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...