Kitchen Music: Christmas Lullaby (Jason Robert Brown)

This is not the Christmas Lullaby you’re thinking of, but the one by Jason Robert Brown from “Songs for a New World.”   The lyrics are probably the closest thing to Christian rock that I’ve ever sung, which is a little out of my usual range, but the message is universal.

I love this song.  This is for all the mamas out there.

Christmas Lullaby, composed by Jason Robert Brown, sung by RAS

 

“Kitchen Music:”  Music recorded literally in the kitchen.  No auto-tune.  No fancy mixin’.  Just me and my Garage Band and the sink.  Right click to download.

Clarify: How saying “no” to the little stuff says “yes” to the big stuff

Like most of us, I get a lot of email.

“Shit-ton” is the word that comes to mind.

The steady deluge in my inbox can keep me responding, forwarding, and archiving for several hours a day.  There’s something about seeing the bold font of a new message that makes my brain say, “Oh, hey someone must really like me!” and “Now, THIS must be important!”  Before you know it, my afternoon has been sucked down the vortex of google mail.

Recently I was in a time crunch and had to edit our 300-page Teacher Training Manual in three days.  In order to finish this daunting task, I desperately shut down access to my beloved email in order to devote myself wholly to the project.

I was astonished by how much I was able to accomplish.

Without the “you’ve got mail” distracting me from my task, I finally made inroads into a seemingly monumental task.   In fact, I was able to deliver the revised manual to our marketing department a day early.  And because I had a designated structured time for answering urgent mail (answering – not just reading and postponing), I blazed through my communication obligations, too.

 

Getting real about distractions

Distractions – like email – keep us from getting what we really want.  While email is the shiniest toy, it’s certainly not the only one.  Here are some of my personal favorites:

  • Facebook (ohhhhh, Facebook!)
  • Unsatisfying or obligatory relationships
  • Pointless flirtations
  • Trashy reading
  • Emotional eating.  Cheddar bunnies.
  • Web surfing
  • Daydreaming rather than doing

We all have our seductive gremlins of comfort.   And while they each have their occasional place, we have to get clear with ourselves about whether these past times are taking time and energy away from our priorities.  When we learn to say “no” to these little seductions, we have the capacity to take action on the bigger projects that lay close to our heart.

 

Living your Vision

We each have a unique vision for our life that takes time, space, and effort to manifest.  Usually we try to add on action steps for this vision to an already busy life – without first letting go of the stuff that’s getting in the way!  Then we beat up ourselves for not being able to do what’s needed in a cycle of self-blame.  Our distractions keep us bogged down in an “I can’t really do it” mindset.  Whether our greater vision is related to work, family, travel, adventure, or health, we need to first create the time and space to commit to what is “Important” rather than what is “Urgent.”

 

Word of the Month: Clarify

Clarified butter is made by simmering butter and skimming off the foam and solids, leaving a warmed, golden, clear butter broth that can withstand higher cooking temperatures.

When we clarify our lives, we commit to a similar heating process of intensity and elimination.  We endure the fires of discomfort and self-reflection in order to separate the pure from the impure, the distracting from the nourishing.  We clarify how we are spending our energy and honestly evaluate what is serving our vision for our lives  – then we firmly let go of what is not.

Warning: this process of purification may cause feelings of emptiness, loneliness, discomfort, fear.  We may long to fly back into the arms of distraction rather than face the void that is created.   (At this very moment, I would much rather eat the nearby loaf Banana Bread than finish writing this post.)  While this journey takes immense courage, the resulting nourishment of your soul will ultimately satisfy you much more deeply than any short-term distraction can.

This month, consider:

  • Where do you spend most of your time?
  • What activities don’t increase your sense of well-being?
  • Which relationships are nourishing to you?
  • What can you let go of that isn’t serving you?
  • What does creating space look like?
  • Can you create more space by increasing your efficiency or creating boundaries?
  • Are there foods, substances that you are taking in that don’t take care of your body?
  • What habits are you holding onto that no longer serve you?

This month, rather than slathering on new obligations or to-do’s, engage in a practice of questioning and culling.   Prepare the ground for your greatest vision by opening the space for possibility.

 

How to make clarified butter

Unsalted butter, cut into cubes

1. Heat the unsalted butter in a heavy-duty saucepan over very low heat, until it’s melted. Let simmer gently until the foam rises to the top of the melted butter. The butter may splatter a bit, so be careful.

2. Once the butter stops spluttering, and no more foam seems to be rising to the surface, remove from heat and skim off the foam with a spoon. (It can be saved and added to soups, bread doughs, polenta, pilaf, or a bowl of warm oatmeal.)

Don’t worry about getting every last bit; you can remove the rest when straining it.

3. Line a mesh strainer with a few layers of cheesecloth or gauze (in France, I use étamine, which is cotton muslin) and set the strainer over a heatproof container.

4. Carefully pour the warm butter through the cheesecloth-lined strainer into the container, leaving behind any solids from the bottom of the pan.

Instructions: http://www.davidlebovitz.com/2010/03/how-to-clarify-butter-recipe/

Kaivalya – what dating has to do with aloneness

Okay, okay, so I’m sure that Patanjali was not actually referring to dating angst when he orated about kaivalya – the ultimate state of aloneness, or detachment, from worldly sensory objects.  However, embracing aloneness isn’t just for yogis meditating in caves.  It’s also essential for our adventures in relationship.

The Insane Mind

The merits of kaivalya became clear to me awhile back when I was trying to meditate.  (Let me stress – “trying.”)  As I sat, I watched in growing horror and bemusement as my mind trampolined incessantly about a guy that I’d recently met.  Despite every intention to focus on my breath, my mind kept returning to its increasingly paranoid chatter.  What was he thinking?  Was he going to call me?  Did I want him to?  Had I made a mistake.  Aaaarrgh!

Eventually, I gave up trying to control the gong show and just watched it all unfold.  I seriously needed a path out of the insanity.

Aloneness as a path out of crazy

When the crazy voices start, it’s time to take a breather and reflect on the merits of really being alone – and take a hard look at the fears that are keeping us tied to our distractions.

Rather than pitch our identity into the maelstrom of someone else’s (usually a stranger’s – for the love of god!) good opinion, we can step back and see the mind’s churning for what it is: an attempt to regulate our ego’s safety in an uncertain situation.

Watching the rolling of the mind in any situation (job crisis, personal change, yoga class, or yes – dating) is a profound opportunity to question what is real: are the thoughts real, or can we anchor ourselves to something deeper and more steady?

To summarize the first few yoga sutras (a 2000-year old yoga text): “Yoga is the restraint of the fluctuation of the mind.  Then you rest in your true nature.  Otherwise you think you’re all the crap that you’re thinking.”  When we can observe our thoughts rather than getting caught up in our drama, we are able to identify with the unchanging Purusha (Consciousness) rather than with our mind’s tempestuous swings.

The compiler of the sutras, Patanjali, says that the ultimate state of liberation is kaivalya, which is usually translated as “aloneness.”  While this concept initially seems sort of, well…lonely…there is a difference between being “alone” and being “lonely.”  Resting in our aloneness, we no longer need someone else to fill the gaps in our self-perception.  Connecting to a deeper sense of ourselves allows us to be fully present in our uncertainty, fear, and excitement so that we can observe these sensations come and go without attaching our identity to them.

Aloneness as a path to freedom…and intimacy

Being comfortable in aloneness not only helps us negotiate the dating jungle, it is also essential for maintaining a healthy relationship.  When we are okay being alone,  we can be fully present with our partner without needing them to play a role in our own drama.  Without our ego clamoring for self-affirmation, we can drop our agendas and be in relationship more compassionately, honestly, and bravely.  In short, since we have the power to leave, we can make a free and clear choice to stay.  We can communicate without fear of being abandoned, because we are already intrinsically whole.   Instead of serving our need for psychological safety, our relationships become the field for mutual growth.

Practicing Aloneness

Whether you are single or in a relationship, embracing aloneness will nourish your self-love and support your intimacy.  Here are some ways to practice:

  1. Meditate for 5 minutes.  Become an observer in order to distance yourself from the stories of your mind.
  2. Take yourself on a date – by yourself.  Set aside two hours a week that are just for you.  Follow your own fascinations.
  3. Go for a long walk by yourself.
  4. Have an electronics-fast:  No cellphones.  No ipads.  No computer.  No tv’s.  No facebook.  Rest in the quiet of being totally unplugged and unreachable.

Ultimately, practicing mindful aloneness is the antidote to “lonely,” as we cultivate our capacity to act from a place of intrinsic wholeness.

“You are the sky.  Everything else – it’s just the weather.”  – Pema Chodron

 

 

Miss Celie’s Blues

Because when things are blue, singing about them can be oh so pretty.

Miss Celie’s Blues

 

“Kitchen Music:”  Music recorded literally in the kitchen.  No auto-tune.  No fancy mixin’.  Just me and my Garage Band and the sink.  Thanks for listening.  To download: right click to “Save Link As”.

Spanda: what relationships have to do with music festivals

Oh, Anticipation…

Bass Coast was my first music festival and the possibilities were exhilarating.  The venue was spectacular (imagine: campsites nestled in the Squamish mountains at the foot of a sweeping, glacier-fed river), the stages were stunning, lineups were killer, and the festival folk were both open-heartedly friendly and wildly costumed.

We danced, we frolicked, and we stayed up much too late under a banquet of stars.  It was glorious.

Reality…

But the bubble of possibility cannot expand infinitely.  As the vendors packed up and the stages were dismantled, everyone slowly realized that their three-day adventure was over.  Reluctantly and painfully, the starry-eyed (now bleary-eyed) hippie ravers began to pack up their camps and stagger home.  In the light of the third day, everyone was haggard, dusty, and wrung out.

What ensued: exhaustion, depression, deflation.

The highs must lead to the lows.  Expansion always leads to contraction.

Spanda

Spanda is the essential and divine vibration of the Universe.  What expands, must contract.  Which then expands again.  This ongoing vibration is intrinsic to everything we experience: the turning of the globe, the seasons, the tides, your breath, your heartbeat.  Big Bang.  String Theory.

I love hanging out in expansion.  After all, expansion seems to be where the party is: it embodies possibility, limitless potential, and creative expression.  When the circle starts to collapse in, I want to avoid the discomfort and sadness of reality and resist “coming back to earth” or “getting real.”  Some part of me is afraid that if I go to that smaller place, I will be stuck there forever.  Oh no!  But it is precisely this capacity for coming back to the center that allows for a fresh rebound into possibility.

Filling our cup

Rather than run from this discomfort, can we accept that contraction – in whatever form it may take (disappointment, rebound, loss, sorrow, envy, sadness) –  is the fuel for the expansion trampoline?

While we have a natural tendency to prefer life’s sweeter pleasures, being human means having the opportunity to experience the entire spectrum of sensation, emotion, and psychology.  When we acknowledge that life’s darker tones are just as intrinsic to fully lived experience, the texture of contraction becomes as potent, rich, and satisfying as the exultation of expansion.

Relationships and Spanda

Dating (even more than music festivals) is a virtuosic yoyo of spanda experience.  Through its heady up’s and down’s, we constantly vibrate betwixt the polarities of possibility and disappointment:

  • The anticipation of the first date!  And…we’re splitting the bill?
  • His linked in profile looks awesome!  Oh my GOD, he can totally see that I just checked him out.
  • He texted!!  Wait…now he’s not texting.
  • The amazing first sleep over!  Then, not being called the next day…or the next…or the next…..

These bounces tend to be pretty frenetic in the early dating days, as our ego relentlessly tries to stay on top of the up’s and down’s of our hormonally charged emotional roller coaster.  But relationship spanda remains potent as the partnership continues:

  • A glorious three-month anniversary!  Then having the first real fight.  Seeing something ugly.
  • The intensity and comfort of earned intimacy.   Using that intimacy to push each others’ buttons.
  • Seeing the darkness in our beloved.  Cherishing them anyway.

Relationships are constantly changing.  Rather than resisting the difficult moments, accepting these challenges is an opportunity to stay present honestly and with integrity.  Like the seasons, relationships bud, blossom, wither, transform.  Accepting that death is a part of the cycle allows us to resolutely (and finally, please!) dismiss the common fantasy that relationships should be conflict-free, challenge-free, and easy and instead lets us open to the dance that unfolds when intimacy occurs.

Riding Spanda

How do we keep our cool on spanda’s trampoline?

In the space between expansion and contraction, there is a stillness.

Practice:

  • Find a comfortable seat.
  • Bring your attention to your breath.
  • Settle in the pause between the inhalation and the exhalation, and rest there briefly.
  • Do this for 5 breath cycles.

Did you experience the quiet moment of the in-between?  Did you find yourself wanting to rush into the next breath or quitting early (are you a spanda-junkie?)  When we rest in this stillness, we practice rooting ourselves down into the quieter layer of our being beneath the heady waves of spanda.  Imagine the ocean: even as the boat bobs on the surface, the hefty drag of the anchor in the deep water keeps the boat stable.

When we can tether part of our consciousness to this stillness, then we can surf the waves of expansion and contraction with more perspective and freedom.  We can relish the high of the music festival or the “honeymoon” phase of our relationship – even while knowing that they will end.  In fact, we will enjoy them more.  And we can dare to fully experience the darker shades of sorrow, disappointment, and emptiness – because we can trust that these colors will eventually shift.

Self-inquiry:

  • What change are you now resisting?
  • What are you holding now that you need to let go of?
  • What keeps you steady and “in yourself” when you’re at the edge of your experience?
  • Can you enjoy all the sensations of this moment right now?  And now?  And now?

 

On Joy and Sorrow
 Kahlil Gibran

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, “Joy is greater thar sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.”
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

 

Lessons in patience. Or, what yoga has to do with flowers.

Okay, okay.

So you’ve met a guy or gal.  You’re excited about them.  A connection has been made. Your eyes have gotten slightly glassy and you get a little breathless and a-flutter when they send you a text. You long to unwrap them (immediately) like a Christmas present and discover all their yummy secrets.

However, despite every screaming instinct to the contrary, this is the time to pause and slow down.

I know it’s hard: when I get excited about someone, I am NOT what you’d call a patient person.  The new connection is like an intoxicating, young flower that is all wrapped up in its own pretty petals – and I want to pounce on it like a tiger and shred it apart with my hot little claws.

And you know what I get then?

One pretty darn fucked up flower.

Like flowers, relationships need their own time to unfold in order to reach their full expression.   No matter how much we’d like to just move forward NOW, we can’t pry them open early without sacrificing their beauty.  By cultivating patience, we can give the relationship the space to find its own unique expression.  And then if we decide that we dislike this particular flower after all, fair enough.  At least then we’re pruning honestly.

Similarly in yoga, we often rush to get to the “full expression” of the asana.  Rather than letting the pose open in its own time, we push our way in and shred some petals in the process.  This kind of end-gaining may get us there, but generally we’ll also be rigid, overexerted, and strained.

So what if we truly practiced patience in our yoga?  Give the pose a month, a year, five years (ten!) to decant.  In the yoga sutras, Patanjali suggests that practice is “earnest, sustained effort for a long time.”  We show up, we practice, we repeat.  Nothing is quick.  Pattabhi Jois suggested the same longevity when he said, “Practice – and all is coming.”  By slowing down, we give ourselves the opportunity to arrive organically at the heart of the experience.  As in relationships and gardening, finding patience will allow our yoga practice’s unique and graceful beauty to be fully – and unexpectedly – revealed.

How Dating is a path to spiritual enlightenment

After nearly 9 years in the world of relationship, I have arrived in some incredibly fertile ground for spiritual evolution and self-development: dating.

Just a few years shy of true cougarhood (insert some mix of a sexy meow and “yikes” here), this is the first time that I’ve had any real consciousness about “dating”, per se.  In my twenties, relationships just sort of happened on the sidelines of my career pursuits.  I’d wake from the heady, self-involved cloud of my ambition and notice the person besides me.  “Oh, you’re here!” I’d say delightedly.  “Marvelous!”   Then, in my thirties, I became more serious about commitment, which led to a spectacular marriage failure that was almost Greek in its tragedy.

These relationships have been conduits for evolution and growth, no doubt.  In relationship, we have the opportunity to brush into our most tender places, confront our nastiest habits and – when we’re conscious –  move beyond stale patterns and create new dynamics that better serve our vision for who we want to be.   Or perhaps we don’t, and the relationship ends, and afterwards we smack our foreheads and say, “OH.  That’s what that was.  Well.  Fuck.”

But don’t despair, Singletons.   While relationships can be profound forums for self-work, dating is shaping up to be a pretty potent cauldron for spiritual fermentation.

It’s because of all the uncertainty.

The rampant, horrible, delicious uncertainty.

Uncertainty

When we embark on dating, some deep part of our psyche perks up and says, “I don’t know why, but THIS PERSON that I JUST MET is incredibly important and they could be the absolute key to my happiness and well-being for the REST OF MY LIFE.”   Call it hormones, call it romance, or call it delusion, but there’s a piece of us that gets stuck in the idea that this could be “it.”  The endorphins kick in, the toes start to tingle, and pretty soon we’ve imagined the relationship, the marriage, the kids and the divorce before the second date.

It’s no doubt evolutionarily advantageous, but it is also pretty hilarious when given a little perspective.  (Especially when we’ve been through this and know that an actual relationship is both better and worse than our visions.)  But the reason our mind struggles to fill in all the blanks is because we have so little to base our feelings on.  And because our mind is so uncomfortable existing in a state of uncertainty, it will restlessly ruminate and pick over the smallest scraps of information.  Like:

  • Why did he text and not call?
  • Why did he email and not text?
  • Why did/didn’t he pay the bill?
  • Why did she insist on splitting the bill?
  • Why did she mention her ex-boyfriend?
  • Why did she take a separate cab?
  • Why did she not respond to my text until the next day?  (It’s a text, for Christ sake.)
  • Is she dating other people?
  • Is he dating other people?
  • What does he/she think about me doing that thing I did?
  • Why haven’t they called/texted/facebooked/emailed?
  • Does he or she like me?
  • Aaaarrrrrghhhh! Etc.

Or perhaps we’re on the other end of the spectrum.  When we meet someone, the self-protective part of the brain kicks in and puts a big “DO NOT ENTER” sign over our hearts.  Being bruised before, we withdraw, shut down, and lie in wait for someone who won’t feel quite as dangerous.  The uncertainty factor – not knowing if we can trust this new person – prompts us to find ways to undermine the relationship before it has even started.

Four Practices for Spiritual Dating:

1. Admit we don’t know

In the ground between these two extremes lies an opportunity to rest in the uncertainty of the situation and come back to our deepest selves.  When our mind starts telling stories, we can catch on and come back to the present moment.  Resting in the power of this moment and in the quieter part of our selves allows us to observe the exuberant chattering of the mind rather than trying to control the situation.  As we admit that “we don’t know”, we find that there is a steadiness within us that can easily withstand the tempestuous winds of uncertainty.  Coming back to our own center allows us to remember what is really in our control, rather than fixate outside of ourselves.

When the mind starts to go, ask yourself:

  • Is what I’m thinking actually true?
  • Is it possible that the opposite is actually true?
  • Can I rest in not knowing and enjoy the moment?
  • What in this situation is in my control?
  • Can I feel what I feel and not attach a story to it?

2. Feel more.

Dating can bring up some pretty delicious and intense feelings in our body.  They’re your feelings, enjoy them!  (And not just the sexy-time feelings, but also the nerves, adrenaline, and angst.)  Use these sensations to become more deeply connected to yourself and the present moment – without attaching a story or narrative to them.  Ruminate less.  Feel More.

3. Practice courageous honesty

As we become more centered and allow uncertainty, we can own our own truth (“satya”).  Whether that’s saying, “I really like you,” “This isn’t working for me,” or “I don’t know,” we can use this unusual landscape as an opportunity to practice being centered, brave, and clear.  Sometimes the hardest thing to recognize in ourselves is our own uncertainty.  The mind wants to make the answer “yes” or “no.”  Admitting that we don’t know gives us the space and grace to open to possibility.

4. Trust

Practicing honesty allows us to trust that everything is unfolding as it ought (“isvara pranidhanani”).   In the jungles of dating, everyone is vulnerable, everyone is uncertain.   Because we can’t possibly have a full understanding for the context that we are participating in, we must ride the waves – knowing that we can’t see the next one coming.   We can either surf, or fight the undertow.   So take a deep breath, feel your body, and dive in.

Ultimately, the water’s just fine.

And end of monsters

A woman said to me once
There are dark nights of the soul
Staying up
Boozy in wine
Eyes fearful on the door
Wondering what will come in

Those times, it’s harder to sit in stillness
And soften to the air
Pass through the sharpened feelings
And realize that there’s nothing here
But me

It’s strangely easier when there’s monsters.
Now I have to face
The bite marks are self-inflicted.

How arriving on time for meetings can help you reach enlightenment (and de-stress your life)

I am late.  All the time.

Usually only a couple minutes late, sometimes maybe five.  I’ll call if I’m going to get to ten, so at least I seem polite about it. But I am consistently, irrefutably, unarguably late.

I’ve been mulling over this habit of mine of late and trying to ferret out its origins.  Here are the top components:

1.  The ego: “Oh my goodness, I was just soooo busy at work that I could hardly tear myself away.  I am soooooo stressed out!”  I gush melodramatically.  Then I throw myself into a chair and wait for sympathy.  Because, after all, I must be very important.

2.  The obsessive-compulsive:  “I’ll just answer this one last little email, it won’t take but a minute.”  Fifteen minutes later, I’m running out the door.

3 . The masochist.  “I’m sooo sorry,” I cringe, “Sorry sorry, to be late.  I suck (am irresponsible, unworthy, etc. etc.)”

My habit is really a combination of all there.  But the truly insidious revelation is that I’ve simply gotten used to the stress of running late.  It’s become ground zero. And since I’m used to being stressed,  I create situations to manifest my “norm.”   I have been practicing being late.  And I’ve gotten really good at it.  I’m always just late enough to send my sympathetic nervous system into a tizzy; but never late enough to lose friends or a job.

We live in a culture that values stress.  Loud noises and fast cars get attention; meditation and quiet acts of kindness stay…well, quiet.  In the maelstrom of multi-tasking and escalating technology, stress has become synonymous with productivity and worth.  Despite the fact that stress is actually counter-productive (literally) and multitasking is actually impossible, we still expect others to look haggard if they’re really paying their dues.  In this climate, is it any wonder that we expect success and stress to be interdependent?

Similarly, we layer stress into our yoga practice.  As a power yoga practitioner, I have often muscled my way into poses and through chaturangas long after ease and integrity have left the building.  I have this idea that to practice “well,” I have to practice “hard.”  But really, all I’ve been doing is teaching my body how to layer tension onto a perfectly good asana.  And when we layer tension, we actually start to plaster over the intrinsic integrity and grace of the movement with extra stuff.  Just like when I’m late, I add a certain dramatic (and unnecessary) color to my experience.

What if practicing yoga were actually ease-full?  Rather than layering on more tension, what if we allowed our body to use its brilliant intrinsic support to move intelligently and efficiently through the asana practice?  Letting go of tension means sacrificing some of our ideas about doing a “hard” or “meaningful” yoga practice.  As one of my teachers said, it’s no longer about kicking our butt; now we have to kick our ego’s butt.

For those who aren’t yet convinced, allow me to offer a carrot.  In my own practice, I’ve realized that all the huffing and puffing holds me back.  When I practice with tension, all I’m teaching myself is how to stay tense.   In those moments that I remember to slow down and become more easeful, my experience shifts.  I’m still doing all the same poses, but they are less forced, more natural, more integrated.  Happier.

So here’s to the experiment.   Ferret out the little everyday stress triggers in your life and your practice and see how you are unconsciously nurturing them.  What is no longer serving you?  Then unlayer your asana.  Unlayer your life.  Relax your chaturanga; get to your meetings on time.

Let’s take a deep breath…and see what happens.

 

Top Ten Life Lessons from my students

1. Practice.

We all reach plateaus in our practice.   “I’ll never get handstand.”  “I’m afraid of bakasana.”  But with every class, their sun salutations get a little stronger, their bodies more integrated, and their feet a little lighter.  Then one day, we have the a-ha!  “I’ve never done that before!”  Watching my students inexorably progress in their practice reminds me to stay patient and wait for the inevitable unfolding – not just in practice, but in life.  Everything really does move forward.

2. Community elevates.

It never fails: doing partner work in a class elevates the energy in the room.  Given the opportunity to connect with our fellow yogis, we all become brighter, more energized, and more dynamic.   Helping someone else reminds us how much we know and how much we can share.  Take this into the world and we find that connecting with our community helps us to tap into our potential.

3.  Connection energizes.

There have been many times where I have arrived to teach dog tired and done.  But I never fail to leave a class better than when I have arrived.  The opportunity to connect with my students and share gives me energy.   Teaching reminds me that when I share of myself, I am also elevated, healed, inspired.

4.  Be yourself.

The best classes that I have taught are classes where I have not tried to be an “ideal teacher,” but have simply been myself.  While this may have led to some goofy moments (“make your butt like Beyonce” was a recent artifact of this authenticity), I have found that students immediately respond when I am genuine.  Being a pristine asana robot just doesn’t cut it; they want the real thing – goofiness and all.   They remind me that sharing my silliest parts is actually far more rewarding than trying to fit into a box of perfection.

5. Fall Down.

Sometimes you have to fall over in Half Moon to figure out where the boundaries of balance are.  I’m thrilled when students dare to fall down.  How else will we find out where our edges are?  They remind me that moving forwards isn’t always about looking pretty.

6.  Turn the Heat Up.

Having just finished the YHot training, I can attest that sometimes you just gotta turn the heat up, close the door, meet yourself in the mirror, and sweat it out.  Like life, sometimes we need to move into the discomfort in order to break through.  Dare to face the intensity.  On the other side is a great Savasana.

7. When it’s tough, breathe more.

In the moments where we hit our peak pose, the room will often go silent.  As we intensely concentrate, we forget to breathe.  But once the reminder is sent out and the room starts to inhale again, the poses actually become more integrated and find softness.  When we face our greatest challenges,  we can get out of heads and back into our hearts by simply focusing on our breath.

8.  Take child’s pose.

The most advanced student in the room is the one who takes child’s pose when she needs to.  While there can be great value in rallying into intensity, sometimes the practice actually calls for surrender.  Determining which path to take requires discrimination and self-love.  Having the bravery to practice self-care by softening can do more to propel us along our path than twenty chaturangas.

9. Feel.

One of the gifts of the yoga practice is to feel more deeply into our bodies, our breath, and our aliveness.  I love to see my students take an extra breath in downdog, give a deep sigh, or take the arm variation their body craves, because it means that they are feeling into their bodies and following its guidance.   Rather than simply doing the practice “right,” they are using the practice as a conduit to greater self-connection.  When my students feel their way through the practice – rather than just “doing” the practice – I am reminded that the body is a deep and innate source of wisdom.

10. We are all human.   

When I share a personal story at the beginning of class and see nodding heads, I am reminded that we have far more in common than we have divergent.  Each of us has dreams, regrets, conflict, hopes, loss, and love.  Each of us is trying our best to negotiate the waters of life with grace and compassion.  When we practice yoga in the classroom, we come together with a diversity of people from all walks of life.  On the mat, these differences drop away and we meet each other from the heart.   Out in the world, this reminds me to look for the good in others, rather than staking my ego on our differences.

Michelangelo’s Yoga

“I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.” 

“Every block of stone has a sculpture inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.”

– Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

 

Michelangelo had the ability to see the form inside the sculpture.  He carved away that which was not necessary from the marble in order to reveal the beauty of the form already underneath.

We are like Michelangelo’s marble.

When we think of aspiring to be our best selves, we often think about slathering on more duties and obligations.  We feel that we have to do more – exert more – in order to reach some sort of far off potential.   But we’ve got it backwards.  Our best self is already innately inside of us.  The form is there.  Our highest creative calling is to discard that stuff that is getting in the way so that our best selves can be fully revealed.

What do you need to carve away?

For many of us there is the literal stuff.  Here’s some of what’s on my list:

  • Mom’s old pots
  • dress that hasn’t been worn in five years (because you never know)
  • crazy, high uncomfortable heels that I will wear….when, exactly?
  • cosmetics from the 90’s (seriously, this stuff is practically dangerous)
  • notebooks from college (makes me feel smart)

How is holding onto your stuff serving you?  Is is protecting you or holding you back?  What would spring cleaning look like?  After the initial pang, how would it feel to let all that go?

We  perform a similar kind of plaster job in our yoga classes by overlaying tension on our asana.  Rather than trusting ourselves to find ease and work less, we over-engage as some sort of admission price for advancement.  Not realizing that if we actually stopped working so darn hard, the yoga would have more space to emerge.  Now, I’m not saying we don’t work in asana.  We do.  Just like chiseling a rock is sweaty and deep.  But we want to do the real work and find where we actually need to be stronger, rather than simply engaging everything and hoping for the best.

A bit more tricky to identify our emotional baggage. The relationship that is no longer working.  The job that doesn’t allow us to express our best selves.  The habits we casually fall into that keep us from doing what we ACTUALLY want to do.

The Road Home

Rather than adding on more obligations to your day, get out your chisels, and start carving away what is not working from your life.  Start with the externals.  Do a spring cleaning.  Get rid of Mom’s old pots – she loves you even if you give them to Goodwill.  In your asana practice, start finding more ease so that the parts of your body that need to be stronger will actually have the chance to work.  And the parts that love to over-effort can finally find some space.  When we let go of what no longer serves us, the opportunity appears for the luminous parts of ourselves to emerge.  Sunshine appears through the chinks of the armor.

As we blow away the dust in our physical world, the emotional and mental baggage starts to become clearer.  The quiet whispered messages from your deepest self will begin to get louder.  You already know what you need to do.  Can you let go of what is getting in the way?

So maybe today you make a tiny tap into the marble, then tomorrow more of the rock falls away.  Eventually, if you keep chiseling, more of you will be revealed.

A Warning

Despite the fact that he is widely regarded as one of humanity’s greatest artists, Michelangelo’s works weren’t all that proportional or even always pretty.  Powerful, yes.  “Pretty?”  No.  David’s hands are too big and Jesus would never actually fit on Mary’s lap.   And it is exactly this unreasonableness that makes his works so genius.   Michelangelo wasn’t interested in “reasonable” art; he created from his soul.   Similarly, as we carve down into our most essential selves, what we unearth may not be “pretty” or “reasonable.”  We may not fit neatly into the social box anymore.  We may find that the old habits feel confining rather than comfortable.   Others may not understand.   Like Michelangelo’s works, you will be more than “pretty.”  You will be powerfully and uniquely yourself.

Pull out your chisels.  Make a small nick.

And remember: “I am still learning.” – Michelangelo

Kitchen Music: Second Hand Rose

Okay,  this one is a bit of a different style.  Broad, brassy, silly and Broadway.  I recorded this as a present for my Grandma for her recent 92nd birthday.  Back when I was wee (and had permed hair, see figure A), I used to sing this as a cabaret tune, and she’s loved it ever since.  Happy Birthday Grandma!

Second Hand Rose

 

“Kitchen Music:”  Music recorded literally in the kitchen.  No auto-tune.  No fancy mixin’.  Just me and my Garage Band and the sink.  (Caveat: This particular tune recorded in my Dad’s garage at a farm in Texas.)  Thanks for listening.

The Pleasure Manifesto

You have a right to pleasure.
Pleasure.  Say it.  It’s slow, it’s sensual, it has a lovely shhhhhhh sound right in the middle.
Pleasure.

You have a right to feel good in your skin.  It is, in fact, a divinely given right bequeathed to you via your senses, who, like tiny angelic messengers, are constantly bringing you a bounty of sensations upon which to feast.

Your breath |  Your skin |Your sight | Your taste |Your hearing | Your smell.

We live in a culture that is terrified of pleasure.  “It’s…sexual,” we’ve been told in furtive tones, “It’s just indecent!  If we let it take over, who knows what will happen next!” Our pleasurable responses have been strapped down and brow-beaten until they are anemic and sickly.

Because pleasure is power.
Wars are fought over the restraint of pleasure.  Women enshrouded head to foot, both sexes circumcised, emotions shoved down, sexuality twisted into dysfunction.  So when we do have the occasional pleasurable moment, we almost immediately revert to shame (“You shouldn’t have eaten that cake/ slept with that man/ bought that velvet couch”) or start dreading its imminent demise (“This can’t last/ I don’t deserve to feel like this”).  We don’t dare trust that we could actually feel good and not be somehow punished for our impertinence.

Bullshit.

You have a right to pleasure.

And not just sexual pleasure; you have the right to claim the subtle pleasures that are embedded in the fabric of every moment.  The pleasure of breathing and feeling your lungs stretch, the smell of your coffee, the feeling of your favorite sweater, the taste of your food, the sound of your children’s voices.  Most of the time, we rush past these delicacies and move on to “doing something important.”  I, for one, have eaten far too many un-tasted meals.

But we have to be brave. When we allow ourselves to feel, we get present to NOW and WHO we ARE, which is utterly exposing.  And feeling pleasure may open us to feeling other emotions that may not initially seem quite so appealing.  Fear, anxiety, sadness, longing.

But here’s the wild paradox: you can feel pain and  pleasure at the same time.   You can be uncomfortable, sad, even devastated –  and still marinate in the deliciousness of your life.  In fact, those emotional colors will actually heighten your ability to feel pleasure more thoroughly, more completely, and in every moment.

Imagine a world where we dared to claim our right to pleasure. Where we didn’t have to wait to be perfect, or pretty enough, or successful enough to embrace the sensations of our lives.    Where we are already beautiful, delicious, and fully sexy.  Feeling pleasure makes the preciousness of our life unavoidable.  Having a greater connection to our feelings leads to empathy, joy, truth, and deep relationship.  Ultimately, feeling pleasure will lead us to joy and peace.

We must actively cultivate our capacity for pleasure. 
We must practice opening ourselves afresh to the exquisite sensations of being alive.

The Pleasure Manifesto:

  • I am a delicious and miraculous child of the Universe.
  • I claim pleasure as my birthright and accept full-heartedly the gifts of my senses.
  • I relish my body’s aliveness, sensations, and vibrancy.
  • I discard shame as an antiquated social imposition, and I feel the pleasure of each and every moment.
  • I am brave and choose to live more fully, freely, and passionately NOW.

 

Ache

Fantasies are fun, my dear
When you long for relationship
To fill
The hollow ache
You close your eyes and swoon
Dreaming of strong hands and soft glances

But your body has a fire
Your heartbeat a steadfast companion
Each breath more intimate than the deepest kiss
How can you be lonely when the world
Ravishes you?

Kitchen Music: Fever

Heat up your night with Peggy Lee’s classic.

Fever

“Kitchen Music:”  Music recorded literally in the kitchen.  No auto-tune.  No fancy mixin’.  Just me and my Garage Band and the sink.  Thanks for listening. (Although a caveat to this one.  This one was actually recorded in my Dad’s tool shed while visiting Texas.  But the idea is still the same :))

Shifts in my body

The subterranean landscape moves, jiggles, giggles, wanders, flows
My animal, innate need rising through tissues
Impassioned, empowered, wild
Seeking relationship
Yearning for movement, for cycles of change, for radical break through and then
Sleepy, cozy, comfort
Settling into the arms, the cooling sweat of another’s body
Gliding planes seeking connection
A thousand relationships through the skin of my hands; the smell, the taste
Of internalizing
You

Beneath rises an animal of pleasure
Who shakes her hide and stretches
Turns belly up inside me and invites
Fingers to furrow and wind in her silky, white fur
Purring
In her great, cat self and reaching
Through my hands to touch
To feel
To vibrate
To stroke
To yearn for filling
To clutch wildly
To pull together
To pad across the earth to its edges and feel the ocean between my toes

We need
Against the gently dissolving forms of death
To stretch
Break
Release
Run, excite, kiss
To softly hold our children’s hands
To fill our mouths with loving words
To feel our flesh warm, delicious in the sun
To rise into passion
To wink at life and
Laugh
Full, rich, heady, exposed

Oh, to be alive in this great, wild world!
In my rising, packed, audacious body-

Hold hands
Speak softly
Laugh from our depths

Everything is a kiss
In this Universe of
Form and Light.

Written in response to attending a week long dissection immersion with the inimitable Gil Hedley.

Kitchen Music: Black Coffee

Another sultry classic. 

You know the kind of day: Coffee.  Cigarettes. A man who won’t come home.

Oh yes.

Black Coffee

 

“Kitchen Music:”  Music recorded literally in the kitchen.  No auto-tune.  No fancy mixin’.  Just me and my Garage Band and the sink.  Thanks for listening.