Ok. Where’s my mom when I need her?

My response: “Well, He’s so big that He can be in all of the churches all at once.”

Immediately, God turned into a superhero. “Oh!” my son went on, “I get it! He’s so big that he shoots out little Gods and they go everywhere!”

Interesting, I thought. “So…He’s like sunshine? There’s one great big sun and it shoots its sunlight out everywhere to take care of everything?”

He agreed. I love his little big mind.

This turned into a fascinating conversation of light and dark, and how even though there are times when we don’t have the sun directly, we have it indirectly in the light of the moon and stars and the reflection of the sun. (We didn’t get into the large balls of gas, because this was a pleasant conversation with my preschooler that for once, was not about gas.)

When he asked why we aren’t able to see the stars during the day, I paused. Sometimes, you need the dark to see, I said.

Sometimes…you need the dark to see.

We’re emerging from our shortened days of the dead of winter. That time of year of introspection, tucking in, being quiet. On these very crisp evenings and cold nights, there doesn’t seem to be anything between me and those stars and that moon; it looks as though I could reach up and pull them down from the sky. It makes me feel really big and important but very small and insignificant all at once. I remember a few years ago getting up at 2 a.m. to climb Long’s Peak, and about two hours into the hike, I looked up and sat down hard. I had never seen so many stars. I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. There were so many of them I wondered how they stayed up there without crushing me down here. And then, within an hour or so, they faded away and disappeared, the presence of them gobbled up by all of that sunshine.

Even in our darkest night, there’s light waiting to burst through. It’s waiting, reflecting, combusting. My yoga practice is teaching me this patiently. My cranky back is beginning to welcome backbends again and an intense twist to the right happens more freely. And as this unfolds, my heart center is urdhva mukha-ing (you know, not just upward facing but even lifting toward my top palate!). Those little pinholes of starlight are sure to give way to full sunshine soon, I can just feel it.

And I’m so, so very thankful.

How are you shining?

Related posts:

1. Ode To My Electric Toothbrush.
2. Yes or nope.
3. No fear.

I hadn’t used it in a couple of weeks in favor of my new dentist-provided old school toothbrush. Since I was feeling pretty feisty, I pulled out the electric one and fired it up.

Oh man. It barely spun. Oh no!

I turned it off, then turned it back on, and it gradually started to build up some momentum. After my allotted two minutes of scrubbing and polishing, I turned it off and smiled “that” smile in the mirror. You know the one. The I’m-gonna-see-how-clean-my-teeth-look smile. And I have a big mouth, so I can easily see all of my teeth. Yes, all of them. (Fact: In high school, my anatomy teacher measured all of our mouths and I had the second largest in the HISTORY of the high school. And it was the oldest high school in the city. I was simultaneously horrified and proud all at once. I’m sure the picture of the inside of my mouth still hangs in that classroom to this day.)

The point?

The point is this. So many times, I’ve dragged myself onto my mat, barely able to get my appendages and muscles and bones to cooperate. Sometimes this is after only a few hours from my last practice, but more honestly, sometimes it’s after weeks or a month. I seem barely able to spin enough to get everything going in order to “scrub and polish” within my practice.

I’m happy to report that most of the time it all still works. Some days not as fluidly. Other days without missing a beat. And at the end of practice, I can smile that goofy smile.

I have passed the smile on to the next generation. You're welcome.

You know the one.

Related posts:

1. Sunshine and stars.
2. Yes or nope.
3. Yoga baby.

my son, saying a resounding "YES!"

About two years ago, our then near three-year-old had this hilarious habit of asking

questions and then immediately asking, “Yes? Or nope?” And we could really get him going with it. If he forgot to ask yes-or-nope, we would ask “yes?” and he would say yes-or-nope over and over and over and over and over and, yeah, you get it. It sent us, as well as innocent bystanders, into fits of giggles nearly every time.

So imagine that little pull of my heart strings when I opened an email from Anusara teacher Hillary Rubin that discussed a more timely idea of yes-or-nope. Hers was a reminder that when we come across a “no,” a “yes” is happening at the same time. There is a shift that we all too often don’t see, because we’re attached to the “nope.”

This hit home with me this past week as I was on a girls-only day on the slopes. Wouldn’t you know it, about the second or third run in I fell hard after hitting some ice and smacked my rear end in the same spot that I had badly bruised about six months before. A spot that I thought had healed was still taking it’s sweet time to get back to 100% and I was so afraid that I had really done some damage with that fall. And to make matters worse, I did it AGAIN on the next run.

The next day, with my tailbone between my legs (well, actually, it had jammed over to the left a bit and knocked my sacrum off kilter), I went to my chiropractor’s office and begged for mercy. In tears. Tears. Not tears of pain, because it truly only hurt on impact, but tears of anticipation of the impending answer to my question: “Should I still snowboard this season?” Her recommendation was, simply, nope. “Do you ski?” was her next question.

Nope.

BUT. I have new skis! They were my Valentine’s Day gift from my husband last year (yes, two days before our second baby was born, but that’s another story). And my “yes” door opened. I’m going to take a lesson. My thighs will be roasted and I will curse the day I got those skis, but I’m going to do it.

Finding the “yes” can be empowering, don’t you think? Can you be more open to the “yes” in your life?

Yes? Or nope?

Related posts:

1. That’s so rad.
2. Sunshine and stars.
3. Ode To My Electric Toothbrush.

This time of year, the time when we’re already reviewing and reflecting on our New Year’s Resolutions, there is a focus on balance. Balancing life and work and play. Balancing relationships in order to give more, take less. Balancing family relationships, marriage relationships, significant relationships. Balancing your checkbook so that you know that the bank knows that you know how much money is there.

I’ve noticed that after reading through my own resolutions, they fall within the categories of community, relationship, learning, and family. (One of my resolutions is to reread my resolutions once a week.)

But what ties these together? How do I balance between and reconcile myself to them? How can I become clear enough in my intention that I attune to the bigger picture?

In the February edition of Yoga Journal, there is an article that defines how understanding yoga’s four aims of life plays into our search for balance. Specifically: dharma (responsibilities), artha (prosperity), karma (pleasure), and moksha (freedom). Please read it. And over these first four weeks of 2010, let’s take them one at a time as an intention that simultaneously grounds and frees our practice, beginning with dharma.

Ready?

Related posts:

1. Slowing Down.

Doesn’t this happen in our practice? We become very attached to our particular style of yoga, the style in which we first became aware of our body and how truly unaware we’d been, and once we learn the language we don’t want to disturb it. I am so guilty of this. I love Ashtanga, but only from Richard’s studio or his teachers. My first yoga classes were taught by an Iyengar teacher, so there’s my alignment with, well, alignment (and Richard has a solid foundation in Iyengar, as well, so I understand him). And over the past few years, I’ve been taking Anusara classes when I can (because a lot of my Ashtangi teacher and student friends connected with it as well). But with other styles, I find that I critique them harshly and quickly ask, “Where did this teacher train?” “What style is this, exactly?”

We become fluent in the particular style that makes sense to us. And sometimes, don’t you think, we can become stuck in the familiarity and the safety of it. We shine there because we trust the system, trust the teacher. Opening up to our own vulnerability, we can really reach deep inside and begin to release our own creativity, our playfulness, our curiosity.

But I must say that when I have taken a class here and there with a teacher or in a style with which I was unfamiliar, I almost always learn something valuable. I hear an alignment cue that is different and opens my body in a new and fascinating way. Sometimes my knowledge becomes challenged by wisdom. And sometimes, the truth is, I don’t like the teaching at all because there’s no good foundation. But always, in reflection, I remember that I am a beginner and revel in that. It’s a fun place to be, this beginning spot, and it’s here that I can taste vairagya, or non-attachment, which is one of the “two core principles on which yoga rests.” It’s the balance of both never giving up and always letting go.

So with that, I raise a grande-soy-no water-chai to you and your own reflecting. Namaste.

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But even though the stories are fluffy and everything works out in the end, there’s a thread of something so precious, so fulfilling there. It’s the essence of community.

Why is it that when the idea of community comes up, it brings a sense of obligation? “Community service” is oftentimes a sentence, a punishment in order to restore to our society what we’ve taken.

But what about community that requires no payment? One that is, well, just the way it is? Paying forward, if you will. Giving to each other so willingly and without being asked so that we all have a piece of what we all have. It creates a history that we can share, roots that will strengthen us, and a tie that holds us steady.

This is our kula, our collective consciousness, our community. The pulsating energy that connects us, enlivens us, breathes us. You simply have to step in and taste it.

What are you waiting for?

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I love walking that hallway.

It’s filled with flirtation, laughter, orneriness, accomplishment, community, and family. There isn’t an emotional mask of any kind. It’s raw, naked, fun; proudly portraying deep laugh lines, wide open smiles, and hands grasping hands in a hedonic banter.

It’s purely and simply…bliss.

In Sanskrit, this is called ananda. This word, this feeling, goes beyond a personal happiness. It’s something that we share in common, as a community, without boundaries of personality or differences between us. I see this on a daily basis in my young children, and it’s evident in each of those pictures down that hallway.

So what happens to those of us in the middle of life? I came across this blog, which cited findings that we hit a hedonic low at midlife. I had to soul search a little bit because, well, that stung a little, since I’m in the female’s average age referred to in the article. But I think instead, I’m more in this spot, quite eloquently summed up by a Deepak Chopra tweet, of all things:

“True self-esteem is not the same thing as improving your self-image. Self-image results from what other people think of you.”

And that makes me feel blissful. Ananda. I’m moving from the outer to the inner, to discover our connection to each other. One foot in front of the next, because I want to hang in some hallway, in some obscure recreation center, laughing my butt off because I have on a silly hat and I’m riding a red bike.

Bring on the laugh lines. Really, really deep ones.

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This week’s nudge/shove was all about time. And it is…about time.

My a-ha moment came while I was trying to soothe my seven-month old to sleep for his afternoon nap. I did exactly what I had done the previous two days, but it wasn’t working! So frustrating. But as I looked down at my hand lying on his chest, I noticed that every time he’d nearly nod off into deep, limp sleep, he’d jerk awake and wrap his chubby little hands over mine, keeping me there. And oh, how I had things to do. I was losing my window. Oh, and my mind.

So I closed my eyes, calmed down, and felt.

Here’s what I discovered.

During those two days of successful napping, when I touched my baby, I was cheering him on. I was so completely present with him, encouraging him in every thought. My skin was relaxed completely – my face, hands, body language. Even the weight of my hand on his chest. How fantastic that had to feel, don’t you think?

On this day, however, even though my hand was there as before, I was energetically drawing away from him. I was not present. I was thinking in the future and becoming agitated and stressed. My touch was not warm, but impatient.

There’s a great article in the November 2009 issue of Yoga Journal titled, “Take Your Time” (page 19). The author, Ganga White, writes, “Time has always been precious, but too often we allow our lives to become frenzied and stressed.” Nudge #2.

This. Nudge #3.

Get the picture?

So while the list is intentionally time consuming, here is how I plan to be present and draw deeper into love this week:

• Allow my four-year-old to tell me as many stories that begin with, “Hey Mom, did you know…” as he can on our bike ride to preschool, even though it might make him late for school
• Okay, leave 20 minutes early for the 5-minute ride to school so that he won’t be late from stopping to tell me stories
• Touch my baby, intentionally and patiently, as long as he needs for restful sleep
• Practice yoga for 30-minutes v. the desired 90 minutes, and savor my thankfulness for it
• Stop for a well-deserved high-five with my husband to acknowledge making it through another chaotic evening routine of dinner/cleanup/bathtime/storytime/bedtime (he totally rocks this)

How will you be present this week?

Related posts:

1. my obsession.
2. Ode To My Electric Toothbrush.
3. My Longest Yoga Practice. EVER.

I actually googled this quote. Hundreds of millions of hits later, I sat in awe, my fingers not knowing what link to click. We spend a lot of time, money, and effort trying “put the past in our behinds”, or leaving our pasts behind, as it were. The quote above actually popped into my head during a massage this evening as my back begged miracles of the therapist’s hands. I needed her to help undo what I had done to my body.

Our physical and emotional experiences imprint on us so deeply, layering on feelings of openness, freedom, happiness, but sometimes tension, anger, and despair. The former creates a confidence in our vulnerability, but the latter can sometimes cause illness and broken heartedness. We need all of it, though, don’t we? How would we ever have our eyes open to lightness if there was no darkness? Would we notice the radiance in our own hearts if we didn’t have a little tender spot here and there? And how on Earth could we ever relate to one another without our own experiences upon which to draw?

I realize (yep, from lots of personal experience), that there are times when we feel so stuck in our stuff that we need help from others to pry ourselves free. Find courage in that! Whether that comes in the form of a massage, talk therapy, a good cry with a friend, or a long run with your dog, take the time this week to put your past in your behind.

“People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within.”

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross

To increase your own inner space today, try this power yoga sequence:

Sun Salutations A, 1x, return to Mountain
Pincha Mayurasana
Vinyasa to the following, working first the right, then left side:
Warrior II
Reverse Warrior
Triangle
Side Angle
Vinyasa, returning to Mountain

Vinyasa to the following, working first the right, then left side:
Ardha Chandrasana (Half-Moon)
Triangle
Wild Thing
Vinyasa, returning to Mountain

Standing Hand-to-Foot, each side

Vinyasa to the following, working first the right, then left side:
Triangle
Vishwamitrasana
Vashistasana

For ab work (each set for 30 seconds, with the breath):
Set 1: In bridge, lift one leg vertically, then lower to hover above the floor.
Set 2: Repeat on second side.
Set 3: Roll back with both legs together, then roll forward to hands and lift butt and legs off floor.

Virasana
Supta Virasana
Windshield Wipers

Savasana

(to see this beautiful sequence, without the ab work, please click here: yogatoday.com)

Related posts:

1. Power Yoga. April 17th.
2. Power Yoga. April 24th.
3. Intermediate Class. April 14th.

Douglas Brooks, a professional scholar and teacher of the Rajanaka Yoga tradition, recently blogged that “yoga…makes roots in revelation.”

Yes!

Quite a few years back now, pretty soon after we moved to Colorado in fact, I really opened up to yoga. It was during a tremendously painful and emotional time in my life; one during which my old ways of coping betrayed me. In those vulnerable moments on my mat, I began to heal. Prayer finally made sense to me through meditation. The frightened and protective fist around my heart began to let go, revealing a bruised yet hopeful soul. I was astonished at the depth of teaching and receiving that yoga gave and the insight unveiled by moving through the physical to get to the emotional. It was a revealing experience in what I have dubbed, my “revelation revolution.”

Tell me, how have you drawn yourself back from moments such as these? What insight have you received, and in what form?

Professor Brooks goes on to say, “revelation’s purpose is to reveal what we can and, in a certain way must learn scientifically, that is, experimentally.”

Have you danced on the edge and fallen through or flown? Will you dance with me?

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