a softer, more mindful approach to moving about one’s home. After all, every floor, or foundation, was someone else’s ceiling. Roots and wings took on a different form but effectively shared the same sentiment. The practical uses of Yoga off the mat took flight with every gentle step.

Occasionally, I honor my feet for their hard work by getting a pedicure (or more likely, painting them myself). The fresh nail polish reflects a fresh appreciation for keeping me upright and mobile. But, as so often can happen, I end up taking them for granted. This is shown in the dull chipping of the toe paint and general “whatever” attitude toward repainting or refreshing.

I spent the last few months recognizing this behavior in each pose that brought me face to feet. I’d say to myself that I would take care of it when I got home and then would systematically forget. Something interesting happened around the same time. I had always been baffled by the notion of rolling over my toes from Up Dog to Down Dog. I would try, but it always seemed so unnatural. I can’t remember what happened first; I removed the remaining polish from my neglected toes and organically began rolling over said toes.

I tend to have a casual foundation toward many things, which allows me to watch the toe polish gradually disintegrate. I also have a foundation of trust, which keeps me on a path where anything's possible, even rolling over toes.

What is the foundation that keeps you rooted to the earth? Upright? Head in the clouds?
Able to roll over your toes?
I'd love to know.

Earth Roots Floors Feet

*I am sensitive to the fact that there are many who are moving through their lives without active use of their feet or legs. I am extremely grateful for my functioning body and though I would never pretend to be able to name what constitutes their physical foundation, the sentiment is the same.

Confronting the Boulder ~ Reflections of Sisyphus

2009-11-17T20:10:00.000-08:00

Sisyphus was condemned to push a giant boulder up a mountain and once it rolled down, push it back up, for eternity. It took him a while, but he did have his hour of consciousness, that moment when the light bulb went off in his head. What he realized was that no matter how menial his daily task seemed, he had the ability to create meaning with each breath, step and push of the boulder. I too believe that life is not defined by any end result, but by intention, process and heart.

The first step toward meaningful moments is mindfulness. When Sisyphus was in his endless cycle of boulder pushing he was stuck in the habit of the act. His actions remained the same but awareness forced him to include intention and conscious living, transforming that habit into ritual.

I take a beginners Yoga class once a week. It doesn’t matter how many years I’ve been on the mat (and off & on), it just seems right to be there. It doesn’t have the flavor of the basic classes I took when I began my practice, likely because I am not the same. What our teacher brings to this class in the way of philosophy, movement & trust is far from elementary.

Basic poses take on a different meaning when broken down and intention is redirected. Not only is the class a beautiful expression of beginner’s mind, it challenges me to further bring meaning & mindfulness to my whole practice, including life off the mat.

On those nights, stepping purposefully into plank instead of jumping back shifts the experience and turns a habit into ritual.

* * *

From the Filing Cabinet: Periodically, I will be posting relics found in the filing cabinet I referenced in the post, Something Old, Something New 11/11/09. This one seemed appropriate for this post.

Confronting the Boulder

Imagine. You’re moving through your life the only way you know how, when actions or circumstances cause a cosmic glitch. Something happens that is not in accord with the universal harmony of being. The source that allows the Universe its power intervenes with a decree of your eternal destiny. Your sentence is to push the weight of the world up the highest mountain, until immeasurable end of time. No take-out exotic foods; no human touch or sensuality; no warm baths with scented oils; no roller coasters or cotton candy; no literary challenge; no movie popcorn or glamorous celebrity fix; no dry red wine; no scent of cooking garlic; no losing your way home; no awkward kiss good-night; no smoke-filled billiard hall hinting of bourbon and adventure; no pain of loss or heartache; no diversion from the path. No will. No choice. No hope. No distractions. No future.

Imagine the ego-driven notion of the mortal dilemma which dictates that everything comes to an end, that time is fixed, and its end marks the eternal release. The end of a life that seemed to last forever. The finite resolution of a past and future. We are consciously absolved of all the consequences of our decisions. Throughout our lifetimes we may be gifted with the mechanism of amnesia, but the unlearned or ignored lessons of our previous selves remain as integrated (unconscious) memory. The thought of an endless existence is unfathomable.

Imagine your life as it is now, continuing without end, any true growth occurring greater within than without, marking time in a claustrophobic manner. The infinitesimally small notches on the wall, meant to mark an increase in growth, seem daily to fade into the epic shadows of time. A feeling of despair accompanies every moment. The physical, emotional and spiritual have been so woven into a single fabric, they no longer embody any unique structure of their own; they are one. The despair, thus, exists in every movement of the body--limbs, muscles, bone and even the flow of blood in the veins; it exists in the act of thinking or happening upon a notion. The menial shuffling of papers, waiting on tables, answering phones or hocking wares*, seem enviable positions. If only you didn’t have to push that heavy weight...again!

Imagine the daily push to the end of each day, hoping for any unexpected turn in the routine, before realizing that allowing the variables of each day, no matter how subtle, to breathe fresh air into the moments that follow, is to be alive.

*all are jobs I have held

What's in a Name?

2009-11-13T19:49:00.000-08:00

In an effort to remain fairly anonymous, I opted to have my name appear as “Administrator” for things relating to this blog. When I saw it appear after a comment I made on someone else’s blog, I realized that it did not represent who I am or my mission in this world. I consulted a friend who is, as a rule, an “out of the box” thinker and while I passed on his suggestion, I was inspired. I Googled a list of Sanskrit Yoga terms, searching for a name that called to me. There were, as I imagined, many compelling names that I felt connected to, but only one that halted me in my thought process. Sakshi, means Witness. I feel strongly that among our many obligations in this life that at the very least, we bear witness.

I saw the towers fall the morning of September 11, 2001, two days after my wedding. The effect was and continues to be life-shaping. Television failed in its regular ability to distance me, as the viewer, from the images it was transporting. I know I was not alone. The city & people I loved were devastated and the bliss of my brand new marriage mingled with the mourning of the world we no longer knew. I was there. Because I was a witness I can pass it along to my children to pass it along to theirs and we won’t ever forget.

The same is true for survivors of any traumatic or elevated experience. To witness is to begin the healing or sharing the joy or simply passing along the information. The examples range from extreme conditions to the banal. It is equally as valuable to witness an elegant expression of compassion or connection as it is to witness acts of brutality. Even to witness an ordinary moment of beauty or plainness is to be alive.

Several years ago I was practicing Yoga next to someone I’d never met. Her practice flowed with a grace that made me take notice. When we were rolling up our mats I felt compelled to tell her how beautiful her practice was. In this simple act of witnessing I felt elevated. Five years later, she is one of my teachers. Weekly, I get to witness her process while participating in the dance.

Part of my mission in even posting these musings is to share observations that may have some universal appeal. We are all witnesses to our lives and the world around us. That is part of what connects us all.

Sakshi. Witness.

Something Old, Something New ...

2009-11-11T05:26:00.000-08:00

I rediscovered the filing cabinet that houses my many unfinished projects, with a curiosity and relish that has been gathering dust along with the files. Some of the ideas I’ve had over the years still resonate with me, though with a fresh mind may take a different form than originally intended. If you continue reading this blog, you may happen upon them sometime throughout this ongoing story.

That filing cabinet has haunted me for years. The ghosts of characters that have yet to breathe their life into this world & dreams that are yet to be are calling to be fully realized. This is an opportunity to take action and shift my own view of myself. “I am now a person who sees things through.” This may be just another statement to add to my identity. Cool. Setting this intention is part of breaking the old mold and becoming more fully who I am.

I was in Manhattan yesterday, my other home. Walking up Columbus Avenue with my mother and best friend from college, I had a chance to honor who I was when I lived there and take a look at who I am now. Physical memory allowed me to effortlessly jump into the rhythm and stride of NYC’s unique sidewalk choreography. My heart rate increased inviting my new suburban self to join the dance.

My former neighborhood has had many face-lifts in the seven years I’ve been gone. Stores & restaurants that had been mainstays during my Upper West Side life have disappeared and become something other, someone else’s base. Living in the city one sees change happening all the time. The turnover is part of the familiar walk down each and every street. It’s a bit like being with your kids daily, the growth seems gradual. But, when you haven’t seen your city or your child in a while, the change can appear dramatic.

When I left the city, after sixteen years, I made a fissure in my urban self and dared that self to shatter completely. The shards have retained the essential memory of a life well lived and have reformed into something unexpected. When I think about the unmet dreams & goals I had when I moved to the city, like the myriad unrealized projects in my filing cabinet, I sigh and then imagine. The sigh contains the total satisfaction and love for a life that took a different path. Imagination steps in to discover what is on the horizon of dreams.

This is Yoga off the mat.

There are things I will always miss about living in the city as now there are things I’d miss if lived outside the greenery of my current landscape. There are those ghostly characters requiring resuscitation or burial and vibrant ones eager to make their voices heard.

To all the untold & unfinished stories past & present...
Sigh.

MelodAsana ~ see side glossary

2009-11-08T10:53:00.000-08:00

Earlier today I was listening to Joni Mitchell. Certain music is more than a listening experience it is a journey through time, space and self. Her tone and style mingle with her lyrics with such poetry and heart; it’s difficult for me not to respond either through movement or joining her song with my voice. Every note resonates with a memory, feeling or sense of something or someone. I find my own thoughts vanishing or morphing into something relating to the story she’s telling. It is a visceral, basic & internal voyage.

Reggae elicits a more physical reaction, moving me from the inside out. It is difficult for me not to move when reggae is playing. I used to wonder what a reggae Yoga class would feel like. During one of my pre-natal classes my teacher, who knew I fantasized about such a class, provided a reggae soundtrack. I realized that theory & practice don’t always groove. Rather than the music being background breath, it became foreground karaoke. I couldn’t contain myself. My body swayed to the beat and I perfected my Bob Marley lip-sync, smiling with each asana. That’s really great, but it would have been more productive if there were some balance. I seemed to lose my Yoga intention for an island dance.

There is wonderful music that naturally complements the practice with poetry of its own, lending its melodious aspects to the flow. In fact, there are times when I’m fully aware of the music but it nourishes the practice rather than distracts from it. This got me re-thinking the idea of music-inspired classes (including reggae), where the breath is directed deliberately to the lyrical quality of the practice, using the music as the vehicle rather than a destination. It’s more like a Yoga dance without requiring strict adherence to the beat. For example, while in tadasana, direct the ujjayi breath to find the music in the body, like searching for the internal vibrations of an OM. Joining the spirit of spontaneity with flow, the teacher gives the next instruction while still in the last pose, allowing the music to move the practitioner in her own time. Changes of rhythm in the music inform the pace of movement in the room.

A word emerged as a possible name for this practice: Melodasana. The Sanskrit for music (melody) is saMgiita—according to a Google search. Perhaps saMgiitasana would be more appropriate. Since most poses have an English name as well as a Sanskrit one, we could use both. It is our practice after all and this is, as yet, just a class I’ve made up in my head. So why not play?

Several months ago I took a workshop with a teacher who was full of surprises. The strength of her spirit alone still reverberates in my heart. I found myself smiling most of the time, just feeling grateful to be in that room. Savasana came and we all did our respective rituals to get there. Once down, the familiar melting into the mat began. And then, there it was. The teacher (who may be reading this right now) broke out into song. Not just any song but a beautiful Aria, rich and full. Her voice was transcendent, creating a mini opera that included each and every one of us. The vibrations of that timeless Savasana still haunt me.

I hear things differently when I listen to music that speaks to me. Sometimes nostalgia shapes my thoughts and other times the freshness of a new sound inspires me. In any case, I’m curious how music can be an active participant in my Yoga practice without drowning it out. Whether music is background or foreground, coupled with Yoga, they are equally powerful sources of information that are natural allies. The long-term effects of music show up in everyone’s lives. Stories are frequently framed around a favorite singer/songwriter or band. The contexts of those stories are often woven into the fabric of the grander picture.

Even in the silence that follows there is music.

Wind ~ a poetic commercial break

2009-11-06T10:44:00.000-08:00

I wasn't planning on posting anything today, but the wind had other plans for me. Today's crisp air and colors, crunchy leaves scattering and trees bowing to the wind have been a wonder. I found this poem I wrote several years ago and thought, if ever, today would be the day to share it.

The music of the wind and trees
echoes softly around the world.
For those who listen, life is full,
for all else it seems unfurled.

There's a constant presence connecting it all
that reminds us we're not alone.
It wakes us in the dead of night
when vulnerability makes us prone.

In the bright light of sun or the mists of rain,
it continues its ancient call.
It lives within; it lives without,
and with no effort affects us all.

Who, Me?

2009-11-05T12:44:00.000-08:00

I’m not a morning person. But when I worked in production, I was often up at sunrise and have enjoyed numerous early mornings while working other, more normal jobs, as well as, for recreation. They may have been challenging mornings to greet, but were ultimately embraced.

I’ve never liked Amusement Park rides. But when my daughter wanted to go on the swinging chair ride in Ocean City, how could I say no (and potentially pass along my irrational fear)? I went on the ride with her, stomach in my shoes, and laughed and sang the whole way, unsure at first that I would make it.

I don’t eat red meat. But when I was pregnant and craved spare ribs or steak (rare as was the occasion), I listened to that quiet voice and complied. And when I was taken to Nobu for dinner and the waiter asked if I had any dietary restrictions, my response was, “Not tonight.” That turned out to be one of the most memorable meals I've had. I can still taste the Kobe beef.

Whatever the inner dialogue, we all have statements about ourselves that seem to solidify into identity over the course of our lives. Where once I found comfort in the labels that defined me (and, in some cases pride), I now feel constrained. While an essential truth may remain within my collection of identifiers, I am free to make choices that contradict them, if they are true in that moment.

Within my Yoga practice, I have always struggled with arm balances and back bends. Every time a teacher would say, Let’s prepare for Crow Pose, We’re going to move our mats to the wall to practice preparation for handstand, or Why not try a Wheel today, my mind would shut down, reminding myself that I've never been able to do it. A couple of weeks ago, I surprised myself. Instead of relying on my past experience, I opted to move eagerly into Crow. I got myself into position and did what I’d done countless times before, with one exception. After I got my first foot off the ground, the other one joined it with some effort. I was there and as soon as I realized that, my mind entered the pose and I fell out of it. The point is, while it took some effort, it wasn’t a struggle. Now I look forward to hearing the words “Crow Pose” and seeing what happens. I’m just a few seconds in flight, but I’ve taken off.

All of this is to say that if life is about learning and growing, it stands to reason that identity, what we lovingly embrace as our personality, must be porous & not solid, flowing & not fixed. In my own efforts toward growing my own mind & heart, I cannot hold myself to the standards of years past to where I am today. All of the above statements describing myself have been negated for what was true in that moment. I’ve become a lot less of a purist as I’ve aged, trying not to confine myself to labels like “vegetarian,” or “slacker.” While I may often fall into these, and many other categories, they are only part of the definition of who I am. I hope to never become a stereotype of myself.

Sushi & Sake ~ Life's Little Rituals

2009-11-02T11:15:00.000-08:00

During a Moms’ Night Out a couple of months ago, the topic turned to raw fish. You know, Sushi, Oysters, etc. We all had our funny stories about the first time we tried sushi or why we never had or what it would take to try it. The results ranged from love to disgust. As I was sharing my experiences, I realized they were less about the fish and more about the process or ritual of eating the fish.

Sure, I enjoy sushi but I love the parts that come before that first bite. Swishing the wasabi & pickled ginger slices into the soy sauce until the wasabi all but disappears and then laying a piece of ginger on each piece of sushi before using the chop sticks to dip each piece into the spicy soy sauce. Pair the meal with a nice warm or cold Sake and the experience is set. The same is true with oysters. When the tray arrives, over ice, with various sauces and a chilled vodka martini, the process begins. Swirling the oyster around in its shell with a sample size of sauce, tipping it into my mouth and continuing the swirling motion until it goes down. I pause, take a breath then I take a sip. The flavors mingle with the ritual to create an experience I love.

There is also ritual to sitting down with a good book. Finding the right spot, getting comfortable and making sure a cup of tea or snack is within reach, curling otherwise un-socked feet under and opening up to the page I always mark with a paper clip. Then it’s up to the story to do its job of transporting me into the author’s world.

I make an effort to arrive at a Yoga class at least ten minutes early. My old mat used to sound like I was unwrapping a piece of candy when I peeled it apart and rolled it out. Now, it’s a smooth roll-out with a less-than-sticky mat (which challenges my down dog, but is thick and pretty pink). I grab a blanket & roll it up so I can sit comfortably with my knees dropping out easily. Then, I luxuriate in a mini meditation, Shambhala-style, before falling into whatever practice the teacher has designed for this moment.

The rituals I mentioned are more flexible processes than hard-fast ritual. The core may be fairly consistent, but the company and ambient sounds, smells and unknown obstacles are bound to change.

The moments before my first Yoga “bite” prepare me for the mix of flavors I will swish around on my mat. The moments following this Yoga buffet allow the experience to digest and become part of me. The meal itself is just yummy.

Life Closed Due to Illness~Will Re-Open When Well

2009-10-31T09:03:00.000-07:00

Our routines were interrupted abruptly when fever & coughing crashed into our home.

Kids and husband all home sick, each requiring attention and extra TLC. The kids were without their distractions of school and extracurricular activities, my husband was rendered immobile and, as the last one standing, I canceled my Yoga classes, trip to NYC, dinner with friends and various other plans I had for the week, to tend to my family.

These are the days when lessons from the mat make their way, without question, into life. I was forced to find the inner flexibility to bend into each moment as it arose. This was not so easy. And, it was not so difficult. One of my teachers reminds us to find effort & ease in each pose. I guess that’s what I was harnessing during the times when frustration surfaced (moving ever closer to my parental edge).

So I had to cancel some of the fun things that balance my days and nourish my spirit. The immediate disappointment didn’t compare to the gratitude I felt that all would be okay. There were some scary moments, some of which turned into comical ones and others that just settled into memory.

As the light at the end of this tunnel grows larger, I wonder what next week will bring. I have scheduled my classes, hoping to resume the daily practice, but know full well that anything can happen.

It's Never What You Say But Always How You Say It

2009-10-28T19:32:00.000-07:00

My greatest teachers, lately, have been my kids. Many of the lessons I’m learning are those that emerge spontaneously from just being around them and others are reminders from simple things I’m teaching them to put them on the right path. The classics are classics for a reason. The Golden Rule is a big one around here; Thumper wisdom advises, if you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all; and, it’s never what you say but always how you say it. I’ve come up with a couple of them that I’m fairly sure will become part of our family lore: Everything takes the time that it takes and we try to be as fair as we can be in a world that is not always fair.

While how one says something is essential in efforts of manners, diplomacy and basic kindness, it is equally important in conveying a message effectively. Every teacher has her own way of explaining her subject, just as every student has her own way of hearing it. If I’d had a teacher who’d explained that math was a way of thinking, of problem solving, I might have approached it differently and accessed more of my Left Brain.

I spent several years kicking my legs up the wall, sweating and focusing my energy into Head Stand, to no avail. One day I took a class, taught by my best friend from college, and she told me to bring my elbows closer together. It was a minor instruction, a tiny detail, but like I’d been doing it for years, my legs floated up the wall.

I referenced in my last post, my volatile relationship with Trikonasana (Triangle Pose). Again, it was a simple modification of how to lengthen my torso over my legs by thinking the crown of my head, long. Now that I’m no longer baffled by the pose, I can play more with it and further clarify it.

In each case, it wasn’t that other teachers were missing the mark, but that sometimes a certain choice in words can make the difference between understanding and confusion. Not that confusion is so bad; the road toward clarity can be an adventure in itself. I love experiencing different teachers, their styles of teaching and approach to the practice. Sometimes it’s not their words that bring clarity, but the tone of their teaching or the humor they bring to the mat.

The teachers who reach and move me most fully are those who are abundantly present. So present that they are able read my individual needs in the sea of individuals with their own particular needs.
They know just what to say and how to say it.

Open Sesame!

2009-10-27T13:17:00.001-07:00

Today I was inspired by more than my mat.

I have a dear friend who has just taken her first few steps on this Yoga journey. With some gentle encouragement and a touch of trepidation she unrolled her mat and courageously took that first Yoga breath. After only one basic class she began taking the mixed level classes and when asked how she liked it, she said, “Eh, not so much. Yet.” The fact that she didn’t hear harp music and have woodland creatures eating out of her hand that first time makes me respect her more for taking a second class. Unseen forces are at work!

I had the privilege of practicing next to her today. Her willingness to have faith that there’s more there than meets her eye, further opened my mind and softened my heart. Bringing a sense of humor to the mat also helps, and she does that joyfully.

I started thinking back to my first days on a mat. I’d pay an extra dollar to rent a studio mat and make my way into one of the basic classes being offered. One was held in a spacious room with lots of light and the other was a small, dim somewhat gloomy room. Dull or bright, I would leave feeling better than when I entered. But I never considered going into a mixed level class. For many years I got stuck in my own beginner’s mind, not allowing for the possibility that I was advancing. The mat I used was like a stage, in that my energy was alive during my practice and was then left for someone else to play out his or her experience on the same mat.

Unlike a stage, the mat was not for performance, the play was not presented outwardly, but inwardly. The audience was not a house filled with bodies, but a heart filled with emotions ranging from fear to bliss. The satisfaction came not from applause for a good performance, rather from a soft place that perhaps went a little deeper than the time before. Once I got my own mat, I claimed my practice in a more personal way.

I imagine New York Yoga basic classes differ somewhat from those outside the city. The big room was often filled with ex-ballerinas & dancers working toward realigning their bodies, athletes adding Yoga to their routines and long time Yoga practitioners and teachers getting back to basics. Then there were those like myself, who knew something special was happening, and whose mats became a sanctuary. Beginners’ minds filled the room along with those of us with a beginner’s practice.

I make a distinction between beginner’s mind and beginner’s practice. While I am mindful to maintain a beginner’s mind in most of what I do, like pregnancy memory, I have forgotten the feeling of my beginner’s practice. Though I am far from intermediate or advanced, just by virtue of having a regular practice, some of the basic fear and insecurities I had at the start of my practice have fallen off. But it is a process and that process continues through every downward dog and vinyasa.

In those first days, I struggled with Triangle (Trikonasana), energetically more than physically. My teacher asked me to demonstrate one day and I did, feeling pretty good that my hand reached the floor with little effort. She was trying to get me to understand that it was more important to stack my hips and keep my torso in line with my legs, than to reach the floor. I totally did not get it. Then a few years later, after my first daughter was born, a very dear friend who is a senior teacher at a NYC Yoga studio told me that she could get me into a workshop with Rodney Yee. My adrenaline replaced the blood in my veins as my life flow, and then I got scared. I had no place being in that room! Forget that my practice was no longer consistent or that my body was still harboring more than a memory of pregnancy, I was still just a beginner who couldn’t get Triangle!

The room was packed, with maybe a couple of inches in between mats. I positioned myself safely out of view, near the door. So, we get to Trikonasana and my safe spot was revealed. We had done countless poses where my form was probably questionable, but leave it to my nemesis, Triangle, to attract the teacher’s attention. Rodney came over and, rather brusquely, said, “How are we going to get those hips stacked?” Nervously, I shrugged and said, “If you have a secret, I’d love to know.” He didn’t seem amused, but I left that day knowing that Trikonasana and I were destined to grow together.

It wasn’t until I started practicing in Bucks County, that I had a teacher who gently encouraged me to lengthen with the crown of my head. Lo and behold, Triangle. My hand now rests easily against my shin rather than rounding down, through my back, to the ground and my former nemesis has become a challenging, yet welcoming, friend.

In this world of immediate gratification, it is more important to be patient while the process takes its natural course. The faster computers go the slower they feel. The faster people pass us on the road the sooner we catch up to them at the red light. The magician says, “Open Sesame” and the magic happens before our eyes.

On the flip side, “slow and steady wins the race.” There is no secret to the magic of Yoga. There’s a reason it’s called a practice. Opening up our hips, shoulders, backs, legs, minds & hearts takes time. So, when my friend says that this practice doesn’t resonate with her just yet and still makes it to the mat, I applaud her. When she takes that studio mat and rolls it out in a mixed level class, I am moved by the warrior she already is.

Say to yourself, “Open Sesame,” and feel the magic as it unfolds over time.

Opening the Door

2009-10-25T18:20:00.000-07:00

It’s amazing what we get used to.

Unpacked boxes and unfinished projects clutter my space and mind. I find a short-cut through the piles which make up my indoor landscape. As the piles multiply and expand my short-cut grows, becoming a daily navigation around the growing obstacles. I get used to it and it becomes part of my life, the daily journey through my narrowing space. The piles are now representations of furniture and abstract art sculptures.

Then, one day, I begin to clear more than a path. The piles must go. One by one, homes are found for the items I deem worth saving. And slowly, but surely, the space is transformed into one of openness. Nothing is obscured from sight. My breath comes more slowly and deeply and my shoulders drop.

I take stock and realize, wow, this space has been here the whole time. I got so used to adapting, I forgot to take action. It excites me to know that beneath the clutter remaining to be cleared, in my house and in my head, there is more space to uncover. I remove the physical objects through action and unnecessary thoughts through stillness. In each case, I am lightening my load and clearing a path for what’s to come.

It seems to me that the challenge of all New Yorkers is to make room where there is none. When I lived in Manhattan, I lived in six different apartments in five different neighborhoods. It was easy to become lost in the clutter in the tiny apartments I called home. The small voice in my gut informed a dream I had, periodically, in each apartment. The dream was always the same in content, but varied in form. The gist of it was that after exploring my space, I would find the Extra Room. In one apartment on W. 10th Street, the dream was so vivid I actually looked behind the refrigerator the next day to see if there was a door.

What I've learned since then is that there's always a door.

Mapping the Practice

2009-10-23T06:55:00.000-07:00

I bow to a pop art Buddha. He greets me as I top the stairs and again when I enter my bedroom. He is brother to the hand carved wooden Buddha from Kathmandu and our Ho Tai garden Buddha. The trifecta of Buddha energy and love. They are subtle daily reminders. How close am I to the Path today? Am I parallel by inches or miles or do I intersect it at a right angle? Am I on it? Can I even see it?

Being a parent is another, though less subtle, compass to locating the Path. What comes up in the course of a day, guiding these fresh, as-of-yet-uncontaminated minds & hearts, often touches on lessons with which I’m still grappling. The spiritual practice of parenting is both the most challenging and satisfying on my path thus far. It has the potential of bringing out the best and worst in my personality, and with each breath I make a choice. My children are my greatest teachers and I am their humble student.

My first Yoga teacher once told me, when I was lamenting a lost opportunity, that we have unlimited “do-overs.” This simple statement did not excuse past behavior, nor did it encourage future lethargy. It did, however, remind me to fully make the most of the opportunities of now. So, when I fall or take an unfortunate action, I know I can take another breath and make a better choice.

The effort comes in living more days on or near the Path, than not. Some days I spot the Path and wink, like we have a secret understanding of the nature of our relationship. I am devoted, curious and deeply moved by these practices of mindfulness even though I sometimes travel, temporarily, in another direction. I always go back. It seems I’m going back more frequently and for longer durations.

I am so grateful to be on the mat!

Shifting Gears

2009-10-19T12:41:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning trying to reconcile missing my Monday morning Yoga class. My mind and body have taken so long to regain a regular practice, that any interruption, be it illness, PTO, kids’ schedules or basic life needs, forces me to practice Mind-Bending Yoga*. Breathing into those places in my mind that are tight, the same way I breathe into tightness in my body, in Asana practice, reinforcing my mind’s flexibility. On days like this I wonder if I can go deeper. And then I do.

Sometimes the shifts are so subtle, but make a huge impact.

When my oldest daughter was two years old, I took a rare moment to unroll my mat and practice with a DVD. My husband planned to entertain her while I closed the guest room door for some oh so needed Me time. Her strong will was no match for his good intentions and before I knew it, she was knocking down the door. My first response was a deeply rooted selfish one. And as I looked her in the eyes, telling her she had to go back downstairs to Daddy, that this was Mommy’s time, I had an epiphany. This sweet child would only be this small and this sort of sweet for a short time. SHIFT.

In that moment, I changed the picture of my practice to include my daughter. Once I saw here there with me, I knew in which direction to focus my mindfulness. We played Yoga for 30 minutes, together. We had a blast! Four years later, I’m fairly sure we set one of her stepping stones on the path to the person she will become.

Today, I decided that it was okay not to stick hard and fast to my idea of how the start of my week was going to be. Sometimes there are unseen forces at play. I was reminded, when I picked up my two year old and felt a different kind of shift in my lower back. A day of rest can restore more than a body, it can reset a mind.

*Mind-Bending Yoga is a term I use to describe more than meditation in motion. Meditative breathing while in stillness or in chaos, in life or on a cushion, not intending to eradicate thought, rather to ease the stressful aspects of certain thoughts by breathing into them. As we do in Asana practice when we focus our breath to discomfort in the body, only it’s direction is toward our mind.

Yoga Baby Steps

2009-10-14T18:22:00.000-07:00

Everything leads up to now. Doesn’t it always?

It seems I’ve been on a life-long journey to seek truth. Not The Truth, but truth where it lives in each experience. I guess that’s partly why I never gravitated toward any one clique, but fanned out to include samples of various personalities to make up my group of friends. Stereotypes create a list of definitions, but do not embody truth, individuals do. Even as I was following the Grateful Dead, I would find myself wandering the parking lots for some lost truth I felt was lacking in the group-speak. Like Dorothy, I have come to learn that I don’t have to venture beyond my own world to find truth. That said, my seeking journey seems to have just begun. Now, I must wander through myself and truly practice being present to find what I seek.

The practices of Yoga & meditation resonate as ongoing adventures toward clarity, enlightenment, truth. The Spiritual Path (not referring to organized religion, but the knowledge that we are all connected) has always been present in my life, in one form or another. Sometimes I walk beside the Path, intending one day to get back on it and other times I crisscross it with good intention but waning action & faulty follow-through. Then there are those times when I feel I’ve trod the Path at length, but then fall far by the wayside only to glimpse the Path in the far distance. Lately, my intentions & actions have found harmony, resulting in a beautiful expression of consistency & commitment.

My very first Yoga class was at OM Yoga, 10 years ago when it was on 14th Street. That first class was held in a small room, with creaky floors, a leaky radiator & water-stained ceiling. I struggled with the asanas but felt great after class. I tried to put my finger on the feeling, and all I could come up with was that something special was going on and I wanted to be part of it.

I developed a fairly regular practice and was becoming more intrigued with each downward dog. I took a lateral step to the Shambhala Center a few blocks away and experienced the richness of the Shambhala training programs: Heart of Warriorship & Sacred Path. I entered a new, yet familiar, comfort zone where I felt no need to wander outside myself.

Life's beautiful milestones including marriage, moving and children lovingly distracted me for a while. My mat and cushion found their own stillness in my new, more spacious suburban closet. Three children later, I became the nucleus to the atom of my family, leaving my Self to take a temporary back seat. As the kids have succumbed to the nature of time, they are now each in school, for at least a few hours a week. Settling into the scheduling groove and finding a few weekly hours to devote to myself, I saw the Path resurface, moving from my peripheral vision into full view.

I got back on the Path a few months ago when I decided to invite Yoga into my life on a more daily basis than a whenever-I-can-fit-it-in basis. It started slowly, with a weekly basic evening class and grew to adding a mixed level class on Saturday morning. Then, circumstances allowed me to add Sunday morning, too. Now that the kids are back in school (albeit varying times & places), my schedule can hold three weekdays at the gym and Family Yoga at end the week. I’m not sure how this happened, but it is quite remarkable.

The magic has already begun to whirl.
I am thrilled & humbled by this practice.
And curious.