Yoga Girl Marybreath

Kula.

mary — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 03:29:23 +0000

I’m reading, well re-reading actually, a trilogy about three sisters from Ireland. The stories are by no means a literary work of genius: they are simple works of fiction and stories of being found by love. (Go figure, my favorite movies are chick flicks as well. Sue me.)

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?

No fear.

Svadhyaya and the conversation of breath.

mary — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 06:01:58 +0000

I’ve been going through a major observation of self over the past few months as I prepare for my 40th birthday. This svadhyaya, or self-study, has revealed a recurring presence of tightness. In my upper back…in my thinking…in my chest. In my patience.

My practice has changed without my permission. I’m very frustrated by this.

There was a time, in my former career as a counselor, when I was an excellent listener. There was thoughtfulness and grace and acceptance in that. But if we only listen, where is the dialogue? In the dialogue, we find change and truth. In the conversation, we find our breath. In the exchange, we find pause.

Have you been through a time in your life of just talking or just listening?
What happens when you exchange between the two?
When you listen, is your mind still talking or is it present in the moment?
What happens in the pause between breaths?

Maybe my practice has wanted to shift. Maybe, just maybe, my practice is really what happens at the top of my inhale and the bottom of my exhale. Maybe it’s time to have a little chat…and be okay with letting go.

In true dialogue, both sides are willing to change.

- Thich Nhat Hanh

my obsession.

mary — Mon, 27 Jul 2009 22:16:45 +0000

Often the hands will solve a mystery

that the intellect has struggled with in vain.

Carl G. Jung

I have an obsession. It’s not a secret to those who know me or have been around me for any period of time. It’s something about which I read, practice, and luxuriate.

I love touch.

Lately, I have been reading book after book and article upon article about the benefits of being held. Did you know that you can regulate a baby’s heartbeat and bring more oxygen into their system simply by holding them skin to skin? Or, how about the ability to boundlessly thrive in animals who have mothers who hold them v. those who are fed but not cuddled? Do you remember a time being tremendously upset by something and a simple touch on the shoulder brought you to your knees in such release that you were able to breathe again? And let’s not overlook the intense pleasure and passion that ignites when your lover strokes the back of your neck just before a sweet kiss.

Touch intensifies everything. In fact, it’s how I knew I would marry my husband: from the first moment he touched me, he did so with his whole hand. It was such sweetness and such a sense of safety that I knew I was home. It was simply the bridge between my emotional self and my intellectual self – the marriage before the marriage, if you will.

Touch can be physical or emotional. Whichever it is, it can be piercing, yes? Here are some of my favorite touches:

Nuzzling my baby’s barely-there neck and smothering it with kisses
Spooning, early morning, with my husband
Cuddling up with my preschooler and reading a silly book
Receiving a hug from my mom – she has the most enveloping, soft, and complete embrace I’ve ever known
Being licked by my ever-teething baby across my shoulders and jaw
Touching my hands to my belly, ribs, and heart to feel my body breathe in quiet meditation

Tell me, how have you been touched lately?

Green Love.

mary — Tue, 20 May 2008 03:13:28 +0000

Wow.

I have to admit I’ve been a bit frustrated lately. Class after class, I’ve shown up early to fit in a bit of meditation before teaching, yet each time, and I do mean each time lately, there’s been a huge snag with the room. It’s been occupied, it’s been double-booked, the previous class runs long…

Tonight was different. How? Oh, my friend, do read on.

There are four rooms in which to have a yoga class. One is a fitness room that is a constant 64 degrees, brrr, and the other three are community rooms. Yoga is booked, weekly, in a community room. It seems that we yogis have been forgotten. Tonight, as I arrived my standard 30 minutes early, I notice a martial arts event happening in one community room, an scheduled fitness class in the fitness room, and the remaining two community rooms had been transformed into one, giant, table filled room. There was nothing ready for us, and there was no time to break down the tables and chairs to make room for our class.

So, we went outside. With Carlos Nakai playing the flute on a gentle, warm breeze; infrequent raindrops plopping now and again on yoga mats; and blades of new, green grass poking up through our hands and feet; we practiced yoga together. We chanted, we saluted the setting sun, and we found new ways to balance while touching the cool Earth. We dodged sprinklers, listened to birds, nodded to both the oil rig and the library, and felt the warmth of a budding summer night on our skin.

We laughed together. Our kula attitude was bursting from our hearts. And we practiced non-attachment. Thankfulness. Felt the cool, green love of the Earth. Breathed with a new breath, pulsed with a new heartbeat, and connected.

Funny how much a slender, shoot of green grass can teach me to let go, but at the same time hang on breathlessly for what happens next…