YOGA WORKS IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS

This morning i took a real, old-fashioned yoga class.  the kind i used to take long before vinyasa came to town. back where it all started for me. with iyengar yoga. my body nearly forgot how that goes. how you stay long enough in each pose to truly take your seat in it.  to asana. just sit and breathe with what is.  no direction to the breath even; simply letting the breath be what it is in that particular pose.  just allow the props to hold and cradle, push and lift.

I am hanging upside down on the wall like a bat and I release fully into the weight of me; I let every exhale sink me deeper into my own innerness.  I give in and release and I let go to what is.  There is no music to float away upon.  The teacher is still. There is no incessant dharma talk to soothe what arises from within.  I am just present to the current state of affairs in my life; I feel a big, quiet space open up inside.

I am arched back and inverted; my brain is below my heart; giving the heart the upper hand perhaps. Bathing my brain in the blood from my heart perhaps. Now I allow the Spirit of my breath to find its way into all the places where it doesn't get to go much because it's too much.   

Now I am fully present to the current conditions of my life and it really is too much; and perhaps I took to using yoga as the escape; the reprieve from it all; a place to numb the pain through physical expertise.

But here I am with my legs in the air and my back arched upon a chair; I am in it. I am in the divorce proceedings that won't end; that drain too much of my life force into a black, greedy hole. I am also the strong dog walking through unknown, dark territories with my pups. I am the hair standing up along my spine when a branch breaks behind me and another appeal is filed and I lick my sweeties reassuringly: Mama's got this. No fear, dear. I'm here. Holding a shield of calm, fierce love in place. 

As I take my seat in these poses, long enough, the magnitude of it all is just here with me; and the pain is deep and dangerous. I know it will not last; I know it will be here now and it will also go away one day; eventually.  But right now this is what I am dealing with. In this morning's yoga class, I was lead to a deep place of feeling the reality of that.

In savasana, I am nestled underneath a wool blanket; the tears of fear and grief and just plain overwhelm, flow, warm and salty. Silently from the silent space within; they run in a steady, stream into my ears. In this savasana I am given the time and the space and the quiet that I need for this.

For that I am grateful. From that place I will put one foot in front of the other - even if the territory is unknown and many breaking branches and legal maneuvers may yet scare me cold. 

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yoga every day, keeps the doctor away

When I first started doing yoga, in the early 90's - it was a pretty nerdy thing to do. The studios were not fancy and the teachers were not dressed in $150 spandex outfits. The only requirement of their pants was that you could see their legs. Most of them wore very short pants that showed all the muscles and bones. They would get impatient, or downright angry, with you if you wore pants that were loose around the knees. How could they check if you were actually 'lifting your kneecaps" if you wore baggy pants? (So you'd pull your pants up and look extra-nerdy to expose your knees). 

A pose would be worked on for what sometimes seemed like an eternity (you try being in trikonasana (triangle pose) for 5 minutes) and in the beginning of class you had to raise your hand if you were on your period. Then you'd be relaxing in subdabadakonasna (bound angle pose) while everyone else did inversions. If you told your friends that you were doing yoga then they weren't quite sure what that meant and if you told them; they'd likely think it was a bit odd. 

We all know how that has all changed. Yoga has become as mainstream as organic potatoes and that can only be a good thing. Even the established medical community has embraced the tremendous health benefits of yoga. I have just been invited to teach Yoga Nidra at the U of M and the Mayo Clinic is promoting yoga as a means to 'fight stress, get fit and stay healthy'. The barriers between what was once considered 'New Age' and western based medicine are crumbling and it's no longer either or. 

My family doctor, Dr. Kara Parker, is a Naturopath/MD who works at HCMC (Hennepin County Medical Center) and she has everything from bladderwrack and meditation to antibiotics and acupuncture up per sleeve. The one time that she has ever prescribed antibiotics, I feel confident that it was after exhausting every alternative method at her disposal. 

All though the meaning and practice of yoga has become mighty diluted, it's still a good thing that yoga has been endorsed as a means to greater health. Even students that never dive into the Yoga Sutras and beyond, will experience amazing changes in their body and mind from doing yoga on a daily basis. 

Here's words straight out of a Mayo article on the matter: 

• Stress reduction. A number of studies have shown that yoga can help reduce stress and anxiety. It can also enhance your mood and overall sense of well-being.
• Improved fitness. Practicing yoga can lead to improved balance, flexibility, range of motion and strength. And this means you're less likely to injure yourself in other physical endeavors or in your daily activities.
• Management of chronic conditions. Yoga can help reduce risk factors for chronic diseases, such as heart disease and high blood pressure. Yoga might also help alleviate chronic conditions, such as depression, pain, anxiety and insomnia.
• More here: http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/yoga/CM00004 

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the human task of finding the Light in the darkness...

I am surrounded by yogis and yoginis, and also great friends who don't subscribe to yoga, but to some other path of spiritual and personal growth. Friends and students and, of course, me; who do things like meditate, exercise, garden and compost, eat organic foods - and who drink little to never. Who know the power of connecting to the earth and connecting to the Light -- in equal measure. 

 Friends who 'walk the path consciously' and look for how they create their own circumstances, 'co-create' is the word these days, who take responsibility for their choices and who truly wish to find their voice and serve in whatever capacity God, The Universe, The Greater Good would have them do. 

Trying very hard and persistently - and succeeding as well, some of the time - in finding that Higher Self voice, the place where it's all cool; and every experience is part of the picture, the voice that elevates us out of feeling small and contracted, alone and inadequate, 

Why is it so hard for us to maintain that perspective?

Why must we dip into the icy, dark waters of forgetting our Mighty Light? Of believing even for a moment that we are not loved and guided and that there isn't Great Big Meaning behind the hurt and the pain that get invoked time and again by circumstances that, yes, we attract into our lives to figure out a better way to deal with them than we did when we were 5 years old. 

I don't know the ultimate answer of course (what earthling does?) but I know that for me, being flung into darkness and doubt on a semi-regular basis is how I have developed my now fairly dependable "see-the-Light-shine-in-the-darkness' capacity. It is how I can stay grounded enough in my 'Observer' to recognize what is going on with the part of me that identifies completely with the 'soft animal of my body' and my present circumstances (better known as my ego, I suppose). 

I also know deeply, from personal experience, that community is crucial. That the friend I dragged out of a dark perspective yesterday is ready to do the same for me today.

That I wouldn't learn to swim toward to Light when I feel that I am drowning unless I got plunged into the Dark waters enough to practice, practice, practice. That coming back to my own Light again and again, is how I have come to trust that the Light does indeed Shine in the Darkness, and that the Darkness, indeed, has not overcome it. 

15 years ago, my now ex-husband told me, and I have no idea where he got this idea, that reciting the first 14 verses of St John's Gospel daily could not, not transform a person completely. That's how he said it; not, not. So I memorized it at the time, we both did. It's interesting that we have grown so far apart and yet, he is another person in town who has that memorized. 

Reciting John has become a remedy, a pathway out of the Darkness for me. It's powerful stuff. Sometimes these verses just pour through me when anxiety and fear creeps in. Before I am even consciously aware of it, these words just spread within like Golden Light. 

There are many versions, here is the one I memorized. Maybe you want to try it sometimes when you feel lost and lonely and all small and contracted into dualism.

Maybe it will help you remember that the Light shines in the Darkness and that the darkness has not over come it. Here it is. 

In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God

He was in the beginning with God and through Him were all things made

Without Him was not anything made that was made

In Him was Light and His Light was the Light of men

The Light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.  

There came a man sent from God his name was John

He came as a Witness to bear Witness to the Light that all might believe though Him

He himself was not the Light but came to bear Witness to the Light.  

The True Light that enlightens every man was coming into the world

He was already in the World but the World knew Him not

He came to His own people but his own people received Him not

But to all who received Him and believed in His Name

He gave power to become children of God

Not born of the blood, nor the will of the flesh, nor the will of man but of God

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us and we beheld His Glory

Such Glory as of the only begotten Son of the Father full of Grace and Truth

Pushing through the laziness

I have developed a method. A method for cleaning my kitchen. When I look at a messy kitchen I get so weary in my soul, I really just want to, not clean it. Go to bed. Do it later. But what's worse than coming back to a messy kitchen, getting up in the morning to a messy kitchen? So, the method is this: I split myself into two personalities. Yep, sounds a bit scary but it works. 

Lazy Me, who really can't deal with it right now. Who's too busy, got too many other things that just must be tended to. Wise Me, who knows that the energy drain of not getting that something done is massive, almost incapacitating. Totally out of proportion to the actual task of getting that thing done, be it that messy kitchen or something else on the list of to-do's. 

Wise Me then sets my kitchen timer. 10 minutes. Yep, that's it: 10 minutes. Even Lazy me can deal with just about any task if it's only for, promise, just 10 minutes. Then Wise Me divides my kitchen into sections. That space to the left of the sink, the sink, the space to the right of the sink, the stove, and that space to the right of the stove. Eating nook, narrow counter, sweep the floor (mop if necessary). 

To make the whole situation more bearable, Wise Me also lights some incense and puts on some music, that really soothes Lazy Me and makes me more cooperative. Then the timer starts and Lazy Me gets anything but lazy, works really hard and fast. Fast because I've only got 10 minutes, and I must get all this done. Section one, done. Section two, done, three, done. Always catching a backwards glance at the completed sections because nothing is more satisfying than a completed section.

Ten minutes later, the kitchen is almost done, the timer on the stove goes off and Lazy Me is frantic, No, not yet, I am not done! Give me a few more minutes, I need to sweep too; and I also want to do a quick mopping to make it all extra fresh! Wise Me allows it. Yes, you can have 2 more minutes. I will set the timer though. 

Two minutes later, well a total of 12, the kitchen is done. For real. That's it. The dreaded task is just done and the whole kitchen, and my mood, is lifted and beaming.

And my other tasks are not so different. It takes very little to overwhelm me. Too feel completely weighed down by my own to-do's and must-do's - they so easily feel like can't-do's. 

The only thing that seems to do the trick is for Lazy Me and Wise Me to work together and that always seems to involve setting a time. A deadline. A 'you-won't-be-stuck-doing-the-kitchen-sink-forever-promise'.
 

I have expanded this method to the rest of the house and beyond. When it's all a big mess (usually got that way with generous help from children) - then I divide the house into sections. 10 minutes, Lazy Me, that's all, 10 minutes per room. Go! For half an hour. Then perhaps another half an hour.

And voila! The house is unbelievably, incredibly, amazingly transformed. It's borderline magic. 

Presence Process

I'm still here, not sure what happened there, just took a long, lazy blog break I suppose - or, ok, I got a bit scared of my own openness just like I said I wouldn't...even went in and deleted a few blogs that were particularly raw and just needed to go...

But since I just went to a job interview, I thought on my way home, hmmm..., I wonder if the people who interviewed me thought to 'google me' before I came in - as if anyone in this modern world doesn't google everybody in whom they have the slightest interest...argh, so with that in mind I 'googled me' and yes, this blogspot is like the top line in the google results; and I tried to read it like a potential employer might.

I thought I seemed OK nice and not too nuts -- well, the blog about hating my coach's time assignment might have been a wee bit unfortunate but you know what, sooner or later the truth about everyone always comes out anyway so there's something to be said for just having it out there. This has been a therapy theme in fact, the idea that being me is all I have to do. My therapist even 'EDM tapped' (Emotional Freedom Technique, do you know it?) - that fact into my body and brain and I am totally starting to believe that I just need to put me forth with as much honesty and me'ness as possible and then the chips will fall, mostly, nicely all around me - and the off-chips will have some Divine purpose that I may not be able to decipher but I will trust that they do.

I'm reading a book. A really interesting book, called the Presence Process by Michael Brown -- and it requires some serious work. Well, really it just requires that you breathe a certain way twice a day for 15 minutes - so for a seasoned meditator, like moi, that shouldn't be considered a momentous task -- but it's  hard and it's what comes up and out of the deep, dark, moist (or downright flooded) basement of the subconscious that is hard, hard, hard....

The notion is this; everything in this world that makes you emotionally upset or react, versus calmly respond, is a 'set up' by the Universe to get you to pay attention to some deep and ancient imprinting that happened when you were too little to make any sense of it...aside from the fact that you were somehow bad and basically deserved it when the world - or rather then most important people in your world - made you feel alone and rejected and abandoned and not loved and not safe.

The idea being that the guy that makes you feel controlled or unloved or unimportant or abandoned - he is just some guy you attracted quite deliberately; specifically because he had that very built-in talent for making you feel terrible just like you did when you were 5 or 4; or even so young that a memory of it can't even be accessed - through ordinary means anyway.

So rather than have it out in some dramatic fashion with the messengers that conveniently and predictably, and over and over again'ly trigger that old, awful feeling of not being loved and not being good enough for love - I am just supposed to sit and breathe into that feeling - not try to analyze it or understand it but just sit there with the knowledge that this feeling is old, this wound is old and the reaction that is coming up - and that embarrass me because it's terribly childish of me -- is exactly that -- it's just a child.

It's little me, sweet little 4-year old me, in a big white hospital bed. All alone. For weeks. It's cold and it's winter and everything is white and the ceilings are impossible high and white and cold and everything else is metal and cold and sharp - especially the needle that take my blood every day in doctor effort to find out what is wrong with me. Yes, there she is; feeling just like that, just the way I am feeling 38 years later and I look at her on the bed and I am not embarrassed that she is desperate to be held and loved and told that everything is going to be OK, that the pain will go away and that she has a right be scared shitless about going into some big, roaring machine after drinking radioactive, thick, white fluid in a glass that is so tall it's makes her gag to finish the scary, sweet liquid that isn't fit for human consumption.

I put her in my lap and I wrap blankets around her and I just tell her over and over that everything will be OK, that I will never leave her and that it's OK that she is mad at her parents and that she hates the doctors and that she is trying to be a good little girl that the nurses will like. I carry her out of the hospital where she has been stuck for 38 years and I take her home with me where she gets to be with me, in me, and I will listen to her and I will not allow anything but love to come near her ever again.

That's probably as much as I can do today. It's a good book. Amazing in fact...seeing every triggered emotion through that lens....and watching for the little kid in me and in all my fellow grown-ups around me. We all just want to be held and told that we are loved and that we are ok. Right...

The hard stuff: Show it or hide it?

I got two emails today that stood out from the rest. Both written in response to having read my blog-utterings as of late. Both from women. Both in their 60's. The first to arrive was from my mother in Denmark, the second from a dear friend here in the States. What's curious is that they arrived within moments of each other. But had the exact opposite message.

The one from my mother was one of deep concern that I'd be so emotionally open and raw. In public. Shouldn't I be keeping this kind of intimate information private and only share with a trusted friend or two. Might it not be used against me?

The other one, from a dear teacher friend, was encouraging me,  'I feel so appreciative to have a friend who wanders deeper into her life, and shares it...' she said.

It made me think for a while today about what we find appropriate to share; with whom and how. I have been getting a lot of reactions in the last weeks; and aside from my mother they have been mostly to the effect of, wow, you are just like me, we have parallel lives, we should get together soon, call me, I'm here. I know how you feel.

But one other friend, did just tell me, that she'd like to share more but then 'people will know I am not perfect.' Wow. Is anyone perfect? Do any of us really think that the others have it all together and if we do think that, how does that make us feel? Inadequate? Small? Lacking?

I have been in enough sharing groups to know that everyone is hurting about something. The lucky ones are able to transform the hurt into empathy and love and wisdom but everyone is hurting about something. If we all knew just a little more about each other's pain we'd be busy hugging and loving each other all day long.

At a recent coaching training in L.A. one of the trainers said, 'people, owning your shadow is the new sexy!" Ok, let's not get trendy about it but I get it and I think many of us are weary of the old school way of hiding it, and stuffing it and hoping that no one knows how uncool we are. How insecure we are. How much we just want to be loved and accepted by each other. How much we fear rejection and being alone.

I know I am pushing the boundaries of my own culture and the family line with my openness. Maybe I am even risking repercussions in court this summer. Maybe my ex or his team of two power attorneys will find my blog and say, See! She's all weak and feeble and unfit.

The truth is I have never felt stronger and more okay. Sad and small sometimes, you beat, but mostly okay with myself being human and even more okay with the never-ending supply of Divine Light and grace that pours over me and each of us when we scream for help, and often it happens through our dear friends.

Aren't we just here to help and love each other every step of the way on this earth. When I am in the pits my friends will remind me of love, and when my friends are in the pits, I will remind them of love. We just slip into darkness sometimes and forget about love.

Thank you to my mom, for her warm and motherly concern, I know the sweet heart from which is springs -- and thank you to my dear Viola friend for taking the time out of your day to write to me, for seeing me and appreciating me.

And I don't think I'm done being open and raw. I think I'm only just beginning.

To pedicure or not...

I got a pedicure today. The first of the season and I think the last. I don't really like the whole someone-sitting-at-my-feet situation. It's probably the socialist, or the Dane in me, we always did our own nails growing up. In fact, I don't remember ever hearing about a place where you could get a pedicure in Copenhagen back then. But I'm sure they exist now. It's gotten so worldly.

I went to a place at Har-mar run by Asians, I didn't recognize the language, not that I would, but I'm always just a bit offended when I walk in and you see a line of white women (just like me mind you) in big lazy-boy-type-pedi-thrones with small, brown people industriously working at their feet. I get colonialism vibes or something.

Nevertheless, I decided that with yesterday's insult to my peace of mind, I deserved pretty feet. I also have that wedding coming up in a couple of days. The person doing my pedicure was, to my surprise, a man. In his 40s I think. He was missing one finger on the left hand and his arms were full of tattoos. The most prominent on his left arm, it was a pair of hands joined in prayer. His left hand was missing half a finger.

Midway through the pedicure he did a foot and leg massage. He had nice strong, wiry hands and it felt great. Suddenly, I saw him flinch. He had to stop and adjust the joints of two of this fingers including the finger that was half size. I asked him if he was okay, he didn't speak much English but just said, I have problem. I said, please don't continue the massage if it hurts. He said, it's okay. I repeated, please just stop doing the massage part if you are hurting. He said, thank you. I watched him from behind my magazine and he continued quietly. Then it looked like he was about to cry. I was so filled with empathy I thought I was going to cry. What happened to this man. What or who hurt his hand? Did I offend him by addressing his pain?

I didn't get any polish. It's just too stinky. I kind of like my nails just clean and bare. I gave him a good tip and I was relieved to leave the chemical stench of the small shop. The place is in serious need of better ventilation. I think it's hazardous for the workers to be in those fumes all day.

Maybe I think too much and effectively ruined my own little treat to myself today. But I can't stop thinking about this man, his fingers, his prayer tattoo and his life spent in chemical fumes to make white women's nails pretty. What are we doing?