Visiting the Egyam Orphanage

It's been a very emotional day for me.
Earlier, I attended the opening of the Egyam Orphanage in the village of Egyam.
It's very bittersweet to attend the opening of an orphanage.
I try to focus on the happiness.
Behind me was a 13 year old boy named Emmanual.
He was ecstatic to have a new home.
Emmanuel's father drowned while fishing, and his mother died of an unnamed disease.
He's been without parents or any extended family since 2003.

The Mavericks (our soccer team) brought along a supply of food staples for the orphanage, as well as books, clothes, and a few toys and soccer balls. The founder of the home, a woman from Denmark, was moved to tears, as were we all.

Later, watching the long speeches, a tiny 2-year old girl climbed into my lap.
She immediately melded her tiny form to mine.
I could tell that she was very rarely held.
She totally received it, laying motionless against me.
Later, we shifted postitions so she was chest to chest looking over my shoulder.
She quietly stroked by back.
I don't know her name, but I will never forget how she received all I had to offer, a warm body to hug, will all of herself.

She is only one of millions of children on this continent who need to be held.

Poetic Young Footballers

"When you see the sun rise in the East,
know that it is none other than the Hasmal Ladies welcoming you to your day."

14-year-old football (soccer) captain to our group

Wow.

A Monkey at the Swimming Pool or Finally Settling In

20 minutes ago, the sound of girls shrieking with both fear and delight . . . "Monkey, monkey!" A huge (we're talking dog-sized REAL DOG sized) monkey is sitting on scaffolding next to the pool. Okay. Yes. We're in Africa. The Gulf of Guinea is just a five minute walk down a dirt road, and in view. All is well on Boxing Day.

We're finally settling into the rhythm of our new life here at the Takoradi Beach Hotel. The girls have soccer practice in the mornings before the near-equatorial sun gets too hot. This morning, I ventured back to Market Circle and finally felt able to take it in enough to haggle, purchase, discern and engage. Because it was a holiday, there were few shoppers compared to the indescribable throngs of my previous visits. Everywhere, children call out "Hi Obruni!," which means something like, "Hi you very pale foreign person." One laughed hysterically when I called out in Fanti, "Afishapa!" She howled, "Obruni Fanti!"

The stench at the market can be unbearable. You constantly watch your step not to step into the open troughs of sewage and other waste. Add the pugent smells of fish, and grasscutter (a large edible rodent) and you've got the market place. Once you stop doing your yogic breathing and resort to breathing through your mouth, then you can see the brilliant colors of fabrics, beads, tomatoes, and peppers everywhere!

Yesterday, we were invited to an enormous Christmas party at the private home of the Chairman of the Hassacus Football Academy. The media was there, and our national t.v. and radio appearances and interviews began. Tomorrow, the girls will have their first scrimmage with the team that we're helping establish/sponsor. Afterwards, we'll make presentations of equipment to each girl individually.

I'm beginning to love this place.

"And there won't be snow in Africa this Christmas time"

Remember that "Band Aid" charity song for Africa in 1984?
I can't get it out of my head.

It's Christmas morning in Ghana.
Nothing can prepare you for this exerience.
It is the sweetest most heartwarming; foulest most heart-wrenching experience.
Ghana is affluent for Africa, which gives me a lot of information about the continent.

Our greatest experiences so far have been our exchanges with the young soccer players.
I've been dubbed "Aunty Abby," by the young girls of Ghana.

Others are waiting, so this blog is short, but
AFISHAPA!, which means The Year has come back to meet us.
Merry Christmas!

Nature Adorns Herself for the Holidays

My neighbor's persimmon tree. Walking down the street, I thought she had decorated the tree for the holidays. I guess, rather, it was SHE who decorated. Consciousness adorning herself once again.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Feminine Divine

How did THIS happen?

I've become very drawn to Our Lady of Guadalupe. The Holy Mother. The Virgin who appeared in Mexico on a December morning and caused roses to bloom in December. Occasionally, I read in the newspaper that she's been spotted in a tortilla. Now that's actually kind of cool.

Yep, that one.

I'm not now and have never been Catholic. My Protestant upbringing didn't put a whole lot of emphasis on Mary. Once a year she got some play, but I certainly never gave her a second thought, and actually found it a little odd that people prayed to her. Eventually, I gave it more of a "Yeah right, a virgin. Is that really necessary?" I abandoned that whole view of the world a long time ago.

Give me the powerful demon killer, mother bear Durga!

Give me the irrepressibly beautiful earth mother Bhuvaneshvari.

Give me the cosmic lover Parvati.

But . . . Our Lady? ANYBODY but HER!

A funny thing happened on the way to the Feminine Divine.

I now see it--not just in the many-armed Goddesses of my yoga pantheon comfort zone, not just in the faces and hearts of the extraordinary women I call family, friends, or the one's who so sweetly come to my class.

One day, against all odds.

One day, Our Lady of Guadalupe appeared . . . in my mind's eye (you know, the 3rd one) . . . and my heart melted.

In her turquoise and gold robe, and surrounded by a golden aura, she suddenly came to life, and stepped in line with the others, empowered and beautiful.

She just seemed kind . . . even though she only has two arms.

Isn't she pretty?

Winter's Waiting Game

I'm not sure in all my wildest dreams that I would have ever envisioned a year in which I celebrated the Summer Solstice with John Friend and a Band of Merry Bohemians in the Highlands of Scotland, and then, the Winter Solstice with a Band of Maverick Soccer Girls in Africa. But . . . . there you have it! Life as a yogini soccer mom continues to provide me with adventure after adventure. While my Summer Solstice location demonstrated the power of extra light--it was light until midnight!--I'll find myself in Ghana, just north of the equator. At this latitude, life is less affected by the sun's changing distance from our little home planet. It's of little wonder that it was those farthest from the equator who held the most elaborate rituals at Solstice.

Although I'm not exactly sure how I will celebrate the return of the light this year, there aren't a lot of yule logs to burn in Ghana, I do know that I will set aside time for a small, probably private, ritual. Perhaps 108 sun salutes at the exact time of the solstice (that would be 6:08 Universal Time, December 22). . . but, then again, I'll be only two days off a flight across the world, who knows if it will happen? Whatever form my observance takes, I know that first, I will shine the light of remembrance on 2007, not neglecting to remember the times that fell more into shadow than light (as if I could). How would we know that exquisite radiance of the Sun's return had we not known the power of darkness? Then, my comtemplations will turn to the new sun; the new year; waiting for what lies in store.

I like to think of these weeks leading to the Solstice as

the great pregnant pause of the year.

The moment just after, "once upon a time." There is an anticipatory waiting. You know the event is going to happen, and yet, there is absolutely nothing in the universe that you can do to speed it along. This is the ultimate Open to Grace moment. We just have to step in, and be okay with the waiting. Engage in the stillness. Actively succumb. Powerfully surrender.

That's the yoga.

And so, I wait.
I wait for the sun's return.
I wait in the line at Trader Joes.
I wait for my flight to Accra.
I wait for ghandabherandasana.
(okay, that one I have more control over. Just practice it already!)

God, I love this face

Lulabell.
5 months, 2 days old.
St. Bernard/Great Dane
75 pounds . . . only half way there!
She's just exquisite.

Oh great. Another blogger.

A blog.
Am I ego maniacal? Well yes.
Can't help but be as a Western 21st century tantrika.
I AM manifest Consciousness herself after all.

I don't really know what this will end up looking like, if I'll keep up with it, or if anyone is interested. But, here it is. I've sort of been doing this in email form for awhile, but it's always such a big undertaking, and frankly, always peppered with a lot of self-promotion for my yoga offerings to the world. That will continue . . . it must after all. This, well it can be different. More spontaneous (I'm bound to get myself in trouble). It can be more of me than yoga teacher me.

There are a lot of Me's. As there are a lot of yous.
We unfold upon ourselves.
We expand and contract.
We're beautifully and hopelessly inconsistent.
May we embrace that.

So, we'll journey together.
Me, myself, all my I's, and maybe someone else out there too.