homesick

So I'm in Texas.  I come here every year to visit my family.  I'm not from the Lone Star State myself, but have spent many weeks and months of my life here.

Texas has always been a sanctuary for me.  My respite from jobs, schedules, and difficult relationships.  The place where I felt loved unconditionally, cared for by a family who was uncritical and happy to see me.  I slept blissfully, comforted by the musty scent of my father's house and the rhythmic symphony of crickets and cicadas.  If my life fell apart for some reason, I always knew I could run to Texas.

But for the first time ever, I'm really, truly homesick here.  If I wrote a country song right now, it would be about driving my old pickup truck right back to Colorado.  I'd leave my dusty boots outside the practice room of the yoga studio, along with my big gold belt buckle with the "Om" symbol in the middle.

Don't get me wrong, I still love Texas.  The rich, hot outdoors packed with wildlife, the giant succulents, the beautiful bigness of everything.  The lakes you can lose yourself on in a boat and swim in without freezing to death.  The friendliness of strangers, the Mexican food, the cowboys and the kind Southern ladies with their big hair and Diet Cokes.  It's just different somehow.

As Thomas Wolfe says, you can't go home again.  I miss the Texas I used to love, but it has changed and so have I.   We are like old lovers who have grown apart but still care for one another, our hearts warm with bittersweet nostalgia.   I have come to believe that my only real home is that ever-evolving thing we call yoga practice.  That perhaps all our suffering is simply homesickness for a deeper connection to the Divine.  And when we truly connect, when I am in that place in me and you are in that place in you, well, we are one.  So Namaste for now, y'all.  I'll see you there, whenever we both arrive.

Colorado Springs, Yoga Sanctuary

 Old hometown acquaintance: "So, where do you live these days?"

Me, smiling: "Colorado Springs."

Acquaintance, visibly confused: "Oh...huh...do you, uh like it there?"

I know what he's thinking.  What kind of kale-eating, composting, bohemian yoga teacher lives in Colorado Springs?  And talks about it without crinkling her nose?

I can't be too offended, though, since I felt the same way before I lived here.  I came here under mild duress (a story for another day), and pretty much figured I had arrived in a camo-colored exile governed by hate-preaching dictators.  In hindsight, I'm not sure why I made this assumption.  I had never actually spent any time here.  

It appeared I would be stuck here awhile, so I sucked it up and decided to meet some people. I took my then-baby to a La Leche League meeting.   This was where my stereotypes began to break.  I was expecting homogeneity and intolerance. And that, as I longed to tell my old acquaintance, is not at all what I got.  There were mamas of wildly varied ages, ethnicities; religious and political perspectives. These categories clearly meant nothing to them. They were feeding babies together.  Without a twinge of judgment.  I began observing this phenomenon - radical tolerance - everywhere I went in the city.  

So the answer is a vehement yes.  Yes I do like it here.  Very much.  Colorado Springs has healed my life and given me more opportunities than I thought possible.  Living here has taught me to set aside my opinions and look into the hearts of those in my midst.  We have all kinds of people here, and we get along just fine.  We help each other in times of crisis and work together to fix trails and help homeless citizens.

We are also doing yoga - lots of it.  There are dozens of active studios, and every gym offers a full menu of yoga classes. You can go to a kirtan just as easily as you can take a fitness yoga class.  We bring yoga into our schools from elementary to university, to libraries, parks, corporate offices, hospitals, assisted living facilities, military bases, treatment centers, and so much more.  Local yoga teachers are training to serve wounded veterans and to support PTSD recovery through mindfulness practices.  Our yoga community facilitates healing for those affected by abuse, trauma, addiction and eating disorders.

Yoga teaches us, repeatedly, that we are not our bodies, not our experiences, not our identities.  That our true Selves are something much greater and much more unified.  In this space we embody the literal meaning of "yoga" - "to yoke" or "to join together".  If we fail to welcome those who vote or pray differently, we miss the whole point.

The typical stereotype of Colorado Springs is misguided, based on a few national news items and some now-defunct religious leadership.  This is where walls are torn down, not built.  It's where hippies and soldiers put their mats side by side, and bow to one another with a Namaste after class. No kidding.  And if that isn't creating change in the world, I don't know what is.

there's no crying in...well, sometimes there's crying

There’s no crying in yoga.  

Wait, no, that’s baseball.   I’ve seen plenty of people cry in yoga.  I’ve cried in yoga.  Actually, I cried in yoga today.

It came as a surprise, just a simple, spontaneous, child’s pose at the end of my savasana.  After a practice that felt pretty good.  But I had to face it – I’d been in a bona fide slump.  The slump is filled with self-doubt and anxiety.  It happens in occasional cycles, often following something I perceive as a personal failure or mistake.  The slump awakens my dormant inner naysayer, who chides me with criticisms of my performance and questions my self-worth.  It’s a mean, condescending voice.  It wants me to be small. 

Thankfully, there are other voices in the room.  The voice of my instructor reminds me gently to breathe, to be present, to acknowledge my thoughts and surrender them.  Her gentle adjustments guide my body to hold these intentions.  From here awakens the voice of my inner teacher, which is not linked to my success or failure.   I remember the passing nature of these sensations.  I recall the knowledge that all good things take time, that challenges are but stepping stones on the journey, that I make mistakes because I’m willing to try, and that being small does not serve my higher purpose.  It tells me I can offer the gift of grace to myself and others.

It’s just another way to practice yoga. In the past, I might have run from that discomfort, distracting myself with food, alcohol or some form of chatter.  I might have intensified the slump, thinking something was even more wrong with me for feeling this way.  But now - through practice - I can breathe into the tears, into that doubtful, grieving place and allow it to be.  When it passes, I am lighter.  For now, the voice of the slump is gone.

In its place is gratitude.

 You are very close to the Divine. The perfection you are seeking is as close as your breath.  It is only because we get caught in a state of dualism that we feel separate from that experience.  

-          Sri Shambhavananda, from Spontaneous Recognition

the littlest yogis

Children always seemed  like a mystery to me - at least since whenever it was that I stopped thinking of myself as a child.   I was both fascinated and slightly afraid of them, never quite sure how to react to their frank lines of questioning and contextually absent statements.

Then I had one of my own, and the universe of children began to unfold upon me.  And, as a dedicated yogi, I decided that yoga should be a part of this universe.  Somehow.

So I read books and took classes.  Baby yoga was fun, though I often found myself doing more nursing than yoga postures.  I decided to practice baby-feeding as a form of devotional yoga (consequently I learned this is in fact true of all motherhood's responsibilities).

As my baby girl turned into a toddler, we tried all kinds of yoga classes and videos.   These sessions usually included me being climbed on a lot, my daughter doing all kinds of cute and laughable things, and a very wiggly savasana.  Sometimes I wondered if she was learning any yoga, or if I was doing any yoga.  Our joint practice was distracted and silly, sometimes frustrating, and we never looked like the photos in our toddler yoga books.  But we were having fun and bonding together, so I kept it up.

I have taught yoga to preschoolers for nearly 3 years now, and it is as playful and fun as ever.  Young children take naturally to the postures of yoga, their bodies still relaxed and flexible.  Practicing with their beloved adults gives them valuable bonding time and gently accustoms them to the dynamics of a group class.  Yoga teaches them, little by little, to be aware of themselves within and without.  As they grow and learn to focus, their yoga practice will follow.  And in the midst of the silliness, there are always moments of bliss - there are all kinds of sweet cuddles, kisses and "I love you" moments that happen on the mat.

My now-5-year-old takes yoga for granted in her life.  The effects of her playful practice are evident in her lovely posture, her ability to focus in her kindergarten class, and her keen self-awareness.  She will leave half a cookie uneaten because she "doesn't want to get a tummy ache", and sometimes asks to leave a party because she feels she " needs to rest a little bit".   I can't guarantee these results for all children, or presume that my daughter will not still struggle with balance in her life as she grows up.  I can say, with confidence, that yoga makes a difference in a child's life, just as it does in yours.

Be well, and practice on.

Om Tat Sat (You are the Divine)

practice imperfect

I recently spent several weeks with family in another state, helping my dad recover from surgery and getting to know my newborn nephew.  My 5 year old daughter accompanied me, and I spent the majority of my vacation caring for others.  On this type of trip, there are no opportunities to hit a local yoga class or roll out a mat in a quiet, private room.  The challenges to yoga practice are huge – time, space, never being alone.  What’s a dedicated yogi to do?  It was time to embrace the imperfect practice.

Should you find yourself in a similar situation, be it long or short term, here is my advice:  In the imperfect practice, we can let go of our routines and expectations.  Do hatha yoga whenever you get the chance, perhaps in the living room with children climbing on you (this is a great way to step up your chaturanga!).  Stop every 5 minutes or so to change a diaper, get someone a glass of water, or help a small child put clothes on a stuffed dinosaur.   Notice that you are still breathing in and out.  Draw your awareness within.  Practice pranayama in medical waiting rooms, while coloring pictures of Strawberry Shortcake.   Meditate, if briefly, after everyone is asleep, just before you pass out in exhaustion.  Drink lots of water and eat as healthfully as you can. Prepare healthy food for your loved ones too.  Sing mantras to yourself as you cook.  Politely decline donuts and burgers.   If you can get out for half an hour, go for a walk or a run.  Focus on your breath and feel the rhythm of your feet.  Let the routine motions of your body become moving meditations.  Send love daily to loved ones who are suffering.  Find gratitude in your ability to serve from a place of strength and clarity.  Don’t worry that you will backslide in the amazing asanas you’ve worked so hard to cultivate.  Your imperfect practice will hold the door open for you until you return.

Letting go of your practice in this way is a practice in itself.   It is here you have the practical opportunity to focus on the higher principles of yoga.  You’ve read them in your yoga books and used them as intentions in your classes:  Aparigraha -non-grasping.  Santosha - contentment.   Ishvara-pranidhana – devotion to a higher cause.   In times of difficulty you are called to put these concepts into motion.  Trust in your higher Self.  This is what your time on the mat has prepared you for, and the Universe knows you are ready to accept the challenge. 

* To family members I visited on this trip - I absolutely cherished this time together.  It really was a gift, and not a burden, to be able to help and serve those I love.  Your love and acceptance kept me strong and happy more than anything and I wish I was with you all the time.  Just in case you were wondering. :)

the strange path to wonderful

If someone had told my 22-year-old self that I was destined to become a professional yoga instructor, I would probably have had a good laugh and another shot of Jager.  But the universe has a way of moving us in the direction of our higher purpose, even when we don’t have reason to believe.

The first yoga class I attended was a disaster.   It was listed on the studio schedule as “Beginner’s Ashtanga”.  The teacher led us through a long, foreign chant that confused me thoroughly.  Then she discussed the grave implications of not following the path with great devotion.  When the asana practice began, it became clear that I was in fact the only actual beginner, as the other students were quickly performing impossible feats of physical strength and grace.  The instructor seemed irritated that she had to deal with my clumsy and inflexible body, and made me spend most of the class practicing tadasana .  I had just paid $15 to stand with my back against a wall for 45 minutes.  Bored and humiliated, I walked out of the studio thinking, “I guess yoga just isn’t my thing”.

Still seeking some form of physical fitness, I joined a local health club.   I frequented a class called “Body Flow”, a choreographed program loosely based on yoga and tai chi, set to a standardized Top 40 soundtrack.  It was the kind of thing that might make a devoted Ashtanga teacher vomit on her black Manduka mat.  But it was here I learned to move with my breath.  It was here I realized I had muscles in my hips.  It was here I actually felt a real connection with my body for the first time, ever.  The instructor was consistently kind and happy to see me.  And I eventually gained enough strength and flexibility to venture tentatively into another “real” yoga class.  And another.  And another. 

Fast forward 8 years, and I had somehow landed myself at Shoshoni ashram west of Boulder.   My time had finally come to master the perfect tadasana, to recite long foreign chants, to perform impossible feats of strength and grace, to follow this path with great devotion.  It turns out yoga is, in fact, my thing.  

This is what I love about yoga.  It always meets me right where I am, planting the right seeds at the right time.  My practice has always been unique and perfect for my current needs.  It helps me move through the present as it sets the stage for my next growth spurt.  Your practice does the same for you, though it probably doesn’t look a thing like mine.   And you never know when something unexpected (like maybe a pop culture infused health club class) might just lead, sooner or later, to something wonderful.