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.