Category: the yoga of life

out of the compost pile, I bloom

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Today, the sun is shining in a wild show of spring. The birds have been up since before daylight singing into the world, and I’ve spent much of the morning watching a squirrel scavenging for seeds and nuts below the bird feeder. There are countless blooms in the garden surrounding the patio; multicolored blossoms that beckon the bumblebees with rich and fragrant nectar. It’s absolutely stunning, and I can’t help but admire the natural beauty before me. I am also fighting my inner freak that is screaming in my head that the lawn needs mowing, the garden needs weeding, and the kitchen needs mopping.

She is such a drag to be around.

I know for a fact that the world won’t end if I don’t mow the lawn or weed the garden. These tasks can certainly wait. I also know that, sometimes, lovely things happen when I stop and take in the wonder of the world without trying to change anything. Being content with this and that. I notice the small things that I would have passed by in my hurry to get things done. Like the glorious red poppies that poke brightly out from the compost pile, showing that beauty can grow from discarded garden materials. And somehow the blossoms look more gorgeous knowing that they weren’t planned and haven’t been tended to. These flowers have made their way in the world all on their own, and they serve their purpose so beautifully.

I also know for certain that I miss out on so much with my need to be productive; experiences, pleasures, and personal growth. I forget that beautiful things come from the simple act of stopping and that if I just soften a bit, I can still get things done and my heart will be happier in the end. No need for head spinning or list writing. Just being here. Now.

Even in my (limited) experience of teaching yoga, I’ve noticed that the less I try to plan and control, the more joy and ease I feel. I’m happier, and the class appears to be more satisfied in their experience. I then remember what it is about a yoga class that I’ve loved all along- joining with other people to breathe and move together in community while cultivating awareness in the moment. Everything can wait- the mat is rolled out, the phone is off, the computer out of sight. Practice in being here now and not trying to change or fix or be anything other than what I am.

Out of the compost pile, a flower blooms. A reminder that I can bloom anywhere.

the more I learn, the less I know: reflections on my fortieth year.

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You cannot travel the path until you have become the path
Gautama Buddha (563-483 B.C.E.)

Tomorrow marks the end of my fortieth year; a year I began by setting forth on a personal pilgrimage (of sorts). I didn’t leave for a foreign land, but rather traveled inward to explore the vast terrain of myself. I had no perceived notion that I would become enlightened or that I would achieve some divine status, but I had the hope/expectation that I would gain a bit of inspiration in the process and that I would learn some more about where to go from here. What I’ve learned along the way (about myself and the world):

 I am perfect and whole just the way I am (scars and all).

One of my personal goals for the year was to complete yoga teacher training. I had no idea that this very step would change my life as much as it has. I began a two-week intensive training not knowing a soul and expecting to learn a little more about yoga and to gain some physical strength. I left knowing that I had found a new tribe; people who loved me regardless of the fact that I contradict myself, act awkward in public, and curse like a sailor. I also left with a completely new and ever-changing perspective of “yoga” and what it means to be a “yogi”.

Note: being a yogi does not require perfection (thankfully), but it does involve thinking more carefully about how my actions impact the world and how I can continue to strive toward connecting to something larger than myself. One of the overarching philosophies of The Samarya Center, where I continue to study, is that everyone is perfect and whole, just the way they are. Yoga can be for everybody (and every body). Period. It is not just for skinny, physically fit people who can afford fancy mats or stylish yoga gear. In fact it isn’t about that at all. Yoga is a call toward physical, mental, spiritual, and social change. And if all of that fails, it’s working toward increasing the love in the world. Yoga means accepting self and others, scars and all.

Words heal, connect, and inspire.

This year, I decided to make my blog public and to post at least once a week (not an easy decision, but I’m glad I made it). I’ve used writing as a personal process tool since junior high/middle school when a teacher strongly encouraged me to put my thoughts onto paper (I was anxious, angry, and I talked way too much). From that time, the act of writing out my heartache, fury, joys, and everything in-between has been as important as eating a balanced meal. I may go days, sometimes weeks, without getting my writing nourishment, but I always feel more vibrant when I’ve put pen (yes- an actual pen) to paper (the stuff made of trees or plants).

Words are as important to me as fresh air, and I use them to create connection and meaning. Writing for a blog has shifted my practice and encouraged me to give up a small bit of autonomy in order to trust the process of putting my words into a public sphere. I’ve learned that just as I receive insight through reading other people’s words, having my writing read by others can feel incredibly profound and healing.

Recently, I joined a lovely blogging group in which I’ve been asked to look more intently at my own writing/blogging hopes, goals, and dreams as well as to support and encourage others on a similar path. Through this process, my sense of community has expanded and my sense of self has been humbled (again). Just when I think I know something, the Universe comes along and reminds me that I know nothing. And isn’t that grand? Which leads me to….

 The more I learn, the less I know.

Since being diagnosed with cancer four years ago, I have learned to let go of any expectations that I will ever know anything fully. I may learn many things and grow in magnificent ways, but the more I attempt to master anything or to gain insights into myself or the world, the more I realize I know nothing (or very little) at all. And this has actually been a source of comfort to me in the past year.

Being curious, humble and open far outweigh pretending that I know anything. Pilgrimage requires openness toward experience and sometimes stepping away from the path. My fortieth year has been one in which I have learned that outer stability does not matter as much as inner flexibility and a sense of humor. It has been a year of un-learning, expansion, and wonder, and I am so looking forward to seeing what adventures lay before me as I continue my wandering.

 

seeing with new eyes

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Yesterday I rode my bicycle to work differently than I had in a long time. I stepped through my front door with the intention of truly experiencing my ride; to notice the details through all of my senses. Instead of rushing through the process in an attempt to break my all time record of 35 minutes, I made my ride my morning meditation. I focused on my breath, the sounds around me, the feel of the air on my skin, and the small details that I miss when I’m looking straight ahead.

It helped that it was a gorgeous spring morning in Seattle, and everything had the extra appearance of sparkle. The birds seemed drunk on sunshine and the few people who I saw on my journey had smiles on their faces. Even the bits of trash that littered the sides of the pathway and the graffiti under the bridge looked as if they belonged (maybe that’s a bit much, but I was meditating).

By slowing down and engaging in the world around me, I experienced a shift from peaceful to joy to connection. I realized that I am not separate from the sea birds I pass on the ship canal or the couple kissing in the early morning sun or even the homeless man asleep on the bench under a tarp. Not that I am these people or animals, but that I am connected in a worldly sense. And I had peace around that.

Maybe this was a continuation of my attempt to cultivate bicycle santosha, and maybe it was a temporary sunshine high, but it felt amazing. And it felt like a doorway opened to a new experience. My ride was inspired in a way it hasn’t been for a long time, and I was seeing the world with new eyes. The experience felt less like contentment and more like devotion- to what or who, I can’t say. Maybe to God, maybe to Universe, and maybe to the people, animals, and things I witnessed on the path. It was Bhakti bicycling. And it was pure bicycle bliss.

Seeing With New Eyes
~ Pei Hsien Lim

Yesterday I sat down
with water colours and drawing pencil
for the first time
in a long time.

O how my hands shook
and I really had doubt
if I could do it again.

When I had both eyes
20/20 vision
in my casual arrogance
I took one look
sure that I saw everything.

Now that I have only one eye
I always take a second look
and see with humility.

Slowly the hand steadied
once again
the creative process began

And I saw the whole universe
inside the pink lilies
saw beauty like I’ve never seen before.

go ahead and don’t- you’ll be glad you did.

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I was talking with a colleague the other day about my slow and wandering bicycle ways, and she handed me a little sign that she keeps on her desk that says “you don’t have to go fast, you just have to go”. I took a deep breath, thinking that that this couldn’t be truer for where I am in my life- on my bicycle, on the yoga mat, and in general. There’s nothing I’m fast at these days …and very few things that give me so much of a sense of urgency that I feel the need to get frantic. This little sign, granting permission on one hand, and offering an alternative on the other, made me happy. I don’t have to go fast, but I do need to keep trucking forward, because life has a way of moving in that direction, and whether I want to or not, I have to go with it.

So I thought about all of the other things that I don’t need to do, just to take the pressure off. I offer the list here that I made for myself. I call it the “go ahead and don’t” list:

You DON’T have to make everyone happy: Because the more you try, the more frustrated, defeated, lonely, exhausted, and sad you will be. Trying to make everyone happy is impossible. (Note that this is not saying not to do good things, to be loving and compassionate, give gifts, or smile at the world- it is saying that despite all of those acts of love and kindness, some people are not going to be happy. They may not even like you. And that’s ok. You don’t have to like or be liked. And, also, people can take care of themselves….for the most part).

You DON’T have to act small: It’s ok to take up space. In fact, it’s liberating to be big in this world and to show your beautiful ways. Take pride in the things that you feel good about, toot your own horn, dance when you want to shake your backside, and sing out loud when the inspiration hits. People may look at you like you’re crazy or bitchy or they may even ask you to tame it down, but you only limit your possibilities by shrinking down, and you almost always resent or regret it when you do. So be large. Take up space.

You DON’T have to be perfect: In fact, perfection is not only impossible, it’s also very, very boring. The scars are what make you interesting and unique. The process of learning and trying in life add to the journey. The fact that you can’t do a handstand without the aid of the wall does not make you a lesser yogi, it makes you a person who is working toward doing a handstand. Period. The process itself is what matters- be authentic and real. Fail sometimes and learn from it. The handstand moments will come, and they will be mind-blowingly fabulous.

You DON’T have to follow: Trust your gut- it’s the best compass you have for your own life. Although others may know a more direct path, you’ve always appreciated the scenic route. Continue on your journey and ditch the map so that you get the chance to experience reality from your own perspective. Less metaphorically speaking, it’s acceptable to recognize that what works for other people often fails to work for you. So do what feels right for you and make up your own mind when you can. You’re a smart cookie.

You DON’T have to have the answers: Sometimes not knowing is far more interesting. Be curious and open yourself to learning through new interactions and experiences.  You will gain far more knowledge through shutting up and listening generously than trying to pretend you know something that you don’t. Genius is not gained through talk alone. Be humble with what you don’t know to make space for the new.  

You DON’T have to keep moving: Remember that you will not reach enlightenment through house cleaning alone. You have permission to stop cleaning, making, and doing. Take deep breaths and sit still from time to time. It feeds you in ways you rarely admit, and despite your antsy nature, you always appreciate it when you make space for silence and stillness. You deserve that for yourself.

how a wild rescue dog taught me about love

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faint echo of you
remains everywhere I go
I miss you, old girl

Last Monday at 10:20 am, we said goodbye forever to our sweet old girl Emma. It was a tender and painful day, especially since we had spent the past 15 years making sure Emma knew she was loved regardless of her quirky and neurotic cattle dog ways. And Emma gave us more in return than we could have ever expected.

Emma came to our world in the form of a skinny and skittish coyote-looking rescue dog who was frightened of everything. Emma whimpered and yelped far more than she ever barked and she fulfilled her herding duties by nipping at the heels and backsides of the children in our lives. She was a dog on a mission, and that quickly turned out to be chasing as many balls and sticks as possible and making sure that when we left the house, the garbage and cupboards were given a thorough examination, leaving piles of trash and torn up containers in her work zone. When we were with her, Emma made sure that she was either near us or watching us as much as possible, and up until her last breath, she offered a gentle and trusting presence to our lives.

With Emma’s death, I’ve lost one of my greatest teachers of unconditional love, trust, and the value of free-spirited play. Emma has taught me more about the significance of letting go and the importance of cultivating patience than any spiritual guide could have, and even in her absence, I can feel the pull of her teachings in our tiny little home. I recognize the spaces of time that I filled by kissing, loving, feeding, cleaning, and being with her and her pile of toys sits as a reminder that the floor is as good a place as any to work out unwanted frustrations or negative energy. Just grab a plush toy and shake it wildly and in just a few moments, all worry melts into nonsense and the world seems to be a better place.

So, today, in honor of our sweetest and most wildly unique Emma dog, we will take our time and soak in every moment. The bright blooms of spring and the vigorous flight of the birds in our yard seem to echo our bursting hearts. Every tender moment a reminder to love fully and to live in a way that matters.