November 1st, 2011
“Do you want to know what it is like to die? Think of the thing you treasure the most and drop it! That is death.”
~J. Krishnamurti
If you were to ask me: Who is your Guru? I would have to answer: my dog, Buddy.
We made the decision to put our dog, Buddy, down August 11th after witnessing him in such terrific pain and imbalance that he began to fall over like a child’s stuffed toy without warning.
I spent the preceding hours before the vet came to our home just lying down in his bed with him. A few people asked me what I was doing…“nothing, just lying down with Buddy”. This seemed like the most honorable way for me to acknowledge his place in my life; after all he’d been following me around for the past 12 and a half years no questions asked.
Elisabeth Kubler-Ross worked with terminally ill patients in a hospital near Chicago in the 1960’s where I grew up. There, she formulated generalized stages of dying, like: denial, anger, bargaining and finally, surrender. However, in reality there are no stages but only the incessant changes of the mind. A moment of denial or anger opening into acceptance until a moment later the mind curls back on itself in depression, fear, trepidation and confusion. It is the roller coaster mind constantly changing, opening and closing, fluttering in the face of reality. Buddy didn’t go through any of that, he just followed along until he couldn’t anymore and then it became my job to step in on his behalf.
I pulled out all my books on death and dying, the ones I went to to find solace in order to try to understand my mother’s death 10 years ago. It was interesting to read my notes in the margins, see what I had underlined and to reflect on how time affects our grieving. I found this passage: “If the dead be truly dead, why should they still be walking in my heart?” When my mother died, I remember turning to the hospice worker asking her: “ Where did SHE go” incredulously. She replied: “She’s IN you, in your sister, your aunt and everyone whom she loved.” This explanation made sense. We like to make everything last forever, but it is important to include loss in our philosophy of life. I also found this quote: “It is said that when Plato was very near death a friend asked him to summarize his life work. Plato came out of a coma to answer. He looked at his friend and said simply: practice dying”.
At the end of each yoga practice we “practice dying” with the pose of the corpse, called Savasana. Some believe it to be the most important and the most difficult pose. It is easy to skip over Savasana, rationalizing with oneself that we don’t really have the time. But that’s like saying we don’t have the time to let go and so we walk around instead in a place of holding; holding onto what, an illusion of control? When recently asked, “Is death real or an illusion?” one of the remarkable teachers of the Tibetan Buddhist tradition answered: “death is a real illusion”.
The day and night before we put Buddy down a steady stream of family members, neighbors, and friends came by to share stories, look at old photographs and just sit around with Buddy. Others phoned, others still emailed ~ the love and support was boundless. We can learn a lot from a dog. I know I did: sit, stay, breathe deeply, and love unconditionally.
Practice dying. Practice Savasana. Let go and forever walk in the hearts of those whom you love.
A guru is someone who brings you into the light. Good dog, Buddy.
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November 1st, 2011
Steve and I were walking the other day in Vancouver where we came upon a house on a big hill with a large clock set into the bricks of an old house, a clock on the outside of the house. It was a large, industrial sized clock, something you might see in a high school cafeteria; black hands, white face, easily readable from a distance by many who, from across the way might need to see it, might need to know that in 5 minutes they need to start packing it in and get on with business. But this particular clock faces the ocean and looks out onto North Vancouver and announces to anyone trudging up the hill on Sasamat Drive what time it is, that time IS, that it marches on. “WHO”, we wondered rather incredulously, is this clock for? “Time on the outside, peace on the inside” I quipped to Steve, fantasizing that inside that home there were no clocks and that perhaps in the midst of this urban sprawl, this family made a pact to put time on the outside thereby proclaiming peace on the inside! I wondered as we marched on, what this might look like, it was beginning to sound almost yogic.
What is time? I began to shift my attention to this beloved existential question. Time, Aristotle speculated, may be motion. He added, however that motion could be slower or faster but not time. Aristotle did not have the privilege of knowing about Einstein’s theory of relativity in which time also becomes amenable to change. Similarly when Einstein was working to develop the theory of general relativity and proposed the revolutionary idea that mass curves space and alters time he did not know that the universe was expanding. This discovery, by astronomer Edwin Hubble, came 13 years after Einstein had published his theory of General Relativity. Had Einstein known this he may have incorporated those ideas into his theories.
Our memory creates the past; conscious perception of events gives the feeling of present. Future is a mental construct patterned on the memory experience of the past. The concept of time emerges, then as our mind tries to make sense of the world around us, which is filled with change. Measurement of time started early on in human development. There are plenty of clues in every language in the greetings and the meetings. Time of the day is related to the position of sun in the sky or its absence thereof. There is dawn, sunrise, early morning, morning, mid morning, noon, afternoon, late afternoon, evening, sunset, dusk, night and mid night. Then there are years, months, weeks, based on the earth’s yearly orbit around the sun and the changing seasons. Once we started using clocks, watches, and then digital time we got completely disconnected from the original method of measurement and time developed a life of its own. Time becomes evident through motion and is measured by comparison with other motions. Sunrise sunsets, night and day, the changing seasons, the movement of the celestial bodies are all indicative of continuous change. The aging process is a reminder that molecular motion and interactions are also at work and are a part of time. Alas, I am not a physicist.
In yoga, we move into stillness as we begin to observe ourselves in this very moment of time. Body and mind are ever changing, always blooming and the mind incessantly stays thinking. But underneath all that movement, all that “time” is complete stillness. It is vital that we give ourselves the opportunity to “practice” stillness, as it can slip away along with time, unnoticed and lost to what we call the past. In noticing time, we become aware of how we spend it and our feelings about that. A friend told me she felt guilty taking time for herself one afternoon “it isn’t productive” she said. But we must do this, we must allow ourselves time for self-care, to transition, to connect with our self , others, and our community. We need time to reflect and to pause in order to know from a deeper place what is right and true for us, get into time. Stilling the mind through the practice of yoga allows the habits of thought to recede and the world to appear immediately, without the obstacles of concepts or time getting in the way of our direct experience. Michael Stone says this: ”When the breath and mind move together as one, the central channels of the body open to the present moment, which is none other than what is occurring now. Like tracing a sound back to its source or seeing the water that makes up a wave, we keep the mind so intimately connected to the breath that the two become inseparable”.
We need to know what time it is, from (ahem) time to time, to get to the next moment and to show up for what is important, so I appreciate clocks, watches and other time pieces. I also appreciate what I take to be the bold metaphor and reminder to keep time on the outside, peace on the inside.
Take control of your inner time, the time you create for yourself: be bold, clock in with your self and what makes you tick.
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November 1st, 2011
Richard Freeman in his beautiful book, The Mirror of Yoga begins by saying these words: “Yoga begins with listening. When we listen, we are giving space to what is. We are allowing other people to be what they are, and we are sanctioning our own bodies and our own minds to fully manifest. Yoga also begins in the present moment. Many classic texts, such as the Yoga Sutra by Patanjali, start with the word atha meaning, “now”, which refers to this very notion. In the context of the Yoga Sutra, the use of the word atha means we have come to a point in our lives where we are ready to wake up from our conditioned existence and our habitual ways of behaving, thinking, and interacting with the world. It insinuates that we are ready to get real and to discover the essence of all existence that lies deep down in the core of our own heart and at the center of our being. It is from this experience of the root of life in the present moment that a yoga practice can actually be generated. Patanjali’s use of the word now implies that we have most likely tried many, many other things in order to wake up and to find happiness. We have probably pursued all different types of pleasures, and perhaps we have explored various philosophical teachings and disciplines and maybe even religious practices in order to give life meaning. But still, something is not quite right. When all our attempts to find meaning are seen to have been inadequate for the job, then we come into our present situation and this is where the practice of yoga truly begins; right here, right now”.
“Yoga” my teacher has often said, “is no big deal”. This is one of the most endearing qualities of her’s; to be able to take something so old, so sacred, so revered and turn it into something that needn’t be onerous. In fact she often equates yoga to music and “conducts” her classes in a symphony of movements that seem to somehow transcend yoga, it’s subtle and it makes me giggle even though giggling isn’t really allowed. But that’s the point about yoga, there are laws and rules (called Yama and Niyama) but they merely serve as a sort of boundary in the passageway that helps us come back to now. They, as road signs say: Be truthful, have integrity, create freedom from addictions, let go. They remind us to live simply, find contentment, embrace purity and refine ourselves so that we can surrender to this present moment that some people call God. But the present moment can be scary and it isn’t always comfortable. “Now” as we know it can be elusive, as it slips between the cracks of our fingers. So much happens in the moment despite our seemingly rabid attempts at times to keep ourselves from it; we walk and plan for other things, we talk to friends while sometimes doing something else, it’s multitasking and efficient and also habitual. Yet what we do now will shape the next now, or tomorrow.
It is essential to come back to our now, to our practice, daily or at least regularly. The practice itself can be simple, simple is good, but regular. We need to regularly show up for ourselves; simply and right now.
I am aware that I am now in a place of transition in my life. My time is spent differently and where I spend it are not the same places I have always spent it. I have experienced loss and things have changed. But these things are universal, indeed so many people I meet are in transition. Perhaps this too speaks to the notion of now and how now is no longer.
We have reasons (obstacles The Yoga Sutras call them) that we don’t show up for yoga, not class necessarily but our own yoga, whatever that means to us. In Yoga Sutra-speak these obstacles are: illness, fatigue, doubt, carelessness, laziness, attachment, and delusion. But, we are told, they can be eliminated if the mind is repeatedly brought to a single focus. This single focus can be through the breath, by chanting OM or something else that speaks to you. But, it is about being, now.
The way of yoga is not a single, linear path. Rather, it is a complex method involving a radical change in the way we experience the world and conceive the process of knowing ourselves. It gives us techniques with which to analyze our own thought process and finally to lay bare our true human identity.
Get to know yourself, get to know yoga, now.
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June 7th, 2011
Yesterday, Luna walked up to a curious smelling fence. Despite my frantic warning she, all at once learned about electric fences. We both cried out; her in pain and outrage, me in fear. It was over in a millisecond. Some would say: “well, she won’t do that again” and they’d probably be right, though still, it isn’t the way I like to teach.
I teach from my body, bringing together what I have learned from what I will call “outside sources” with what I know inside: that internal kind of knowing or what some call: the inner teacher. For me, teaching and learning go hand in hand. I’ve heard we teach what we ourselves need to learn. This seems plausible. Teaching for me feels like a duty and I mean this earnestly.
In Vietnam they do not say: “thank-you” the way we do. In fact, the expression is hardly used. This, our Vietnamese guide explained to us is because of a sense of duty. “There is no need” our guide, Dat said “to thank someone for that which they are meant to be doing; it’s redundant”. Each family member, we learned from Dat has their own specific duty and none more important than the other. For example: a child’s duty might be to hand out the chop sticks at meal time, or the daughter in law is to sit at the head of the table and see to it that everyone is fed before she, herself is to eat. So, one doesn’t thank the person for doing their job, it is just expected. It is their Dharma. Vietnam is rich culturally and with customs, politics and history. Most Vietnamese know their history quite well. This is because when you ask a Vietnamese person what year they were born (so you know if they are your senior “old uncle” or your “young uncle” and thus how to address them) they respond by telling you the historical events that took place during the year of their birth (say: The American war or the Tet offensive). We learned this too from Dat.
It was interesting traveling with a guide and something I haven’t done before. A good guide brings a culture to life and invites you to go deeper into the experience. Good guides are thoughtful, attentive stewards to their culture, their history and to what those things are made of.
I like to think about teaching in this way; like guiding. Good teachers like guides are always learning: from their students, from their self-study, (called Svhadyaya in Sanskrit) and in conjunction with their historical perspective. Good teachers teach because it is their duty, their Dharma to do so.
So what has this got to do with you? I’m not a teacher, you may say, but I would beg to differ. We are all teachers. We teach even when we don’t mean to be or think we are and in fact what guides us, our sense of duty comes from within. We are our own best guides.
Listen Within.
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June 7th, 2011
I’m going to assume you all have a practice and, I think it’s safe to say that you all do. There is something; (drink a warm beverage in the morning, meditate, move your body aerobically or anaerobically, listen to birds, floss your teeth, read scripture, write in your journal, do the dishes, hug your dog, cook, eat, call your mom, or play Scrabble) that you do everyday.
Think about it. What is that for you? And, how’s it going? What is the quality of your relationship to your practice? I mean, if you were to see your practice as your friend and you ran into another friend on the beach, say and that other friend was to ask you about your relationship, what would you say? All relationships can be challenging at times; in fact, the best ones can be the most thought provoking, bringing us face to face with our own dilemma, our karma or the things that most need us. How often we say in relationship with others: “it drives me crazy when he/she does that”. That thing which drives you crazy has gotten under your skin and is itching to be addressed. This “drives me crazy” kind of relationship is challenging you in other words. Your practice too might drive you crazy at times, might cause you to doubt yourself, your “progress” or your sense of purpose in it. Your relationship with your practice might be fantastic, (right now) or strong, (at this time) weak, (these days) or dubious (for now). You may have too many practices, thus creating a sense of scatteredness~the messy desk affect: it’s there somewhere, buried. No matter, these are just words.
What’s behind the words? The relationship. The everyday feelings you have: the fluctuations and the coming back. Let’s say this: let’s say it’s the end of your life and now you are going to evaluate the relationship you maintained with this practice of yours all these years, all these combined moments that ended up turning you into who you are. What would you like to say? Enjoy relating to your practice.
Namaste,
Elizabeth
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June 7th, 2011
I love coming to the beach in the morning with the dogs; coming, sitting, writing, looking out. Luna goes for a dip, Buddy explores around a little before making a circle and tucking in to my right side, where he belongs; a perfect fit. Then come the geese; flying off the edge of the property above my head and behind me, it’s always the same, like they were waiting for us. Do they do this when we are not here?
There is a sense of belonging with geese, a collective consciousness of sorts: now fly, now honk, now form a V. There is that same feeling of collective consciousness in Vancouver these days, even if you are not a hockey fan. Strangers are hugging each other, traffic is flowing more easily, and there is an air of supportive discussion, an invincible sort of energy has taken over the city and memories are being created: “where were you during the Stanley Cup play-offs in 2011?”
We are happiest when we feel we belong. Dogs make us feel we belong, being close to nature comes with a deep sense of belonging to the bigger picture for many of us, music for others, community….a sense of belonging is key and goes hand in hand with happiness. We as humans strive for happiness. There are books: The Art of Happiness by the Dalai Lama, Happiness: A Guide to Developing Life’s Most important Skill by Daniel Goleman, The Happiness Advantage, Thich Nhat Hahn’s Happiness: Essential Mindful Practice, there are programs that teach about happiness and pills to make people happy. And, happiness IS good. But, like the weather here at the beach, it won’t last; it won’t always be sunny, the dogs will one day pass on and the Canucks either will or won’t win the cup (I’m betting they will!).
I think what we are after is something much more than happiness, I think what we are after is a sense of belonging. Happiness is the sun and life has clouds, but as the modern saying goes: “it’s all good”. With yoga, comes a feeling of belonging, a sense of coming home. More specifically, it is the breath and a moving toward consciousness around our breath that brings us home. When we focus our awareness on our breath we begin, like a bird who instinctively navigates thousands of kilometers each year to nest in the same branch in the same tree, to move toward a place of homecoming, seeking a way home to ourselves. We feel a certain kind of reverence when we feel we belong, when we tune into our breath. Like striving for inner alignment, we sift through the layers of sensations that create the emotional architecture of who we are and stay with the breath. Like a dog following the scent of his master through thicket and field, following the breath by using investigation and contemplation, we gradually penetrate the layers of false identities and bring our home to the Self.
Home is a place of familiarity; a place where we can lie back, put our feet up and know. There is a certain resignation of both inquiry and surrender when we make a practice of belonging to our breath. Through practice we empathetically prove that the parading sensations and identities (the layers) that we may have found so convincing are actually temporary visitors and when we become quiet and focused enough we understand that in hosting these visitors, we, our self remains unchanged.
Patanjali says it well in the Yoga Sutras:
“Yoga is the settling of the mind into silence: when the mind has settled, we are established in our essential nature, which is unbounded consciousness” (or breath).
I love coming to the beach in the morning with the dogs; coming, sitting, writing, looking out. It is these rituals, like meditation, like focusing on the breath that remind us of our sense of belonging, our sense of home and thus a feeling of happiness.
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June 7th, 2011
We’ve had a late spring. Still, to complain about it registers “tilt” with my psyche given the current “weather” in Japan. There is, to be sure an association that certainly by THIS time of the year we ought to be having some consistently warmer weather, given the extra amount of light each night. The wall clock in our kitchen broke. And, despite my replacing its battery, it will only run when left on its side. I decided to go with it, so I put it on a shelf sideways and look at it from time to time in it’s corpse-like position. The clock itself is fine, as long as it is left on its side and who am I to throw a perfectly good clock in the garbage. And, what’s the metaphor here? Last week I experienced the most intense jet lag I remember ever having. It was like going mad: hearing the voices of people I “knew” while traveling, the sounds of those marvelous Asian birds, (not the flu varietals) still (in the middle of the night) smelling coconut soup, diesel fumes, feeling the boat rock and wondering where I was. Jet lag is like time on its side: moving between two zones as I asked myself how it is that time has got a hold of me. Time, like perspective should go sideways sometimes and that is the beauty of travel, to step out and not throw things out just because they can no longer function as they once did.
Every morning in Luang Probang, where the two rivers: Nam Khan and Mekong meet, so also do the several hundred monks who live in the 54 Buddhist temples that preside over this world heritage site. At 6 in the morning, the monks begin their daily precession down the streets to receive offerings (mostly rice) from the community. What they collectively receive is what they will have to eat that day. If little is received, then hunger becomes the “lesson” that day. Either way, what was most touching about this daily ritual was to see that the monks would also give what they were given to the less fortunate than them: the children who live on the streets. The monks, who have only what is given to them, give that which has been given to them away.
Time on its side or perspective is needed here, a pause for reflection on what is important.
Monks are a common sight in Laos, as the country is 90% Buddhist. There, to become a monk you are both honoring your family and securing an education for yourself, so not only is it common to see fully robbed monks, but also boys: monks in training (they have bare shoulders to indicate their status). So to see a white pick up truck filled with saffron colored monks piled in the back is not uncommon, they have to get into town somehow and since money does not cross their hands, hitch hiking is commonplace. Two monks walking side by side under an umbrella is also a commonly peaceful sight. Monks chanting, of course, monks on the Internet, listening to an iPod (cords discretely tucked away in robes) and on borrowed bicycles. What they have has been given to them and they are grateful for it without expectation for more.
So time, in Luang Probang is different and I don’t think it is only because I was on a holiday because I was also on a holiday in Vietnam and time there and how they use it is a whole other story! In Laos there is time for things to get done and done with a broad smile, as if what they are doing is the most important thing they could be doing. I do not get the sense they are gripped by time in the same way that we are or can be. It is more like the kind of time we feel after a satisfying meditation practice, yoga practice or something that reminds us of what is really important in our lives.
In my trip journal it says: I will go back to Mayne and what will I teach?! What have I learned?! (This coming from a place of fear that I had been away for a whole month) and then it goes on to say: I have learned (again) the importance of taking time to pause and to pay respect to whatever it is that you feel grateful for, to respect your elders, even if they are dead, the importance of taking risks and how to “hear” other people’s perspectives, to learn from how different is better than we think. I learned again that we needn’t practice asanas every day to behold yoga. Yoga, as the Bhagavad-Gita reminds us is made up of three parts: Karma Yoga (doing one’s duty or dharma, action done without thought of gain) Bhakti Yoga (devotional practice which allows us to attain liberation through action and loving devotion) and Jnana Yoga (the yoga of knowledge and the practice of learning to discriminate between what is real and what is not) and it is in these ways that traveling itself is like yoga.
I encourage you to turn time on its side, (I’ve got a clock I can loan you if you need some help…) to engage in the practice of yoga and all that means to you.
Namaste,
Elizabeth
Tags: daily practice, jet lag
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January 4th, 2011
Do you practice yoga daily? I bet you do.
A yoga Review and Checklist
Yoga’s eight limbs:
1. Yama
2. Niyama
3. Asana
4. Pranayama
5. Pratyahara
6. Dharana
7. Dhyana
8. Samadhi
What they mean:
Yama are 5 external restraints that we abide by. They are: Ahimsa, (non-violence) Satya, (being truthful) Asteya, (non-stealing or not taking what is not ours) Bramacharya, (wise use of energy) and Aparigraha (not accumulating what is not essential).
Niyama are 5 internal restraints that we embrace which are: Sauca, (purification) Santosa, (contentment) Tapas, (discipline and patience) Svadyaya, (self-study, contemplation) Isvara Pranidhana (devotion and dedication to the ideal of pure awareness).
Asana is the cultivation of profound physical and psychological steadiness and ease in mind, body and breath.
Pranayama is sustained observation and relaxation of all aspects of breathing in order to bring about a natural refinement of the mind-body process through the stilling of the respiratory process.
Pratyahara is a naturally occurring uncoupling of sense organs and sense objects as awareness moves inward.
Dharana locks our awareness on a single object until the field of awareness becomes singular and focused.
Dhyana is when concentration deepens to the point where subject and object dissolve.
Samadhi is the sustained experience of concentration, in which there is a complete integration of subject and object, revealing pure awareness.
Why I suspect you are already doing this:
While none of us does all of these things all the time, most of us practice “yoga” more than we think. What becomes important over time is to consistently remind ourselves of why we do what we do and reestablish the reasons behind the decisions we make. Taking a look at these eight limbs from time to time helps to remind and challenge us, keeps us on track, like a spiritual GPS. Look through this list from time to time. Are you practicing non-violence, being truthful, taking what isn’t yours, seeking balance, and ridding yourself of obvious overflow? Where do you find cleanliness, contentment, discipline, contemplation and devotion in your lives? Do you find a way to practice psychological and physical steadiness? How is your breath during all of this? Can you focus on what is important? Can you let go of what isn’t? Where is your peace? What is your peace? Yoga is everywhere; what we eat, what we watch, what we read and not read, what and who we listen to, who we choose to be with, how we use our time, the balance we create in our schedules and in our lives. Yoga is also not taking any of this too seriously. Yoga is not staring down at the path and forgetting to look around. Walking is yoga, swimming is yoga, cooking is yoga, being in relationship with ourselves and others is yoga, laughing is yoga. Go out and have a good time; keep living your yoga, you are already there.
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January 4th, 2011
Some people travel from the west to the east with hopes of finding their spirituality, discovering enlightenment, or seeking peace. I have resisted the trip I am currently on, rationalizing with myself that I feel enlightened every time I walk with Buddy and Luna to Bennett Bay beach. I reckon that my spirituality comes when each week when I gather with a group of equally enthusiastic women to sing, when I slip into the swimming pool beside my daughter on Thursday mornings or when I write. “I” I have argued, don’t believe anymore that peace is out “there”. So why should I pluck myself out of that which I have created: a lovely, comfortable and satisfying life. “What if” I suggested anxiously to Steve “something happens to the dogs while we are gone?!” this question taking on the tone of a person desperately clinging to life as it currently is.
Why do we travel? Why do we seek to learn about things outside of our everyday lives? How can we use our experiences and allow them to inform what we already know? As you read this, I will be “there”. Perhaps when I come back I will know the answer to these questions, perhaps I already know now, or will never know.
In Vancouver, where I live half the week, many people walk around with to-go coffee mugs and Lululemon shopping bags like some sort of urban dress code or cultural crest. The bags are filled with various “yogic” sayings, mainlining vedantic culture into the 21st century. One such saying is: “Do one thing that scares you everyday”. And this, of course, does not have to be travelling to Asia, though the idea is the same. Indeed the one thing that scares us every day might be something as down home as sitting to meditate or taking out the yoga mat in order to have a home practice. It might not be that it is scary as much as it is that we resist it; we fiddle or clean, adjust our outer surroundings until the time has passed and it’s too late. Why? Why do we resist change, the simple change of sitting to meditate, for example? Why do we hang on to this moment and fear the next when change is something that happens whether we like it or not… More questions. Sometimes when we “do one thing that scares us” we find that as we raise our personal bar and as we allow ourselves to be there in the midst of change, there is more clarity. A plaque on my windowsill reads: “You might as well be an active participant in your life, she said. Otherwise it’s just going to drag you kicking and screaming anyway”.
Here, in SE Asia, the one thing that scares me is as simple as crossing the street, as an ocean of motorists of various wheel sizes aggressively flood the roadways racing noisily without regard for pedestrians whatsoever. “Don’t hesitate, don’t make eye contact with them, find the peace within and whatever you do, don’t turn back” We’ve been told. Press on, be bold, step in and don’t look back are the clear metaphors here.
Without a doubt there is peace “there” just as there is peace “here”, and that peace, wherever we are is within us. The secret is in taking action. To be sure we do not need to go far to find tranquility. We do, however have to get up and go to our mats; sit, breathe, practice, and let it be enough.
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January 4th, 2011
It’s amazing what sort of life can grow between the cracks. In the desert, where any life at all seems doubtful given the traces of annual rainfall in those climes, we still find Wild Desert Petunias, Larrea Tridetata, and Ocatilla growing with ease. I always heard growing up that life depended on two things: photosynthesis and water, that indeed human beings are comprised mostly of water. How then is it that we survive in the cracks and in the spaces in between? And yet, some of us thrive under pressure; waiting until the last possible moment to complete “the assignment” as we feel the wall of deadlines closing in. For some, this is precisely what it takes: time closing in + desire to do well that equals growth in a new direction and space we hadn’t considered. For others of us, vast landscapes of room for thought, pre-planning, execution of ideas, editing and revision are what it takes to bring in the bounty of our efforts. And for others, still, a combination of both; freedom with pressure or pressure with freedom may be what is required. On the boat to Mayne the other day, I heard this news: “Twittering’s out”. All at once I found myself laughing and relieved, grateful and somewhat sardonic. I’m glad, I thought to leave the twittering to the birds, relieved to once again give nod to the Red Shafted Flicker who lives behind The Yoga House and to sit between the peaceful morning chorus of conversation the birds usher in. I am grateful to hear the tones of the geese as they argue over whether or not Bennett Bay is indeed the right place to land this morning. I never have tweeted; don’t really like blogging (though I am not sure it is politically correct to say so) but I DO like to write. I enjoy the bringing together of thoughts, images, emotions and absurdities in a slowly emerging way. Indeed, I need to write daily in a similar way that Red Winged Blackbirds, Pine Siskins and Golden Crowned Sparrows need to twitter each morning at dawn. I need to fit writing into the cracks between the nighttime and the daylight. I do not presume that anyone and everyone cares to listen to everything I write about, nor do I assume that you care that I might now prefer ball points to roller ball pens, thought about cupcakes before bed last night or think the color purple is what’s hot this season. This sort of magazine, tagline-writing style assumes a sophomoric tone, when in fact we all know that the truth doesn’t always come out in bumper stickers. But, I sound critical. I am not. It’s just that this style of writing, this fast-paced and constantly streaming varietal of expression feels like a violation of personal space and a way to keep ourselves from ourselves, or at least myself from me. It feels as outrageous to me as is the notion of life growing between the cracks and yet, we know it happens. We know that we all need to listen within and grow where it works for us individually to do so. Growing from our true nature, from what in yogic terms is called our Atman, brings us closer to the light within so that we can bring illumination and “photosynthesis” into our lives and to those whom we meet.
In this time of gradually re-emerging light, take a moment to shine your light, to “twitter” like a bird or like a stream of consciousness as you make way for a new year ahead.
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