The Process of Becoming Real

“What is REAL?" asked the Velveteen Rabbit one day... "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When [someone] loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

I'd like to share a personal story that, I feel, has much to offer to our current state of broken-ness as an Anusara community and that it is possible rebuild something that is real and lasting. Last year, my 41-year-old sister suffered seven life-threatening strokes and hovered between life and death in a coma for three weeks. During that, the most difficult period of my life, I had the great joy of realizing the efficacy of all that I had learned from Anusara yoga. Living in the unknown became second nature during those long weeks, and the hope that any spark of life would have given would have been celebrated. The first hope, was that she would live. That was soon followed by . . . what if she lives? Will anything ever be the same again? What of her will we get back? Will we get any of her? Will we, her family, be able to take care of her, or will she need professional caregiving for the rest of her life? Is there any possibility of a ful recovery? Or, harder-to imagine, a vital, healthy, vibrant life?

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

Despite all odds (75 percent of those who suffer her same type of stroke die within 30 days), she not only lived, she was, in fact, transformed into a vital and happy woman. Is her life the same? No. There is a "new normal," but she would be the first to tell anyone, that she is much happier. She is restructuring her life around what is life affirming and enhancing. She has had to look at old ways in a clear mirror and step up to make changes, and she continues to live every day with the limitations she is left with. She has come to love the story of the Ganapati in which he takes the broken piece of himself--his tusk--and uses it to write the epic story. Her significant limp is her broken tusk.

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept."

We have this opportunity as a community. Yes, there will always be a clear and distinct moment when "everything changed." It will never be the same again, but I feel great hope that, as is the case with my sister, the brokeness brought with it the gift of creating something sustainable and beautiful in its real-ness, beautiful because it once had a broken tusk.

"Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand... once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always.” ― Margery Williams from The Velveteen Rabbit

If you want to make something Real, love it.
May we love our broken community into Real.

Beautiful City

Touched my heart today.
We are a kula who will continue to build a Beautiful City.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=fvwp&v=EXezjFLTl-c&NR=1

Tending the Fire of Intention on Imbolc

Two days ago, glancing out an upstairs window at a plum tree, I noticed small green buds timidly making their first appearance. The first stirrings of life concealed in it potential moving towards life revealed in its fullness.



Brighid Sowing Spring by Gael Kitty

 Today is Imbolc, a cross-quarter holy day in the wheel of the Celtic year, and heralds the stirrings of Spring. As I peered once again out the upstairs window at first light, as if from a whispered cue from Brighid, the goddess of this holy day, those timid buds have declared their presence as delicate white blossoms each holding the promise of luscious fruit come summer. That which was guarded in the dark is stirring towards the light. That which was intangible, manifested. Potency took form.

Brighid is the Fire Goddess, the keeper of the flame, and is closely associated with lengthening of days, the brilliant green tips of new grass’ first beginning, snowdrop flowers daring to bloom on the still frozen earth. She is said to hold and tend the flame of the sun during the darkest days between November 1 (Samhain) and Imbolc. Her flame is the fire of potency and creativity that awakens the earth to begin to spring forth with new life. She kindles the flame of sexual desire which will rage fully by the next cross-quarter day (Beltaine in May) when new life is planted in the womb. Her radiance tends to healing the body and alights the intellect with fresh vision. The warmth of her voice stirs the heart and poetry springs forth. She is the keeper of the hearth, and the light in the dark of despair.

On this day, it is a day to tend to the flame of your intention. The year is still new, that which your heart desires and that you have willfully set into the soil of your being, is showing the first signs of its journey from dormancy to one of action. These seeds of intention must still be kept warm and held in protection against becoming frozen, stagnant, dead. In Sanskrit, stoking the flame of your will is called Tapas. Tapas is like the smoldering fire of Brighid warming the seeds of your intention (Sankalpa) so that they begin to extend beyond the protective boundaries of their seed state and move towards the actions that will take root and sprout, blossom and fruit. Whatever intentions or New Year’s resolutions you made (whether you made them at Samhain, the Solstice, or more traditionally in the United States, on New Year’s Day), this is the critical moment to re-affirm the intention. Re-kindle the fire of the will and heat the potential beneath the surface. With an inner whisper of the Brighid, call forth buds and blossoms into their form.

May the highest intention of your heart continued to be kindled by the fire of your will. May your dreams begin to take root and sprout forth into being as we enter into the stirring of Spring. May the stirring of your dreams bring you to the balanced place of effort and grace so that the buds will blossom and the blossoms will fruit.

Happy Imbolc!

Cultivating the "Holy Wow!"

2012 has arrived! May this year bring you more fully into your heart!


These first six days of the new year have blessed us in Northern California with some of the most spectacular sunsets I've witnessed in my years here. Firey reds and expressive oranges have given way to explosive pinks and deep mysterious purples. Every afternoon I have gone out to witness the unfolding light and a swelling of pure amazement pours out in the oh so eloquent, "Holy Wow! Amazing!" And the cool thing is that each day, it seems to get more incredible.


In our journey into the heart, into the space of the great I AM, we are much the same as this ever expansive unfolding light show I've been witnessing. Delving into our practices and fully engaging our hearts into all we do, we bear witness to our own inner expansion bringing us to a state of sheer delight, wonder, and astonishment at who we are. It's a state called "camatkara," which is eloquently defined by my friend and tantric scholar Chris "Hareesh" Wallis as "the state of fully self-aware expansive wonder, where Consciousness is suffused with the sudden rapture of great beauty, vibrating with awestruck joy." (Tantra Illuminated, Anusara Press, 2011)


As 21st Century adults, it is so easy to step into the current of cynicism (anti-wonder). We get sucked into a black hole of thinking we know everything and being amazed by nothing. People think the spiritual path is is meant to take you closer to a void of nothingness rather than a throbbing, pulsating state of expansive wonder. And, rather than being curious about the mysteriousness of 2012, we grasp on to apocalyptic visions of fear. With all this, it is time for visionaries of the heart to join together and proclaim 2012 as:

The Wonder Year.
Amazing. Astonishing. Awakening.

This is a year to soften ourselves back to a place of curiousity, wonder, and delight at the very fact of our embodiment. To be born at all is really quite incredible, if not improbable. To be born into such an exciting time of Consciousness awakening among so many wonderful practioners of the heart is downright jaw-dropping. In my classes, all of 2012 will be dedicated to actively cultivate this "Holy Wow" so that we can shine light into a cynical culture. Together, we will meet each breath, each pose, each sunset with fresh eyes, enthusiasm, and curiousity.

The Pause Before the Meal: A Thanksgiving Blessing

When I was a little girl, my grandfather offered a blessing before each meal. it was always the same and there was a deep devotion in his words:

"Dear lord, for what we are about to receive may we be deeply grateful. bless this food to our bodies and our bodies to thy service"

My grandfather's words were simple, but said it all.  So perfect was the sentiment that 30 years since he passed, I still remember and hold it in my heart.  The power of offering a simple blessing before you partake of any meal creates space to take in the beauty and bounty before you; to remember all who took part in it's arriving before you, and to acknowledge that it will become you and give you the energy to offer yourself into the world.

Though I truly think there is no greater pre-meal grace than the one my grandfather offered, this year, I would like to offer to you my own blessing for your Thanksgiving meal . . .

Thanksgiving Grace

May we take this moment of pause to remember the deep connections that gather us around this table of abundance.

On this Thanksgiving Day, as we enjoy this meal, may we take a moment to gaze into each other's eyes and see the sparkle of the Eternal.

 

As we raise our glasses, may we drink in the beauty of the diversity in which the Eternal offers Itself.

May we fill ourselves with gratitude for all of those who have loved us and challenged us during this year.

May we bow in deep appreciation for the love offered in the form of this food and having been fed with such love, may we make our offerings into the world in service of the Highest.

A Little Time Travel on Anusara's Birthday

August 15, 2005

"Congratulations, Abby! You are a fully Certified Anusara Yoga Teacher!" said Anusara Founder John Friend.  "I really love what you wrote for your Grand Finale exam question. You're a part of the grand vision of this method. You have a voice in it, and you can help manifest it."

and in that one phone call, I became Anusara Certified Teacher #146.  Years of practice, years of training, years of teaching, and now . . . the future. Manifesting the grand vision: Day 1.
August 15, 2011

Today is Anusara's 14th Birthday!  Part of my personal celebration was to go back and read that Vision I had during my Certification  process. Here's what I wrote in the winter of 2005. I have to say, it's all unfolding just the way I envisioned it.

Grand Finale Question: What is your dream and vision for Anusara Yoga? How do you intend to help make that dream manifest?

"I was blessed last summer [August 15, 2004] to be on retreat with John Friend at Inner Harmony on the 7th birthday of Anusara Yoga.  I have often contemplated my vision of Anusara, as well as my role within the Anusara community since then.

I envision Anusara as a dynamnic, ever-changing, yet centered organization and community. This vision will mean that there will be times when it draws in and then expands back out again. I dream that as members of the community, we will not allow ourselves to become attached to any particular moment or form that Anusara embodies, and that we will remain open-hearted and open-minded to the flow of Anusara while being ever-aware and rooted in the philosophy and foundational tenets of the practice. My role in this vision is to be vigilant in remaining fresh, studied and curious, as well as to continue to ask myself if I am serving at my highest capacity. By keeping my view, my authentic language, my practice, and my service percolating and expanding, it will remain as dynamic and changing as the organization itself. Allowing spanda, not only withing myself, but within an entire organization takes courage and softenss.

I dream that as Anusara continues to grow, holding strong to its core, we as Anusara teachers and students will actively seek the Teacher Within and to rise to new heights. I see a unifed organization that is built around integrity and a desire to serve each other.  I dream that from our practices, we will grow an inner strength that teaches us to be less demanding of John Friend and senior teachers.  I can help this manifest by continually deepening my own practice.  It is within our own expereince that we become who we are and rise up to offer our unique role within the growing Anusara community.

Finally I envision that Anusara will bcome more than a hatha yoga style.  I see Anusara as a spiritual culture and lifestyle.  Anusara philosophy transforms lives by completely changing how life is viewed.  Today, we are pioneers in a new era as yoga has come West.  Anusara will play a key role by making a broad-based tantric vision of ourselves, the world, and the Divine accessibile to people in all walks of life, from all cultrues and backgrounds.  People will raise their children with a belief in the intrinsic goodness of life in all its manifestations.  People will run their businesses based on Anusara's Universal Principles of Alignment. I can make this vision manifest by living in a life-affirming way that does not deny the beliefs, religions, or choices of those around me. I can share my spiritual life in a way that is non-thretening and non-judgemental. I can "first, see the beauty" in all situations.  As we live our lives in this way, it grows exponentially, because it is all inclusive, life affirming, and a rich experience of life of this earth."

RIsing Up to the Challenge

In the 1980s, my teacher, John Friend designed a "hard core" yoga practice called the Eye of the Tiger.  It was the time of Rocky 2--when the hero goes finally goes beyond "going the distance" and beats his nemesis Apollo Creed because he has an iron will and and a desire that comes from the heart of hearts.  Rocky II's theme song, by Survivor, perfectly spoke to the will and desire that the yogin possesses in their pursuit of the highest expressions of the heart through the practice of asana.

Regarding the Eye of the Tiger Practice, John wrote:

"The Eye of the Tiger practice was my original advanced asana practice that I began in the mid-80’s. The premise was to embody a fierce, single-focus aspiration to become the highest vessel for Spirit so to best serve the Goodness and to be able to fully enjoy life. The image of the Tiger’s eye is when the Tiger is hungry and on the prowl for food. A single focused gaze reflecting a burning desire for fulfillment that won’t be denied. The fire of that longing sparkles in the tiger’s eyes reflecting the tremendous power and energy of a spiritual warrior’s will. "

Over the 20+ years since John first penned this practice sequence (a sequence that pre-dates Anusara Yoga as an entity), this style of practice has been woven deeply into the fabric of the practice lives of Anusara practitioners.  And, as Consciousness expands, this practice has come to take on many forms.  Across the country (and world), you will find a wide variety of variations: The Practice, The Tigress Practice, Teacher's Practice-- what it really means is practicing in community; supporting each other to new heights; being inspired by each other's accomplishments and supporting each other when we are being challenged to our limits.  There is conversation and silence; laughter and groans; it is a practice that requires strength and stamina married to softness and fluidity.  It is the ultimate expression of the divine marriage of Shiva and Shakti.

Several months ago, it occurred to me that, at this point, many (most) Anusara practitioners--even the seasoned ones--may not have ever practiced the Eye of the Tiger in it's entirety as originally written, and thus a series was born.  On Super Bowl Sunday (we called it Super Sadhana Sunday), some 40 yogins from the San Francisco Bay Area joined me in re-creating the original version of the practice--some 130 poses in a span of 4 .5 hours.  This practice is not for the faint of heart--the original document lays out the beginning of the practice as "10 to 108 sun salutes."  During the course of our own Super Bowl Sunday, we practiced the full spectrum, including a total of 21 Urdhva Dhanurasanas.  The intensity of the practice is not just in it's myriad of hand balances and deep backbends, but in it's completeness.  The EoT incorporates at least 10 minutes of meditation and 10 minutes of savasana to make it full and complete, for the richest practice goes beyond raw power and refines itself into the artfulness of expression. 

We named ourselves The Kundalini Kula, because the tiger represents Durga’s tiger, the Kundalini within each of us. As John explains, "This is the ultimate creative power that we ride with great skill since it is dangerous energy which can be used for evolution or destruction."
Take a peek into our time together (accompanied by the practice's theme song):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n__gpHnpfVY

May we continue to rise to the occasion of the practice from the deepest desire to know the truth of our own hearts.  Special thanks to Certified Anusara Yoga Teacher Danielle Hougard for the beautiful pictures here in this post.

Power and Promise

2011 is no longer officially "new" and yet with 11 full months left, it still holds infinite promise. It's funny how quickly we can let go of that feeling of potential and opportunity once the champagne bottles have been recycled. What on January 1st seems full of POWER & PROMISE, by February 1st is old news, old patterns, and the idea that we'll get our next shot at potential and promise in the Spring, or in 2012.

Each year, I create an overall theme for my classes. This highest intention or remembrance holds the entirety not only of my teaching, but of my own practice. To have a single-point of focus as a community for the duration of a year has been very powerful bond between me and my students since I began the yearly theme in 2006. Some years the theme is articulated in nearly every class, and in other year's I hold the space for it and it's presence is felt more than spoken. The yearly theme is like a great river, from which many tributaries flow, but it is the source--the wellspring or, tirtha--of every sequence, every public class, every event.

This year's theme, "POWER & PROMISE: it's all about the practice" solidified for me in late October when I was in Santa Fe studying with John Friend. Together with friends and my dear teacher in this msytical city, I felt a deep truth arise from me and wash over and through me. This practice of yoga works. It works at cracking my heart wide open. It works at making me better at being who I am--authentically. It works by bringing me into deeper connection with others and with the world all around. Really, all I have to do is SHOW UP with my heart and mind open to this promise, and I will awaken to my own divine nature more fully. It can't not happen, which isn't to say it will happen in the way I want or think I want. To me, yoga's promise is that it helps me remember that I am empowered, and that I too, am full of promise and potential.

POWER & PROMISE is manifesting itself in a teaching year that is about what it means to have a regular practice and to become refined in the practice as well as to allow ourselves to be moved by the practice. The residing Devi for this year , Saraswati, reminds us to take our raw power and potential (our Kali side) and to organize it into the highest offering of expression. I’m teaching and offering with clear purpose. In the one short month since 2011 began, I have already seen an incredible shift in my weekly students—not only in their asana practice, but in their commitment and the meaning they are bringing to the mat.

I invite you to join into the remembrance of Power & Promise in your practice this year. Get on your mat and watch yourself shift in 2011!

It All Starts with Showing Up

I've been thinking a lot about what it means to show up for my practice.
What does that mean exactly?


I guess it all started nearly a year ago when I was studying with my teacher John Friend during a week-long Immersion here in San Francisco. At one point during the week, John brought our awareness to how often we left to go the bathroom during the sessions.  I'd heard it before, and didn't disagree with anything he was saying, and yet, the grande latte sitting in my bladder, began to speak out with a vengeance.


"John just doesn't understand how small a female bladder can be and how small the woman's bathroom is--five stalls for 150 women... we have to stagger ourselves.  It's not healthy to hold it in, and how will I do my twists and folds if I don't go?"


Then, once to my mat, determined not to get off my mat FOR ANYTHING, just to prove that I could go the whole session without surrendering to the growing urge, the grande latte really started talking, to which I inwardly replied,


"No way. I'm not going to go in there after he said that. I'm gonna stick it out.  He'll think I'm a horrible person, a bad student, no adhikara; he'll take my Certification away.  I can DO this!"


then


"This is stupid. I can't concentrate on my breath, on my practice, nothing if I don't go. Ardha Matsyendrasana could be a disaster!  John is a good, kind, teacher. He doesn't want me to be miserable. He's not on some sort of a power trip.  Just go. It'll be ok"


So, I snuck off my mat and returned, relieved, a few minutes later, though I felt guilty about it.


Do I think for one second that John wanted me to wet myself to prove my studentship. Absolutely not. He's much too kind and practical for that.  He was in no way trying to exert any sort of insane control thing.  He just wanted to start up the conversation in all of us . . . 


How are we showing up?


I spent a long time musing this over the next few weeks, maybe even months.  I watched my students: the ones who were habitually late, or who habitually left early.  I watched everything. Who was really present--not just on their mat--but in every aspect of who they were.   I did the same in my own practice. Was I showing up and ready to practice or was I just on my mat?  Was I implementing the things John had recommended for me every day or would I try to do a crash course of it right before I saw him again?  Was I really in this thing?  


What does it mean to show up?


I began to feel that each practice begins way way way before it's scheduled start--sometimes as early as coming out of savasana in your previous practice.  To really show up to your practice is what you do in-between.  It's in many ways cumulative.  Everything that I do, between now and then is setting the foundation for where I will begin my next practice, whether it's on my own, or with my teacher. It's as much as about pre-cursors to the practice as it is the practice itself.


The end of October comes, and I find myself in incredible Santa Fe, NM, once again to study with the Main Man.  Having spent a lot of time thinking about this showing up thing, I came up with a plan, not because I had anything to prove to my teacher, but I had a lot to prove to myself.  What was it that was happening in the hours before our start time, that would take away from me being ready to practice at the precise moment he was ready to start?  Going backward through my routines, I came up with one very obvious culprit--I always had that one last coffee or tea--sometimes taking that last gulp as I emerged from my car or even carrying it into the venue me, as if a warm beverage was my mat or a blanket.  Duh! Of course, I have to sneak out to the bathroom.  So, I created an affirming boundary.  Hot beverage of choice finished 2 hours before practice begins. Brilliant.


Next, what do I typically do when I get to the venue? Well, another obvious answer, it's all about socializing with my friends from all over the country.  Community baby!  But wait, had I ever still been chatting away when I felt John walk in the room?  He'll ring the bells and gather us "up close and personal anyway." What if, I created another affirming boundary for myself? On my mat and ready to practice 5 minutes before the scheduled start time. "That's a Bingo!" (475,000 yoga points to anyone who can tell me the movie that's from.)


Everything shifted with that first morning's practice. It was the best practice for me . . . maybe ever.  And the week continued like that.  A major shift had happened.
 I showed up.
I showed up for my practice in a totally new way.
I showed up for MYSELF.


We all have those things that we are doing or not doing that are preventing us from truly stepping in.  In my case, and what I guess is true of most others, it's the little things that we aren't even relating to our mat time that are preventing us from getting the most from our mat time.  We try to get one more thing done before leaving for class; we schedule an appointment too soon after the scheduled finish of class; we have that last cup of coffee... 


This year, I've invited my students to create an affirming boundary around whatever keeps them from fully showing up.  I've invited them by asking them to follow the "On the mat and ready to practice 5 minutes before scheduled start time" (rule).  I'm holding it up on my end, too. Not just in my practice, but in teaching. I'm in the class at least 5 minutes before, I'm starting right on time, and class is complete when it is scheduled to be.  As a result, people are telling me that they are finding so much more meaning in their practice, just as I have found in mine.


Yes, it all starts with showing up.
And showing up starts . . . now.

Crocodiles and Snakes . . . Oh My!

On Monday, I woke from a spectacular dream with a knowing smirk on my face . . . "I get it," I said aloud not only to myself but to the entirety of the Universe, and immediately went right back into its rich imagery and the story it was telling.

I am standing on the bank of a beautiful river whose current is swift. I've just come out of a protective thicket of trees and stand staring at the call of the waters. This goddess of a river seems to be chanting "Dive in, dive in." At this moment, I also hear footsteps behind me, and turning, remember that I was leading a throng of people to this river bank. Looking back, I see dear loved ones, friends, students. They all followed to this place--to this moment.

Standing on a large rock (because, you know, I'm a goddess of the short variety, and, alas my dreamworld didn't change me into a fantastically long-legged goddess), I called out to everyone,

"We've arrived! This is the place I told you about! Jump in!"

As I spoke, I saw a few looks of trust, but mostly, I saw eyes filled with horror. I changed my stance on the rock so that I could see both the throng and the river. Revealing themselves, emerging from the water were many crocodiles and snakes. They were basking, swimming, slithering--doing their reptilian thing.

"No worries. Those guys are no problem! I know these waters. I know these creatures. You can trust me, they won't bother you at all. In fact, they're quite nice." But, try as I might no one budged. No one accepted my invitation to jump in. Looking back and forth from the throng to the river and from the river to the throng, I knew there was only one thing I could do that would get even one of them to dive into the creature-filled current . . .

I had to dive in.
I had to swim with the snakes.
I had to ride the backs of the crocodiles.
I had to let the current carry me and engulf me.

And so . . . off the rock I jumped. Emerging from the water, once again, I called out to my companions, "See, it's fine. We're totally taken care of. Dive in! Dive in! Who is with me?"

Many of those who had come so far with me, through the woods all the way to the river bank decided that they were happy with the journey they had taken, but this was the end of the line. It was absolutely too much to ask to jump into the swift current . . . not to mention the very dangerous demons lurking about. Nope, back into the thicket they turned.

Others, decided that the bank had a beautiful view and began sketching plans to reside there to watch the current, to maybe wait . . . and . . . see . . . you know . . . if I got eaten alive. Then maybe someday later they'd come in for a swim.

But some. Some accepted the invitation. They trusted. They jumped whole-hearted into the current with me. And we frolicked.

Now, I'm sure a Freudian analyst would have much to say about my crocodiles and snakes. But oh, that's so dated. No, they would never understand the rich tapestry of imagery within my dream from the perspective of a yogin hiding in plain site--from the perspective of (watch out! scary word coming!) tantra. Which is exactly why I smiled and smirked upon waking.

My beautiful river, was, of course, the outpouring of Consciousness into the world as Shakti. She is at once always the same and ever-moving. Both essence and flow. She is the paradox of herself. She is sara, the flow of grace; the power of Conciousness; the promise that we will be held even within her swift current.

The wriggling, writhing, slithering snakes are (hush up Freudians! this is my show!) Kundalini Shakti, the unrivaled empowered unfolding of Consciousness into and as every fiber of our being. She who coils and stretches us from within. She who sometimes is so subtle we don't notice her undulations, and who sometimes stirs so wildly that we KNOW she has penetrated into new territories of who we are.

The ancient crocodiles . . . they are kula. They are our chosen community. A community of the heart and of the practice, for the crocodile is born of community. Eggs are laid close together--there is safety in numbers after all. Each future croc alone in its hard little shell waiting, listening. You see, crocodiles have a special little tooth that they use to free them from the boundaries that they have now almost outgrown. The tooth expands the boundaries! They listen until a lone "tap tap tap" begins the process. One begins, but then they all join in the tapping, until they have hatched into community. And! As if this isn't fantastic enough . . . they march right into their waiting mother's mouth and she herself carries them into the river, opens her mouth, and releases them into the currents of Grace.

I'm not standing on the banks any longer. I am taking the plunge. The current is faster than the one I was in before. It's more fun, and sure, probably more dangerous. There are crocodiles and snakes, but they are beneficent--they are my community and my own innate power. I know this is going to be an awesome ride in the currents of Consciousness.

"See, it's fine. We're totally taken care of. Dive in! Dive in! Who is with me?"

Yoga Bohemian: Cannonball Jumps (Press-Up Handstand Prep)

Churning the Ocean: Yoga and the Gulf Oil Spill

Recently, I’ve felt unexpectedly called by the water, and in particular the ocean. This is a big surprise as I’ve always felt the call of mountains and deserts, but not so much by the sea. However, when beckoned by nature, I heed her call. Two weeks ago, I traveled to be with and in the ocean, to receive what she was trying to offer and whisper into the ear of this land lover. To quote Jimmy Buffett, “Mother mother ocean, I have heard your call.”
For a few days, I sat on the sand watching the waves; I snorkeled for the first time, and on the ferry ride back to Long Beach, I experienced something I’d always dreamed of—a whale making itself known to us. During these days, my thoughts and heart turned to the Gulf of Mexico and the epic tragedy that is unfolding there. In particular, my thoughts turned to sea turtles and the many ancient stories from far flung cultures—stories from the Americas, Northern Europe, even India– tell us that the world is carried on the shell of a tortoise. Yoga mythology’s offering of this idea comes in the character of Kurma, the tortoise avatar of world sustainer Lord Vishnu. Kurma makes his appearance in the story of the Churning of the Ocean of Milk.
I began to ponder the story I’ve heard so many times, and how it can help us in our response to the disaster that is the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. No, it doesn’t suggest sending golf balls or airbags or anything else into the spewing mess. Yoga never hand feeds us, but invites us to make the leap and to engage the ancient tales into our world and our lives as they are today. Perhaps there was no BP, but, conveniently there are demons!
The tale of the Churning of the Ocean of Milk finds the gods distraught at the loss of Amrit, the nectar of immortality. The gods, at one of the grand council meetings they so love, decide to ask the help of the demons in churning the great Ocean of Milk from which the treasured elixir would spring. Having been promised half of the nectar, the demons agreed to help. They helped to dig up the great Mount Madura to use as the churning stick, and placed it upon the back of the tortoise god Kurma (the fate of the world on the back of the turtle). Then, Vasuki, a sea serpent, was enlisted as the churning rope, and wrapped around the mountain. Vasuki’s tail was held by the gods and his head by the demons (this positioning, of course, was no coincidence, but an advantage Vishnu concocted through trickery). Through the violent churning, Vasuki’s breath began to steam and the demons were nearly suffocated by the noxious heat.
As the constant churning continued, poor Vasuki began to feel quite queasy, and soon began to vomit a poison that threatened not only the Ocean of Milk, but all life, and all the Amrit. At this moment Lord Shiva, drinks in the spewing poison, holding it in his throat, causing it to turn blue. As Shiva held the poison, it began to be transformed by the powers of yoga. As it transformed in the blue throat of the yogin, amazing treasures, including the Amrit began to arise from the ocean. The sea bounty continued spewing forth, just as before the poison had seeped and stained the waters, but now, the offering arose on a lotus as the Goddess of Beauty and Abundance, Laksmi.
Shiva, the yogin, drinks the poison that is spewing into the ocean. The Ocean of Milk is restored, and beauty and abundance in the form of the Divine Feminine arise. Now this is a story, that’s starting to look like it might have a good ending . . .
I’ve been going over and over the story and our current situation. I’m not here to offer some sappy Pollyanna story of how this will all work out … my heart is breaking for the Gulf. But, how can I, as the yogin, do as Shiva did, and drink the poison, hold it in the realm of my expression, so that nothing less than a massive shift of Consciousness can happen and the Goddess can arise from it? Will we finally enter the age when we return to the Mother? Can we transform the poison into the very nectar of life?
I was born and raised in the South, and have felt sad and puzzled for a long while that so little interest is paid to environmental concerns there, despite a deep sense of home and the land from which we sprung. For many in my home region, environmental issues are for Liberals. If the spill had happened off the coast of California, would it have gotten the attention of those not inclined to notice? Being green really has nothing to do with being from a blue or red state. Some may not care about sea turtles, but not only are the magnificent creatures of the ocean threatened, whole ways of life are threatened. People who have worked the sea for generations are seeing their livelihoods poisoned by the spewing vomit of Vasuki. Has Consciousness given a wakeup call that cuts across divisive lines of politics?
You see, as a tantrika, I can’t just align to Consciousness when she offers herself as the Amrit. To Open to Grace, as we say in Anusara Yoga, is to open to Consciousness as it offers itself in all forms—even in the form of the spew of millions of gallons of oil into the sea. I do not have to like it. I do not have to pretend that all is well, or that one way that the Universal offers itself is as good or as pretty or as life affirming as the next. It’s not, and it would be ludicrous to imply that it is. But, the unlikeable and ugly IS an offering nonetheless, and my opportunity and invitation as another form of that offering is to open to the possibility held within it, and then to engage with it.
Like Shiva, I can take the poison and hold it. I can hold it, and churn it, and engage with it. I can hold the poison in the throat of my expression, so that I offer my energy towards healing. I can hold the poison in my throat to make way for the beauty and abundance of the shift that will happen as the Divine Feminine arises again, on her lotus, out of the Ocean that was poisoned by the convenience of cheap oil and a forgetfulness of the natural world.
May we as a community of hearts, as a community of engaged yogins, as creatures of this Universe, remain open to the world as it offers itself. May we turn towards that which is life affirming, aligned to the Highest, and an expression of the Divine Love which embodied us. May we offer our love to the creatures of the deep, the fluency of water, and to all who are hurting.
“Mother Mother Ocean. I have heard your call…”

Ah Yes! I remember!

Sometimes I get really tired of talking and writing about yoga.
In fact, I started this blog as a way to talk about something else.
I created a blog to not talk about yoga.
Pretty much all I talk about is yoga.
And, on top of that, I've never even told anyone I have a blog, so I could write anything I want because there are no followers!
I could talk about junk food and t.v.
Now that's freedom.

So why do I keep going down that path of writing?
"Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!" (That is a Brady Bunch reference from my brain archives)
But for me it's "Yoga, Yoga, Yoga"
Am I one-dimensional?
Sometimes I wonder, but then I remember two things.

First, I'm not one dimensional. In fact, to be the yogin is to grow yourself to greater dimensions, NOT to narrow yourself to the one. There are SO many other things to think about, talk about, and do!

The second thing I remember is: Spiritual Life. There's not a difference. I hate the question "do you have a spiritual life?" Duh. Life is the embodiment of spirit. Can't be alive without a spiritual life.

So, yes, I do have the freedom to write about anything I want, and out of that absolute freedom, I tend to always come back to "yoga." And yet, reading through my archives (someone has to!), I note that I never write about "yoga." I just write about stuff in my life, which is a yoga, and the very reason I forgot and thought I only was writing about yoga. (It may take a few passes at that sentence to get it. Gotta keep all those following the blog on their toes!)

To forget is one of the terms of our embodiment.
To remember is to get a glimpse of our absolute, empowered freedom.

The fourth R of Spaciousness: Remember
(R's 1-3 are release, receive, and relax)

Remember the bigger picture.
Remember you are the empowered embodiment of Consciousness
Remember that there's more to life than "yoga"
Remember that there's nothing more to life than yoga.
No, it's not all yoga.
But it all can be.
Why? Because all yoga is is to be bring things into relationship. I bring my "life" and my "spiritual" together. That's why there's no difference--but there is, because life and spiritual are two things that are yoked together through the practice of yoga. That's why it seems like I'm always practicing yoga.

So, I just write. And you can call it yoga or not.

Summertime and the Living is Easy

Last Friday evening, I found myself in New York's Central Park. It was an incredible day. Blue skies prevailed above the towering skyline, the temperature was comfortable, and everywhere I looked, New Yorkers were . . .

relaxed.

Huh?

It's true. In the city of all that is hip, stylish, and, fast fast fast, I found leagues of the trendy playing organized kickball in the park. Yep, that kickball. The one from grade school with the really bouncy ball and running around bases until you make it home or get pegged. There was laughter, playfulness, and a feeling as if there wasn't a care in the world. Forget the economy. We're playing kickball.

We stood and watched mesmerized for a long while, and then, heading out of the park, walked to Times Square, haven of frenetic energy. After a very relaxing week in a tent in the Catskills, I was a bit nervous even thinking about the energy in Times Square.

As we approached this epicenter of stimulation, we noticed something very odd. Outdoor lounge chairs in the middle of the streets. Tourists sitting down and staring up. Querying one of the Times Square Association Guards (or Guides a little of both I suspect) as to the nature of the lawn chairs, the reply was,

"Didn't you ever just want to sit down and relax?"

This was the perfect answer and a maha aha moment.

I was at the tail end of my third week of the Spacious Breath of Summer project that I concocted for myself. I was there in the week of the 3rd R--RELAX, and a brawny security guard was offering an all too simple answer to my question. I tell you, this Northern Californian yoga teacher has a lot to learn.

As I too joined the throngs of tourists sitting in the middle of the street in Times Square (I hear that real Manhattanites find this new situation absurd, but maybe they just haven't taken the time to sit there yet.), I looked out at the lights, the ads, the still very present taxis and their requisite horns. My eyes had a hard time taking in all the sights, my ears the sounds, my body the energy . . . and yet, I felt totally relaxed.

To relax is actually something quite different than we tend to think of it. To relax means to "make less firm or rigid" to "ease up or back off." And, all of these definitions imply that there is still engagement happening. To relax is not to be lazy, but to find an easeful effort. To relax is to be able to take a moment to "just sit down." The world doesn't stop, but can you just watch if for a moment? As yogins, the very point is to be able to be in the world in an easeful way--not to run and hide from it. Not to turn our noses at the craziness of Times Square, but to sit right down in middle of it and relax. This is the yoga of course. To be at our ease amid the chaos.

Over the course of the next day and a half, we found ourselves returning to the sitting areas--our favorite was a permanent installation--risers that were lit from underneath looking over the length of Broadway. Sitting there, my son (who turned 13 that day) looked across at an enormous billboard of our ancestor, the missing link hominid dubbed Lucy, whose fossils were resting close by in an exhibit. Having a moment to spare, and a nice place to sit and have conversation, we explained what/who Lucy was and then again, rested back into the pause among the wildness.

A bit later, first gesturing towards the rendered eyes of Lucy and then down at the thousands who walked or sat in Times Square, and then gesturing even to the cars, the lights, the buildings, he stated, "It's amazing. From her, all of this."

What if we hadn't sat down in the middle of Time Square to relax?
An aha moment denied?

It's summer.
The living is easy . . . even when it's hard.
Sit down and relax.
You never know what revelation may be waiting for you.

Thank You Notes

Growing up in the South, manners were everything. From an early age, my mother emphasized us saying "may I," "please" and "thank you." These were everyday things. Then there were those big league manners. The manners of receiving a gift! Because this, my friend was an entire process--with steps! And these steps were to be followed no matter what when you a gift came your way--whether you liked it or not!

I think back on many a Christmas and birthday gifts that I actively detested. I had my 8-year-old mind on Barbie's Dream House, and I ended up with a new scratchy, poly-knit turtleneck. An abomination! What person in their right mind would EVER think I would want THAT?

But that was never ever never to show. In fact, not only was I taught to receive the gift with a smile on my face when in the presence of the giver, the ultimate in misery was yet to come--the thank you note. A verbal "thanks" was not enough, oh no no no. The time-honored practice of sitting down and taking the time to thank someone--with specifics--for what they had given was "the least you can do, for them taking the time, effort and money to give you a gift." Writing those notes was the bane of my existence in December and my birthday month of January! Though it could have taught me to be a really good liar (and I won't pretend that there weren't flat out lies and exaggerations at times), what it began to teach me over the process of my growing up was to receive the offering's intention and to look for the good--even in that scratchy poly turtleneck.

Finally, after the thank yous, there was the dealing with what to was become of the unwanted gift. There was never waste. I had to first think of someone who might like it or benefit from it. Mostly, they were sent to donation centers, or in someway re-purposed. Sometimes, at the end of January, we would take the things we weren't going to keep, as well as to go shopping for brand new gifts that we would like and . . . what?! . . . take them to a little girl our age at a nearby orphanage. Many years, I resented that, feeling like I got the raw end of the deal, and that she was getting all the gifts that I had wanted. Then, we would take her back to that big institutional building, and I would remember, "oh yeah. She got the raw deal here."

All that was a long time ago. What about those less tangible offerings? Life's curve balls? The unexpected and unwanted gifts of the Universe? How am I receiving those and am I offering back a thank you note?

Two weeks ago, I cultivated the first R of spaciousness, release. I let go of a long-held habit pre-anticipating outcomes (and the inevitable let downs and frustrations when what showed up was different than my vision of it). The spacious breath of summer continues and I've just spent 7 days cultivating the next R of spaciousness: RECEIVE.

What doe it mean to receive anyway? I spent some time contemplating the verb early in the week. To receive something indicates a few things. First in order for something to be received, something has to be offered. Secondly, to receive indicates an action. There is actually an engagement in receiving. Being offered a gift, I must reach out and open my hand to actually accept it. I could see something I don't like and refuse by never reaching out, or even closing my hand. Even if a gift is left on the doorstep I have to bend down and bring it to me. I'm making a free choice to receive what's being offered--or not.

And, while everyday is not Christmas or my birthday, my life makes lots of offerings, how am I receiving or refusing them? After spending a week practicing (and the practice continues) releasing expectations, I had tilled the soil for receiving. My hands were already open having let go of what I expected was going to be placed in them. I got Barbie Dream House gifts from my life, and I got some scratchy turtlenecks, but you know what? (My mom would be so proud!) I started writing mental--and sometimes even verbal--thank you notes for what life was serving up. I even came up with specifics of how the gift might be of value to me and how I might use it (or re-purpose it).

And this time . . . the "Sincerely, Abby" was heartfelt, with not a lie in sight! After all, manners and sincerity have to go hand-in-hand!

The 10 Rs of Spaciousness:
Release
Receive
You'll have to wait for the rest.

Release or Re-Lease?

A week or so ago, on these very pages, I committed myself to taking a spacious summer breath; to remembering how to let myself go with the current that the world--my world-- is offering me rather than to struggle against it. Becoming spacious, opening up space in your life can be tough. It's hard letting go of things, people, ways of relating in your world.

I've noticed that people often replace the word "space" with "time" in their way of thinking. I've certainly done it. "I need to free up some space in my schedule," No, you need to free up some time in your schedule. They actually aren't synonymous. Time is linear. Space is circular if anything.

So what is space to me, and why am I devoting my summer to creating more of it? Space, to me, is about having some breathing room, options, possibilities, angles, and, okay, time too. Time in the form of pause.

The Spacious Breath of Summer and its 10 Rs, was conceived by me on Thursday, June 18 during a long personal writing session. Rather than jumping right into the practice of it, I decided to start on a Sunday. Sunday's are good starting days . . . I suppose that notion goes back to my Protestant upbringing. But, no matter, it felt right to weave in a few days to just sit with the idea to see if I would actually step into it. For three days, I just sat back and began recognizing what was what (and I suppose this could have been the preliminary R: recognition), I proceeded, last Sunday to RELEASE. To let go of anything and everything that no longer served me or enhanced my life.

I actually love the word release, because it implies a sensitivity, a caring, even a degree of love, as much as it empowers you to active role in parting with something, someone, or a way of being in the world. To release something is not to look back and judge, but to look forward and acknowledge. To release is to not place things in the category of good or bad, but rather to see what is enhancing or diminishing your life.

The key for me in this release week was to not anticipate what needed or wanted to be released but to allow it to arise as self-evident. I tried not to think about it so much as to feel it and even to wait for these intimiate strangers to announce themselves to me. A few days in, there came a moment when a pattern that I've been habituating for a year or so tapped me on the shoulder, "Excuse me. I somehow seem to have gotten attached to your coat, and although you are great company, this really isn't my direction, nor is mine yours. Can you release me from your hold so that we can both go our own ways?"

And just like that, I knew I was done with that. Five days later, the pattern hasn't surfaced once. And so it went every few days, another shoulder tap, another ,"Excuse me," followed by my acknowledgement, "Yes, you're right. Thanks for what you brought to the table. I am glad to have known you despite the fact that yes, you are right we truly are tangled up, and I, too, am feeling stuck and bound by you. I release you."

My patterns and I were having a breakup conversation. A very mature one. No tears. When the time is right, it's right.

Now, as my release week comes to its close, I have a new ease. I actually feel better than I have in quite awhile. I feel better in me and the perspective from which I'm viewing things. Do I dare say, I feel more spacious? As the saying goes, I have a new lease on life . . .

or is it a re-lease on life?

The Spacious Breath of Summer

The summer solstice approaches in days. The growing light is beginning to shed light onto the landscape of my life. Sometimes the summer sun is harsh. It's at full power. It burns. That which has been veiled by the shadow of wishful thinking, is revealed for the reality of what is.

Last night, the light took the form of the proverbial lightening flash. In the dark, a flash of recognition flashed so bright and with such declaration that my whole world seemed revealed to me in a new way . . . not as I was wanting it to be, but as it was. The illumination of the lightening against the dark night was as terrifying as it was life giving. There it was. The "aha" moment. The world revealed in all its splendour, not as the Disneyland dream vacation, but the realness it tries so hard to evoke. And since when did reality take on such a negative connotation anyway?

It doesn't matter the dream versus the reality. Apply your own. Ideas that don't match with what the world is offering. Expectations that disappoint or veil us from seeing what's before us to the point that we reject or refuse what's being offered rather than receiving it.

Following the lightening revelation of my night, I, as I often do, went to walk with my dog near the water, to get more clear on my vision. As the bay waters lapped rhythmically onto the rocky shore, I committed myself to something. I committed myself to a spacious summer. I mean, isn't that the very idea of summer? Isn't that what we are seeking in the sort of elusive holy grail of our idea of what summer should be? Summer is that brilliant pause. The pause between "years" (because, don't we all in some way still operate on the school year so ingrained in our nature at a young age?) And what is a pause but space?

With our cells calling out for this pause in the year, we plan our vacations; attend our picnics; scoot out of work early; dream of heat and lightening bugs and lazily passing the time on a porch swing with a bell jar of lemonade watching distant storm clouds gather.

What do all those notions point to? A need for space. Space between obligations and responsibilities. Space to dream, think, sit, play, remember our freedom. Space to slow down and see our world and and our life as it is and as we desire it to be. But to really give space to something, we have to know where we are beginning. Really.

I'm committing my summer to spaciousness. To "opening to Grace." To softening up the preconceived of what I want; the preconceived of what anything is "supposed" to look like; the preconceived notion that I can bulldoze anything into submission; the preconceived that I can engage something without feeling it out first.

So, it is to this pause, this spaciousness, that I commit my attention this summer. In other words, I'm committed to taking a symbolic breath. I'm taking a 10-week breath in fact. Interestingly, when we take in our breath, we're adding something in that creates a spaciousness. You would think that a feeling of spaciousness would be associated with the exhale. We are, after all, emptying ourselves, and yet, the physical act of exhaling draws us in and compacts us a bit, even as we are releasing something. And what of the pause between the two. Space. So my summer? One big spacious breath made up of many parts.

Contemplating this, I've created The 10 R's of Spaciousness for myself. Each week, beginning on a Sunday, I'll write about that week's focus for opening myself up to what the world and my life are offering me. Because opening myself to that will truly be the only way that I can begin to step into those currents in ways that are affirming in my life; in ways that enhance and expand me rather than diminish me.

Welcome to my summer.

The Moment the SOL stands STILL

I woke up yesterday morning to see the last full moon of the solar year (the Cold Moon) still hanging in the sky. At 5 a.m., the dark was still unpenetrable but for the silver light raining down from Grandmother Moon. A few hours later, as the daylight begins to emerge, I know that the darkness will recapture today surprisingly quick, and once again, Grandmother will reveal herself once more but for a little piece she'll cloak until January.

I adore this time of year. In one short week, we'll reach what the Celts called Midwinter (did you know that in the Celtic calendar, winter begins November 1?). The Winter Solstice. The moment the "sol stands still."

Sol, of course, means sun, but as the days wain, I've been contemplating the idea of a moment when the SOUL stands still. Is it, in fact, possible or even desirable?

When our sun hangs for that one moment seemingly unmoving, we know that it is a constantly throbbing orb of fire. In every moment there is the pulsation of expansion and contraction. Likewise, even in the stillest, quietest moment, even in the deepest meditation, our spirit dances with the delight of this divine and playful dance.

Last year, I spent the Winter Solstice in Ghana, West Africa. Ghana is so close to the equator that the sun seems to stand still all year. It's either up or down. You miss out on the middle places. Twelve hours of light. Twelve hours of dark. There you go.
You never notice light waining from day to day, or the blessed moment when it begins to make its return. I really missed that.

So, this year, there's that extra relishing. I'm spending extra time savoring the darkness as it grows this week towards the inevitable and equally savory moment that the light begins to recapture the darkness until the cycle starts all over again in June.

The day the SOL stands STILL is a perfect opportunity to create ritual around your own inner renewal; to exhale with the year; to notice the pause; and then, to inhale the light once more.

The Seven Year Itch

Okay.
Officially ridiculous. Not posting since January 9 and it's December 12.
Some blogger I've turned out to be.

What can I say? I came back from Africa exhausted, which lasted until May, when I realized that I had actually entered a new 7-year cycle of my life (see how tired I was? I didn't realize I had entered my 42nd year of life until 5 months later!), and went into official hibernation. After seven years of massive expansion, I was and am ready for a quiter deepening time.

Seven year cycles. Heard of these? My teacher talks of all sorts of life cycles--1 year, 3 year, 5 years, 7, 10 . . . My head tends to swim thinking that in any moment we're practically starting, stopping, and in the middle of any number of cycles. If so, do they matter? Do they matter equally? Does one trump another?

I have my own theory. I do go with the 7 year time frame as one of particular importance. As I look over the course of my own life, starting around year 14, I see a pattern. Frankly, I don't think our patterns establish themselves until then, and this, of course, is based on my massive research of, well, me. As an aside, my daughter turned 14 two days ago. Wonder what pattern she'll start out with? I'll get back with you all a few cycles from now.

Oh, yeah, back to the 7-year pattern. Don't you think it's true? How else did they come up with the term "7 year Itch"? For me, they've gone in patterns of deepening or expanding. Patterns of periods of introspection and intimacy in small groups, going deeper into what is established; and then, patterns of taking in all that is new, establishing new ways of being and doing, new friends and relationships. Within any one pattern, the other exists. But, one predominates.

Now you understand my hibernation? I had to figure all this out. For the first part of the year, I was living as if I was still in massive expansion mode, and felt totally misaligned, But, I couldn't put my finger on where I was going wrong. I wasn't really listening to my energy. My energy was saying, "Please, take sometime to enjoy all you have established. Savor the flavor of all that you have grown into." Yet, my body and mindset were still out in radical expansion mode. Not a good mix.

It really is about recognizing where we are energetically, and then stepping into the life that meets up with that. Isn't that what we mean by "go with the flow?" To align with what is life enhancing in any moment or cycle? To say the Big Yes to what's being offered?

Hey, could one of you give me a heads up in 2014?