The Urban Yoga Den

…where it's all yoga.

Pick Yourself Up, Dust Yourself Off (from the uyd archives) November 15, 2014

November 2014:
When I am struggling, friends sometimes say: “Go read your own blog!” Well, this past week has been a doozy of curve balls and losses. I recalled the blog below, from December 2010. I’m a bit embarrassed to share it, because it feels like I’ve been mostly depressed since then! Truth be told, the past 4 years have, indeed, been a severe string of betrayal, physical assaults, family hostility and loss. So, yes, I just went and read my own blog. Because this one – written in the midst of processing a trauma – is “Holly at her best.” Transparency, counsel, action, hope, resilience. Onward.
Thanks for reading. Love to you and all. OM Shanti.

*  *  *

YOGA CLASS FOCUS: ABUNDANCE – GROWTH
(December 2010)

Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, start all over again. – Dorothy Field, 1930s Musical Lyricist

When I was around 6 years old, my mom would drive my sisters and I to a farm outside of DC for horseback riding lessons. A few weeks into our series, a horse threw me to the dirt! I remember bouncing along the ground (I was a chubby little gal), standing up, brushing myself off, and getting right back on the horse – before my teacher or mom could give that standard warning, “If you don’t get back on the horse, you’ll never ride again.” At that young age, I instinctively knew that getting back on the horse was my only option.

So, as I navigate the “throws” of life – even those that take a longer recovery – deep down I know I’ll bounce back.

Reaching the close of 2010, I wish I could promise friends, students and readers that THIS IS THE LAST TIME I’ll share about the betrayal I experienced this past summer. I, myself, wish this will be the last time that I dredge up that pain in this blog. The positive? Each time I write about the pain, I inevitably write about the healing and growth.

Thankfully I’ve been programmed that way from a very young age!

You must know that you can swim through every change of tide.  – This morning’s Yogi Tea bag message.

It feels like everywhere I turn these days, writers, teachers and songs are encouraging me to drop my guard and jump into life with abandon. I’d love to. And I appreciate the encouragement! But the truth is, I’m terrified.

Fears related to the summer’s emotional trauma (and its related past-trauma triggers) are bubbling up again for a few reasons. Lately I’ve received invitations to connect with human beings. (Go figure!) A little romance, some friendships. Gratefully, despite (or perhaps due to?) my history as a trauma survivor, deep in my heart, I adore humans, humanity and humanness. In addition, with 6 months between the summer’s emotional shell shock and today’s invitations, my trust in others is gradually reawakening.

So as new life beckons, I simultaneously feel like jumping in…and running away.

I have been taught – and so I believe – that there is great value in sharing about difficulty and the process of surviving it. Not just for my own release and rebirth, perhaps also for someone who has gone or might go through something similar. So here goes. And maybe, this will be the last time.

Who says I can’t be free
From all of the things that I used to be
Rewrite my history –
Who says I can’t be free?
– John Mayer

Falls from horses were not the only dangers of my childhood.  My family household was chaotic and violent, driven by addiction and emotional illness.  Through a certain age, I found solace in music and god.  I wrote and performed songs (escape), often sang myself to sleep (comfort) and craved spiritual experience (protection).  At the same time, I existed in a state of self-preservation and readiness – prepared for the sky to fall at any moment.  Witnessing the model of my three older sisters, who frequently ran away from home, I kept a small night bag packed with pajamas and toiletries, in case I ever had to run.

Eventually, the false strength of self-reliance and isolation won out over the gentle support of god and music.  I took care of myself and often had to play other family-members’ roles.  I learned to construct elaborate lies about the screaming fights, ambulances, lateness to school and other troubles.  And for relief from the hiding and responsibility, my own addictions kicked in by age 11.

My parents are not to blame.  The inevitable fallibility of lineage shaped them as parents, and they did their best with what they had.  As did my sisters, whose only choice was to protect themselves and therefore grow apart from each other and me.  Although I was resentful toward my parents beyond my college years, I eventually grew to see the bigger picture, and soulfully love and appreciate Mom and Dad for all they offered.

I share this family background to illustrate how it informed my adult life.  Self-reliance, isolation and addiction do not nurture “normal” maturity!  Poor decisions led to dangerous situations and more trauma.  My gravitation back toward spiritual reliance began around Easter of 1990 after I hit an emotional and physical bottom while living in New Orleans.  That summer I would teach myself to meditate by focusing on one sense at a time.  This was the beginning of my relationship with the present moment, with “what is,” and with inner peace.

Some believe we are here to work out our past karma.. i need to remind myself that karma is not punishment.. just consequence. – Ricky Tran, Yoga Teacher

For the next twelve years, I sought personal wellness – and to learn how to relate well with others.  I continued meditation, started practicing yoga (yay!), used therapy, experimented with different religious and spiritual traditions, changed my diet and pretty much tried anything that might make me feel better.  Despite my best intentions, I also continued manifesting different shades of the violence and chaos of my childhood.

Continued active addiction, associated behaviors and unaddressed past trauma cemented me in old patterns.  Not until 2002, when I had a moment of clarity and sought help for addiction, did life crack open and truly begin to change.

Our December [2010] class focus is Abundance. I am sharing honestly about my past because for a long time, I felt ashamed of my journey of stumbles. Now I believe I have nothing to hide. And because of my own transformation, I have faith in every person’s ability to recover from the serious mistakes or conditions of their past.  All it takes is the willingness to ask for help. Abundant growth is possible for all.

Today, all of my positive influences from the past 20 years work in-concert to encourage productive relationships, wellness of body, mind and spirit, productive relationships and serenity.  At the same time, just like for everyone else on this Earth, life happens.  Sometime life throws some curve balls.  And sometimes we get hit by a pitch.

I was hit by a pitch this past summer.  The man I’d been seeing for 6 months revealed something shocking that he’d been hiding.  Not only did the lying hurt horribly, in addition, the nature of what he was hiding could have endangered my own well-being, and, it triggered much of my past emotional trauma. Sadly, I lost trust and love for everyone.  I lived in fear.

Thankfully, the week before that bomb was dropped, I had emerged from a week-long Off The Mat Into The World training at the Omega Institute. The “Yoga, Purpose & Action” Intensive taught self-inquiry, collaboration and activation as tools for cultivating a more sustainable approach to service work. These became the exact tools that I used to trudge through the relationship shock.  I didn’t run, I didn’t hide, I didn’t go back to addictive ways.

Despite the fear, I forced myself to reach out (ugh), and I got support (ahhh).

Always do what you are afraid to do. – Ralph Waldo Emerson, Poet & Essayist

At one point in the Fall, I was catapulted into an impenetrable state of anger and disgust after unexpectedly running into my ex. It broke my heart to harbor such negative emotions, when all I yearned for is to love and trust human beings again.  I gained counsel with Father Tom Ryan – a Catholic Paulist priest and Kripalu yoga teacher – who was firm with me regarding solutions.  He made concrete suggestions for ritualizing the transformation of anger/disgust into forgiveness/compassion.

While I was integrating those suggestions into my practices, I had a session with Somatic Therapist Lois Clinton, whose nurturing and skillful treatment awakened a sense of safety and trust. It’s hard to describe how Somatic Therapy works. In my experience, we identified certain grounding resources (i.e. deep three-part yogic breathing), constantly redirected to the present moment by working with open eyes (vs. getting stuck in the past with closed eyes), and discharged physically stuck trauma (i.e. vibrating hands, clearing lungs).  It was subtle and yet powerful!

With the clarity from my session with Lois, I followed through with one of Fr. Ryan’s suggestions. I wrote a brutally honest letter to my ex – with absolutely no intention to send it.  On the New Moon of Diwali, I burned the letter.  Sure enough, as I watched the ashes and scraps of paper float down a swirling, swollen creek, the negativity was released, I felt a thousand pounds lighter, and the shift toward complete healing was profound.

I couldn’t be more grateful to all of the teachers, healers and advisers who stepped up to the plate to support me through this tough time.  Decades of being willing and open toward these liberating processes have opened doors to immense transformation and emotional sobriety. When life happens, I am fortunate to have a huge tool box of resources, practices and people who support me through anything – from celebrations to disappointments.

Trauma is a fact of life; so is resilience.  – Hala Khouri, Off The Mat Into The World Co-founder

Earlier I mentioned that there are a few reasons my fears were recently triggered.  This week, I attended a spiritual gathering where the guided meditation was about forgiveness. Immediately, I acknowledged the potential risk of participating, and decided to stay anyway. The instructor asked us to recall an instance where someone hurt us…and then, to offer that person forgiveness.  It was tough.  I had to open my eyes to see I was safe, surrounded by (yes) trusted spiritual fellows.  I could feel my entire body vibrating.  Tears flowed.  I wasn’t sure if I was forgiving or releasing.  But I knew I needed to stay in the process.

Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try. – Ryan Bingham, Songwriter

This morning, I was struck with a note of sadness about the summer situation. I am grateful to say that, for the first time in months, I did not connect this morning’s emotion with all the sad traumas of my past.  It was, simply and specifically, sadness about the loss of my relationship and how much it hurt to be lied to.

Regarding the fresh fears from social invitations…I am rigorously honest with each person, letting them know the shakiness I feel about connecting, particularly romantically.  One day my heart will be ready to try again. I know that I must make myself humanly vulnerable again.  I’m just not there yet.  But I will be.  I will bounce back.

You will not find a spiritual master that will suggest you play it safe, or a sacred text that advises you to avoid pain at all costs. – Max Strom, Yoga Teacher and Writer

To me, some “self-help” messages sound like the old idiom “Pull yourself up by your bootstraps.”  That harkens of my childhood of packed bags and lonely songs.  But when I read firmly encouraging words like Max’s, I yearn so deeply for love, trust and emotional freedom that I cry.

Thank you gentle teachers and butt-kickers, skillful healers and wise advisers for the abundant encouragement, inspiration and motivation you have so generously shared throughout my life.  You assure me that all experiences – throws, stumbles and curve balls of all kinds – are opportunities for growth.

I am scared. And I am growing, too.

OM Shanti, Shanti, Shanti.

 

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It’s A Family Affair May 29, 2014

“To put the world in order, we must first put the nation in order; to put the nation in order, we must first put the family in order; to put the family in order, we must first cultivate our personal life; we must first set our hearts right.”  ~ ConfuciusNashvilleGrate(Fall13)

I have written and re-written this blog 1,000 times. In those drafts, I: shared the sad and messy facts about families dealing with aging parents; reprinted my raw and emotional Facebook mini-blogs from February and March, when family matters blew up in Nashville; proved myself right and damned myself for screwing up; expressed devotion, concern and love for my father. Trying to get to the bottom of my unrest about my time in Nashville and my decision to move back to DC, I have examined every confusing corner of the situation.u

As of today, I’ve been back in DC for exactly two months. A few intense Full and New Moons have passed. The spiritual books I’m reading, the yoga classes I’m taking, the life experiences I’m having – they all point in one direction. The mirror is being held up, and I am being invited to look myself in the eye. The universe has been scraping away and wearing me down – in the best way possible. It’s time for change, for good.

At 2:40pm EST yesterday, while I meditated for the New Moon peak, this statement consumed my thoughts, shook me to my core and erased my confusion:

I really must clear my heart of anything but LOVE.

Because in the end, the pain of harboring resentment in my heart is bigger than any original harm. So here, dear friends, is the final draft of this blog.

*  *  *

FORGIVE ME FACEBOOK; IT’S BEEN MORE THAN THREE MONTHS SINCE MY LAST BLOG POST…

One hour after posting my last piece, “Be My Valentine,” my life turned upside down. That afternoon, after a heart-liberating massage, I was glowing with positive energy toward life. Then…unexpected family matters began to abound. And I learned something very important: whereas I’d believed that I moved to Nashville to take care of my aging father until the day he died…I suddenly understood that I was actually visiting Nashville on an important fact-finding mission.

Relatively soon after posting that February blog, I left Nashville to move back to my hometown of Washington, DC. There was no other course but to throw up the white flag, trust that my father would be helped by others and return to the place that historically nourishes and restores me: my true HOME.

During and since my time in Nashville, I have felt angry, harmed, righteous and vengeful. I processed these feelings through my practice, and, with my dear friends and others close to me. I wrote about the situation on Facebook. Now, it’s time to let those feelings go, and, leave that situation in the past. And if the resentments surface again (because they could), I must vow to revisit and re-process them in privacy and with respect, and, in appropriate venues and constructive ways.

I exposed my family’s pain – and by doing so, I caused harm. My Urban Yoga Den page on Facebook is now free of all mentions of my family during those times.

This was a tough pill to swallow…a humbling reality to accept.

As I said, since returning HOME, my reading, my classes and my experiences have been softening my wall of self-justification for processing the family situation so publicly (i.e. family is a part of life, and the Urban Yoga Den talks about life; it’s my personal mission to not hide anything; the blog’s rigorous honesty is in service to others; and – ahem – it’s my retribution for being harmed). With that thin veil of “valid reasons” lifted, I finally saw what was beneath it: I’d been acting on an emotionally twisted mix of desires to be seen as right, to be seen as special, to be seen as healthy, to be seen as good…and also to be seen as pitiful. I wanted to be loved…and also to be outcast. Beyond that? I discovered my desire to “own” my father and to be the “best” daughter. Ugh, why? Because of the undying shame I feel about the debt I owe him, after decades of an unhealthy financial dependence.

And at the heart of all of these discoveries? The most important truth of all: I am terrified of losing my father. I love him more than anyone in the world. I always have.

*  *  *

“Unless we come to understand the self-defeating nature of our own possessiveness, we cannot stop making war.” ~ Pandit Rajmani Tigunait

When I read this sentence from “Why We Fight: Practices for Lasting Peace,” I immediately wrote “MY dad” in the margin. I realized that I’d wanted Dad to be “mine.” Forever. Much of the motivation behind my move to Nashville to help my father had come from an intense fear of losing him. Of course, there were so-called “noble” motivations, as well. For instance, my father had helped me emotionally and financially for much of my life. So, I wanted to give back more substantially than before – visiting a few times a year to clean, cook and hang out. Attached to that noble motivation, however, was an underlying feeling of shame, guilt and accountability to a great debt…which also led to the feeling that I had to be there for him, had to do the most for him and had to be the best for him.

It’s complex, I know. It’s family.

What rings true right now, however, are the negative results of my possessiveness. It drove my division with my sisters, it drove my defensiveness with Dad’s community and it even drove my own inner battles when feeling insufficient in serving him.

In his book, Tigunait reminded me, “Yoga simply says, ‘Remember, this whole world with all its objects has evolved from God and still exists in God. Every single object, every single aspect of this world is pervaded by God. Things of the world are given to you as gifts. Learn to enjoy them without becoming attached to them.’ (Isha Upanishad, verse 1)”

“Even people,” I wrote in the margin. My father is God’s gift. He’s not mine at all. Or anyone’s.

“The knowledge that we have these worldly resources at our disposal and yet we are not their owners will protect us from disputes and disagreements,” Tigunait assures. I believe him. I don’t want continued conflict with my family. So, through specific practices and resources, I’m learning to love my father without needing to possess or prove anything to anyone. And that includes transmuting my possessiveness into appreciation for the beauty we’ve shared, feeling gratitude for each current/present moment with him (even if on the phone or through the mail), and, believing that I always do my best in service to him.

It also means releasing my dread of saying goodbye.

*  *  *

“Love and tolerance of others is our code. And we have ceased fighting anything or anyone.” ~ from addiction recovery literature

I admit there is still a part of me that wants to prove – to readers, to friends, to community, to family, to everyone – that I am the good one, that I am right, that I am this or I am that. The fact is: this “I-am-ness” is what separates me from others, creates friction and ends up causing harm. Even saying that I’m bad, that I’m horrible, that I’m unforgiveable (because at times the mood can shift from self-righteousness to self-pity) results in the same separation.

Enough! I am what I am at any given moment, and what others think about me is truly beyond my control and none of my business. Only I must sit with myself and know myself. And in the end, if I truly want to cultivate inner peace and therefore spread peace around me (Ahimsa – non-harming – the essence of all my yogic practices and life intentions), then right/wrong and good/bad cannot matter at all.

Tigunait’s book speaks of world wars. For me, it relates to my own internal, interpersonal and family battles. It’s all the same. Societal wars evolve from individual toxicity. “These subtle problems,” he says, “can be solved neither through political negotiations nor with sermons. They are the subtle causes of our external catastrophes, and the only way to overcome them lies in applying spiritual tools and committing ourselves to the disciplines that lead us to self-transformation. … Such a thing can be done. It requires courage, tolerance, forbearance, endurance, and a total commitment to practice the philosophy one professes… The great scripture, The Bhagavad Gita, says, ‘Peace is priceless. Attain peace at any cost.’”

*  *  *

I crave LOVE. And so I must choose LOVE whole-heartedly.

For decades I failed to live with any principles at all. Presently, thanks to the 12 steps of addiction recovery, the 8 limbs of yoga and additional positive influences, I’ve not only established values; I do my best to live them. I still fail at times. I own, examine and aim to mend my past and current errors. I am human. That’s all I can do.

In one of my March Facebook mini-blogs, I said that I was “burying my wars,” and I meant it. No more family battle tales – they would only feed the cycle of pain. With some space and time between what happened during my seven months in Nashville and this present moment, I can now focus on the silver linings, the lessons learned and the immense personal growth.

It’s time to take the lessons learned in Nashville and apply them to my renewed life, back in my beloved hometown of DC. I have plenty of opportunities to practice healthy “family dynamics” with my friends, new co-workers and community members! Our goal may be to build love and trust, to serve a business mission, and/or to create safer neighborhoods.

Whatever the task, there is a lot at stake in these relationships.

*  *  *

OMMM…
SAHANA VAVATU
SAHANAU BHUNAKTU
SAHA VIRIYAM KARAVAVAHAI
TEJAS VINAVADHITA MASTU MAVID
VISHA VAHAI HI
OM SHANTI SHANTI SHANTI.

DCYogaNook(Mar14)OMMM…
May we be protected together.
May we be nourished together.
May we work together with great energy.
May our study together be enlightening.
May there be no hatred between us.
OM peace peace peace.

The rich stories, ideology and practices of yoga can provide a framework for positive interactions and outcomes. This yogic prayer has been a fixture in my daily practice for months now. Sometimes I would leave a recording of it on ‘repeat’ and listen to it softly all day and night. It helped decrease my upset about family matters in Nashville, it helped through my transition back to DC, and it helps in my renewed life with its very normal interpersonal challenges. Coming from this past year’s bumps and bruises, my fears of being harmed and/or of losing something valuable can make me hyper-sensitive at times. Hah, go figure – this work is still at the roots of my greatest growth. Thankfully, I’m HOME, where my “family-of-choice” is cheering me onward and upward. After rising from the fire of my Nashville experience, I feel stronger than ever, and ready to keep growing.

In my ideal “family,” there is honesty, openness, acceptance and support. There is hardship, challenge and pain. Discomfort and willingness coexist – as do care and anger. Together, we protect, we nourish, we work, we study, and above all, we LOVE.

Thanks for reading – and, thanks for being part of my family. OM Shanti.

 

Sitting Here In Limbo? August 23, 2013

Actually, no.SaatvicFridayTeaAndLegs(Aug13)

Despite existing – essentially – between two lives these days, I am feeling quite balanced, peaceful and present. Dare I say…Sattvic? Because that is what I am sensing right now, at this moment, having wrapped up my morning yoga practices, listening to Ravi Shankar’s “Sitar Soul,” sipping my Ayurvedic tea, waiting for the pot of steel cut oatmeal simmering on the stove.

* * *

In 12 days, I will get in a U-Haul truck and move my life from DC to Nashville.

Washington, DC is my hometown. I was born in Washington Hospital Center; I grew up just over the city line in MD; my parents frequently brought my three sisters and me into the city to explore the ‘hoods where they met, fell in love and hung out; I spent much of my youth bicycling, hitch-hiking or driving my way into town for concerts and assorted adventures. And although in my adulthood, I moved around and lived in other areas of the U.S., I always returned here, to my roots. I love this region, this city, this community. This is where I saw my first Major League Baseball game in 1971, where I established a regular yoga practice in 1993, where I started studying/performing percussion in 1994 and where I got sober in 2002. Major milestones of passions, growth and life!

A bit more than 17 years ago, my parents moved out of my childhood home to retire in Nashville – my mom’s hometown. Mom was ill and died six years later. Dad still lives in their little house down there. And at 85, he’s starting to need more help than my very generous sister (who lives south of Nashville) can manage.

So, I’m moving to be close to and to be of service to my dear old dad, whom I love more than anyone on this earth.

* * *

I just returned from an exploratory trip down south. What a productive week! I found a beautiful apartment, registered my car in TN, did some employment outreach, enjoyed quality time with family, re-connected with my circles of pals (cultivated over 17 years of visiting), and, spent time with a DC friend who just moved to Nashville for school. I also kept up with my daily morning practices – and, was lucky enough to enjoy them outdoors, in the beautiful countryside of my sister’s house.SaatvicFridayCDs(Aug13)

The very grounding routines and activities during that trip certainly contribute to why I am feeling great today, here in DC.

In addition to the strong foundations established in Nashville last week, my returning hours at home have been very stabilizing.

I gave myself permission for a “re-entry” day – time to chill out and get my feet back on the ground in DC. After all, in the coming days until my move, I will: continue with my TN job outreach, teach and attend my last yoga classes, attend my final Washington Nationals baseball games, visit the recovery meetings that founded my sobriety, bid farewell to friends, sell and/or give away belongings, and pack, pack, pack! I could be slave to emotional ups and downs, fatigue and stress hunger for much of my remaining time here. Instead, to nourish equilibrium, presence and peace…I took a day off!

After coming home from the airport two nights ago, I got a good night’s sleep. Yesterday – my “day off” – I arose energetically for my own morning yoga, and taught my 6:30am class. Post-class, three dear friends – some of my 1st yoga students – joined me for breakfast. The meal was healthy and energizing. And we all caught up about our lives and activities, not simply focusing on my move away.

At home after breakfast, while catching up on To-Do Lists and such, I indeed started to feel a bit cranky and lonesome. So I sat for Pranayama and chanting, went for a walkabout in my ‘hood, enjoyed a very relaxing pedicure and went for a late lunch at my local Diner. All very grounding.

What topped off my serene re-entry day? An early evening “Beat the Heat” class with Jeanette Lee at Past Tense, one of the studios where I teach. This summer session features cooling lunar Vinyasa sequences, Pranayama, and Ayurvedic treats and tips! Jeanette’s dreamy playlist (including my fave Jai Uttal), lightheartedness and nurturing approach were exactly what I needed on this pivotal day in my current life transition. I went home and slept like a baby!

* * *

After last night’s yoga “tuck in,” I made certain to arise for my normal routine this morning. And as mentioned above, I am feeling completely blissed out. (Thanks, Jeanette!)

SaatvicFridayOatmeal(Aug13)Morning Sadhana – a series of daily yoga practices – is like insurance for a good, constructive, Sattvic (harmonious or balanced) day. My personal routine includes awakening at dawn for prayers, chanting, Pranayama, Asana, and a number of yoga-, recovery-, spiritually- and Ayurvedic-inspired practices. Yet, this routine could include any awakening practices that one is willing to commit to daily. In selecting the elements of an effective morning Sadhana, the inspiration to commit is key. Choose practices that you adore.

A yummy Ayurvedic tea is like a little reward after my physical practices. This “agni-stoking” tea awakens the digestive system with a fusion of flavors. In a two-serving tea pot, I pour hot water over five thin slices of organic ginger root, one cinnamon stick, one cardamom pod, one clove, three shakes of black pepper and one shake of turmeric powder. This mixture is ready to sip in just 10 minutes. (I’m sipping it now!)

I cook my signature oatmeal dish while the tea is brewing. The ingredients shift seasonally – and always support the agni-stoking tea elements. This morning, I’m briefly sautéing ¼ cup of uncooked steel cut oatmeal, a sprinkle of basil, two shakes of cardamom powder and a tablespoon of chopped ginger in a tablespoon of coconut oil before pouring in 1 cup of water for boiling. After simmering for about 10 minutes, I’ll add sliced, fresh, local peaches and pecans.

I can’t wait!

* * *

After breakfast, it’s full steam ahead! No sitting around today – much less sitting in limbo! My focus is on the Nashville job hunt. I have some follow up from last week’s in-person outreach, some openings to apply for, plus, some broader outreach to my contact list. Thankfully, my connecting, nourishing and balancing activities over the past 24 hours have prepared me for this busy day.

Wish me luck! And I wish YOU a productive – or totally chilled out – day! Whatever you need to nurture ongoing balance, presence and sustainability in your life.

Thanks for reading. OM Shanti, Shanti, Shanti.

 

When Things Go South August 9, 2013

“Grant me strength, as I go from here, to do your bidding.”  ~ prayer from recovery programsStormClouds

Today I want to be rigorously honest.  Today I want to speak as a person for whom the stars have never miraculously aligned in my favor, simply because I visualized an ideal, or “manifested” an outcome, or even, drastically changed my life for the positive.

Today I want to say, bluntly – my life has been one high wall after another.  Despite the best of intentions (i.e. leaving my beloved hometown of DC, and moving to Nashville in order to make a living amends to my father by being of service to him as he ages); despite the moral support and positive thoughts of friends; despite my daily routines of prayer and meditation and surrendering over and over…most of the time, things have not worked out in SuperMoon3SlowGrassa way that creates a sustainable or easeful journey for me.

So today, I want to frankly say – I have no hope.  Zero.

My efforts toward this definite move to Nashville are not yielding tangible results.  I don’t know why I keep praying and meditating; more and more I don’t believe there is a being who hears or answers prayers; I am terrified of not securing the foundational things I need to make this move happen; I am even more terrified of not securing the foundational things I need to create a sustainable life in Nashville.

But.

I keep going through the motions.

Every day, I wake up and do my Sadhana.  I say the prayers.  I do the yoga practices.  I surrender to my spiritual routine.  And I don’t do this to get some kind of payback that will add up to a miraculously easeful future.  I do them for the sake of the present moment.  And then the next.  And the next.

I am here to serve.  Whether it’s to serve my current yoga students by remaining peaceful during stressful times, or, to cheerfully serve our pizza customers at my restaurant job – I am here to be a part of the cycle of one being showing up for another.  Breath by breath.  Moment to moment.  One day at a time.

SunriseFinalDayTo maintain an ounce of positive forward momentum during this very demanding period of great transition, related emotions, inevitable doubt and endless To-Do Lists – I continue to force myself to ask for help, even though I feel like I’m asking too much; I stay focused on the ways that others do show up for me; I concentrate on the present moment as much as possible; I put my blind faith in a mysterious universe whose directions, plans and designs are beyond my comprehension; and frankly – I pretend.  For myself, not others – I pretend to have hope.

Most importantly, even during the most doubtful times, I act as if I believe in a higher being who has my back, as I attempt to hurdle yet another high wall.

“Grant me strength, as I go from here, to do your bidding.”  OM Namah Shivaya.

May you find the strength to hurdle your walls.  OM Shanti, Shanti, Shanti.

 

My Mother is My Guru November 2, 2011

Mom’s been on my mind a lot lately.

And y’know, it makes sense.  I’ve been singing a lot (my mother taught me to sing).  It’s Autumn (October 2nd would have been her 81st birthday).  Thanksgiving is approaching (my family celebrated our last holiday season with Mom 10 years ago).  And I recently celebrated my 9th year clean and sober (my mom died as a result of long-term alcoholism).

I miss her.  I miss her right now.

Nearly a decade after her death, she still taps me on the shoulder at times.  She taps me when I’m playing percussion with bands, chanting devotional prayers at Kirtans, singing Gospel standards at open mics and lighting the Chanukah candles.  She taps me when my yoga instructor asks me to think of my most important life teacher.  She tapped me this morning while I was meditating.  She taps me when I’m pruning plants or arranging flowers.  She taps me when I’m decorating my home.  She taps me when I’m cooking a soup.

There are times when I reach out to tap her, too.  To hear her opinion.  To ask for her embrace.  To thank her for my life.  To apologize for any harm I did to her.  To grieve the pain of her life.  To send her the love she deserves.

I didn’t always love my mom the way I came to love her later in my life…later in her life…and then after she died.

*  *  *

I’m about to tell you some very personal and difficult stories.  Some are smiling and shiny; some are gritty and rough.  All are bittersweet.  I’ve selected these stories because they specifically prove that, indeed, my mother is the greatest Guru ever.  For me.

When I was young I hated my mother for being an alcoholic.  As an adult, I would learn more about the disease of alcoholism and honor the tragedy of her life.  But while growing up, I simply resented how drunk she got.   I was constantly afraid that my friends and the community would see her drunk; and because they frequently saw her, I was frequently embarrassed.  One time I spilled out the drink that she intended to take in the car on our way to Shabbat services – and she slapped me.  It was a gin martini.  To this day, I cannot stomach the smell of gin.

There were times when she came through as a great mother.  She was a hard worker, had full-time jobs, and did not drink during the day.  She truly wanted to show up, and when she could, she did.   But what I understand now is that her efforts to parent were overshadowed by the neglect.  In the end, alcohol always won her attention and became her priority.  Spill it out, and you became a threat.  So I learned to keep a distance.

*  *  *

During my college years, I grew to appreciate my mother.  My attitude shifted after I took my family to see a friend’s concert.  The next day at lunch, my friend said, “It was great to meet your mom.  For the longest time, I thought she’d died before we met.  You always talked about your dad – you never mentioned your mom.”  Whoa.  I had no idea I’d erased her so completely.  And then my friend said, “Y’know, you get a lot from her.”  I was so pissed off!  I argued, “No way, I have nothing in common with her!”  So he stated the obvious, judging by what I had told him in the rare instances of speaking about my mom, and his impression the night before.  She grew up singing; music is her passion; she gravitates toward soul music; she loves talking with other musicians; and, she was so comfortable backstage – it was the most natural place she could be.

That day, I surrendered my resentment and admitted that my mother had been an ally and soul-mate all along.  Clearly, I got a lot from her!  The passion for music, for soulful cultures, for gardening, for cooking, for interior design, for spirituality.  My mother taught me to sing, primarily through chanting the Sh’ma, a Jewish prayer, in harmony.

My mother did so much to inspire and encourage creativity.  Every morning, she’d have her coffee and cigarette while listening to WMAL-AM, when it was a jazz station.  Over breakfast I was exposed to the music that my mom had sung in talent shows and concerts – great vocalists like Ella Fitzgerald, Sarah Vaughan, Doris Day, Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole and more.  Although a blue eyed farm girl from the capitol of country music, my mom gravitated toward jazz and gospel.  In fact, I have her 1948 song book of Negro Spirituals.  This immersion in soulful music influenced me to write my own songs and perform them at my parents’ frequent parties.  Mom enrolled me in voice lessons.  On beach trips, she’d blast the radio and we’d all sing along.  She invited my high school New Wave band to hold a house concert.  When I was a little older, my drummer boyfriend invited me to tour California with his band – Dad said a firm “no” but Mom fought for me.  (I went to Cali.)  And so on.

At the same time, many opportunities were missed.  For example, there was a lot of self-taught musicianship and talent that was never deepened with consistent instruction or plans for ongoing development.  I do regret this and often feel that music education might have been my best choice for college.  Looking back, I don’t blame my mom for any of this, because I am certain she would have guided me in that direction if she could have.  I blame the disease of alcoholism.

*  *  *

As my mom became progressively ill, my love for her grew immensely.  Alcoholism and related troubles continued to take its toll in more serious ways.  In her 60s, Mom had cancer three times.  On the outside, she remained the strong-willed woman who could get through anything.  She continued planting gardens, harvesting herbs, cooking from scratch, building an art studio in her bedroom, doing crafts, listening to music, smoking cigarettes, drinking gin.

But there were points where I witnessed her heartbreaking vulnerability.  With each cancer, my mother never completely healed – more and more complications arose.  She became scared.  I once heard her crying in bed the night before one of her many surgeries.  When she was diagnosed with emphysema, she quit smoking and remarked with self-disgust, “I could have done that a long time ago.”  She would willingly try my yoga and diet suggestions, but was so sick that she’d end up feeling worse.  Toward the end, I remember laying next to her tired body on yet another day that she woke up with a “bug” that left her vomiting and weakened.  I will never forget the terror in her eyes when I urged her to go to the hospital.  Perhaps she knew she was dying and wanted to stay at home as long as possible.

That was Thanksgiving, 10 years ago.  I think the family dinner included Mom, Dad, two of my sisters, three of their kids and me.  That night, in my mom’s art studio, I drew an abstract of the scene.  My mother and father were angels at the heads of the table – Mom’s garden spade and a green vine enveloped us on one side; Dad’s cigar and its smoke on the other.  To me, both the vine and the smoke represented protection.  I sensed it was Mom’s last Thanksgiving.  I was right.

*  *  *

After my mom died, I developed a deep, knowing compassion for her.  Interestingly enough, I got sober six months after her death.  I’d started drinking at age 11, to calm the childhood chaos and hush the deep resentments.  Twenty five years later, as I came to understand the cunning, baffling and powerful disease that nearly killed me, I also came to understand the disease that succeeded in killing my mom.  Listening to other recovering alcoholics’ speak, I heard my mom’s story.  I saw how the disease had destroyed her life and consequently affected mine.  And I loved her even more.

My greatest awakening about my mom’s life came about four years ago.  By complete surprise, I found out that she had a child before meeting my father.  Stories said that she’d been hanging out with musicians in her native Nashville, might have been drinking, might have been raped…and ended up pregnant.  Her parents sent her away, to a “home for women” in DC.  The home arranged the birth and subsequent adoption.  They say that Mom was so angry, she never forgave her parents.  And so I found yet another thing that my mother and I had in common – we both drank to kill life’s pain and drown our resentments.

The biggest difference is: I got lucky and got sober; she did not.  I take that very, very seriously.

*  *  *

So yes, my mother is my Guru.  Throughout all the phases of my relationship with her – dead and alive – she has been my most influential teacher.  She teaches me with the light, and she teaches me from the darkness.  She teaches me through what she did, and what she would/could/did not do.  Her influence drives my passions and my purpose.

I love everything about her.  The singing lessons, the slaps, the strong will, the vulnerability.  She is the ultimate model of the perfectly imperfect human that I strive to be.

It’s taken me a day to write this.  I started when I finished meditating this morning.  I stopped and started and stopped and started again.  I cried my heart out.  There’s so much more than what you’ve read above, so many more experiences and stories, so much more grief and love.

*  *  *

Back in 2009, I went on tour with a folk-pop band and I took along a photo of my mom.  I’ve heard that the picture was taken in DC, at the women’s home, some time after she had the baby. She is beautiful and glamorous; she is too thin and her eyes look cold; she stands tall and her hands fumble with each other self-consciously. So I wanted to take this version of her on this exciting musical journey. Every night before I went to sleep, I lit a candle and thanked my mom.  I now play percussion and sing sacred chants in an all-female Kirtan group.  I’ve noticed that Kirtan leaders and spiritual teachers typically create an altar with a picture of their Guru.  Coming full circle, I can think of no one more perfect to place on my altar than the woman who sang Hebrew prayers with me, every night at bedtime.

Good night, Mom.  OM Shanti, Shanti, Shanti.

 

Healing Kids’ Scars With Yoga July 12, 2011

I grew up in the suburbs of Washington, DC – Potomac, MD to be exact.

Potomac was once known as “The Beverly Hills of the East Coast.”  The town was quite wealthy and had its own brand of celebrities – diplomats, politicians, famous doctors.  Yet there were some plain-old middle class neighborhoods, as well.  That’s where we lived.

I am the youngest of four daughters and was unplanned.  In fact, after the birth of her 3rd girl, my mom had a tubal ligation (aka “had her tubes tied”)…and then I was conceived.  So there’s about 0.02% chance for me to be writing this today.  Yet here I am.

My family members struggled with addiction and endured all that comes with it – violence, chaos, depression, alienation, economic insecurity.  As a young child, I once overheard my parents fighting about family finances.  They said that if I were never born, they wouldn’t have money problems.

This scar has motivated pretty much all of my life patterns (known in yoga as Samskara) – particularly the unhealthy ones.

Believing that I was an unwanted problem, I grew up with a pretty fierce habit of self-destruction.  I’ll spare you the squirmy details of how I used to harm myself and act out.  Due to the amount of pain throughout my entire family, however, there was little attention to or solution for mine.

Once a spiritually inspired, congenial and loving child, I turned into a self-reliant, isolated and troubled teen.  Without the necessary interventions for healing and true growth, I continued my toxic development into adulthood.  No relationship tools, no career path, no future plans.  To be rigorously honest – I spent most of my life either wanting to or trying to die in one way or another.

In my late 20’s, I started to long for inner peace, social connection and maturity.  After finally hitting a spiritual, psychological and physical bottom in 2002, I embraced the right combination of help and have been growing up ever since.

In 2008, I received my yoga teaching certification after 15 years of practice.  My 1st job was designing a yoga program for at-risk youth in a DC public charter school for grades K-7.  The kids were literally climbing the walls.  I once had to yank some down from scaling the hallways by way of door frames.  You might imagine how they initially responded to the yoga program – and to me.  They saw me as a privileged outsider and offered no respect.  To shrink the great divide, I frankly told them about my childhood and consequent adult challenges.  Jaws dropped.  I told them, “If only I’d had the opportunity to escape the chaos inside my classroom, my home and my head to breath, stretch and meditate for one class period, I might have grown up differently.”  Although not all attitudes shifted, a few students opened their minds and hearts and practiced with commitment.  And I enjoyed the incredible honor of witnessing human transformation.

I relate to a great number of inner city kids – we share that core wound of being told in one way or another that we are an unwanted problem.  This brokenness manifests in a variety of destructive behaviors and outcomes.  It fills the streets, supermarkets, buses and trains as urban children endure public shaming and beatings.

In the suburbs, this brokenness and abuse exists behind closed doors.

Like many “do-gooders” I used to focus on working with inner-city populations.  These days I gravitate toward suburban upstarts like me.  Each July and August I teach yoga and percussion to grades 1-6 for a prestigious music school’s summer camp, just four miles from the house where I grew up.  There is a mix of well-adjusted children, kids going through typical growing pains, and others who resemble my own childhood patterns of fear, depression, anxiety, shame, isolation, distraction and destruction.  It is at once heartbreaking and motivating.

I am devoted to the transformational power of ensemble percussion and yoga.  I discovered these amazing practices in adulthood and feel grateful to pass-on their benefits to these summer camp kids.  While learning folkloric Caribbean poly-rhythms, campers open up to team work and trust.  I see the loners gradually shine with talent, the divas turn into helpful guides and the trouble makers take leadership roles.  In yoga class, spazzy and often hyperactive energy transmutes into meditative calm.  Kids who already love and practice yoga (there are more each year) champion the practice; and the troubled ones get a welcome respite from their internal unrest.  In both percussion and yoga class, all are empowered by collaboration and rejuvenation.

I rarely turn yoga into a game for my youth classes (except for the really little guys).  We start class with calming three-part breathing; we set an intention/Sankalpa (typically I ask them to think of something beautiful and breathe it into their hearts); we flow through Sun Salutations/Surya Namaskar; and we practice additional poses depending on the energy of the students.  I have led Pratyahara meditations to balance out the senses and decrease distraction; I have read stories of Hindu deities to much delight; and I have introduced breathing exercises/Pranayama (three-part Deergha Swasam calms them immediately; over-the-tongue Sitali cools hot tempers; belly-pumping Kapalabhati wakes them up when lethargic).

Basically, whatever I teach in my adult classes, I also teach in my kids classes.  Below are a few stories of transformation.  I credit yoga for these stories; I’m simply sharing what centuries of teachers have passed on to each other.

Story #1.  Erik, 11-years-old.

During my time at the DC public charter school, I had an 11-year-old student named Erik.  He was one of those kids I had to peel down from high climbs.  When we started group yoga sessions in January he couldn’t follow directions, stay on his mat or concentrate for a second.  He was constantly looking around, hyper-vigilant and completely distracted.  With good reason – his home life was chaotic and violent.  So I recognized his acting out from my own youth.  After three months of weekly yoga, Erik became more eager to participate in yoga, and was able to concentrate most of the time.  On Friday, March 20th, we decided he would assistant-teach our first class upon returning from Spring Break.  Tragically, Erik and his family were murdered by his mother’s boyfriend the next day.

Erik’s destiny was way beyond my control.  It is bittersweet to recall his transformation through yoga’s gifts; I still access this inspiration and hope when teaching yoga to other youth.

Story #2.  Alyson, 10-years-old.

Another student from that Charter School is still a “private client” today.  Back in Spring 2009, “Alyson” awakened after I’d told the kids my life story.  She bee-lined directly to me and said, “You know how you said that yoga helps you heal emotional pain?  Can I do more yoga with you?”  How honest and revealing!  Alyson excelled in all of her school activities and seemed pretty mature; yet, she frequently set herself apart from classmates.  I soon learned that Alyson’s parents were in serious trouble and she was being raised by her grandparents, who encouraged her to do well.  I was happy that she had support; at the same time, I wondered how it felt to lose one’s parents and end up with another family member.  Since the end of that school year, Alyson’s grandmother has brought her to my home about four times a year for a seasonal yoga “tune-up,” during which we catch up on her latest challenges, and practice a yoga set designed to address those stresses.

Over time, I have witnessed Alyson develop into a graceful young woman and tool-using yogini!

Story #3.  Billy.  11-years-old.

Just last Friday, “Billy” freaked out during Games Day at summer camp.  Billy is a super-smart, overly-eager, talkative camper.  More than others, he needs to be heard, he needs to be recognized as doing well – and he tends to dominate and monopolize the class because of these needs.  Last week, in the Bean Bag Toss, he just could not hit the target.  With each miss, his exclamations became more and more dramatic, and included remarks of great self-disgust.  On his third try (and miss) he yelled “F***!” and stomped off to hide behind some bushes.  “Whoa,” I intervened.  “Let’s take a walk.”  During our stroll, I listened.  Billy was angry because he’d forgotten his water bottle; and he was feeling like he couldn’t do anything right.

He was over-heated, over-sensitive and losing it.  I totally related!

While we headed inside for water, I took yoga’s Pratipaksha Bhavana approach and encouraged him to replace his negativity about Games Day with positive thoughts about his many musical accomplishments.  In fact, I reminded Billy, I’d just paid him a huge complement in front of the entire class that very morning.  He embraced this immediately, saying, “You’re right; this is just one thing,” referring to the bean bags.  Then, on the way back outside, we practiced Sitali Pranayama (inhaling through the mouth and over the tongue; exhaling through the nose) to cool his temper.  It worked.  Billy happily joined the campers and jumped right into the next game.

I wouldn’t dare guess whether these children are/were hurting the same way I did at their age.  However, I vividly recall killing my emotional pain with alcohol at age 11.  So, I can’t help but wonder – what if I’d been exposed to yoga in childhood, instead of finally discovering it (and other healing resources) in adult life?

In the inner city and the outer suburbs, I teach yoga so any child who feels like an unwanted problem might find refuge in and strength through these ancient practices for stilling the mind.  “Yogas Citta Vritti Nrodhah,” I tell them.  Yoga restrains disturbances of the mind.  I pray that these generously healing practices might liberate all hurting children from the pain of family or community chaos before their Samskara mirror mine.

Wishing all beings peace, joy, love and light.  OM Shanti.

 

Focus: Abundance – Love & Light December 31, 2010

I have long believed that people are beautiful beings, inside and out. Our humanness, our perfect imperfection, our state of constant growth gives me faith in the beauty of life as a whole.

Tonight a street drunk and I watched a meteor fireball together. I was walking to yoga class when a huge white comet-looking thing with a long firey tail burst across the sky then disappeared. “Wow.” We stopped dead in our tracks. “Ha lo visto?” I asked in my unpracticed Spanish. Yes, he saw it. He told me that it would keep going. We stood together for a few moments, faces lifted toward the sky. Then we went on our respective ways. Before we got too far, he yelled to me and gave two thumbs up. I waved goodbye to my new brother.

The gift of light and a moment of love between the two strangers who witnessed it. Seriously. Love.

This is how I experience humanity – when I’m not stuck in fear, distrust, anger and disgust, I look around and I love everyone. I love the street drunk, I love the pushy drivers, I love the grumpy shoppers, I love the crying babies, I love the lashing out friends. I love them in addition to the smiling, cheerful and sober people. So thankfully, it’s been a very loving couple of weeks.

Finally. The return of love and light.

I didn’t plan for the weeks to unfold like this. I didn’t will any of this beauty to happen. I simply wrote a decidedly revealing blog about pain and healing and bouncing back (see “Focus: Abundance – Growth”) a few weeks ago, and soon after, the fog started to lift.

Too simple to be true?

For me, the fact is, when I look squarely at and then honestly share my “stuff,” it’s no longer in the shadows. Writing out my “stuff” sheds light on it. I take action, I spark the flame. I turn my face toward the light. I stretch my arms out to it.

And the light reaches back to me in all kinds of ways…

*  *  *

It all started on Friday the 17th. I practiced a slow and prayerful Vinyasa with my 7am class. We were flowing to Alexi Murdoch’s “Orange Sky,” a spiritual ballad about the power of fellowship on the long road of life. I paused to look outside – and the sunrise sky was a radiant orange! Of course, I was brought to tears.

And from there forward, I have been shifting away from past troubles and toward inner happiness. Hallelujah!

It doesn’t hurt that our December Class Focus has been Abundance, and in my own practice, I have been savoring the sweetness of a favorite Asana among the challenging. Dwelling on that instead of loathing the other poses. Knowing that somewhere along the set, that sweetness is coming. I can bank on it.

Just like life. I’ve been dwelling on light.  And love is coming. I can feel it.

*  *  *

The day after that beautiful orange sunrise, I curled up at a cafe for hot drinks with a friend, and mused about living in the solution of a spiritual life. We were both weighing out certain situations in our paths. I encouraged her to trust her instinct, to research rather than run away from seemingly risky situations. To live. And to discern.

And breath by breath, I am taking my own advice, diving in a little bit while exercising healthy caution.

That evening, I popped around the corner to DC Supersonic Kirtan’s monthly chant fest. Kirtan is like a can opener for my heart. No caution here! With everyone around me singing their lungs out to the gods, there is no room, no need for caution. I leave every Kirtan blissed-out with love. Fearless. It’s like rebirth.

Fueled by Bhakti bliss, the next day was deeply connective, relaxed and joyous. I felt I had more to offer the day, the world, my life. My tiny studio apartment (aka The Urban Yoga Den) became a wonderfully crowded house of chilled-out, indulgent women, celebrating a few rare hours of down-time together at my annual (pre-) Solstice gathering. I love to just stay in the background and soak in how these wonderful women relate, interact, connect.

People are precious! And spending carefree quality time with like-spirited pals is priceless.

Later that night a friend and I discussed the world of dating. He mentioned the sensitivity of navigating what we like and don’t like about our mates – or what they may or may not like about us. I looked him straight in the eye and said, “I like everything about you.” He was stunned. “Perhaps even the things you don’t like about yourself.” He paused to absorb the news. “No one has ever said that to me,” he revealed.

We are all works in progress. Growing, stumbling, flying, crawling.  For me, it’s easy to love someone for all that they are. The way I would like to be loved.

The way I would like to love myself.

*  *  *

Moving along the holiday week, the good vibrations kept flowing. I started a temp job. Typically I spend my days alone, at my home office, working on my own projects. Deeply fulfilling, yet also primarily self-serving. There’s nothing like suiting up and showing up for a group of workers and supporting their goals. I am certain this interaction and service to something beyond my personal intentions has also encouraged my softening heart.

To end the week, I attended Caroline Weaver’s “Warm the Heart” workshop on the morning of Christmas Eve. I love Caroline because she’s not afraid to bring god into a yoga class. (Hello, god!) Or god as some personal concept of higher power or a virtue that’s worth our full commitment. The uplifting, devotional energy of her class was so enveloping, I don’t remember much about it, except getting to a point in Warrior 1 where Caroline reminded us, “Remember, you are dedicating all of this to your highest virtue.” I felt this breathtaking swell of gratitude in my heart.

“Thank You Thank You Thank You Thank You” I whispered repeatedly like a Mantra.

I strive to remember to dedicate ALL of this – not just my yoga moves, but my entire life – to something beyond me. When I remember that life is about playing a small role of service in the big picture of the universe, the great mystery, the infinite abyss, nature, Jesus, compassion, generosity – whatever name you pick for your god idea or highest virtue – I feel an abundance beyond “having.” I feel the abundance from giving.

*  *  *

Earlier in the week, during Winter Solstice, I’d visited family in Nashville and experienced a totally spontaneous opportunity for pure service, for giving without expectation of receiving. Karma Yoga. I awoke on Solstice morning, after what is known as the darkest night of the year – maximized this December by the the full-moon lunar eclipse. I thought, “THIS is like New Year to me. I truly feel different.”

I continued to lay in bed, in and out of post-alarm clock dozing. My brain started to play that age-old “should” game – I should get up, should do Pranayama/Asana, should pray, should make tea – and then it locked in on one thing. The broken bird house and bottle of Elmer’s Glue sitting on the desk across the room. My dad’s fix-it project. But he’s never been a fix-it guy. Since childhood, I have always been the fix-it girl. If you’ve read my story in other blogs, you know that at times I had to be.

I admit that sometimes my “fix-it” nature is not productive in adult life and relationship worlds. But in this instance, looking at my dad’s broken bird house, “fix-it girl” was the appropriate role to play. My 1st preferences (Hatha Yoga and prayer) were all about my routines for well-being – which I do believe are essential to being able to show up for others. On this morning, however, lazying around in bed after a full night’s rest – I am fine, my well-being is intact. But Dad’s bird house – something that brings him great joy – is not. It’s broken. And I can fix it (and with strong staples, not Elmer’s Glue).

My dad was so excited. He filled up the bird house with seed, went out the back door, and shouted, “Hey guys, we’re back!”

Karma Yoga occurs when love sets the priority. When priority outweighs preference. When big picture beats self-centered routine.

*  *  *

There are many more little stories of heart opening, light shining, exhaling, melting moments from the past weeks. I’ve been basking in the small yet profound pockets of joy.

For instance, while driving to the airport early in the morning, listening to Paul Duncan’s “The Lake, Pt. 2” I watched streams of sunlight (aka “Jesus rays”) burst through the clouds. I thought, “Hmmm, last Friday the sunrise burned radiant orange, and now it’s bright and golden.” And at that moment, I felt a jolt of realization that the days, the universe, my world is getting progressively brighter! The lunar eclipse proves that it’s always darkest before the dawn. It dawned on me – there is personal significance to this year-end season, more than just “The Holidays” and gift shopping and programmed cheer. BRIGHTNESS RETURNS. And at that moment, driving and crying joyfully, it felt like the 1st time I’d ever recognized that significance.

Also, while on my Nashville trip, I felt my 11-month-old grand-nephew burrow his little body into my heart center in the most loving embrace ever. (Ever.) I reunited with my ex-brother-in-law (who has always been like a true brother to me, and my only brother) and got a big bear hug. I witnessed the passion for life returning to my big sister after a very heavy number of years.

And remember that friend who I like everything about? A few days later, during a different tone of conversation, he said he cares about me. “Yeah? How and why do you care about me,” I angrily snapped back. He then proceeded to list the ways and reasons that he cares for me. I was floored as I silently absorbed his penetrating truths. He told me he loves me. And we continued to dwell in that love all evening. I haven’t felt that loved in a long time.

To no fault of the people who love me – just my own obstacles.

On Christmas morning, snow swirled softly outside my window and the swirly songs of Sea & Cake warmed the air inside. My 1st 100% free day in what felt like forever – I flowed with the solitude here in my cozy little home…writing, lounging, being. (Milking that isolation as long as I can. Hehe.) Then I got my butt out the door to accept invitations from the loving and caring people in my life.

*  *  *

In my December classes, I have been encouraging students to concentrate on the space between poses. To take time to grow into each shape.  To be present with the transition, the process, the breath. To make room for discovering abundance where it was unexpected or unplanned. I guess my own instruction has been rubbing off on me. Bit by bit, I have been opening up where I was once firmly sealed shut. Leaving space for orange skies and Jesus rays. Allowing the darkness of an eclipse to reveal joyous Solstice light. Making room for love.

To be honest, it doesn’t always feel safe. But I’m opening up anyway.

For a few of my classes, to complement our Abundance theme and reinforce that we are all surrounded by a supportive community, I taught an Asana set that built to a group pose. We held hands in a big circle for a collaborative Warrior 3 (not my most stable balancing pose). As we leaned into the circle, I felt the entire group unite with a strong energy of responsibility toward each other. We floated into and held the pose for a few long breaths.

Now that’s love. The dedication to serving your neighboring yogi. Or maybe just your neighbor. Or maybe just the random stranger with whom you watched a fireball streak across the dark sky.

* * *

Thanks to friends, family, students, strangers for the beauty of life. Your humanness fortifies me. Happy holidays, merry new day, abundant being.

OM Shanti. h*

P.S. No kidding – after drafting this blog, I checked e-mail and found the following holiday wish from yoga teacher and writer Max Strom:

“Dear Friends, I hope that on this day you experience a rise of the sun within you, the return of the light within your life, the embrace of your family who surrounds you, and the knowing that you can begin again anew. I write this as I witness the sunrise out my window and hear the winds of change blowing the trees outside.”

(Photo credit: “This exceptionally bright fireball meteor trail was photographed with a fish-eye camera at a Czech Republic station of the European Fireball Network on January 21, 1999.” [GSFC, 1999])