Gratitude

"Identity is both what we want to believe is true and what our actions show to be true about ourselves." (Meg Wheatley, Finding Our Way) My teacher embodies this quote.  Perhaps it's just another way of saying that you are how you act, not just what you say.  She is both.  I'm thinking a lot about her today, this whole week really.  A year ago this evening I took my very last formal class with her.  The next day she called me barely able to speak - laid out with a bad case of whooping cough.  This developed into viral pneumonia and in the blink of an eye a year has past and you still won't find her on any class schedules.  And yet, she still teaches.  Most people I know, including myself, would have given up by now.  Not my beloved teacher.  She moves through life with as much tenacity, grace and love as she ever did.  She shows up with people, allowing herself to be seen and heard when she isn't at her best.  Her courage amazes me.  She is also honest about when she can't show up and lets herself rest.  Her compassion inspires me.  She watched other teachers take over classes she'd taught for years and continually checks to review class plans, ask about students and support us without a hint of regret or jealousy.  Her selflessness humbles me.

Lisa has never stopped being my teacher and if anything I've learned more from her outside the studio this past year than I did in formal practice.  Every day she brings authenticity to that yogic cliché - practice off the mat.

Finding Alignment

April has been a whirlwind of activity and continual movement.  A visit to South Carolina, home of a very dear friend, led right into spring quarter.  My new classes proved quite intense, emotionally depleting and disorienting.  Somewhere in there I hosted a dinner for 20 people, got back into teaching and pretty much gave up on my usual commitment to self-care.  I arrived as a student to one of my favorite yoga classes on Wednesday morning and collapsed into stillness.  It was a shock to my system.  I finally sat quietly with all that had been gathered up as I tore through two and half weeks like a tornado.  A mantra crept into my being and carried me through the practice: all I can do is be here. As a planner, I'm not naturally inclined to show up to my practice (or life for that matter) and contentedly be present.  It's a continual struggle for me to not think ahead or look back constantly.  I can count on one hand the distinct memories I have of dropping into a moment and being fully committed to it.  I love that feeling, but it sure doesn't happen very often and it's always been a sense of not wanting to be anywhere else.

Wednesday's practice took me by surprise.  I hadn't anticipated falling into presence with now out of sheer exhaustion and finding comfort there.  To be unable to focus on anything else behind me or ahead of me, to be cradled by the practice, was bliss.  I extend my deep gratitude to Jodi Wellman for holding space that allowed each of us to find inner alignment.  It was exactly what I needed.

Stepping Slowly

IDo not Want to step so quickly Over a beautiful line on God's palm As I move through the earth's Marketplace Today.

I do not want to touch any object in this world Without my eyes testifying to the truth That everything is My Beloved.

Something has happened To my understanding of existence That now makes my heart always full of wonder And kindness.

I do not Want to step so quickly Over this sacred place on God's body That is right beneath your Own foot

As I Dance with Precious life Today. (Hafiz)

We, by which I mean I, have spent a good deal of life looking for perfect Saturdays in far away places and exciting/exotic venues. The streets and bistros of Paris, Italian cafes and gelato stands, California beaches and boutiques... Without fail I end up finding pure delight and contentment under my nose. Today it's in the kitchen and at the table with a dear friend. Our entertainment is each other, the bright sun, the chirping birds and a bag of farm fresh produce (oh yes, and a lovely little local goat cheese). Absolutely ordinary, but what could a be better way to be on holiday?

Embracing Ordinary

It's actually one of those gorgeous Seattle days today that reminds you why the rain is worth it, but this photo seemed more appropriate to my musings.  I saw a video recently that keeps replaying in my mind.  The entire 40 minutes is worth your time.  What's stuck in my head is a call to "tolerate the boring bits" in life and each other.  Sherry Turkle, author of Alone Together observes the general tendency of our current culture to live as though all that matters is stringing together a social-media-worthy collection of highlights, avoiding or distracting ourselves during the relatively uninteresting phases. This theme has continued to pop up in my life the past two weeks. Crossing to Safety is a beautiful story, one I read years ago and put away on a shelf.  I dug it out recently and was once again touched by the simple tale of friendship.  One character encourages her friend, the writer, to aspire to a book about regular life.  "Most artists--writers too, you're all alike--found it easier to get attention with demonstrations of treachery, malice, death, violence."  Charity begs Larry, "write something about a really decent, kind, good human being living a normal life in a normal community, interested in the things most ordinary people are interested in."

Over the weekend I attended three yoga workshops with Sarah Powers.  She had a lot of interesting things to share about yin yoga and suffering.  What stands out to me is our final meditation, during which Sarah reminded us of the benefit of cultivating attention.  Not attention to anything, just pure attention.  This is something to be practiced, just like any other skill.  Let me tell you, it felt a lot like learning to appreciate the mundane, because gazing at carpet for 15 minutes, even striped carpet, isn't exactly what I call fun.  And yet, so necessary.

One final thought on appreciating--celebrating even--the average, everyday moments of life, from my favorite poet...

Slipping

On my shoes,

Boiling water,

Toasting bread,

Buttering the sky;

That should be enough contact

With God in one day

To make anyone

Crazy.

(Hafiz - Buttering the Sky)

Acceptance

A student of mine asked me to share the poem I read in class yesterday.  It's from my favorite reading assignment in grad school so far -- Soil and Soul by Alastair McIntosh.  I found it to be a beautiful tale that weaves together history, mythology and spirituality with modern political, economic and environmental issues.  For anyone wishing to disentangle themselves from our Western notion of individuality, linear time and progress, this book is an opportunity to better understand a European heritage while exploring a more fluid, communal and cyclical notion of life.  Pick up a copy at your local library or neighborhood bookstore! I'll set you up for the poem by beginning with the preceding paragraph:

Their music is said to come straight from faerie -- from the hollow hill on which the first of the MacCrimmons had slept.  He had answered wisely when a faerie woman had asked him, 'Which woulds't thou prefer, skill without success or success without skill?'  And in my imagination it feels like the spirit of the MacCrimmon is present with me here.  It's as if I'm being taught the music of Avalon, Tir nan Og, the Celtic otherworld.

'This is to fortify and give comfort,' a voice says in my mind's ear.  'It's easy to make the music.  Just watch nature and play what you see and hear.  Play the waterfall, play the birdsong, play the beat of the butterfly's wings.  That's the only score you need.  That's faerie.  That's the very creativity of God.  Holy, Holy, Holy.  Breeee-jah...Breeeee-jah, Breeeee-jah.'

                                    ...and this girl said

                                    the girl with love in her eyes

                                    'You will accept it'

                                     and I said

                                     'I will accept what?'

                                     and she said again in the same calm voice

                                     'You will accept it

                                     accept the flood

                                     accept the calmness

                                     accept the otherworld people

                                     accept human beings'

                                    -Maoilious Caimbeul, And So Somersault

Strong and Subtle

A shift in my schedule last week prompted me to stay at the studio after teaching Tuesday afternoon to practice with my friend and colleague Natalia Rudovsky.  Her level II class offers a very different style from mine and while I have a deep respect for Natalia's abilities both as a yogi and a teacher, I don't usually find myself craving the fiery energy explored in this 75 minute practice.  Perhaps something about the bright sun that day alongside chilly temperatures nudged me to challenge the physical body, lay down a mat and surrender my desire for ease. Yoga is a discipline that asks us to find balance between ease and effort and I confess that I am generally more at home with the former.  I like to curl up to a nice mellow, gentle series of poses.  And so, even though I don't often seek it, a practice that pushes the limits of my physical strength and breath capacity can be just what I need from time to time. Not only did the asana sequences challenge me, but Natalia's exploration of the Chakras brought me face to face with an aspect of the subtle body that I often find illusive.  What are Chakras?  My longtime teacher, Lisa Steele, describes them in this way: "the Chakras are an invisible center of spinning energy, located where the mind and body meet.  While not synonymous with any portion of the physical body, their effect on the physical body is strong; it is believed that our physical bodies shape themselves around the Chakras."

If you enjoy a strong asana practice and want to deepen your understanding of mind-body-spirit connection, I encourage you to try and make it to Natalia's Sunday and/or Tuesday evening classes soon.  Every two weeks features a new Chakra (current focus is on Manipura (third/solar plexus).  I myself hope to be there again soon.

sometimes the poets say it best

The Scent of Light

Like a great starving beast

My body is quivering

Fixed

On the scent

Of

Light.

-Hafiz (The Gift)

playlist - a fondness for french

Hatha Flow Level One  | February 5th Playlist Il vecchio e il bambino  |  Carla Bruni

Autrefois  |  Pink Martini

Le Ceil Dans Une Chambre  |  Carla Bruni

Emmanuelle  |  Emmanuelle Seigner

C'était salement romantique  |  Coeur de pirate

Dansez-Vous  |  Pink Martini

Comme des enfants  |  Coeur de pirate

P'tite pédale  |  Emmanuelle Seigner

Intermission  |  Coeur de pirate

Déranger le pierres  |  Carla Bruni

Corbeau  |  Coeur de pirate

Possibilité d'une île  |  Carla Bruni

Syrinx  |  Claude Debussy

and a little ode to the growing daylight...

Rachmaninov: Vespers, Op. 37-04.  O Serene Light

Oh that moon

we're coming up on a new moon this weekend.  particularly for those of you who don't give much thought to lunar cycles and/or are curious about the benefits of tuning into seasonal and daily rhythms, i encourage you to read this brief and insightful article from the New York Times about our internal clocks.  i love it when science confirms my instincts! January Is the Cruelest Month

Effort and Ease

I've struggled to put up a post the past few weeks. when I had the words at my fingertips, I picked up a book instead of my keyboard. I lost what I wanted to say. I waited, and waited and waited...for all the thoughts in my head to form into something profound, for the perfect moment to sit down and write, for the stars to align. Maybe someday that post will make its way here, but today i was inspired by the mild day, mellow sunlight and dwindling darkness to invite a little ease into my life. I had a lot of expectations for January. I planned to dive right back into my pre-holiday schedule with renewed commitment and focus. and then I caught a bad cold and was forced to take it slow for a couple of weeks. As I healed, I realized something pretty obvious (but somehow had escaped my conscious awareness), that January is just as dark as December and all I wanted to do was hibernate. I have the luxury in my life right now of setting a schedule that is aligned with the rhythm of the seasons and I've noticed the changing ratios of darkness and the light affect me more. So, I set aside my big plans and let myself be. Last week I felt like I was ready to try again. We're still in winter, but I feel the promise of spring. The days are a little longer now, there's a bit of freshness in the air.

This morning I returned to one of my favorite practices - 90 minutes of pranayama, meditation and Sutras study with Jo Leffingwell. Two of my teachers have studied with her and I am quite humbled and honored to learn from Jo myself. As we sat today, I remembered something she gave voice to in a previous practice - referring to the exhale as "releasing the breath." Over and over today I cycled through "inhale and release, inhale and release." Eventually this gave way to a sense that the expectations of thinking mind could surrender, dissolve, and blend into a hopefulness of the heart. For me, hope is a little more gentle, it carries a sense of ease that is missing from expectation.

The beginning of February seems like a good time to refresh. Perhaps you set a New Year's resolution that you've stuck to doggedly. Inhale and release...soften your goal into a hopeful intention. Maybe January came and went and you never really found your sense of direction for the year ahead, or you made a resolution and forgot it. Take five minutes to sit in quiet, observe your breath, release any lingering frustration and find a little lift with the inhale. See if you can taste the coming spring. Discover that sweet spot between effort and ease. This is the practice of yoga.

(Yoga Sutra 2.46 | sthira sukham asanam - asana must have the dual qualities of alertness and relaxation)

it could be a zebra

"A Bangladeshi friend described her view of it this way: from the third eye we hear or see beyond what is expected or usual. Suppose we hear hoofbeats on the road. Our minds might envision a horse. The third eye reminds us that it could be a zebra." (Michelle LeBaron) Sometimes I feel like I'm going to grad school for an extra degree in yoga. I'm always running into meditation ideas in the assigned reading. Case in point: I read the passage above earlier this week and brought it to my students as a guide for practicing non-attachment. I find it to be a beautiful reminder to let go of expectations. As a planner I often find myself setting agendas for how I spend my time - whether it's alone, with a dear friend or in a meeting. Planning is all well and good, but it can quickly get out of hand and stifle creativity. It can drown any sense of being present. This past week I was inspired to think ahead less and feel my way more. I showed up to class with just those four sentences and let a meditation develop. It's beautiful to settle into a moment and let it evolve into something beyond your intention.

I invite you to find a quiet space in your weekend, just a few moments, to draw awareness to third eye center* and gather the desires and resolutions for your day or week or year ahead. If you're like me, they won't be hard to find, they'll be lurking close by and easy to draw up into a big bundle. Hold them just long enough to recognize them, then let go. You might be surprised at what you find in the space just beyond expectation.

*Also known as "Ajna" in Sanskrit, or the 6th chakra. Associated with intuition and perception, it is located between, behind and just above the eyes.

And it was like...magic

i'd forgotten about that line repeated several times throughout Sleepless in Seattle.  in fact, i'd pretty much wiped the movie itself from my memory.  until it came up in conversation recently as a holiday film and i got to watch it with someone who'd never seen it before.  amazingly, aside from some gigantic/corded telephones and unfortunate 90's fashion, the movie stands the test of time quite well.  witty exchanges between father and son really steal the show.  and then there's that line.  "And it was like...magic."  and so it was yesterday in my afternoon yoga class. our focus was on transitions - approaching and living them mindfully.  we slowed everything down and to my utter delight, my students responded with one of the most beautiful practices i have witnessed as a teacher.  we lost ourselves in movement, music and presence.  we aligned ourselves with the coming new moon and got carried away in the intensity of its luscious grounding energy.

in the aftermath, it seems appropriate to honor my students with a few words of gratitude and share a playlist with you that's calmed and inspired my week.  to those who shared their lovely selves with me yesterday, i say thank you.  to every one else, i offer this simple meditation: being present ≠ being perfect.

January 10, 2013  |  Playlist

Butterfly's Day Out  |  Yo-Yo Ma, Mark O'Conner, Edgar Meyer                                      Violin Concerto in F Minor  |   Vivaldi's Four Seasons (Winter)                                            Gavotte et six double  | David Greilsammer                                                                          Le Soledad  |  Pink Martini Villa-Lobos: Suite Populaire Bresilienne - 1. Mazurka  |  Manuel Barrueco                           Les Abeilles  |  Rupa & The April Fishes                                                             Intermission  |  Coeur de pirate Gol na mBan san Ar  |  Máire Ni Chathasaigh & Chris Newman                                       Bach Cello Suite #1 in G, BWV 1007 - Prelude  |  Yo-Yo Ma                                          Rachmaninov: Vespers, Op. 37-.04 O Serene Light  |  Robert Shaw Festival Singers

same old tunes, like new again

I still remember the first time I ever went to a yoga class where the music played was entirely classical (thank you Brent Morton!)  It was revolutionary to me - I felt completely at peace as the music became part of my practice.  I do enjoy some french ballads every now and then, along with Pink Martini and a random CD of mystery chants.  For special occasions I'll pull out Buxtehude - an amazing baroque composer. As I work on some playlists for this week's classes, I find myself returning to a mixture of old favorites.  I'm always amazed that after a month of festive music, everything else seems new again in January.  Like my home after I take down the tree and put the furniture back in its normal place -- vaguely familiar, yet fresh.  A bit of Vivaldi's The Four Seasons (Winter), some Yo-Yo Ma, Pink Martini's La Soledad and a lovely little instrumental piece from Coeur de pirate.  Just a few songs I'm piecing together for tomorrow...

kicking off my 2013 practice

i had every intention of using my recent time on the beach in california for asana practice.  i rolled up my travel mat, stuffed it in the overhead bin, propped it up in the corner of my room for 3 days, then toted it (still rolled-up) back to the airport and another overhead bin for the flight back home.  as it turned out, my inaugural 2013 practice was a return to a habit i acquired in late 2011 and had fallen away from this past fall -- friday evening hatha flow with Andreas at yogalife queen anne.

something nudged me to the studio tonight, rather than practicing on my own.  i'm glad i listened.  it felt good to build up some heat on a dark, january night.  i needed to stretch my aching calf muscles from morning runs on the sand.  most importantly, i got to be part of a community, to join my voice with others in a song for peace.  i'd forgotten how much i appreciate the simplicity of his class -- a steady focus on breath and body with the occasional, yet perfectly intentioned reminder of something more.  as if he's casually tossing out a comment about alignment, Andreas will speak to a sutra or remind us that being an advanced yogi is about being able to find ease, to back off even, in a physically challenging pose.  tonight he offered one word to guide our focus for the new year in place of resolutions - santosha.  one of the niyamas (ethics) in yoga, santosha means contentment.  what a lovely reminder as i begin 2013.  are there things i want, dreams i chase, regrets from the past?  absolutely.  but i can set those aside and dwell on my contentment.  i have a good and full life and if most of it stayed just about as it is today for the rest of my days, i would be happy.  i am happy.  santosha.

nostalgia

i suppose most people take the opportunity on New Year's Eve to reflect back on the year. tonight i find myself flooded with memories reaching way back to when i was a little girl and at the same time i'm drawing inspiration from two amazing ladies in my life - my grandmothers. last winter i welcomed 2012 surrounded by family in the Bay Area as we celebrated my mother's mother's 80th birthday. my Gram is quite dear to me, more so the older i get and appreciate her love and wisdom. how does she inspire me? a few years back i discovered the secret of her vitality. every winter she goes into a determined hybernation. she slows down, drops some of her regular activities for a few months, sleeps more...in a word, she rests. what a novel idea in our culture today! ever since she told me about this annual ritual, i have given myself permission to try and do the same, sans guilt.  it takes a special kind of strength to embrace stillness and i deeply admire Gram for modeling this way of life.

i'm welcoming 2013 on the beach of my childhood in la jolla. when i was young, my grandparents had all 10 of my cousins and 3 of my siblings and i for a few weeks in the summer to "Camp La Jolla." It was full of swimming, sun, sand and seaworld outings. i usually think fondly of my grandfather when i'm back here, but tonight i'm letting myself sit with a sense of admiration for my Baba. she was quietly behind the scenes those many years, making sure everything ran like clockwork - not an easy feat with 14 kids underfoot i'd imagine! she coordinated our much loved beach dinner parties, and so much more. i walked into our room this afternoon and there it was - the unmistakeable scent of La Jolla. i have just a drop of it at home, in the leather playing-card box my grandmother gave me a few years ago to remember this place by. when i'm feeling a bit blue, that earthy smell fills my body with sunshine and grand-love. my Baba has lived a full life. she inspires me to see the world, to live near the sea and to take care of myself.

tonight i'm raising my glass of champagne to my grandmothers -- to these strong women who guide me.  for inspiring me to live, as appropriate to seasons of life and of the year, both a bold and quiet life of love.

holiday reading - life of pi

just before winter break, a fellow grad student in my cohort recommended Life of Pi to me.  i picked up a copy at Lamplight Books while looking for Christmas gifts (it's now an annual tradition for me to visit the market for Christmas shopping and I always stop in at Lamplight). this book caught me up in its story in a way i don't often experience anymore.  when i was a child, i spent the better part of many days with my nose buried in a book.  in high school i'd often stay up well past midnight with my bed lamp on, devouring a good tale.  Life of Pi brought out that kid in me and any moment of the last week that wasn't spent baking, cooking, sharing a meal with family or wrapping gifts was a opportunity to crack open my book.  what a story!  too many wonderful ideas to share all my favorite passages, but one particularly stayed with me:

Words of divine consciousness: moral exultation; lasting feelings of elevation, elation, joy; a quickening of the moral sense, which strikes one as more important than an intellectual understanding of things; an alignment of the universe along moral lines, not intellectual ones; a realization that the founding principle of existence is what we call love, which works itself out sometimes not clearly, not immediately, nonetheless ineluctably (p. 63).

hello darkness

today is the winter solstice, and in honor of the darkest day of our year i taught my lovely 4:30pm class yesterday by candlelight.  since the summer solstice 6 months ago, i've been inspired by this blog: http://yogaseasonal.weebly.com/the-yoga-wheel-of-the-year.html AND the maitri meditation.  yesterday we used this loving-kindness meditation to explore hope and pain in our lives and relationships and release it all into the fire, practicing non-attachment.

may we have happiness, may we be free from suffering, may we know love, may we live with ease

we can so easily cling to hope and then be disappointed when life is not what we want, and at the same time we can convince ourselves that the pain we feel will never end.  the reality is that life changes, it cycles.  by letting go, we symbolically let the fire burn the stuff of our lives to ash, then blow out the candles to let it all rest in darkness, much as a seed in the soil lies dormant for the winter months.  as the light returns, we wait for something new to grow out of what is.  "healing then becomes a process of re-creation...in other words, the simple act of becoming truly aware of reality can cause miracles.  maybe we do need to take more time out and allow the shit to compost into rich soil from which new life can emerge" (from Soil and Soul, A. McIntosh).

Happy Solstice.