Final day … the beginning

As I sit to write about our final day, the sun is thinking about setting, there’s a cool breeze coming through my window,  I’m sippin’ on a glass of wine at my desk, and I feel so blessed to have had this experience, to have met so many amazing people, to have had a family that supports and encourages my choices, and lastly to have started this blog.  Of course, this all makes me cry as I write.  But I just have to say thank you … thank each and every one of you for tuning in.  It’s meant more than I can say, my regulars, God bless you guys, and my newbies that join me each and every day … wow, every single time I get an email saying someone new has begun following, my spirit soars.  From my heart to yours, please accept my sincerest thank you.
The last day of class, now that I’ve made you wait so long to hear it, not of my choice, was not what I would have expected.  I arrived Sunday morning emotional, at first.  As we gathered in our initial circle, I didn’t have much to say, unusual for me.  The tears were very close, and my mood was quiet.  I wondered to myself, hmmm, what’s up with you?  I never let tears get in the way of talking.  And as you might have noticed, I always have a lot to say.  But not this day.  I decided not to push it.  It was what it was, I didn’t feel like talking.  By the close of the circle, I felt I needed to at least contribute something, so I told them I felt emotional, and that was pretty much all I said, and that I would miss them.  I had written a farewell that I had already shared on our group Facebook page, so nothing I was going to say fighting back tears would equal what I had already posted.
As the day progressed, my tears subsided.  Again, I questioned myself, what the heck is up with you?  Not much to say, and now you aren’t even emotional?  We were busy, so I didn’t have much time to contemplate, but even my classmate Ally kept questioning me with her eyes … “what’s up, Sue?  Where are those tears?”  I could only shrug my shoulders.
It was a lovely last class, and as we drew to a close, we each shared our thoughts.  We gathered together arm in arm in a closing circle, so blessed, each and every one of us, for having experienced this time together.  We have to have lifted the earth’s vibration at least minutely, which for 15 people, is saying a lot.
We all decided to meet at a local brewery to celebrate the close of our class.  I was happy to get into my car by myself so that I could try to make sense of my lack of emotion.  So strange for me.  Emotional always, but GOODBYES, oh my God, that’s a tough one for me.  As I drove the ten-minute drive, I cherished the time to myself to think … where was my sadness at the ending of my class?  Even Ally noticed it?  The ten-minute drive was not enough for me to figure it out, but I still enjoyed the time to myself.
The class was over.  The hard work was coming to an end.  I had accomplished my goal, and that was incredible.   But now I could return to my life, Rick, my kids, our home, our garden, our friends,  and yes, I could now go to Carmelita’s in Roseville on Friday night with Rick for an amazing mexican dinner, and reminisce about how much I wanted to scrap the whole thing and meet Rick for dinner that first night.  What fun that will be, maybe this Friday.
As I arrived at the brewery, I really didn’t have any answers, but I felt happy and grateful.  I enjoyed our gathering, and it was nice to wind down with each other.  As I made my exit, saying goodbye to everyone, I found my answer as I said goodbye to Scott, our teacher.  As he hugged me goodbye, all he said was, “the journey continues.”
I nodded in agreement, and realized in that moment that why I hadn’t felt too  much sorrow in this day, was because I didn’t really see this as  an ending … quite the opposite, it was only the beginning.  I had only just made it off the diving board ( high dive, of course) but I was just in the pool.  This was a beginning …  and in place of sadness I felt excitement for the journey.  The horizon leveled itself, and the view was intoxicating.  There simply was no room for sorrow.
Yoga is here to stay.  And these fine souls will only be as far away as a text or a post on our Facebook page.
Will share with you my goodbye to the group ….
“My final thoughts … 💞I am writing this for you guys, not the blog. I may at some point share it with my readers, if it seems to fit, and maybe not. I never quite know till I’m writing. But as I write this, it’s for you, regardless of whether I share it going forward.
To put into words this experience is a task, so much emotion to put on the page. But if I try to tell you all how I feel on Sunday before we leave, it will only be left to my tears to convey what’s in my heart. And I do not want to rely on that.
Something no one but Scott knows (a story I shared on the boat at lunch) many years ago when I was 23 to be exact, I found myself in muddy waters. Growing up was no picnic, and I was in some pretty rough currents, if we keep to our river theme. I was having non-stop anxiety attacks and truly was a mess. I began therapy with an amazing psychologist, a young man, probably in his mid thirties at the time, a funny, charismatic man, a thinker outside of the box (very much like Scott and Tess) pushing boundaries in every direction and getting amazing results with people. A side note, because that’s all he ever let it be, he was a quadriplegic. (Really, I’m sitting here telling this quadriplegic about MY problems?) He certainly had an edge, and he knew it, and he used it brilliantly. He had a confidence about him, the devil in his eye, and most importantly, he knew how to teach people. He never let anyone dwell too much on why. For him, it was more about how … how are we going to change this? I fell in love with this man, as did most who met him, and he became a dear friend over the years. He had three therapy groups he ran each week and I joined one of them.
From day one, I absolutely loved the group. The dynamic of people coming together to move what was in their way, just as we have, was intoxicating to me. While others wanted to run, I rooted in. I was there for the long haul.
I spent the better part of three years working on my issues. Ron believed in emoting, so we all cried, raged, loved, healed in no particular order. We loved each other and in time, every person I ever saw in his group healed in some way, even those who fought it.
When I came to the point I no longer needed the group, I had no desire to leave. Seriously, where was I ever going to find this kind of connection again? I was 26 at the time. Ron had a female peer counselor in each of his groups, so I set my sights on manifesting. (Been doin’ it for years) I approached him and asked him if he ever had an opening for a peer counselor if he would consider me. Angels????? It just so happened that one of his counselors leaving. Coincidence? Not likely.
I was 26, and his only concern was I looked so young, and would be counseling people sometimes in their sixties and seventies. It reminds me of us yogi beginners, we will seem a bit naïve and I’m sure a little green to our students at first. But I was confident. I told him I would handle it, I would earn it.
It took about a year (so be patient with yourselves at first if you do decide to teach) but after that time I was in my stride and I spent the next ten years in this amazing role, helping others to heal, healing myself still because you will never give to another and not receive something back. It was one of the most enjoyable roles I’ve ever had in my life, short of being a mom and a mate/best friend.
And yes, guys, I cried all the way through it. At first, I tried not to, but that was an impossible task. It was like asking me not to breathe. I eventually gave into it, and just cried all the way through the sad stories. But when it came time to work on the remedies, my tears dried. I always found my strength, my core. And in the end, what my groupies loved was that I did cry. Imagine if I had managed to change that for fear of what others might think? Authenticity? Sound familiar to what we are learning?
I spent over ten years in this amazing experience, but sadly my beloved friend and mentor passed from cancer. His death felt somewhat like a hurricane in our group community. This incredible spirit was gone. His body was tired, and he’d given it his all. It wasn’t only a loss because my dear friend had passed, but the void left behind from the end of our group hit me hard. I can so clearly remember having to take deep breaths at the thought that I would no longer have this phenomenal community around me, this ability to connect with souls, truly connect with souls. I told myself I would find a replacement.
But, where do you go to find a group of people willing to bare their souls to you, to share their HEART with you? I saw no path, and luckily for me, my children were young, and I could pour myself into their sweet young hearts.
I continued to tell myself that I would one day find something that would replace this experience. I didn’t. My heart took years to heal, truly. But little by little I began to forget, and the ache lifted. My kids filled the void, as only children can.
And here we are, all these years later, at yoga teacher training. I pursued this training with different ideas, but once I read the website about last year’s TTI, I knew in my heart, I had found my way back. I knew exactly where we would be going, and I couldn’t’ wait.
And this class has not disappointed in any way, shape or form. It feels good to be back with that grit, for lack of a better word, true, raw, wonderful emotion. It’s in these waters that we learn how to really trust human nature. And I know my friend, Ron, is cheering me on.
It’s been a long hiatus, but this time, Ron has sent a few replacements … I can’t outlive all of you, although my mom did live to 99.
This experience with you has for the first time in twenty some odd years measured up. It has filled a very old void and I thank each and every one of you for that. A lesson to never give up …
What I want to say to each of you about OUR experience is … thank you. Thank you for sharing yourselves with me, such a blessing, every single one of you … amazing souls. I love you all. Never ever forget how precious you are. ”
 
Lynn, dear friend, I know you are reading.  We were … beyond blessed.  It’s nice to be able to send a nod off in Ron’s direction.
Continuing down the path, next post.
Namaste
 
 
 
 
 

Moving Mountains

Before I tell you all about our last day, I thought it would be nice to tell you more about who I would be saying farewell to.  I had intended on sharing more about my group members along the way, but there was always so darn much to talk about.
The night of our meet and greet, I met a young woman, who had spent the last year taking care of her gravely ill mother.  We shared a common history, addictive parents and the aftermath of their addictions.  Her mother had survived after all, and she was freed to return to her life, luckily for our class.  She was a kindred spirit from our first conversation.
I told you about the woman who had survived cancer five years ago, her quest to live without the fear she faced every day.  While I doubt she will never again fear cancer, I know surely that she came to look at her life differently in these six weeks.  She discovered a great deal about herself, and we all watched as she week by week peeled away the layers she had draped herself in.  We are what we believe, after all.  I can only think that cancer will find a different gal if it ever does try to return, a gal that won’t be having any part of it.
We had a sweet young mother of two, who believed she was taking life too seriously, always worrying about her family.  She felt she had begun to lose herself, her zest for life, and wanted to do something to work toward changing that.  You know how I feel about the universe and coincidence?  About half way through our class, her son became extremely ill, the kind of ill that leaves you standing in a hospital corridor as they whisk him away, not knowing if he will survive.  A few days later when she shared the story with us, along with a happy ending, I doubt there was a dry eye in the room.
My thinking is this, seriously, I couldn’t draft a better story than the universe does.  I’m sure she will have her own way of thinking about the experience, but in my mind, the angels showed her in no uncertain terms that in the big picture, she really has no control.  And if that’s true, then you might as well enjoy the ride, because this gift of life we have is truly meant to be enjoyed, and no amount of worrying beforehand will change the outcome of any story, a lesson I could have used at her age.  Another kindred spirit.
It was a joy to watch her throughout the class open up, show herself more and more as the class progressed.  She’s an amazing spirit truly, the kind of force this world needs more of.
We had a 17-year old, mild mannered and shy in the beginning, but who in the end, gave us all a run for our money in terms of teaching yoga.  What a little spitfire, loved her.
We had a school teacher, who will one day gift the yoga community with her kind and positive nature.  We had a practicing yoga teacher seeking more knowledge, who helped the rest of us amateurs greatly.
We had another extremely caring and kind woman who makes it her mission to spread her kindness.
Our one male student turned out to be our caretaker.  Go figure.  A sweet heart to be sure, who I have no doubt will become an incredible yoga instructor.
We had no shortage of young women, all with a story of their own, so doggone courageous in their youth.  I believe the class gave each of them a mirror, a glimpse of how truly amazing and powerful each and every one of them is.
We had an unusually strong woman who actually ran a 50-mile marathon the weekend before our last one, who was working on understanding that her powerful strength could be used in her personal life as well.
And our teachers, while there to instruct and teach us, still shared parts of themselves and their struggles as the class unfolded week by week.
Probably what I enjoyed the most about this class was the vulnerability each person exhibited on a regular basis.  In the workplace where many of us operate on a daily basis, we don’t see much of that.  And it’s easy to judge others because of that, because we don’t see their underbellies and we don’t understand the true story behind their behavior.
But in a class such as this where just by virtue of the studies, every person is forced to share at least some of their story, you come to understand that everyone has their own mountain to move.  I’ve learned this before in my life, but it’s easy to lose sight of it.  I hope I can hold onto this as I move beyond the class, because if I try always to remember there’s a history behind an action of another that I may not like, I can be much more forgiving.  I don’t have to like another’s behavior, but an understanding of their pain can make all the difference in my reaction.  And my reaction doesn’t have to add to their mountain.
I always go to this, but being a math lover, I just can’t help myself.  Expanding that idea, if we all work at just not adding to someone else’s mountain, it’s simple but powerful.
Paraphrasing again the words to Cross to Bear, as I say farewell to my classmates,
deep in my soul, they will leave a permanent crease.
Next post, our final day.
Namaste
 
 
 
 

Crying

I mentioned in an earlier post that I would need to address crying at some point.  The next few posts touch on the subject of crying, so I wanted to chat about that at this juncture.  I told you I could win an Olympic gold medal in the art of crying, and I’m quite sure I could.  I seriously do not know anyone who cries as much as I do.  It’s just not something I can control, and I’ve long since given up the need to even try.  It is as much a part of me as my arm or my leg.  To quote an old song I love, Cross to Bear, I wear my heart like a wrinkle on my sleeve.  The picture above is part of a complicated caricature that a dear old friend drew of me years ago.  I was always known for my crying.
My dad was the same way.  I couldn’t even begin to count how many times I saw his eyes fill with tears, an emotional man.  I thank him for that.  My mother, on the other hand, I probably only saw cry a few times in my life.  Clearly, in this respect, I took after my dad.
A humorous story, when my mom was a few months from the end, she one day became so upset she started to cry.  I reacted so strongly (me, who doesn’t think twice about crying).  I ran to her caretakers telling them they needed to “help my mom, she’s crying!!!!  My mom doesn’t cry.”  They, of course, did help her, and her tears dried.  But I had to laugh at my reaction to her crying.  I wasn’t really one to overreact in these matters, but that day, I sure did.
When my kids were young, my son came home with one of his school art projects.  He had to make a drawing and a description of his family.  Of course, we were all stick figures, but he wrote something about his mom always crying, or there always being tears in his house.  It shocked me truly.  And I’m sure the teacher probably wondered if I was depressed, but Jordan had drawn an accurate portrayal of his family.  And I did always cry, but for so many different reasons, and thankfully, most of them had nothing to do with being depressed.  I think what actually makes me cry is feeling.  I’ve come to treasure the depth to which I feel things, and yes, sometimes it’s brutal, but when it’s good, it’s oh so good.  The pendulum always swings both ways, but in the end, I would never give up the joy to avoid the pain.
Probably because I have been such a crier in my life, I’ve done a lot of thinking about how our society treats the subject of crying.  For the most part, it’s considered a weakness.  For instance, someone who loses a loved one, is described as “holding up well” if they are not crying in their grief.  Or “she is being strong.”  I’m sure you have heard that one before?
Well, I actually think it’s the opposite.  What’s strong is feeling the pain if you really think about it.  So many other countries not only embrace grieving and crying, they encourage it.  We hide it away like some awful step child.
I say this, if my loved ones are NOT crying at my funeral, then I’ve done something way wrong in this life.
Another belief I have about crying is this (can you tell I’ve given this a lot of thought?) pretty much everything we have been equipped with in our bodies serves a purpose, right?  We would never entertain the idea of trying not to urinate (unless there’s no bathroom handy).  Of course we wouldn’t, because if we did have the power to control that function for weeks or months, it wouldn’t be long before we’d be sick.
I think our tears are no different.  We cry to release our pain.  Crying releases endorphins similar to exercising that bring about a feeling of well-being.  I believe that a lack of crying creates an illness, so to speak, in your soul, that over time can become an illness in your body.
I say, have a good cry!  It’s so damn good for you.  Encourage it, put on the saddest song you know or watch a tear-jerker, and for once, don’t fight back the tears.    I’ve learned that crying establishes a clarity in my thinking and reasoning powers.  It’s healing in every way.
I feel lucky to be blessed with a happy disposition, but I wonder … how much of that might be because tears are never too far away for me?  The saying “wash away your sorrows” rings true. I can certainly say I wash away a lot on a regular basis.
If I’m writing and I’m not crying, it’s probably not a very good piece, because it means I’m not feeling it.  And if I’m not feeling it, how can I expect someone else to feel it?  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had this conversation with my kids on the phone.
“Hi mom.”
“Hi honey.”
“You crying, mom?”
“Yeah, just writing.”
“Oh, okay, good.”  And that’s the end of that subject, not even worth a second thought.  They start in right away to tell me what they are calling about.  It’s just status quo.
I cried a lot in the yoga class, of course.  And it was nice to be in an environment again that treated it just as my kids do, status quo.
Some might say I take things too personal.  And maybe that’s true.  But there’s another line in my favorite movie, You’ve Got Mail, that runs through my mind often.
“What is so wrong with being personal anyway?
Whatever else anything is, it ought to begin by being personal.”
I so agree.
Finally feeling better.  Back tomorrow.
 
Namaste

Concoctions

Gosh, I haven’t been sick like this in years.  I start to get better, then relapse.  Nothing to do but wait it out.  With that said, our friends, Janet and Lalo, arrived for a visit on Wednesday.  I thought I was getting better, but when they arrived on Wednesday was about the time I was starting back downhill again.
I have a sneaking suspicion they are really angels,  just posing as humans (a couple of posers).  They just happened to be here visiting last year when my mom and I were going through so much, just about the worst time of it.  They helped so much at that time, both so supportive.  Hmmm, seems a little coincidental.
When they arrived yesterday, they assessed the situation here and each in their own way, went into help mode.  In two days time,  I can’t even count the foods they’ve made, the concoctions created to help me heal.  They’ve cleaned and worked in the yard.  (I’ve started discussions with them about moving in.)
Seriously, friends are God sent, for sure.  Janet and Lalo both love to cook, and I’d be hard pressed to say which one is a better chef.  They rival each other.  Yesterday we had home-made chicken soup for lunch made by Janet, and then chili relenos made by Lalo last night for dinner, along with fruits and salads and tasty treats after dinner.
All day Lalo made me concoctions to heal, things his mother and grandmother had made for him as a youth growing up in Mexico.  I have to say, they really helped, and were so much nicer to take than the over the counter meds I was taking.  By the end of the day I felt a lot better, and this morning woke up feeling even better yet.
I never grew up with a grandmother like that, but I’m sure many of you did.  We need to remember their ways, and from here on out, I think I”ll remember Lalo’s family’s ways.  That’s the beauty of life, we can chose to be whatever we want and adopt traditions that fit us, no matter who we are or how we grew up.
Last night we wanted them to watch a program we had already watched and loved, Chef’s Table, Season 3, Episode 1, Jeong Kwan.  I didn’t realize when we put it on, how much it would tie into the blessed day I had just had.
The program is about a South Korean Buddhist nun, and is such an inspiring show.  I quote, “With food … we can share and communicate our emotions.”
“It’s that mindset of sharing that is really what you’re eating.”
“There is no difference between cooking … and pursuing Buddha’s way.”
I’d say that pretty much sums up my day, as I received so much more from these kind souls than food.  They shared with me their history, their stories, and in that, their love.
It may go down as one of my nicest sick days ever.
They helped me feel better just in time for our celebration of the end of the class.  My kids wanted to come up and have a nice little celebration, include my classmates, and also adopted son, Peter.  Was worrying that I might not be up to it, but after yesterday, I’m feeling confident tomorrow will be great.
Windows are all open airing out the house.  Time for fun.
Back next week to finally tell about the end of class.
Namaste
 
 
 

A needed break

Nothing like dropping out of site in the middle of a story, or in this case, the end of a story (it’s my version of a cliff-hanger).  I have to applaud the human body, it has a mind of its own, and will be patient with us for a long period, but then if we aren’t listening, it’s like, okay, curtain’s going down.  (You know those scenes where the actor gets pulled off the stage by a hook?)
I believe my body was being extremely patient and supportive for six long weeks, being there in every way I needed, pushing far beyond what either of us (my body or I) felt I was capable of , just waiting for that final day when She would enjoy her just desserts, a nice long rest from all this hard work.
“Oh, maybe she’ll take me to a nice spa. We’ll get a massage, love it! Or we’ll spend hours in the garden, napping in the late afternoon.  Snuggling by the fire and reading a good book? What will she bestow on me for all my hard work?  I’m sure it will be great.”
“Wait, what?  She wants to go to the bay area for four days, and how many different plans does she have in four days????  I think I heard her say she has plans every day and night until Sunday when we go back home?  And then the same for the next week?  Is she friggin’ crazy?”
“All right, silly girl, this is where I take over.  Not happening.”
By Tuesday, my body had taken matters into her own hands.  I fought back until Thursday night when I knew I was outnumbered.  I always used to love the old westerns, in this case I was crouched behind some large rocks, a pistol in each hand, but I wasn’t going to win this battle.  The flu had arrived, and it was, plain and simple, time to rest.
I’m not well yet, but I’m just sweet talkin’ Her into letting me get at least one post out.  She’s told me in no uncertain terms that it better be short.
The good news, joking aside, is that our bodies always know better than us.  And in the end, they are a bit like mother nature, no arguing, done deal.
My capable and wise body continues to take good care of me, even when I don’t like the way she does it.  But in the end, I have to think it’s me who wasn’t taking good care of her.
Life is so interesting.   Our view is quite limited.  There’s much to explore.
Be back soon.
Namaste.
 
 

Ten thousand steps

Day two of our final weekend, we began with our circle, which always consists of shares, business, scheduling, ideas, tears, fears, celebrations … kind of like the breakfast table in many homes.  With initial business over, we began our final 90-minute practice together.
We placed our mats in a circle facing each other, and took turns leading 5-10 minutes each of the lesson off the cuff.  As we settled into savasana, which for those of you who have never been to a yoga class, it’s the final 5-10 minutes where you surrender your practice, soaking in the rewards of what you’ve just offered up to your body.  It usually feels like heaven, muscles finally at rest after such a hard work out.  I truly love savasana.
The music playing was a song I’ve never heard before, 10,000 miles by Sleeping at Last.  I could hear some of the words, not all, but I caught a line here and there, fare you well, I’m going away but I’ll be back … if I go ten thousand miles …. You have been a friend to me.  The tears streamed down my face for the entire song.  Interesting how the universe offers up always something right on point, even if it’s just a song.  I looked the song up later, so beautiful.  Speaks, if I understand it, to a romantic love, but in the end, all love is universal.
We spent the following four hours practicing and drilling ourselves on instruction, until it was time for our final hike.  It was billed as a “team-building exercise.”  It certainly was all that, and so much more.  We began our hike at the confluence down at the base of the American River, hiked for probably two minutes on straight ground, and then headed up, straight up the mountain to the bridge above.  I, still, brought up the rear, but that was okay.  I wasn’t crying, just out of breath.
My same team of sweethearts accompanied me, Kyleigh, Molly and Julie.  I have such a soft spot in my heart for caretakers … angels on earth to be certain.  We brought up the rear and as we reached the top, it was simply beautiful.  What I probably love the most, is that I see this trail every day I drive over the bridge, and after Saturday, I can now say to myself, hey, I hiked that steep hill.  Nice accomplishment, and I know it will forever now be a precious memory.
But the day was far from over.  As a matter of fact, we had just begun.
My stomach turned a bit as I waited to hear what our next obstacle would be.  As we got a ways down the hill, Scott showed us what our challenge was… a steep hill that we would climb down together, as a team, person by person climbing down holding on to the next making a human chain.  For once, I wasn’t the most apprehensive person.  I actually thought it was kind of fun.  We made our way down, one person at a time, taking probably thirty minutes.  And while it was a bit scary, I think for the most part it was exhilarating, and such good fun.
When we finished the hill, he gave us the option to do one more hill, even longer and steeper, and we unanimously decided to go for it.  I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.  I hung on to people for dear life, I stopped others from sliding past, I slid down on the back of another like we were on a sled in the snow … all and all, it was just so doggone much fun.  What a wonderful way to celebrate the close of our journey.  We returned to our cars each of us covered in dirt and the beauty of the human spirit.  We humans are just so damn good for each other when we share the best of ourselves.
One last day to spend together in this group, Sunday was approaching at Godspeed.
Words to 10,000 Miles by Sleeping at Last
Fare you well, my own true love
Farewell for a while
I am going away but I’ll be back
If I go ten thousand miles
Ten thousand miles, my own true love
Ten thousand miles or more
And the rocks may melt and the seas may burn
If I no more return
Oh don’t you see yon lonesome dove
Sitting on yon ivy tree
She is weeping for her own true love
As I shall weep for mine
Oh come back, my own true love
And stay a while with me
If I had a friend all on this earth
You have been a friend to me
Namaste
 
 
 
 

Lighting the world, one candle at a time

Good morning.  Another week, but a special week indeed, as I have completed my training … oh my, I think I’ll be posting about this for quite some time, just so much to share.  The weekend came and went in a heartbeat.  Each drive in, Friday, Saturday and Sunday I spent reflecting, remembering all the pieces of this journey that went together to bring me to the ending of our class.  Like a projection on a screen, my mind replayed image after image of the moments that made up this journey, the faces and hearts of those I shared this experience with, the personal triumphs I enjoyed myself, and the triumphs I watched others experience.  Like any good movie, our story did not come without the instances that surely felt like failure, but in the end there is no such thing as failure.  There is only growth, a need to keep trying, and keep trying and never give up trying until you have reached your goal.
I can’t really even put into words what a unique experience this has been, getting to know these wondrous spirits, their stories, (who doesn’t have a story?) their sorrows and their joys.  Fifteen special souls came together and created a divinely positive force, lifting each other, but if I know anything about it, helping lift more than just ourselves.  We did our tiny tiny part toward raising the universe’s vibration, because we each will take that love and positivity and share it with those we encounter going forward, our loved ones and friends, but also strangers.
I keep thinking about the 70-year old gentleman I told you about in an earlier post, the fellow who does work at our house once a year, this being our third year, who told me in our phone call how happy I sounded.  When he came out a few days later, he seemed so genuinely happy to see me.  I have to wonder … was this because I shared my happy heart with him in our phone call?  Maybe.
All I know is that this stranger, for all intents and purposes, offered me a hug after he finished his work with us.  I gladly accepted even though he was covered in dirt and I was dressed to go out.  I was not going to pass up that gift.  How many workers that come to your home want a hug when they leave?  I’ve had a ton of people work on my houses over the years.  They’ve never been in the habit of hugging me when they left.  I have to think this nice man felt what’s filling me these days, and took a chance at asking me to share a bit of that with him.  I was more than happy to oblige.
I’ve always loved math, and I find myself contemplating the possibilities … all the billions and trillions of individual spirits, if united with other kindred spirits toward a common positive goal, taking the risk of being vulnerable, sharing their tender hearts, working together helping each other to heal and create and inspire and conquer, and then taking that back out into the world, compounding exponentially, what could we accomplish?  I’m a dreamer, I know, but I do believe there is nothing we humans united could not accomplish, no hurt in the world we could not heal.  Our united hearts could light the world.
Just the beginning of the end … will be back soon.  I have so many thoughts swirling around inside the waves of my mind.  It’s high tide and there is much activity.  I have nothing but gratitude for this time in my life.
Namaste
 
Photo:  Candle made by my classmate, Kim, Tipsysisterscandles@tipsysisterscandles.com

Endings and Beginnings

Good morning, and happy Friday! It’s hard to believe today will begin our last weekend in the training.  Like I said a few posts back, I have such conflicting feelings.  I really am looking forward to having my routine back, but I will certainly miss the group.  Rick and I had our Thursday night dinner date last night (that has become our date night throughout this class) and we spent much of it scheming and planning what comes next.  It is so nice to have the support of loved ones when making changes that require some faith on my part.
Our last weekend will consist of more yoga, of course, and a team event tomorrow.  I don’t think I’ll be crying this time at the event, but I’m sure I will be making up for it on Sunday when we say our goodbyes.  Sunday we will be doing more yoga, wrapping up, and at some point we’ve been promised some amazing pizza.
I will be looking forward to sharing the conclusion of my yoga training class with you all.  This week was a powerful week for me in many ways, and your feedback meant a great deal to me.  Thanks, as always, for tunin’ in and lending your spirits to my adventure.  Sunday as the sun sets we will be getting off at a new station.  It will be interesting to see where the train goes from there, but for a while, it will be nice to rest and catch up with my loved ones.
Have a wonderful weekend.
Namaste
 
 

Happiness

Yesterday I got a call from a sweet man who does some work at our place every year.  He’s about 70, nice guy.  The first thing he said to me is “boy, you sure do sound good.”  I’ve only met this man about three times in three years.  His response surprised me.  I answered him honestly, saying, that yes, I was feeling good.  It made me step back and become the observer, of me, and he was right, I sound different.  And it’s not that I wasn’t happy one year ago or two, I was.  But there is another aspect of me that has pulled into my parking space and she is having quite a time of it, in a good way.
So that comment tied into something I read this morning after my meditation, in one of our books, The Yamas & Niyamas, by Deborah Adele.  In her chapter Reviewing the Niyamas, she writes something that resonated with me. I will quote, “Several years ago I made a major change in my life.  Events came together in such a way that I asked myself the question, ‘Just how good can I feel?’  I began to wonder if every year I could feel better and have more vitality and clarity.  At the time, this question felt radical to me as I looked around at the American expectations of aging.  But I decided it was worth the experiment and that I would make choices in diet, activity, and thinking that would support this exploration.”
I think this is, as my British peeps would say, brilliant.  Challenging yourself to see just how happy you can be?  When do we hear that?  We hear people talking about being as successful and rich as they can be, but how many times do we hear them talk about working to become as happy as they can be?  I don’t know about you, but I really love that concept.
And then a page later in her chapter Moving On, she makes an analogy about what I would define as manifesting, making a choice to be different, to go where you might be a little uncomfortable to go, in the pursuit of what will truly fulfill you.  Again, I will quote, her words are so perfect.
“As a child, I loved pretending I was a horse.  Not just any horse, but a beautiful, black, fast horse, freely galloping over open countryside and taking giant leaps over anything in my way.
“Although my relationship with horses has remained in my imagination, I still love them.  They are beautiful animals and I brim with the thrill of watching them race with strength and grace on an open field or take those beautiful leaps in equestrian competition.  The theologian Peter Marty, in speaking about equestrian competition, had some interesting observations.  He stated, ‘Those of us whose only contact with the world of equestrian competition is via the television set find the elegance and ease of those leaping beasts to be almost surreal.  We marvel at the calmness of the riders.  We admire the cool focus as they vault their way over the hurdles (and wonder if those riders have) some extra instinct that the rest of us lack.’
“Marty further went on to talk about equestrian training.  He noted that one of the most common obstacles all riders face is their own perception.  Much time in training is devoted to the skill of the rider’s own perception.  It is known in the equestrian world, that unless a rider can approach these upcoming barriers with a kind of ‘anticipatory confidence,’ they will never be able to make these great leaps with their horses.  Peter noted that one trainer put it this way:  You have to ‘take your heart and throw it over the fence.  Then jump after it.’”
I absolutely love this, and isn’t this what we all should be doing every day?  Throw our hearts over the fence, just a different way to say follow your heart, but these words give me such a visual for the act.
My dear friends at work and I have been sharing with each other the stress of our upcoming changes, one in particular that is fearful of what lies ahead, and knows where she wants to be, but also not at a place where she can quite yet make that happen.  Another friend who knows exactly where his heart would take him if he threw it over the fence, but the risk feels enormous.  We are lucky, we have become like family, so we share our fears and sorrows with each other.
For my coworker who needs to wait a few years, she just needs to keep her eye on her dream, know that it’s waiting for her. Know that keeping that dream alive is an important step toward making it happen.  When we went sailing a few weeks back, Scott, our skipper, gave us important safety instructions as we were leaving dock.  He told us, among other things, that if anyone went overboard, that it was each and every person’s job to keep our eye on the person in the water.  His words exactly were, “DO NOT, under any circumstances, take your eyes off the person in the water.”  At one point during the day, someone’s hat flew off, and we used it as a drill, so to speak.  Scott tried to maneuver the boat all the while shouting, “Keep your eye on the hat.  Under no circumstances lose sight of that hat.” It was done in fun, but it was a sobering and educational exercise, because in the currents and movement of the boat, it is so easy to lose sight.  I think only one person was able to keep the hat in view.
This morning as I’m writing this, I keep thinking of that hat bobbing in the water and what a great analogy it is with respect to keeping your dreams in sight.  Life is like that boat with the currents and wind and sails and waves, and it’s no wonder we can lose sight of our dreams.  It takes a vigilant effort.  Keeping sight of a person in the water can save their life.  The same might be said of keeping your dreams in sight.
Stay vigilant.  Make happiness your priority.  Take a deep yogi breath, and throw your heart over the fence.  Life is short.  Make it count.
Back one more time tomorrow.  So much to share this week.
Namaste
 

The River

The weekend was definitely a little stressful with our finals.  I always feel happy for the drive in, and enjoy the time to gather myself before heading into the storm, so to speak.  My emotions ramp up somewhere between my driveway and the highway.  I’ve learned to expect that now on Friday nights and just let it be.
Friday night was spent practicing in our groups for our final which was scheduled for Sunday afternoon.  Nerves were running rampant.  By the end of Friday night, the teachers proclaimed that none of us were ready for the final.  (Yikes.  No, wait, blimey!)  We decided the decision could be made Saturday morning after another practice, and if we needed to move it to the final weekend, we could.
Saturday morning I drove slowly, not in any hurry to arrive at the Perfect Storm (another of my favorite movies.)  I missed my mom.  And I felt grateful for that sorrow.  There was a time I would not have believed I could feel this.  Through our later years together, the movie I felt more of a connection with was “Throw Mama from the Train.”  I used to joke about that all the time, and I have to say, my mom really did remind me at times of Anne Ramsey.  She once gave me a portrait of herself she had taken at Sears, she was probably around 70 at the time, and I’m not sure what prompted this gift (maybe she was upset with me that I didn’t have enough pictures of her in my home) but when I opened the box, it was scary.  It was a close-up head shot of my mom with a completely serious look on her face.  No smile, just completely serious.  I was a little speechless, but thanked her and put the picture away, far far away for safe keeping.  If you don’t know who Anne Ramsey is, google her.  I’m looking at her now, and by God, they could have been sisters.
My friend, Peter (at that time we were just getting to know each other) came to my mom’s place to notarize some papers for us.  My mom was pretty hard of hearing, and actually wasn’t really listening to others too much anyway (a lot going out, not much going in) and she was in a mood.  About half way through as she was bad-mouthing me to whoever in the room wanted to hear it, I leaned over to Peter and quietly asked him if he’d ever seen the movie Throw Mama from the Train?  His eyes grew wide in disbelief, and I think probably that moment was when our friendship was cemented.  A sense of humor is your best friend sometimes.
These days I reminisce about our antics, and because we did have it so rough for so many years, I feel such gratitude for the simple blessing of missing her company.  Like I quoted a few posts back “Unthinkably good things can happen even late in the game.  It’s such a surprise.”
Appreciating my feelings, I drove slowly sorting through my emotions, enjoying the beautiful moon greeting me, shining ever so brightly to light my way. The day would be eventful.  We collectively decided before lunch that our group was ready, and would lead the way.  We would perform our final Saturday afternoon and Group 2 would follow up on Sunday.
As I think I already mentioned, we each had sections to lead, a total of a 90-min class, so eight people in the group, we each were responsible for about eleven minutes.  I was the greeter, opening the practice and guiding everyone through a meditation, breathing, chanting, and relaxing.  If you had told me 40 years ago that I would one day be sitting in front of a group singing a chant, I would have told you, no way.
When I was in about tenth grade, I was in a drama class.  Much like this class, we were divided into groups and had to prepare a skit that we would perform for our final, on stage.  I had one of the opening lines, and also the closing line.  I was so nervous that I entered the stage, said my first line, followed by the last line, and the curtain went down without any of my classmates being able to say a word.  Hilarious in hindsight.  We got a courtesy D from the teacher and my classmates were, to say the least, not too happy with me.
Well, good news, I didn’t let my yoga mates down on Saturday.  I definitely was nervous, but I managed to for the most part, park that anxiety and get through my eleven minutes.  I joked, and taught, and sang and read something I wrote to the group.  I fought back tears while I read it, and let that be okay, because that is me.  I received nice feedback afterwards, as did the rest of our group.
The knowledge I came away with this weekend, and have continued to contemplate yesterday and today, is how important it is in life that we bring our authenticity, even when we might think we are showing our weakness.   It’s also what I have been learning throughout this blog.  When I am vulnerable and blog about something personal, that’s when I feel the warmth of others come flooding back.  I have learned this lesson before in life, but I think more from the perspective of loving others who showed me their underbelly.  If someone cries with me, they become a friend for life.
This time around I’m learning the lesson from the reverse side, me opening up and being completely blown away by how great it feels and how truly accepting and welcoming others are.   Our journey is much like going to school.  You have certain courses, maybe a foreign language for example, and you learn a word and move on to more words, but at some point you circle back and truly begin to learn the proper enunciation of that word and the exact way to roll your tongue through the new and uncomfortable sounds, and at some point, the lesson is over and will not appear again in your curriculum.
I am witnessing first-hand that it’s our weaknesses that collect us and draw us closer, as we can see ourselves in others if they are willing to show us that they are fallible.  If someone does not show me any vulnerability, I can’t see them, and when I can’t see them, I find it hard to trust them.  Much like if I were walking through a forest at night, if I can’t see my way, I am going to feel frightened and guarded.
Something I probably enjoy the most about blogging is when someone says, “hey, you made me think and I’m going to give that a try.”  If you decide to try this vulnerability idea out, I would say this, remember that what you are giving is a gift.  You are sharing a part of yourself, and you are a GIFT.  If someone doesn’t seem to care for it, then oh well, bye Felicia.  Just means maybe they are not open to feeling at that moment, and that’s okay.  They may have a mountain of their own to move, and your openness scares them for fear they might have to look at themselves.  Their reactions will always be more about themselves than you.  And trust me, the truth is you’ll be enjoying yourself so much with those who do gravitate toward you, that you really won’t have much time to be looking in that rear view mirror for Felicia.
I’m planning to move forward in life embracing this new-found vulnerability, one day bring it to my yoga class, and create my own little yoga community filled with those who enjoy what I bring, people who are looking to improve, heal, and move whatever is in their way.
Will close with sharing my opening in our final practice.
“Welcome all of you.  So happy you are here with us.  We wanted to set a theme to our class today, and we’ve decided on dedicating our practice to the beauty of the majestic rivers we are graced with in our world, and especially here in our little community with the American River.  Ally has a gorgeous reading she will share with you at the end of our class.
And I will begin with something I wrote.
Please get comfortable on your mats, cross legged. Eyes closed.
 
Tap into your body, pay attention to what you’re feeling.  Just take note, is your mind quiet this afternoon or lively?  Notice the flow of your breath.   How is your spirit feeling today?  No judgement, just acknowledge where you are this morning and greet that spirit.  If you are feeling happy, remember what a blessing that is and please share that with us.  If you for some reason are feeling sadness, try to nurture yourself during your routine.  And if you are angry for some reason, maybe your boss pissed you off at work or your mate, kids, whatever, remember that there’s much power in anger so use that to do something amazing on your mat today that typically you might not have the power to do.  Take this time and make it yours, as for some of you, this might be the only time you have to spend on yourself today.   And remember, above all, you are right where you are supposed to be in this moment.
 
As you breathe in, take that breath all the way down to your sits bones, and then let it out through your mouth.  Inhale,  hold at the top, exhale.  Breathe at your own pace.  As you do, adjust your posture if needed, sit nice and tall.  Soften your brow.  Relax your jaw, your neck.  Lift your rib cage.  Drop your jaw ever so slightly.  And settle in.
 
 
All rivers begin with a droplet … one droplet after another of melting snow cascading down from our majestic mountains.  It almost seems impossible when you think about the wonder of nature.  Yet it’s true, snowflakes come down one at a time from the heavens above, form together, freeze together and then at some point melt together, making their way down the mountain sides toward our rivers.  We see the streams every day moving down the canyon toward our beautiful American River.
There is no end to the number of tiny individual streams trickling down to the river where they will become strong and united.  They will learn at times to rage and destroy much in their path.  They will change the shape of our land.  They will move what gets in their way.  They will dance in the sunlight. They will be a vessel for creating and sustaining life.  And sadly they will die in time if they lose too many of their droplets.
Are we humans really any different?   We are a million and one snowflakes, each one bringing our own beauty, but traveling in unison, creating a universal flow.
Our tiny tribe has united for our short journey, and soon we will all be off to the oceans, but for this brief moment in time, we have come together to move what’s in our way.  And I think we’ve done an amazing job.
I hope when you each practice this morning, you keep in mind your power, what you’ve accomplished in this six weeks, what you’ve helped others to accomplish in this six weeks, and know your power going forward.  You are the river.  We all are.
Namaste