Show Up. No Regrets.

I didn’t know you well or long, but you made a lasting impression in my heart.

We were from different generations, backgrounds, life experience, but we found common ground.

145 Waverly Place, NYC – Circa 1989

The landlords had informed us of plans for a major capital improvement, which would raise our rent. I don’t really remember who organized what, but there came to be some tenant activity and I was part of the group. I was about 21 and I remember Howard to be in his 70s.  It was an interesting apartment building with a range of tenants from those, like Howard and a writer/journalist named Joan, who had lived in the building since the 1960s, to myself & various roommates on the 3rd floor & other NYU students who lived on the first floor (with whom I am still friends), as well as, other young-in-the-city hopefuls.

Our first tenant meeting disbanded on the sidewalk in front of the brownstone and that’s when Howard first approached me.  He came over and asked if I would join him at the Waverly Restaurant (which was on the corner) for a “soda.”  I assumed he meant an ice cream soda or milkshake.  Always rushing somewhere, NYC-sytle, I told him I didn’t have the time. His response was clear, that I did in fact have the time, and in his tone was another message:  making memories, slowing down & connecting are worth making the time.  No regrets.

We sat in a booth by the window, enjoying our milkshakes and getting to know each other.  I don’t recall the topics we covered, but something in his story touched me.  There were other moments to be shared, cards & notes slid under doors, tenant battles to attend, more “sodas,” but to be honest, I really don’t hold many more details in my mind, though my heart remains full.

One day, Howard informed me that he had just been diagnosed with lung cancer.  Lung cancer!  Howard had never smoked a day in his life and played tennis, regularly.  Again, the details are fuzzy and I’m sure, in the haze of memory, there is regret that I didn’t do enough for him during that time.

I remember when he died.

There was a memorial for him at the Alice in Wonderland area in Central Park.  I had to work that day – at least that’s what I thought was true. But I forgot the first lesson Howard taught me – some things are worth making the time.  Show up.  No regrets. (It’s funny, even now, most of my regrets are about not showing up.)

Dear Howard,

I stumbled upon these scant memories when I uncovered the cards you gave me during our brief friendship. You lovingly guided me to what I already knew but had forgotten – you reminded me what was important and how time can be accommodating. I am honored that I got to walk even a portion of this life path with you and that your art and love live on through these words and images.

Thank you for your friendship and wisdom.

Love,

SS

 

 

Musings on Turning 50

I loved my youth – not to be confused with feeling youthful, but my actual youth.  Memories flood the infinite space of my mind and where memory fails, I have plenty of friends, journals & photos to remind me (for better and worse).  The shitty days, distilled to a dull, faint, wisp of thought, through the charity of time, are now accent flavors of a life well lived.   I still feel young, even as I look at my younger days in the rearview mirror. Grateful for the qualities that keep me grounded in youthful expression and fresh thinking, I am equally glad that I get to move gracefully into the second half of my life.  I am claiming this journey into elder-hood as a gift to slowly unwrap until my days are done.  (I am also reclaiming Kumbaya!!)

Since choosing to let my wild gray hair push through years of dye & bleach, I have felt a swell of abundance down to my bones and out through my skin.  Crowned with a silver “halo” I strive daily to rise to meet its magic. I have collected many chronicles over the years, to which I now bow, curtsy, skip, jump, run and fall in reverence and joy.  I am excited to experience my dreams, destinations and journeys as a silver-silhouetted being.  This lifetime’s collection of stories will not be complete until my soul ascends. In that spirit, this chapter is sure to have its own cliff hangers, plot twists, challenges & resolutions, which will one day be viewed from a new perch.

I’m ready to step fully into myself to see what’s there and figure out how to navigate from this new and ever-changing perspective.

Seeing the changes in people I knew when I was young in years, can be stark and soft.  Relaxing my eyes, they are mirror reflections of what was, while clarity of what is can be seen with eyes wide open.

Watching my children grow and become more expansive in their own natures & gifts and directed toward their own hearts, is a satisfaction beyond description.  My roles as their guide & witness do a daily dance; I swirl, dizzy & disoriented as time ticks on, revealing a kaleidoscope of possible outcomes.

I’m not interested in reliving my younger days or trying to look like I did at 25, 30 or even 40.  I am curious to surrender to the current of this new voyage (which is really an extension of the one I began at birth). I’m not giving up, quite the contrary; I want to look and feel the best I can at each stage and on every stage.  This time, marked by the growing coffer of wisdom granted by daily living, has a quality all its own.  The lines around my eyes, life-worn frames, are evidence of countless smiles, which I would never return for a smoother exterior.  My chemically treated tresses spun into silver while I wasn’t paying attention, and now I am rewarded with the discovery of this treasure.  Worthwhile work, remarkable community and my beautiful family are the keys I wear around my heart.

I still wear old jeans because they’re comfortable; I say Fuck a lot and ponder what’s on the horizon; I aspire to become a better person and dream of ways to make the world a sweeter place; my eyes are open to the wonders of my tiny world as well as the overarching multiverse; I still question authority and swoon, like a teenager, over sexy actors I love; I am more discerning and less judgmental (and working on the “less judgmental” part is an ongoing process).  I love to walk and dance barefoot, drink bourbon, listen to rock and roll and eat junk food on occasion; I am a storyteller and also love to listen to stories (real & made up).  I love music, movies, plays, books & good television; I appreciate Barbra Streisand, the Grateful Dead, Frank Zappa and Broadway musicals, equally (this is a truncated list); I was just as authentic when I colored my hair as I am now in letting it go; I enjoy eating meat but often return to a vegetarian diet for health reasons. I am a warrior for peace & justice;  I am unapologetically liberal with my love, praise and politics.  I’ve been told I’m sexy & cute (which I happily own) & while not a great beauty, I’ve turned a few heads in my day.  I practice and teach yoga but never identified as an athlete, dancer or gymnast; I practice from a place of love, so I can love more (and sometimes people piss me off!); I’m drawn to meditation and honor every limb of this practice, in my way – I have referred to myself as an IslamaChristaHinduBuddhaJew (all paths to the same place – how do I add atheist & agnostic into this title?); I am an extrovert who also thrives in silent, alone time.  I work at the equanimity part of engaging with challenging relationships and opposing views when they feel threatening; sometimes I can rise above my petty human impulses and other times I don’t.  I still believe the best is yet to come.  I am flawed, scarred, and abundantly human.  I am turning 50!!!  I am happy.

Most of all, I am grateful that I am here to write this and share the mysteries of this life with each person who has ever crossed and will ever cross my winding path.

Love, Peace & Kumbaya!!

Trading Gold for Silver

Rumpletstiltskin turned straw into gold, which is how I felt when I first went blond.  I’d been blond as a child, but it grew dark over the years and I decided to lighten it up.  I experimented with lengths & colors (sometimes failing, as in the case when it turned sort of orange).

I remember the first person I gave permission to cut it short*.   I don’t remember her name, but she did hair for the film industry and worked out of her home, a converted church in the East Village.  We took this photo because it felt monumental at the time.  [See the pile of hair at her feet – it wasn’t quite that dark.]

I continued to color my hair, expressing myself through different hues, highlights & fantasy colors.  My sense of self had been wrapped in my long curls for so long, this new approach was liberating.

Eventually, I let it grow again and kept it long; it was some time before I chose to “go short” again.  I found a soul-stylist, who spoke my language in every way, earning a hair trust I realized I’d never really known.  I always leave his chair feeling grounded and inspired and with an awesome haircut.
I used to think alchemy was about turning base metals into gold, a metaphor that slipped easily into what had become my blond identity (though I always saw my brunette hair in my mind’s eye).  This ancient transformational practice, however was about turning base metals into precious metals, so it included silver.

In anticipation of turning 50, I have decided to return my gold waves for the silver that lies beneath; both precious in their value on my journey, this choice has been long in the making. I have had a wonderful relationship to my yellow curls, but feel it’s time to see who I am underneath it all.

Every year gets better and better, even with the challenges that come with aging. I love being my age.  I heard myself say that to friend and then follow it with, “but I don’t like looking my age.”  That was the hinge moment that opened this door.  It’s possible that I will find something of my power on the other side, or this might be just another chance to play with impermanence.

And, if I hate it, I can always trade silver for a sunset.  

* I did a hair show in NYC when I was 18 when my hair was who I thought I was; the stylist who chose me was known to work with long hair, but decided I was going to get chopped, really chopped. (They put hair extensions in my hair for the second show, which I tore out while riding home on the subway, crying, but that’s another story.  I imagine it was a sight to see 😉  I did not choose that cut. (It’s actually a very funny story, now, but too long to tell in this post.)

 

Coming Home

 

I have been struggling lately in my yoga practice, trying to define what it means to me now.

When I first started practicing in 1998, I knew absolutely nothing about the history, purpose or various practices associated with yoga.  I was in ignorant bliss and loved every minute of it!

As someone who never identified with being an athlete or particularly enjoyed sport, I was enchanted by this new relationship with my physical body.  It became even more potent when I discovered it was stretching more than my muscles, tendons & ligaments; it was opening my mind and heart along with other lines of energy I am still curiously discovering. I had found a practice that allowed me to fully inhabit my inner hippie & let my freak flag fly!  A practice where I could learn to love more and stand firmly in that love.

Those first few years I felt magnetically drawn to the studio and found a heart-seated home in the fragrance of Nag Champa, the chants for peace and love and, most surprisingly to me, the physical challenges; it was pure alchemy.  I cannot remember a time that I didn’t leave that building on 14th Street feeling blissful.

When I moved to Bucks County, PA in 2002, there were paltry yoga offerings.  I had to go to Princeton, NJ to practice prenatal yoga.  It was wonderful to be back in a yoga studio, one led by a beautiful teacher who was quick to remind me why I loved this practice (and now got to share it with my unborn child).

It was a couple of years before I would walk into the Prancing Peacock which proved to be a fork in my yoga path.  Still inhabiting beginners mind, I showed up regularly to unroll my mat and commune with the loving spirit of this space.

While I considered myself pretty loose with my yoga, a nomadic practitioner seeking many voices to discern my own within the din, the Prancing Peacock became my home.  Wherever I roamed on this path, the Prancing Peacock’s doors were always open (along with many arms poised for hugs).

I did my first teacher training there in 2010, enriching my understanding  with other trainings at Yogadharma & KEYoga, as well as various weekend workshops with national teachers.  I felt like Alice, free-falling down the rabbit hole, losing myself, all the while knowing that journey stories always lead us home.  Home, not in the external sense, but home in the way that waking up in your own body just feels right.  

The last few years, I found the physical challenges less interesting.  Meditation, chanting, philosophy and living in the spirit of the 8-limbs of yoga began to color my practice and teaching styles.  I questioned the ways & whys we practice and with each new workshop or class I took, I found myself more confused.  Inside that confusion, I didn’t realize I had lost the joy; not lost completely, just misplaced.

I think it’s important to emphasize that I had not realized that the romance had waned. I was in the habit of loving yoga (which I still did) but had stopped refreshing that love.  Like any relationship, the nature of its origin will necessarily shift – it takes work and awareness to deepen the love beyond the romantic stage; while the quivers of the early days may fade, the potential for a more profound harmony is possible.

Fast forward to 2017 – nearly 1,000 hours of training, 1,500 hours of teaching, 19 years of practice, a husband, three kids and a dog later, I am back to Beginners Mind in a way much more like my first years on the mat than the Beginners Mind that kept me grounded in the interim years.

My formal practices had begun to suffer and I started getting messages from my body, ranging from low level stiffness & wonky knees to tingling and fatigue.  I learned that I had a vitamin deficiency which contributed to these conditions, but more than that, I was guided back to my body & the practices that put me on this path.

I took class last night and found myself again.  The bliss was back!  Committed to deepening my relationship to myself on this winding yogic path, I woke up inspired to step back on my mat.  Home practice has been inconsistent over the years, unnecessarily weighted down by distractions and excuses.  Not today!

The beautiful thing about a home practice is that it has no rules.  No expectations.  No judgement.  No time limit.  No other voices.  It reveals what requires attention.

 

I created a well-lit space to unroll my mat and release past impressions.  I moved through 30 minutes of deliberated flow, pausing to feel and allow my own guidance to find its voice, followed by 20 minutes of seated meditation, another 30 minutes of YIN, ending with an eight minute Sivasana.

These words I write are riding the bliss that brought me back home.

Like rolling into fetal pose (garbhasana) after corpse pose (sivasana), I get to start again!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Still Life Performance Art

  

           

Where does beauty live?

In the eyes, hair, smile?

If not cultivated and grown

from the heart

can it be true?

I didn’t choose to change my smile

gaping hole did not make me

less whole

It taught me that comedy is not

limited to things that are

funny

but that relying on exterior

is inferior

to residing beneath the

surface

***

Vanity forces me to

play

to tease myself silly

and share

vulnerability

To use what I have to

model for my

daughters

that beauty and humor

don’t need a

groomer

that courage and

intelligence

a light step and big heart

are the biggest and truest

forms of

art

Speak Up without Talking Down

Did you ever walk into a yoga class and have the teacher ask you your political affiliation, ethnicity or to which god(s) you pray? Of course not! (If you answered yes, please find another place to practice, unless is was contextually appropriate.)

 

Teaching yoga and meditation allows for expansion in ways that do not require definitions, yet we apply language to communicate, movement to experience and silence to absorb. There’s no talk of political, religious or socio-economic status while on the mat, there’s just spirit. (Discursive mind chatter may draw these things in, but this is part of the work.)

 

Working to dissolve duality in an inherently dualistic world is challenging, especially during an election cycle. Politics are, by nature, partitioning. I practice daily to work at the level of interconnectedness and yet, I fall deep into the divide created by our politics. Sometimes I am able to tap into the oneness, but often fail to meet the mark as emotions are stirred and fear dons its many masks.

 

There are many opportunities in our practice to embrace all beings. Upeksha is the Sanskrit word for equanimity, not holding any being above or below another; letting go.

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I’m finding myself getting stuck at Upeksha when I think of Donald Trump. And, I know from friends, some who support him and others who were staunchly for Bernie, that they feel the same way about Hillary. Every election is divisive, but this one seems dangerously disruptive on a whole new scale. It has ignited a fire in my heart that seems to be raging out of control. It began as a flicker of amusement and quickly spread to my base emotions. I actually feel angry when I see his image, hear his voice or encounter attempts to humanize him. Yet, as a Bernie Sanders fan, I was easily able to switch gears to refine and soften my media-driven view of Hillary, through thoughtful research and fact-finding.

 

What would happen if I spent the same effort to personalize Trump and actually found something to which I could tether my anger? Who would I be if I could see him reflected in the basic goodness with which we are all born? What would happen to my reaction to the hate-filled sound-bytes for which he and his supporters are so well known? Would any of this change the landscape of bigotry and fear he inspires? If it were to change me, how could I still fight injustice with the passion and courage of my principles and values?

 

I am a teacher but in so many ways I am a student crying out for a guide to light the way.

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Occasionally, I’ll see posts from colleagues who are speaking from their yoga-informed hearts, working hard to be direct and clear without compromising their integrity. As long as our words are being seen by others, we will always run the risk of criticism or offense. How do we act from the source of our highest vibrations while standing firm in our convictions? Can one have convictions within a non-dualistic landscape? Is it possible to be an activist and live the sacred tenets of yoga? So many questions.

 

This is where I seek out my teachers’ unsolicited voices, yet many seem silent. Do we equate silence with peace, wisdom, enlightenment? We have a wonderful opportunity to teach and learn how to live our yoga, off the mat, during heated times, but we need maps and navigators. We can’t allow fear to keep us from making mistakes or speaking our truth.

 

I had a theatre director years ago who once said, “If you’re going to make a mistake, make it loud enough for all to hear.” I was recently called out on my FB page, by a fellow yoga teacher, after I posted my intention to elevate the political conversation from a place of peace and love, while almost immediately descending to name-calling and word-baiting. She courageously used her informed voice and gentle tone to challenge me. I accepted the challenge.

 

Caught in the emotional riptide of what I saw as hypocrisy, she led me to the reasonable threshold of starting where we agreed and worked from there. Rather than allowing my bruised ego to take the lead (and it was bruised), I decided to engage with her and ended up learning a great deal about myself. She didn’t shut me down, she offered me the gifts of introspection and insight. So, rather than create unrealistic expectations of myself as a yoga teacher and human being, I embrace my contradictions and hope, with time and practice, to find my truest rhythm.  As teachers and students (which we all are), we cannot be afraid to fuck up. Fucking up for all to see is a path to accountability. I am grateful to her for showing up when I needed a teacher.

 

By speaking up without talking down to me, she helped me widen the aperture of understanding.

 

Politics require us to choose a side. Often our choices are clear as they mesh with our ideals and values. Sometimes it’s a tougher call. Either way, we are necessarily separating ourselves from those with different views.

 

In yoga, we get to work at the level of unity; we talk about impermanence, connection to each other and our planet, trusting the universe, being where we are and meeting ourselves there. When I walk into the studio, all of the lines that divide us dissolve into love. How do I take that with me when I leave?

 

How can we participate in our great democracy and be true to ourselves—fierce, mild, chatty, taciturn, peaceful, assertive, loud, quiet, short, tall, young, old, Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, Northern, Southern, Eastern, Western, Republican, Democrat? Within these characterizations lies a deeper truth that can surface if we know how to rise above these sandy lines.

 

I ask my teachers who are further along the path to speak up and lead by example. In the tools of our yoga practice—articulating through language, moving our bodies and discovering the silence in the spaces in between—there is an opening for deeper understanding, expression and experience.

It’s up to us. We must not be silent. I ask that you please pass your hard-earned wisdom on; we need to hear from you!

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Silence is Golden & then some

I’m chatty by nature.

When I was in fourth grade, my morning mantra was, “I’m not going to talk today, I’m not going to talk today, …”  By the time I got to school, that mantra evaporated into the ether and all of the events since the day before came flooding out.  This chatty trend extended into Junior High School where I was ostracized from the circle of desks in my English class for lack of a location that would silence me.  My desk was moved outside the circle, next to the door.

It’s my nature.

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I not only like to talk, but I love words.  I love finding the right word to describe a feeling that is otherwise indescribable.  I love the poetry of the world around me and must share it in various ways.  Reading, writing, acting (early in my life), teaching, sharing ideas, experiences and perceptions all factor into a passion for expression which continues to evolve.

 

A couple of years ago, I went on my first silent retreat and LOVED it!  It had a profound effect on my nature, reminding me that silence is the other side of the chatty coin.  My meditation practice teaches me that in small daily doses, but three days of silent communication, softened my voice and opened my ears.  The discipline of being silent yielded to the art of listening revealing a nature long ignored.      IMG_1013

 

Like all insights resulting from an intentional experience, they fade and require periodic booster shots to remain potent.  The Universe has many ways to administer said shots and not all are our choice.

Nearly a week ago I was silenced, not intentionally, but by a raging sore throat unlike anything I’ve ever experienced (and I’ve known my share of sore throats).  Red and swollen, swallowing became torturous and sleep, a dream.  Expecting the normal remedies to work (gargling with salt water, local honey, warm honey & lemon water, chicken soup, neti pot, etc.), I endured.  Four days later, I succumbed and went to the doctor.  A cursory examination left me with a prescription for Amoxicillin and no definitive diagnosis.  More than 48 hours after my first dose, my relief is minimal but gratitude is rising around me.

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Unable to meet my calendar commitments, including teaching yoga (one of the absolute joys of my life) and caring for my children (another absolute joy), I was forced inside literally and figuratively.  The message was clear ~ slow down.  But how?  It’s not just my list that needs tending.  Striking a daily balance is challenging; my pendulum tends to swing in extremes throughout the day in order to get everything taken care of; when it’s all done and day has morphed into night, it barely swings in my appeal to chill out.  Somewhere in between is a balance resembling the Holy Grail (and just as elusive).

 

Here is a glimpse of the power of being silenced:

  • Moments when I might raise my voice are tempered by my pain.
  • Moments I might speak over others to make my point come second to listening first.
  • Moments of creativity flow through my fingers rather than the vibrations of my voice.
  • Moments I think of as monumental must-do’s are not so big when viewed through the lens of honoring my body.
  • Moments previously focused on the computer turn to well-needed rest & connection.
  • Moments of conversation use fewer words.
  • Moments of hugging loved ones are never overrated!
  • Moments are life’s beads and gratitude is the cord upon which they are strung.

So much more has been logged in my storehouse of memory and meaning than listed here.   Knowing that these bullet points will soon fade into memory as my voice returns, I take this moment to ponder.  Perhaps these are not just bullet points but mantras to practice with to balance my excessive Vissudha Chakra (throat chakra).

That the discomfort is another way to wake up to here and now is not lost on me.  While I hope the pain subsides soon, I sit in the muck of now knowing its impermanence is what I must remember to fully take this seat.  I won’t pretend that it’s easy, only that it is.

I bow deeply to the unseen forces that work on my behalf, reminding me to pay attention and do the work.  Being silenced does not feel so much like losing my voice, but recognizing its power and accepting my nature as part of the ebb & flow.  Identifying as chatty is accurate, but it is equally true that I embrace the quiet space between words.

It’s my nature.

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The Trap of Self-Righteousness

Did you ever notice that as soon as you are sure about something, any critical thinking or discernment to the contrary no longer exists?  Once that sense of permanence becomes foreground, it is much easier to fall into a self-righteous stance.  Where then, is the opportunity for growth or innovation?

I say this because I have fallen into this trap and hope, through practice, to find and hold the space for unexpected breakthroughs so that I may continue to grow.

Practicing yoga has been a portal into the depths of possibility, a platform for inquiry, a place to discover and gather the tools necessary to shift with changes as they occur.  The notion of impermanence gives rise to this conversation that is often camouflaged by the illusion that there is a correct, unchanging answer that is right for everyone.  Listen to political conversations between different parties (if they’re still even happening) and you can hear heels digging into dirt to hold their ground.  I’ve been there, digging in.

Even in the yoga world there are those who hold to absolute truths.  This practice is, in some ways, a 5,000 year-old game of Whisper Down the Lane.  We know what we know because of our teachers and guides.  How do they know what they know?  And, because we tend to hear and see things as informed by our own experiences, how do we maintain the integrity of the teachings as we pass them on?  Even if we are successful in transmitting what we think is the truth, we cannot possibly control how another person hears, integrates or passes it on.

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If we are students of yoga, and not just asana, how do we reconcile karma and honor the fact that we all view the world through the lenses we created through possibly lifetimes of words, thoughts & actions.  How do we recognize our own places in this practice while honoring others’ whose ideas may differ from ours and replace judgment with curiosity?

 

When I look at the path that brought me to my opinions, I can see that it is not a straight line; it is a winding road with lessons as landmarks.  I’m so grateful for my teachers who remind me to notice when I become rigid so I can begin again by holding the space for myself.

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I was talking with a friend & colleague about doing handstand; after 16 years, I am still struggling with handstand.  My rationalization has been that yoga is not about doing the big poses and that by not being able to do it, I remain humble and focused on the Yoga (as soon as I said this it sounded self-righteous).   My friend, who is proficient in handstand among the myriad teachings & practices, said that for her, it was more about overcoming limitations and feeling the infinite power and possibilities of which we are capable.   Sounds about right!

I needed to hold onto my reasoning more for ego than for the larger learning waiting for me.  As my teaching & practice have evolved, I can see many similar “opinions” that sprang from my ego and have since melted into the larger pool of spirit once my experiences changed.   Things that I tend to hold onto keep me tethered to one spot, while life is soaring in all directions.  There is freedom in letting go, and this includes releasing rigidity of thought.  Some learning arrives in hindsight and others while wallowing.  One day I may float into handstand unassisted and my thoughts will most definitely shift with the feeling of overcoming my own limitations.  I might even feel elated!  If it never happens, there will always be boundaries to break on and off the mat; in body, mind and spirit; there is no hierarchy in our pursuits to ascend.

I am not without my strong opinions; many are the results of careful deliberations and life experiences and some are brewing in the same pot as my politics.  My hope is to keep opening my heart and mind to those with whom I share a different view.  My demon of self-righteousness may rear its ugly head occasionally, but I have it in my sights, ready to dissolve it by remaining vigilant toward more expansive truths.

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Love & Peace from the Path ~

 

 

 

 

 

Recipe for Bliss

You know that feeling you have after a yoga class.  For lack of a more all-inclusive word, we often call it Bliss (or, more specifically, Yoga Bliss).  It’s funny because it doesn’t really matter if it’s a gentle, restorative or vigorous class, or if you are a beginner or advanced practitioner; the result is the same and is wrapped in this blissful blanket.

The idea of taking yoga off the mat is intrinsic to this practice that encourages union in our dualistic world.  That which seems in conflict is often harmony yet to be composed.  While we root ourselves to the earth, connecting and grounding to one source, we float and rise to greet the divine expression of another source; these opposing actions create the space and wholeness for the harmonic, melodic symphony to play.

Thinking about yoga off the mat evokes images of service to others, showing compassion as a daily ritual and meeting challenges (great and small) with wisdom.  I offer, too, that yoga off the mat includes invoking this blissful feeling on demand.  On days when getting to an asana class is not in the cards or you just want to bring that bliss into your life, it is possible!

Several months ago I was driving home, craving a coffee and scone; I happened to be passing our local bakery that makes amazing scones.  The problem was that their scones are enormous and my willpower, questionable.  In that moment, it occurred to me that making my own scones couldn’t be that difficult and I could make them a reasonable size (even two wouldn’t equal one of the bakery’s).  I went home, searched Google for a recipe, added a few extra ingredients of my own and enjoyed warm, delicious scones.  And, my house smelled divine!

All I needed to enjoy this simple treat were the right ingredients.  It seems to me the same is true for anything we want; we just need the right ingredients.

When imagining your recipe for bliss, start with something that creates that condition within you.  For this purpose, I will be using Yoga Asana as the inspiration for this dish.

Following are the ingredients (Elements of Practice), that in proper combination (different for each person), will take you where you wish to go.  You may augment this recipe according to those elements of the practice that nourish you and contribute to your overall sense of well-being.  Add your own; be creative.  There is room in this recipe to improvise.

[Ingredients are in Bold.]

Recipe:

Prep time:  as long as it takes; times may vary

Bake:  at least 5 minutes (though 10+ minutes will add significantly to the bliss)

Preheat your space by setting an intention and dedicating it to a greater good or higher purpose (that could include your higher self); from this point on, Ahimsa (non-harming) should be kneaded into the dough of the bliss we are baking.

Draw your attention to your breath (allow your peripheral awareness to remain active while your razor sharp attention rests on your breath).  Keep the breath long, slow and even in and out through the nose.  Baker’s note:  You can always reconnect with your breath at any time.

Foundation:  make sure you are grounded before moving on.  You can close your eyes and go inside, physically feel the earth beneath you, visualize the color red around your feet or the base of your spine, whatever helps you feel grounded.  Baker’s note:  Like the breath, you can always reestablish foundation if you wander.

Rejoice.

From your grounded place make the choice to be willing to let go of habits, behaviors and attitudes that do not serve you.  It is important to be specific.

Rejoice.

Add equal parts effort & ease to the activities of your day.  The effort will help you progress and move forward while the ease will allow you to surrender to the moment.

Rejoice.

Mix in the understanding that strength and flexibility are partners and should be balanced.

Rejoice.

Cultivate a sense of gratitude.

Rejoice.

Blend (on high) your family and community with a larger sense of connection to all beings.

Rejoice.

Sprinkle with equal parts mindfulness, openness and LOVE.

Rejoice.

Recall your intention, rededicate it and BAKE while in Savasana for at least 5 minutes (see above for baking time).

Option:  Depending on your preference, listening to music or being in silence may increase your capacity for bliss.

Feel the Bliss and pass it on!

Time to Unpack

“One man gathers what another man spills.” – Grateful Dead (St. Stephen)

When I finally get around to clearing the clutter pile that’s been growing in the dining room for months, my breath deepens with the awareness that the space it reveals has been there the whole time!

Leaving a yoga class that ends with a satisfying Sivasana, I feel the same way; space that’s opened inside my body has been there the whole time!  Thank the goddesses for yoga so I can clear my inner piles & blockages regularly!

A couple of weeks ago, I found myself procrastinating around the seasonal bins of clothing that require regular attention.  Kids grow, seasons change and the clothing that has accumulated and gotten passed down from friends and siblings awaits the sorting and re-stowing.   This year, I decided to do it a different way; instead of re-organizing the bins (which, let’s be honest, just become enablers for the clutter & dust of the unseen), I unpacked them and whatever could fit on the closet shelves stayed, the rest got handed down or given away.

The 20 hours’ worth of work for the three kids resulted in easier breathing and the realization that they now all had functional closets rather than storage spaces!  (What 10, 8 or 6 year old needs a storage space?)

Of course, being a yoga practitioner, I immediately inhale the potent metaphor as it infuses a bigger truth on a multitude of levels.  It also brings up questions, that like the bins, require cyclical examination.

Are we honoring our physical containers by organizing the things that nourish us and putting them in places that create space?  Or are we just mobile storage spaces with things to do?  What’s the difference?  Do we hoard sentiment, memory and habitual behaviors like we do items in our lives we expect to use at a later time?  By holding on, can we actually learn the lessons they were laid down to teach us so we can move on?  Is it the item or its meaning which actually serves us?  How can we make the space necessary for moving from understanding to knowing?

These questions may be used as objects for meditation and contemplation if their answers are not obvious or easily accessible.  After all, the answers may lurk beneath a pile of trapped prana (inner breath/life-force).  Yoga Asana is one way to move through the process of unblocking, softening and creating pathways for the prana to flow unobstructed.

There is a cause & effect experience that often happens during asana practice where, sometimes, profound discoveries and “aha” moments occur.  Clearing clutter, physical, emotional, spiritual or habitual, reveals space where new experiences (and those discoveries) can arise.

When unpacking a suitcase after a long journey, there is often dirty laundry, mystery items that at the time may have seemed unforgettable, random pieces of trash, unidentifiable odors and gems collected along the way.  So we unpack, do a load of laundry, sort the mysteries, pitch the trash, air out the bag and save the precious gems.

So it is with unpacking what we accumulate on this life journey.  It takes effort, discernment & detachment to move through this process.

We can honor what we unpack, knowing it’s there for a reason.  The quote above, “One man gathers what another man spills,” can be both literal and figurative.  When we offer up our unused pranic energy, we can imagine taking it to a “Cosmic Dump” where it can transform into pranic mulch.  What is nourished by that recycled energy may be just what another Being needs to move forward on her path.

This clarity could not have come at a better time.

I’m embarking on a 300 hour training next month and am tingling with anticipation.  Typically, I approach trainings, workshops & classes with an unspoken (and often unconscious) intention of being filled up.  For the better part of 14 years, regarding my yoga practice, I’ve been filling my vessel with information, experiences, expectations, memories, opinions, judgments, habits, hopes, dreams and fears.  I am a nomadic Yogini – have mat, will travel!  My heart overflows with love and respect for the path I’ve taken and the direction I’m going.  After all, everything until now has brought me here.

What’s different for this next training adventure is my intention.  I plan to unpack my inner suitcases and live fully in the space of not knowing, created by the act of emptying.  If I continue to empty or fill my container, the poetry of each exchange will be dictated by the moment.

Like the bins, which I procrastinated unloading, this has been long coming.  I smile when I think of the space that already exists beneath my pranic piles and the process that plucks them from their perches.  Curiosity and Beginner’s Mind are amazing guides through empty space and they are awaiting my arrival.

I look forward to running, playing & singing in my empty, energetic, echo-filled pathways – and to later unpack the gems and recycle what no longer serves.

Here’s to nothing and all it implies!

Happy Trails!