Toward the new year...

Tonight's is the second full moon of the month, a blue moon this is called. Since these are so rare, it's exciting to me that this is also new year's eve, when we finalize our intentions for the new year and let go of our burdens from the old. I have finished writing my intentions for the new year in the journal my husband and I keep for this purpose, and I look forward to burning our yule log tomorrow, symbolizing that we are setting in motion the energy needed to actualize our intentions. Although every day, every moment is the perfect time to begin anew, to change outworn habits and find motivation to try something else, the new year is so symbolic and culturally a recognized time for resolutions. With the new year and the full moon, this is a perfect opportunity to invite the energy of growth and change. Set your intentions and find joy in the path toward their realization.

The Growing Edge

I knew a Jungian therapist years ago who used to talk about the growing edge, that space within your experience where you feel trepidation, uncertainty, anger, despair...anything that makes you feel that you've reached a cliff-hanger on your journey toward enlightenment and full potential. What you do when you find yourself here will determine the nature and extent of your growth. Will you turn away from what you're feeling and retreat, locking the truth of your experience inside, from where it will manifest later in unconscious ways? Will you stand at the cliff, immobilized and demoralized? Or will you look around, take stock of where you are and what support you have, and then take a leap of faith, propelling yourself toward the next leg of your journey?

When you reach a growing edge, as I have once again, may you rally support from your allies, say a prayer of faith and gratitude for another opportunity to grow, and then leap with the clear intention to fly.

Today, A Poem

"To Look At Any Thing" by John Moffitt

To look at any thing,

If you would know that thing,

You must look at it long:

To look at this green and say

"I have seen spring in these

woods," will not do--you must

Be the thing you see:

You must be the dark snakes of

Stems and ferny plumes of leaves,

You must enter in

To the small silences between

The leaves,

You must take your time

And touch the very peace

They issue from.

Everything You Do...

One of my mentors often says, "Everything you do is like everything you do." There is so much wisdom in this, and I've begun to really ponder what this means. The person who rushes, is always busy, is always late will bring these qualities to every act she attempts. The person who holds deep-rooted anger inside will find many situations in life which flare his anger. The person who feels like the world is out to get her will continually be defeated by circumstances she thinks are beyond her control.

This is because these qualities are within us, not external to us. It is not the broken-down bus blocking traffic that makes us late; it is our own habits and energies. Some even claim that, as a part of universal consciousness, we create each and every situation in which we find ourselves. In this understanding, we have created the broken-down bus to teach ourselves a lesson...most likely about mindfulness, patience, being in the moment, even about preparation and flexibility.

So I ask myself, What energies do I want to bring to everything I do? I want to dispense with perfectionism, with rigidity, with egotism; in their place, I want to cultivate equanimity, flexibility, compassion. Let us be people who are mindful, honest, and compassionate with ourselves about the energies we bring to everything we do. Let us be conscious, choosing those energies that, instead of deflating us, best serve us and the world.

On Christmas Eve

Here's wishing you and your loved ones a joy-filled Christmas. May your homes be filled with warmth and good cheer. May your lives and hearts be filled with peace, love, and faith in God's blessings. May you be healthy and well. May you find more pleasure in people than in things. May you find more joy than sorrow, and may any sorrow you find serve only to strengthen you. May you share your best self with the world. May you be continually blessed.

Peace, peace, peace.

Namaste

Simple pleasures

Last night, I heard V. laughing in her sleep. Of course, I don't know what she was dreaming about that made her laugh, but I can imagine it was some simple pleasure: petting the cat, crinkling a leaf in her hand, hearing the keys in the door as L. or I arrive home, standing on her own two feet.

Such are the things that delight her and that can delight us all when we change our perspective and our priorities. What a wise teacher she is. Here are some of my simple pleasures: watching the lights on the Christmas tree in the dark of the morning, listening to holiday music with my family in the evening, taking V. to the park where she notices the Mallards for the first time, hearing V. laugh in her sleep. And here's to some of yours...

Dyana

Last night, I had many dreams: of my mother and her husband, of doing laundry (clearly about cleaning up what I carry from the past), of a dear friend I haven't seen in too many years but whose lovely blog I read regularly (Sassy Suppers). Right before waking this morning, I dreamed of meditating. I was in a large group of people who were given instruction from our teacher that we should sit in meditation for 20 million hours. The teacher left us with a mantra, the only part of which that I remember was the word dyana, which is one of the niyamas (or observances) in the tradition of Ashtanga yoga which I practice and teach. Dyana means meditation. (My subconscious was instructing me to meditate on meditating? Perhaps this is a message that it is time to deepen my practice.)

Instead of using this mantra, though, I used my real mantra, the one my teacher gave me when I formally began a meditation practice. In my dream, I repeated my mantra over and over, while another part of me kept dreaming: of looking for the girl called "Ladybug" (which happens to be a once-used nickname my mother gave me). When I awoke, I was still repeating my mantra, which is such a wonderful way to awaken.

Sitting for my waking-life meditation, I felt calm and content. Lately, I have been working to lengthen my meditation, and the longer period seemed to float by today as I quietly sat. I feel that my dream was auspicious, though I haven't yet fully digested and integrated all of its meaning. I am on the right path.

Happy Solstice!

Today marks the Winter Solstice, when we will enjoy the longest night of the year. After this, the days begin to lengthen again as the sun comes back into the world. We typically find and decorate our Yule tree right before Solstice and take whatever holiday handmade cheer we've made for our friends to them on this day. (With so much time being invested with our 10-month old now, we've decided to refrain from the card-sending and gift-making this year.)

On Solstice eve, we begin to contemplate our intentions for the new year, and we have a special notebook in which we collect our individual lists about what we hope to invite into our lives, release from our lives, or accomplish with our lives. We allow ourselves the 12 days from Solstice eve until New Years to ruminate, thinking about the past year and what we hope for the year ahead. We collect our intentions, and then we burn a special Yule log on New Years day to ritualize our intentions, ritual being such a vital way of recognizing Divine presence, asking for Divine assistance, and activating the energy we need in ourselves to accomplish our goals. Those intentions that are strictly private, that we don't want to share or record in our notebook are written on scraps of paper and tossed into the fire of the Yule log as it burns, which is such a symbolic way of "voicing" intention and then letting go...of the "hows" that will accomplish the outcome as well as the outcome itself. We offer our wishes up to the wisdom of the Divine; pray for peace and well-being for our family, friends, and the world; and extend our gratitude for the year we have moved through.

Today, I wish you a happy and joy-filled Solstice as we also prepare to celebrate Christmas, when we recognize a different son whose presence has changed the world.

Perfect

I remember reading a poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox when I was younger; it was called "Whatever Is, Is Best." And one of my teachers, the marvelous Shri of Bliss Yoga Shala, often reminds her students, "Everything is perfect, or nothing is perfect." I love this saying, because it makes me pause, reflect, redirect when I'm feeling discouraged or disappointed or confused. If we can believe either half of this equation, then why not choose to believe everything is indeed perfect? There is a Divine plan at work, one larger than we can see or imagine. When we let go and flow with what is, we are swept into a current that will take us to places we are meant to be, where we can learn what we are meant to learn, grow as we're meant to grow. And how perfect that is.

So, here's wishing you a lovely and perfect weekend.

Gratitude Changes Everything...Or, More Synchronicity

Yesterday, I wrote about synchronicity. Today, I want to write about it again, just to share the fact that it is always occurring; we only need to open our eyes to it.

Last week, I finished a two-week long series of posts that were designed to cultivate my sense of gratitude for and appreciation of this house we own. And just yesterday came news we had been waiting to hear since September: we were able to lower our interest rate significantly, thereby lowering our monthly payment more than I could have hoped. Given this blessing, it really will behoove us financially to stay where we are for a bit longer...how glad I am that I've been practicing loving this place and having faith in a Divine plan.

What about you? Where is synchronicity showing up in your life?

Wisdom in Unexpected Places

I believe that there are no coincidences; instead, I believe in synchronicity, that everything is connected and has meaning. I know that there are signs in my life, messages from the divine pointing out things I should pay attention to or do. Yet sometimes I don't see them, and I wonder if my vision is too cluttered or if I'm being too lazy to follow through on what they suggest.

Lately, I've been asking for guidance on what work I should do; I've been wanting to know if I'm on the right path. So yesterday, I prayed that I would see the signs I needed to see. I prayed this as I was sitting in a coffee shop, crocheting. Immediately following my prayer, a woman sat in the plush seat next to mine and struck up a conversation with me; it started with crocheting and moved on to finding time to be creative and then stumbled over to work.

What do you do? I asked

I'm a teacher.

Really? Me too. What do you teach?

English.

Really?

So do I. Where?

I adjunct at the community college and the university.

Amazing! I work as a professor at the university.

Synchronicity.

And, as we were talking, another woman passed by the window outside and stopped to wave at me. She is my dear friend, a yoga teacher, and the person who most inspired me to study and teach yoga myself.

Synchronicity.

I asked to see signs, and I did. But what did they mean? When I asked my so-wise husband, he replied matter-of-factly, "You're a teacher." Yes, I teach. But what and where am I meant to teach? Thinking about the idea of dharma (purpose/right action), I realize that my dharma is to teach and that the other questions answer themselves. If I feel dissatisfied in a situation, it is because I am struggling against the moment in which I find myself, rather than accepting it, moving through it, letting it show me its wisdom. So, at an even deeper level, my dharma is simply to be in this moment without struggle, to witness, to learn, to act based on what I know, to act based on faith. Each moment has its wisdom. Each moment is perfect for its purpose. I am exactly where I should be.

I am grateful for answered prayers. And for synchronicity.

Connection

So, on to the post I had intended for yesterday...

Sometimes, life presents us with those challenges, those opportunities that really let us know how strong we are, how strong a friendship is, how strong a family is. Sunday was such a day for my family, by whom I have been continually amazed. My mother has 13 brothers and sisters, and they seem surprisingly connected, despite the physical distance that separates many of them. I have known all my life that I (or even my loved ones without me) could arrive unannounced at the doorstep of any one of them (or even of their children) and be welcomed in, warmed, fed, given a place to sleep. I have known this, even though I don't know each and every one of them well.

I have seen other families that live relatively close to each other that don't seem very connected at all. I have seen other families whose members treat each other cruelly, really not putting love into action. I have seen other families that have broken or drifted apart because of dysfunction or lack of motivation. I am not claiming that my family is perfect, but it is strong, welcoming, and connected.

What is it that allows such connections? How are they fostered and maintained? I am not entirely sure. Of course, I might look to effort as a key factor: a yearly family reunion that many travel long distances to attend; commitment to being with those who are undergoing hardship; even the prayer circle one of my aunts has formed through email, alerting us all to the happenings and needs of various people in the family. I might also look to joy as a factor: a genuine pleasure in each other's company, a genuine love and concern for each other's well-being. I can also look to upbringing, knowing that my grandmother and grandfather were remarkable people and very effective parents to create such a strong and connected brood.

Since Sunday, I've been thinking about this connectedness within my family and wondering how this connection is formed and fostered and how it can extend beyond our immediate or extended families, how it can even reach those we don't know well or at all. I've heard people say that we don't choose our families, but we can choose our friends, and I wonder if this is the most helpful way to think about the challenges of relationships. It can seem easier, less painful, to distance oneself when difficulties arise, but connection isn't fostered in this way, and connection is really valuable. Others form a circle around their family, their "tribe," and refuse to allow others in; we see the effects of this on much larger levels throughout the world's societies.

Yet if we learn to truly love and remain committed to those within our families (whether they are formed by birth or by choice), we can grow in deep and significant ways. And if we can extend the strong love, affection, and loyalty we feel toward our families to those we don't know as well, we can spread seeds of peace and justice far beyond our circles of experience.

This is a season ripe with the possibility of goodwill and connection. Indeed, this is a season when these sentiments are almost easy. Let's think about how we've come to feel this cheerfulness and solidarity now. And let's work to extend this practice even when the season ends and we enter a new year, fresh for new beginnings.

Resting

I woke up late today (5:30AM) and so don't have the minutes right now to write the post I had intended. But how lovely to sleep in a bit and to wake up to a morning that is still, foggy, and dark. Now that the semester has ended, I find my body and mind sinking into the idea of rest, relishing it in the way one does a soft, warm bed on a cold and rainy morning. It's so nice to have a span of time free from deadlines and (for the most part) schedules. It is at these times that we see what is really important to us. For me, it's still taking the time to meditate, making my way to an early morning personal practice of yoga, and writing something here, even if what I had intended to write must wait until tomorrow...or later. Prioritizing my own well-being very early each morning allows me to care for myself and still be home not long after L. and V. awaken, so that I can be present with and enjoy my sweet and precious little family.

I hope, as we enjoy this busy holiday time, that you, too, are getting the rest you need and nurturing yourself in your favorite ways. Be well and be present!

Bloom Where You're Planted

I like this gentle maxim, to bloom where you're planted. This is a good reminder for me, especially since following it can be challenging at times. For the past two weeks, I have been trying to bloom in this way by finding the "curves and corners" in this house that I can love. And, I must say, that I feel more settled, more at peace here than I did before. Even though we are still trying to sell it, I am taking more pride in this house, doing the work to make it as sound and comfortable as we can while we are still here.

I have made similar efforts with this city even, a fact of which I was reminded recently when I met yet another person who said that Jacksonville doesn't offer anything that could keep her here. She believes, like so many others I've spoken with, that this town is like an awkward adolescent that doesn't know what it wants to be when it grows up, that it is lacking leadership and a clear vision for its future. L. and I have felt this way about the city, too, and we have watched a steady stream of our friends and compatriots drift away to cities that have already ripened into their full glow and offer much more in the way of cultural sustenance and progressive politics. We are still here, in part because we wonder what we might be able to build here; we wonder how we might be part of a small movement to make this city somewhere we really feel pleased to be living.

So we remind ourselves to bloom where we are planted. It is this acceptance of right here, right now, that allows us to really flourish where we are. Conversely, it can also bring the wind that will transplant us to the next garden where we are supposed to root ourselves and grow.

Corner No. 4

In the two years we've owned this house, we haven't yet had the fireplace and chimney inspected, so we haven't used them. Now that V. is here, I enjoy it so much anyway because it's one more space she tries to explore. Everything is new to me when I try to see it as she does.

Corner No. 3

Sometimes I look out the window of this Florida home and see something that looks more like the northeast on a cold and overcast winter day. Imagining that it's colder outside than it usually is, I feel safe, warm, and cozy inside. On these days, mopping, dusting, laundering, and other duties feel more like nesting, and I begin to enjoy the chores as both a meditation and a means to an end: the sense of calm and order that are allowed by a tidy house on a day when I have no where else to be other than home with my family. And if there's time for L. and I to squeeze in a movie on dvd while V. is sleeping, well, that's cozy indeed!

Corner No. 2

Even in this house we've been trying to leave, I see much beauty and I find much solace. I meditate in the living room every morning and find that the space is infused with peace.

Corner No. 1

I'm venturing inside this week, still trying to love this space we're in, so here are a few corners of this house that I enjoy. First, the front door that we added, especially since now a small girl's jacket hangs next to it.

Curve No. 5

Yes, I do realize that all of these curves of my home have been outside and that this last one isn't my home at all but a home for birds on one of our crape myrtle trees. Still, I'm pleased that I've found so much I do like about this place we are trying to leave. Next week, perhaps, I will finally get around to the "corners" I like inside, which might be a greater challenge.

Curve No. 4

These windows at the back of the house were the first part of it that we saw as we drove by one day. We loved them...their curves, the way they open out. The house didn't have a for sale sign on it, but we saw work being done and thought Wouldn't it be great if someone were fixing this up to sell? And someone was.

Curve No. 3

I love this fountain my mother gave me for my birthday one year. It sits on our back deck, surrounded by acacia palms.

Curve No. 2

There are arches across our front porch, lending a "softer" look to brick and mortar. We've tucked some wind chimes here, and I love to hear them when the wind blows or when I hold a now-heavy V. up high so that she can make them chime.

Curves and Corners

Last night, I encouraged my prenatal yoga students to move toward, rather than away from, that which they fear. Whether it is a long labor, the pain of childbirth, or other unknown event, I encouraged them to acknowledge the fear and imagine what they would do if their fears were realized. Often, when I ask myself what would happen if my fears came true, the answer I receive is I will be okay. We will all be okay.

Likewise, I think the technique of moving toward that which we fear is also effective regarding that which we dislike. And, as much as I am working to feel grateful for our house, I am disliking it. So, this week I am going to work with the technique of embracing it. As my friend Joni reminded me recently, I need to find a way to love my house; that, after all, might be part of the lesson that allows us to move away from it. To that end, I will be exploring in photographs the corners and curves that I do like here, hoping in the process to expand my awareness and return to the knowledge that we will all be okay. And, if I encourage you to look with new eyes at something you fear or despise, so much the better.

Curve No. 1

Today...

May you enjoy the blessings of loving family and friends, easy laughter, an abundant table, a ready sense of gratitude, and the openness of sharing. Happy Thanksgiving!

Gratitude

I am thankful for:

L. and V.

my mother and her husband

my sister-cousin B.

my sister-friend in Santa Fe

extended family and friends

time for yoga and meditation

cats

work that just might make a difference in the world

inspiring students

holidays

rituals

rainy nights like last

rainy mornings like this

sleeping in

horses

hobbies

our home

tea beside the fireplace

laughter that makes me cry

trees

crossing the river on a gray, foggy morning

bodies of water

compassion

dawn and dusk

open minded and fair people

so much more than I have time to list, but I'll add one more...

others who experience and express gratitude

So, what are you grateful for? Leave a comment on this post to share your gratitude.

Life Lessons in the Dreamworld

When I recently wrote my post on dreamwork, I didn't talk about the fact that sometimes the subconscious mind's metaphors can be hard to discern. There are times when, despite much pondering, I don't understand my own mind's message to me. At those times, I like to turn to a meditation technique called Active Imagination, which allows one to talk directly to the subconscious mind. This technique is useful for understanding and moving beyond past events, but I typically prefer it for dreamwork, and I used it yesterday to understand a particularly disturbing dream I had two nights ago.

In Active Imagination, you quiet your mind and enter into the dream that you are trying to interpret. You feel it again. You see and hear it again. And you actually talk to the people in the dream and/or let the dream play out beyond the point when you awoke. With my dream, I stood in front of the older man who was trapped in an altered state of consciousness within a machine that put him into that state.

I asked him, "Who are you?"

His eyes snapped open, and he said, "I'm a part of you."

Given that I'd already accepted a Jungian interpretation of this dream, I replied, "I know that. Which part?"

"Your fear," he answered.

"Of what?"

"Of life. Of love."

Now that he'd told me who he was, his death in the machine, which I couldn't avoid in the dream, seemed necessary and important. And, as an older man, it was clear to me that this fear has been with me a long while. So my subconscious mind was letting me know that I need to let my fear die in order to save myself, because there was a woman in this dream, this man's young partner, who didn't want to see him die. She, in fact, was close to letting herself go as well due to the malfunction that had caused him to be trapped in the machine. Whatever chemical put them to sleep spilled at her feet after she was out of her own machine, and she wondered if it would be best to give in to it, to stay asleep. In Active Imagination, I asked what would keep her asleep, what would keep her from saving herself; the answer came: animosity. Since she was also me, it was clear that my own animosity toward certain things in my life could keep me asleep, could keep me from saving myself, from letting go of fear.

In the dream, the woman fought unconsciousness and, though she'd lost the use of her legs and feet (they, in fact, were scattered on the floor around her), she gathered them up in her arms and dragged herself to a couch in the center of the room. When she was able to fling herself over it, the floor on the other side was clean and soft, the air pristine. She could breathe again.

After understanding this dream through Active Imagination, I found clarity and a new sense of lightness and ease I didn't feel before. I'm not always sure of the processes for letting go of fear and animosity, but let them go I must. I know they are within me and, if I don't release them, my best self will suffer. This has reminded me of a Mary Oliver poem in which she writes of a woman saving "the only life she could save," her own. It seems that "saving" our own lives, our highest selves, the selves most connected to the divine, is our life's work, and I'm grateful for each message that reminds me of this.

Pure Energy

Not long ago, I wrote a post about stillness, perhaps because physically it's a rare commodity around here. In the midst of this almost-toddler's energy, L. and I are whirling and twirling, dancing and singing, climbing and crawling just to keep up with her. She, whose name means new life, is bringing so much life, so much vitality to us. Amazingly, the stillness for me at the center of this energy is the sense of peace and gratitude I feel with this little family, both precious and wonderful, of mine. So today I'm commenting on the lovely balance between stillness and activity and the energy they both bring: vibrant serenity / serene vibrancy. Perhaps this sounds paradoxical, but how very right it feels.

Let's Play "What If"

What if we laughed more and complained less?

What if we remembered the dreams we had when we were children?

What if we really did accept this moment?

What if getting cold wouldn't give us a cold?

What if we decided people were basically trustworthy?

What if we stopped to talk to our neighbors?

What if there really is enough time?

What if we left our T.V.s off for a week?

What if we stepped out into the rain?

What if we offered our partners breakfast in bed?

What if we treated ourselves to dinner and a movie?

What if we rode our bikes to the grocery store?

What if we asked for charity donations instead of Christmas gifts?

What if we really allowed others to be themselves?

What if we acknowledged our children's preferences?

What if we learned a craft?

What if we learned to grow more of our own food?

What if we chose our words more carefully?

What if we picked up the trash we saw along the road?

What if we instituted a game night in our families?

What if we volunteered as part of our Thanksgiving celebration?

What if we thought more in terms of we than me?

Awake

There must be a reason why I keep waking up at 4AM. Might it have something to do with the fact that I've been going to bed around 8 or 9PM? Of course, I'm doing that because I'm so sleepy from waking up at 4AM! What a cycle...

In order to have time for meditation, personal practice, blogging, etc., I've been getting up no later than 5, but I really don't intend to make it earlier. This morning, I woke up at 2 and seem to have stayed awake until I decided enough was enough at 4. Something is on my mind, yes, but I would have rather dreamed myself through it than stayed awake tossing and turning.

Well, if I look at this positively, I can say I now have a few moments this morning for crocheting.

One more thought: only a week until Thanksgiving, one of my favorite holidays!

Dreamwork

Dreams are so revealing, don't you think? I do a good deal of "work" through my dreams; they tell me the mental and emotional issues that I need to address. Sometimes the connections are very clear and I can see how images are drawn from my daily life. Other times, I am amazed at how highly metaphorical they are. If only I thought like that consciously, I say to myself, I'd be writing some really great novels.

Sometimes it seems that they are about the people who populate them; I may be imagining something about my husband or daughter or mother, so they occupy my dreams. Other times, I believe what Carl Jung thought: we are everyone in our dreams. So a dream about losing my friends in a crowd might be about fearing abandonment by others, but it might also reveal a fear of losing myself somehow amidst the crowded activities of a day and life.

Dreams that affect me greatly, that wake me up or stay with me when I wake up are recorded in my journal. Often the act of writing them down makes them clearer to me. Often, too, I share them with L., and his questions will help me interpret them. (As much as other people might want to interpret with or for us, the final answer about what a dream means lies with the one who dreamt it.) Sometimes, though, I'm not sure what a dream is trying to tell me; when this happens, I still write it down, ponder it, but I know that more dreams will come to clarify the meaning. Our subconscious minds keep tapping at the door of consciousness until it is opened for them; then, when we see what we need to see, the subconscious can rest for a bit. I know that I've worked through all the necessary stuff for the time being when my sleep is still, when I awake without having dreamed much at all. Sound sleep, indeed.

But I value my dream life, and I value lucid dreams (more on that another time) when I can more fully control the healing taking place within the dream world. Dreams are quite a resource for understanding the self and working through that which we have yet to face in waking life.

What are your dreams telling you?

Partnering and Parenting

Yesterday, L. and I had our first date in eight and a half months! It wasn't the most extravagant or the longest or the farthest from home, but it was absolutely perfect. My dear friend R. came over to watch V. while L. and I went to a nearby park to have a lunch-time picnic and play cards. (Thank you, thank you, thank you, R.!) On our way to the park, L. looked at me and said, "This is weird." He was right; it's been over eight months since we've both ridden in the front seat of a car together. It's been over eight months since we've gone anywhere together without our daughter.

Wow.

Since this was V.'s first time ever being watched by someone other than us, I felt a bit of trepidation...but not much. She loves R. and R. loves her, and they were at our home, making it all more familiar than not for V. We made sure that we left the house when V. was distracted and, honestly, she didn't seem to know we were missing. They had a blast, R. said when we returned, singing and dancing and playing with toys.

Because we suspected V. would be comfortable and at-ease, we were able to enjoy our date without worry. And we weren't gone long this first time. Just an hour. Just right. Of course, we've known all along that parents need to nurture themselves individually and nurture their partnership jointly in order to fully nurture their children, but knowing and putting into practice are such different things, aren't they?

But yesterday we did it. We took a bit of time for ourselves and gave V. a new growth opportunity. I'd say we all enjoyed it immensely and are better off for it, too. We're all taking our baby steps now.

New Moon

Today is the new moon, meaning that it begins to wax (or grow larger again) after its time of waning (diminishing) from fullness. The three days before and three days after this time also share the energy of this moon. In some traditions, such as Wicca or herbal craft, this moon is called the dark moon. In those systems, the energy supported at this time is that of banishing, releasing. One might set an intention that says "I release anger and ill will," and since "nature abhors a vacuum," any time we release something, we consciously choose what will take its place: "I cultivate kindness, patience, and good will." In other traditions, such as Tantra, this new moon is a time to begin, to create, to set in motion. This would be a time, then, to buy a house, start a business, or start a project. Thus, this would be a time of invoking, of drawing something closer: "I cultivate kindness, patience, and good will."

Interestingly, then, each tradition supports the same goals; the difference is mainly one of perspective. I'm not talking about a "glass half full/glass half empty" view because that suggests judgment; one is optimistic, one pessimistic. Instead, the difference is one of seeing the dark at this time or seeing the light. And, again, I'm not talking about this in a way that sees darkness as negative but rather as something that simply and literally is; we need both dark and light, both day and night.

Yet today I'm calling this the new moon, and I'm endeavoring (always) to cultivate kindness, patience, and good will. I can choose to begin something today, hoping to bring it to fruition at the full moon (more on that in a couple of weeks). My yoga practice today will be a lunar practice, which I just learned about in my weekend workshop at Bliss Yoga Shala: slower, quieter, with less sweat, longer holds. Regardless of what one calls it, this is a contemplative time, a time to still the body in order to still the mind, to focus on meditation.

So, what might you start today? And how will you move toward stillness?

Weekending

Mainly an announcement today: I've decided to reserve weekends for weekending, so my posts will be Monday through Friday from now on. Today, since I have a yoga workshop this afternoon, I didn't need to be out of the house at 7:30 and will actually be able to eat breakfast with my family...hooray! And that means time for pancakes...yum!

Happy weekending to you!

Home

Have you ever visited a place and felt immediately settled? Like you'd finally come home after a long trip? Your breathing is easy, your mind care-free. Perhaps like many, I often feel this sense of ease when I'm on vacation, when I'm away from home. I don't think this has much to do with the fact that we have an infant and so home-life right now is as energetic and busy as away from home. In fact, I think I've always felt this way. I remember as a child I would always want to be away, visiting somewhere new, traveling, even just driving around with my mother.

Some of my favorite memories are of trips and drives I would take with my mother. In the autumn, we would take color tours, driving for the pleasure of the changing autumn leaves, to enjoy the fall color. Sometimes we would find a place to stop and poke around, and I associate these drives with hot apple cider and cinnamon doughnuts.

Now that I live in Florida, the idea of a color tour is a joyful reminiscence. But the notion of finding peace and a chance to settle my mind while in motion is still with me. This returns me to the idea from an earlier post of "being" instead of doing. One of the greatest pleasures of traveling is that we are removed from the demands of daily life; there is not much we have to do and so we are entitled to be. The challenge, then, is to find this sense of breathability and ease when we are amidst the clutter of daily life, the messy desk, the full sink.

When we can access the sense of lightness and ease that pure being engenders no matter where we are, we are truly at home in ourselves.

Illusions and Enlightenment

There is a line in one of my favorite movies (Smoke Signals) where Thomas Builds-the-Fire says, "We were all traveling heavy with illusions." This line comes to my mind sometimes and, when it does, I immediately feel my perspective change; I feel more grounded. How often do our lives consist of illusions, of projections? When we are feeling sad or sensitive, everything we hear might seems to be sent with thorns. When we are angry and defensive, we might think people are being aggressive toward us. When we are newly in love, we imagine that our beloved is the source of our happiness. The illusion is that someone else is doing something to us. Often, though, what we are receiving from the world is actually coming from us. Acknowledging this can change our perspective, our emotional response, and our circumstances. After the illusion is broken, what remains? One of my mentors used to say, "After disillusionment comes enlightenment," and it is this light of understanding and insight that allows us to see the world and our place within it anew.

Just Be

"Sunflowers don't catch trains."

This line, from an Alice Walker poem, always tickles me. It's such a sweet and playful reminder of the beauty that can be found in stillness and in being one's natural self. Often, our greatest peace is found when we can tap into being instead of doing, doing, doing. As we near the holidays, this reminder is especially important and might be one of the best gifts we can give ourselves.

For Today, A Poem

The Summer Day by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean--

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

With your one wild and precious life?

More on Love and Fear

If fear and anger are the root of non-loving, then courage and peacefulness are the root of love. It is a brave thing to choose love, gentleness, and compassion. The Buddhist loving-kindness meditation aids in the heart-opening practice of choosing love. To practice it, you simply imagine someone you know, someone you don’t know, even someone you don’t like (which can be especially transformative). You imagine taking into your heart all of that person’s pain and suffering; you see it flowing from them to you and filling your heart space. But don’t stop there; really feel it. Then, you imagine sending from your heart solace, joy, and love, love, love. Feel that too. As you send loving energy from your heart to this person, you will feel your own heart expanding. It is big enough to contain the whole world’s suffering, and its love is powerful enough to heal deep wounds. I am convinced that this meditation, this prayer, affects not only the one meditating but also the one imagined. Your compassion and love reach that person. Your compassion and love are transformative. And since what we send into the world returns to us, we cannot help but be healed ourselves.

Love Over Fear

One of my dear friends has recently fully realized what it means to choose love over fear, to make decisions based on the heart rather than on the sense of fight or flight. I am so grateful to her for sharing her story with me, and I am grateful for her presence in my life. She has reminded me of what I, too, strive for. When people have commented that we must learn to love rather than fear, I understand fully what they mean; what I have not always understood is how to go about this process of loving ever more while letting go of more and more fear.

In my own studies, I often think of the chakra system and its inter-workings with emotional, physical, and spiritual health. Each of the seven major chakras has an emotional resonance; the root chakra, Muladhara, is the seat of security and rootedness. The heart chakra, Anahata, is the seat of love. Each chakra, too, has an opposing emotional resonance, so that when the chakra is closed or out of balance, the negative emotion will begin to emanate from that space. An imbalance in Muladhara results in fear. An imbalance in Anahata results in grief.

It is just as important to investigate one's relationship to the root and resonance of fear and grief as it is to cultivate a sense of groundedness and love. It is the sense of security that allows people to feel safe enough to love, and it is insecurity which causes people to react with anger and defensiveness, which so often leads to grief. Why? Because anger is destructive, and destruction leads to a death of some sort. Usually this is not a physical death, and often death is necessary for something else to be reborn, but too much of this will inevitably result in grief.

So how does one cultivate the ability to act out of love rather than fear, to make choices that reflect an open heart and a stable root? One choice at a time, is an easy but vague answer. More practically, we must continually ask ourselves what is motivating our decisions. We must investigate how we physically feel when we are making choices. Does my chest feel heavy and stony? Do I feel panicked and unable to think straight? If so, I'm likely reacting in fear and with a closed heart. Conversely, if my chest feels open, light and I feel calm and steady, then I am moving from a space of love and fearlessness.

Someone wrote that love is letting go of fear, and I can see so clearly how this is so. The daily challenge is the letting go. Acknowledging fear, yet acting through love is the task. We may believe that fight or flight is our best method of self-preservation, but in most circumstances that we face today, love is the true method of survival. Fight or flight, the stress response, wreaks havoc on the body and mind, and what we send into the world returns to us. So loving more and more is our challenge as well as our salvation.

Change, Survival, Community

This week, I have been teaching Octavia Butler's novel Parable of the Sower to my students. It's an engrossing and haunting story about the United States in a not so distant future. What is most frightening and illuminating about it is that the scene Butler paints could indeed occur, perhaps not in the details she describes but in the emotional and social portrait of people she paints. While the world may never see a drug like Pyro that causes people immense pleasure when they set fire to things, we may see a time when water is more expensive than gasoline and gasoline is too expensive to support motorized transportation. Similarly, many people already live in the walled communities Butler creates which keep her protagonist and others feeling safe from the chaos that exists beyond their walls.

That protagonist, Lauren, recognizes that her community is not as safe as they want to believe they are. She understands that they need to be more prepared in case their walls are breached; in fact, they need to be prepared to live without their walls if that becomes necessary. Lauren begins describing a worldview, a religion, that sees change as the most powerful, unavoidable reality in the world. Since she acknowledges that God is the most powerful, constant, and present force in the world, she begins to see change as God, God as change.

I'll not comment on the religion she begins to form or this idea on which it is based, I will say that the book has me reflecting on faith as a means for coping with change and facilitating survival. Parable of the Sower deals with change and survival in very physical ways, but I can see the book offering a metaphor for dealing with all sorts of change and enhancing one's survival through that change to whatever exists on its other side.

Interestingly, Lauren also lives with a "disease" called hyperempathy syndrome, which means that she feels in her own body andy pain or pleasure that she sees others experiencing. This is important to consider because, on a larger level, if our society is to survive the many changes that are occurring now, we need some of that hyperempathy; we need to place ourselves in the skins of others, as best as possible, and imagine that their pain is ours, their well-being is ours. Our faiths, our various religions, acknowledge this. Our faith, then, whether organized into a religion or not, helps us to survive change and to live in community.

And faith can help us thrive. It is what gives Lauren hope for the future of her community and ultimately society. It does the same for me.

An Affirmation

love is a place

& through this place of

love move

(with brightness of peace)

all places

yes is a world

& in this world of

yes live

(skilfully curled)

all worlds

--e.e. cummings

Today, I am saying yes to full presence, even though I didn't sleep much; to gratitude for my family and for my work which helps support us; to patience with myself and others, instead of the crankiness I usually feel when sleepy; to smiles and lightheartedness, to not taking things so seriously.

What are you saying yes to today?

Toward a More Spacious Heart

Have you ever encountered a person who pushed all your buttons without even trying, someone to whom you have a deep, visceral reaction even upon your first encounter? I did recently, and I couldn't figure out why I reacted so strongly to her, why I wanted to avoid her entirely, why everything she said forced me to take shelter in the meditative calmness of my breath and the recognition of the thought-root of emotions.

Yesterday, I finally understood.

This woman, whom I will call S., said something to me that was decidedly confrontational, though veiled in sweetness. With the look on her face, the tone of her voice, and especially my emotional response, the answer clicked into place. "That's P.!" I thought to myself. "She's P., and she's here so that I can learn something." P. was a friend with whom I needed to part ways. Just like S., P. would hide aggression and anger under smiles and sweetness. It took me a long time to recognize that the friendship was more painful than genuine. I'm glad it hasn't taken me long to recognize the similarity of my emotional response to S.

With this new awareness, I can be much more generous of spirit. I know S. is not P. I know that she is not meant to be my friend (our relationship is solely professional). I know that I have no history with her and that I don't want to let any baggage taint my interactions with her. And with this awareness, I can be much more compassionate toward her and myself. It helps too that, right after my realization, S. opened up her own home and table to anyone who had nowhere to go on Thanksgiving. I could see the sincerity of her generosity, and my own heart became more spacious.

This spaciousness is the open heart I strive for, the heart filled with love and generosity, kindness and compassion. Awareness and compassion really do change everything. And a spacious heart feels so much healthier than a closed one. Blood moves through tissue, not bone. Love moves through openness, not stone.

Letting Go

Some people say that when you don't know what to do in a situation, you should do nothing. I like to tweek this a little bit: when I don't know what to do, I should pray and then wait for an answer. That answer can come in the form of a "sign," or my intuition, or some other way, but for me the answers are rarely clear when I obsess, worry, and dwell on the problem. Since I am prone to over-analysis, I often think through all the scenarios and never conclude on the best option because all options have benefits and drawbacks. I make a decision, then I change my mind and decide the opposite; then, considering anew some minutiae, I make the first decision again. My attempts at "control" are both exhausting and self-defeating.

So, I will pray, as I always do, but this time I will let go after the prayer. I will try not to dwell on the problem of what to do about our house, our neighborhood, our finances. Wasn't I just writing about gratitude and faith? Yes. That's right. My prayer, then, will sound something like: "Thank you for the roof over our heads; please show us what to do about the rest of the house!" Now, the letting go--of anxiety, overthinking, expectation--with each and every breath.

Saving Daylight, Treasuring Darkness

Yesterday morning, when the time changed, I woke up at 4:15 and couldn't get back to sleep. I've been told that this time of the morning is another liminal time, an in-between time when we can be most receptive to spiritual work, so it was a good time for my daily meditation. I love this time of the morning, when the house is still and dark. L. and V. are still sleeping then, and I have a few moments to myself. Because the moon is in its waxing gibbous phase, it has been bright, and I've enjoyed its white light shining on me in the darkness. And with the weather finally feeling a bit cooler, I feel the presence of autumn, of the turning-inward time. What a magical time of year this is, always my favorite...until spring, that is.

This morning, I'm again up early, enjoying the stillness, the moonlight, the warmth from the heater. I appreciate having this darkness in which to turn inward, to check email, to blog, to enjoy my tea. This time allows me to care for myself while saving daylight for my family (and, yes, work too), and believe me, at eight-months old, V. really powers through the daylight hours. She's "on," full-blast, throughout the day, sometimes with hardly a nap for recharging. Sometimes before I get up in the morning I think about staying in bed, trying to charge myself up even more for the day ahead, but these dark hours are part of my energy source. As long as I've gone to bed early enough, I feel these hours are more beneficial to my well-being than extra sleep. And so I'll sign off now. It's time for meditation and asana...

Happy All Hallows Eve

Many spiritual traditions acknowledge that the "veil" between the spiritual and the material worlds is thin today, enhancing contact between the two realms. What this means to me is that today, especially, I remember my ancestors who have come before; I pray they are experiencing peace. It also means that I choose to believe they are praying for me, and that I can feel their love and prayers entering my life. It is also a good day to pray for descendants, whether they are in this world already or still to come. Prayers will always find their way.

And tomorrow, being All Saint's Day, is a day when I think about the lives of saints, what makes a saintly life. Recently, I came across this poem, which I love so much, by Hafiz:

"Even after all this time

the sun never says to the earth,

'You owe me.'

Look at what happens

with a love like that--

it lights the entire sky."

This poem epitomizes saintliness to me. Like the sun, those living saintly lives give of themselves selflessly. They give without regard to holding onto the fruits of their labor; indeed, those fruits are specifically intended for others. Yet saints are also like the earth, receiving divine love, blessings, and grace even though they can never earn these things; for these gifts, they feel immense gratitude.

So, my prayer today is this:

May I give like the sun and feel the gratitude of the earth.

May you give like the sun and feel the gratitude of the earth.

May all beings give like the sun and feel the gratitude of the earth.

Words I'm living by...

Recently, I began certifying in Reiki and have been pleased with its wisdom. Take, for example, its advice on living:

1) Just for today, do not anger.

2) Just for today, do not worry.

3) Honor your parents, teachers, and elders.

4) Make your living honestly.

5) Be grateful for everything.

How helpful it is to realize that we can live in the moment, that just for today, I can choose something other than anger and worry. I can think about tomorrow when tomorrow comes, but today I will choose patience and faith and gratitude.

Big Bad Wolf

Remember the story of the three little pigs and the big bad wolf? Once the pigs nestled themselves into the brick house, they were safe from all of the wolf's huffing and puffing. Well, we three piglets have found that our brick house is not the stuff of fairy tales. Yesterday we learned that the brick is literally sliding off the sides of our house...so much for it having been well and properly renovated when we bought it two years ago.

We found this news after calling in a man who raises houses; yes, one corner of our house had been sinking since the renovator removed a tree that had been growing too close to the house, but he didn't bother to fortify the space where the tree had been. So over these two years, our house has been slowing descending, as has the neighborhood. What we thought would be a neighborhood on the upswing has seen a downward turn since the economic slide; it and our house feel unsafe, and I feel unsettled. 

There is a lesson in this, of course. Part of it must be that I cannot put my faith or security in material things, that everything is subject to change, that L. and I need to listen to our heads and not just our hearts when making such big decisions, that we will be okay. I have to find a way to be grateful for this circumstance, if only for the lessons I apparently needed to learn. 

We need to move. Onward and upward now.