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What is your hope buoy?

This watercolor illustration is by Sara McDaniel, find her work at Etsy- SaLeaf Designs

When I am feeling unsteady, uncertain, unmoored, irritated, triggered by whatever is current and present in my life—if, and that’s a big IF, I pause and notice, I can feel my face settle into lines and sags. My eyebrows fall, the corners of my mouth slide down, muscles of my jaw tighten and my neck constricts like angry snakes. You too?

So how do I know my face is becoming Medusa? I watched my face in a mirror, inviting irritation and anger in my head, and it happened, my muscles settled into stress face— and it wasn’t pretty.

There are fourty some muscles in the face involved in the act of smiling, some say there are more muscles involved in frowning, but the important thing is that when the muscles around the cheeks, chin, eyes and forehead lighten into a ‘smile’ shape, even if you feel irritable inside— dopamine and serotonin are released in the head, the feel-good chemicals, and you begin to feel more balanced, more at ease. The presence of those chemicals shuts down the stress reaction— for a moment, and you begin to feel happier. Try it, first tighten your face into a grimace that would scare a saint, hold it , then tighten up the face, the mouth in a pucker. Then open the mouth as wide as you can, maybe yawn, roll your head, wiggle your shoulders.

Now bring to mind something annoying, a habitual irritation or sadness.

Get still, and just lift your eyebrows slightly. Imagine you have tiny helium balloons lifting each hair of your eyebrows, then bring those little balloons to the cheeks, the jaw, the edges of the mouth. As if each cell of the face and neck were lightened, lifted and rising to the azure blue sky. Let that lightness into your shoulders, chest, back, and breath comfortably, through your nose if you can. How do you feel? A bit more settled? A little less irritable?

The trick is to keep that cascading effect of those delightful feel good hormones, to not settle back into survival mode. How?

Babies start smiling in their sleep soon after birth, and smile hundreds of times a day. Imagine a baby smiling, the utter joy in those chubby cheeks, and I can’t help but smile. They do this for their own survival; building connections with caregivers. Babies are entirely in the soul state of expansion, where feelings come and go quickly. And, babies haven’t learned resentment and judgement, blame or shame. So this smile, it brings a more constant state of happy chemicals, more ease.

We can bring that baby state of bliss into our experience as well, even though adults get really good faking ‘nice’ and ‘happy’, while feeling the opposite inside; irritated and resentful, kind of like pasting a happy face sticker on an empty gas tank. Those happy chemicals just can’t counteract the inward mind storms.

We all have our tools for balancing our mental/emotional state, I like to bring in memories of light, of happiness. And I smile. And smile.

What buoys me up? Turning my mind toward memories; positive ones. Memories of connection, friendship, silliness, simple fun. Collecting bubbles of memories in my head, swirling like pearls in boba tea, popping juicy and sweet as I savor each one.

One sweet memory bubble; I remember sitting on a cushion of my friend’s boat one summer day. We bobbed along, a beautiful day on the sea, noting and remarking on the different shapes, colors, and sizes of buoys, marking places to anchor for the night. We talked about hope, in the face of things as they are. We agreed that hope isn’t silly, or a waste, it is a revolutionary and radical choice to lean in to the open spaces in the midst of chaos and clouds of uncertainty. Fear, dread, worry, anger, grief all contract, limit, darken the mind and body. Hope, gratitude, joy, love— expand, soften, release with a sigh. While we talked, my friend painted a sky blue buoy in her watercolor journal, and right through the center, in light blue, she painted the word HOPE.

There are two kinds of hope, however. There is the wishing and wanting for things to be different than they are— which isn’t the road to expansive healing. This is a clinging, fearful urge to protect ourselves. This false hope, driven by fear, isn’t hope at all. “I hope I don’t lose my house,” is deep, dark fear, and absolutely warranted when a raging fire threatens lives. But fear keeps us in survival mode, even when the clear and present danger is passed. This unproductive, damaging fear, or stress reaction, settles in our brains, in our bodies, in our souls.

If we do nothing but spin in our stories, fear becomes habit, and habit becomes character.

I turn, in my head, toward this memory of my friend’s painting. I remember her smiling face, the sparkling waves, the warm sun. I look up as I drive in the grey, sigh, and notice a break in the clouds, a teasing of blue, a curling edge of white. True hope is to notice the beauty around us, to notice and appreciate what is, and open to the possibility of everything. To commit to seeing love and the sacred nature of things over and over and over again.

In my head, I repeat part of a meditation I learned long ago; may all beings be free from suffering and the causes of suffering. May all beings be free from suffering and the causes of suffering. May all beings be free. May all beings be free. May all beings be free. Including me.

My head argues with me, trying to stuff some dread in between the words, but I am stubborn in my repetition, focused on my breath and this moment. Nothing dramatic happens, I finish my drive, and pull up in front of another friend’s house. She waves from the open door, and we smile. This is where hope lives, between smiles, between friends, and as I get out of the car, my smile deepens.

I can let mindless worry and fear drive me, or I can train my mind to tune in to compassion, gratitude, expansive hope and light. This is a subtle and daily practice, a choice over and over to live in an ethos of love.

“Creativity has the power to look pain in the eye, and to decide to turn it into something better.”

And this one too——

“in the end, it really is about finding the light.” From Bittersweet by Susan Cain.

Daily Energy Balance Challenge: If you are interested in a quick daily boost; soul hygiene to balance your subtle energy system each morning so you feel buoyed up, please consider joining my Patreon page, next week, as we start our Daily Energy Balance Challenge. The first free 5ish minute video practice will be posted Sunday, May 21, also the night of Heartsong Meditation and Yoga Nidra at 7PM. We use the energy of the new moon to bring in new hope, happiness and light.

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A Mindful Journey: Joyful Resilience

The word ’mindful’ appears now more than ever; mindful eating, mindful life, mindful shopping, almost 2 million hits on google alone. When I think of the word mindful- I think of awareness. A mindful moment isn’t necessarily filled with comfy zen calm, when I stub my toe I am suddenly and powerfully awake and aware of the throbbing in my foot and the immediacy of the pain. I am experiencing a definite moment of mindful awareness of my present time experience. Yow!

But then, my stress response fight or flight mechanism kicks in to ‘protect’ me, and I might spin off into reactivity, anger, fear, judgement for my ‘perceived’ clumsy movement to the ‘apparent’ negligence of street cleaners or dump trucks, who knows. I could fester on this particular event for years. Maybe.

This is mindlessness, a habitual pattern of chronic mind wandering that keeps you and I in reactivity, judgement, fear, wanting things to be different, the places most of us spend most of our time and energy. Research finds that up to 90% of our thoughts are repeats. All just as the mind was designed to do, to help us remember tasks, protect us from harm, and keep us going day to day in our stressful lives. While our ancient animal brain loves patterns and habits, and is designed to keep us alive into the next moment, it doesn’t care about our long term wellness, vitality, and joy. So, while we are marinating in our culture of stress response, increasing our overall ill health as we move about our days, how do we evolve our ancient systems to help us find wellness, avoid chronic issues like disease, addiction, discomfort in mind, body, and soul? Can we?

I believe the answer is yes. We can build our resilience, deepen our compassion for ourselves and others, and increase our confidence, hope and joy all while enjoying better health, wellness in body, mind and soul. With a deeper calm, peace and ease, our creativity blooms, our passion, joy of life and desire to serve humanity grows too. Sounds like a world I want to live in.

I created Mindful Journeys as an embodied healing practice to bring mindfulness in body, mind, and spirit with ease for everyone. There are thousands of ways to achieve a mindful, awake and aware consciousness, all designed to help us move through life with more ease, vitality and clarity, and I have tried most of them. I remember in my 40’s after a painful divorce crying in my therapist’s office and asking if my life would ever stop the roller coaster ride, and would I ever find some calm. She just nodded, sympathetically, I guess, and I went home and took my antidepressants. I started an intense yoga practice in a hot yoga studio, attempting to sweat away my misery, and it did empty me out, but I didn’t feel joy.

I tried meditation too, many kinds, and mostly felt like a failure. I couldn’t find anything that seemed to work for me, that I could stick with. I knew I needed something, desperately. I’ve done the gamut of panic attacks, mental and physical break downs, a horrible menopause, and lots of pharmaceuticals. A few years ago I met a wonderful compassionate counselor who truly understands embodied healing, and with her care I felt my body and brain reset. I can’t stress the importance of support on any wellness journey, I am so grateful to family and friends for their support in my journey.

During Covid lockdown, I learned qi gong, an ancient healing practice designed to bring health and wellness to targeted organs and systems, a sometimes strong and powerful practice, sometimes very simple movement. I gained an advanced yoga certification from a wonderful wise woman, a Buddhist teacher and master yogi who showed me the connection of mindful awareness, buddhist dharma teachings, and the purposeful movement of yoga— not the exercise-y Yoga Fit I learned years ago.

All this learning and support began to coalesce in my head. I began training in the use of energy medicine (think acupressure points) tools and techniques as well, and began to weave together a practice that is both accessible and valuable to everyone. My students are all ages, and tell me they feel empowered by this practice, just as I feel. It is an experience of building joyful resilience.

I know that many people are intimidated by yoga— and honestly, most of us find common yoga poses like Downward Facing Dog or even a Forward Fold pretty extreme. My hubbie has been doing yoga with me for years and he still groans a bit when we do a forward fold.

But yoga is not just physical poses to put a body into, it is purposeful movement developed over thousands of years to stretch, expand and impact our subtle energy system, calming and centering our nervous system— and all the organs of the body. And stretch any tight or tense muscles and tendons! Other ancient practices like qi gong and tai chi provide similar health benefits.

Energy wants to move, and needs space to move. When we store ’stuck’ energy—anything negative really—like all that chronic stress we live with day to day, it settles in our tissues, organs, all the way to our cells. Scientists say 90% of our current health concerns come from our response to stress. If that is true, then mindful movement, woven with a purposeful breath practice, and a focused mind can literally save our lives.

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Remember the light.

When I was a kid, I stood at the doorway of my bedroom, took a deep breath, flicked the light switch and leapt to my bed. To avoid the bed monster’s snatching claws, right? I lay still as the dead, listening to my own breathing, the pounding of my heart, not daring to move.

I don’t know how long it took for sleep to take over, sometimes I lay there for hours, staring at the patterns in the wood of my bed’s headboard, or the shifting shadows on the ceiling. I lay there watching the shadows morph into devil horns, twisted trees, and hunched backs of the undead until I finally gave in to sleep.

In my defense, we owned three cats who chased my feet from under the bed, embedding those tiny claws in whatever flesh they could snag. Some monsters are real.

I don’t leap from my doorway anymore, but I sleep curled on my side, my face to the door. Habit. I don’t analyze it, I just fall asleep that way.

I take my dog for a walk around my neighborhood in the dark early morning. Holiday lights twinkle from many houses, framing buildings in pink, red, green, blue. I love those little twinkly lights, little stars we put on strings and trundle out, winding around our homes when the skies get darker and colder. Reminding us that the light is returning, as it does. That darkness isn’t permanent.

My heart pounds a bit as we walk into the small wooded area between homes, the young me takes a big breath with the older/wiser me as we walk confidently into the dark. Some monsters are real, so I wouldn’t take this walk without a noisy barker on the leash. And I am careful, these woods are framed with porch lights, and neighbors. Also, furry Emma would defend me to the death. Or we would both run away, more likely.

Confidence grows with perspective, wisdom, experience, and generally I am able to breath with fear, feel it in my body, allow it to make it’s journey through me unfettered. Mostly. When I can’t release the grip of fear, I breathe, and breathe and watch the sky.

A friend said the other day, “Have you noticed the skies are darker now? I mean, than ever?” I nodded. A collective darkness of worry, fear and anxiety about our future on this planet colors our perspective, infecting the air with fear. So much more insidious than a virus.

So, yes, the skies are darker now. What do I do? I breathe. I feel my feet on the solid ground. Allow my own earthiness to meld with the strength and surety of muscle, bone, dirt. Just in this moment, I am ok. I remember things I love. My dog. Walking. Morning coffee. And if I am not convinced, I tap my forehead, my chest, my arms, my legs— sending a rhythm of movement through me like the morning winds.

Waking up.

Even on a morning when the clouds are thick grey blankets squashing the light, if I really focus, I see them move. There is no solid. Not in the sky, not in me. I know there is always blue above the grey, and this perspective helps fear to move. Remembering that all weather arises, abides for a time, and dissolves is freeing. I don’t have to attach to any of it.

The dog is eating now, I am drinking tea, looking up every few moments to see the progress of the sky’s light show. In these few moments, the space out my window has changed and changed and changed again. Those first slits of grey light widened into whitish lines slicing the clouds to pieces that drift away on the winds. A flock of dark birds, backlit, flit across the horizon in a messy V. The blush of sunrise lifts, coloring the spaces a baby pink. The masses of heavy whale clouds have lumbered on, the earth warms with the light, and now the flush of morning inks the wide horizon and the blue grows intense, as if the world was blinking, stretching, sun tapping on sky’s shoulder, “Wake up.”

I sip my tea, Emma circles the rug, sniffing, and settles into a small ball to snooze. Now the pink, orange and white light dances, showing off in a saucy firework show. There is still a stubborn grey fog settled around the land, we live in a wet place, and fog is persistent, only lifting when the earth is warmer. I busy myself with syntax and editing, a few minutes to refill my cup.

I look up, now a dark blanket is spread across the sky, skinny edges closest to the horizon silvery white. Another cloud of birds wing across my vision. Arise, abide, dissolve. Arise again. Clouds, seasons, days, lives, moments.

Emma has moved to the couch, resting her head on a cushion. In her vision, she can keep a watchful eye on me as I sit at the counter, typing. A longer walk is most likely in her future, so keeping an eye on my movements is paramount. She knows, I will stretch, move, get up, and put on my shoes. We will walk into the shifting light, maybe with rain boots, (me, not the dog) maybe not.

And tonight, when the darkness settles, the outside lights will blink on, Emma will settle back to rug, a candle will be lit— a little bit of sun in the night— and a sigh will form as we breathe with it’s glow.

Anchors and Altars

In a conversation with a dear friend, we talked of the struggle of trying to be present and grateful in times such as these. Every moment we are called to choose; each breath is a seed of choice, and the choice becomes more and more profound, as the world swirls in uncertainty, asking; How will I be in this troubled world?

Making the choice to be more rooted in awareness which invites the unfolding of appreciation and awareness of blessings in each moment requires more than just a turn of my head; I need an anchoring that feels sure, dependable, safe. I may want to hide, to curl up and sleep away my life but the call is not to escape, but to weave—to let the light from the unseen realms lace through the ordinary acts of care and presence. And that is the hardest, holiest work.

And yes, I speak of holy. We are woven; equally spiritual, physical, mental and emotional beings. If this is true, then claiming, practicing, and deepening our spiritual practices enhances all the parts of us, the most powerful anchor. If, like me, you chose another path than the religion of your youth, or you have a profound and living relationship with your spiritual practices now, in difficult times, it can be more of a challenge for all of us to navigate deepening a connection to the etheric world, to find an anchoring in the invisible.

There are many mindful awareness practices to help us anchor our attention to the present moment, out of the anxious thought, judgement, or beliefs that sometimes binds us. A simple pause before we rise, an invitation to our heart souls; May I offer this day the blessing of my loving awareness. At midday, maybe choose a natural pause in your day (while making tea, feeding pets, folding laundry). Gently say to yourself, This moment is the altar. I offer my presence. Notice texture, scent, sound—letting the sacred thread weave into the ordinary. At day’s end, write or speak aloud, What felt like an altar—what lifted me toward the sky? Then simply breathe, witnessing without needing to fix. Ask, What felt like an anchor today—what held me to the earth? Taking a few moments in each day to reflect and listen deeply seems out of our natural way, and in our Western culture where we maybe don’t have honored rituals, altars and sacred cultural practices handed down from ancestors, it won’t feel ‘natural’, but the more we practice, the more comfortable it feels, and quickly, the inner voice grows more easeful, peaceful and content; our deepest ancestral threads feel woven, and it becomes easier and easier to welcome the sacred into every day.

I speak of altars; maybe this feels especially foreign to you, a cultural practice rather than everyday sacred. And yet, an altar can be very simple, where devotion meets the everyday, and spirit is welcomed home.
Let me tell you of altars in my life; maybe this will be a practice for you to enhance your capacity to be more present. For me, an altar is a simple gathering of items that have special significance to me—a gift, photo, a stone, a candle, a flower. Spirit speaks in symbols and metaphor, fire is an ancient ritual practice, placing beloved items mindfully infuses the location with honor, reverence and love. If you have a shelf or wall of family photos— this is your family altar, a remembering of your connections, of love, of those with you and those who have passed on.

I invite you to place a few items together, on a shelf, window sill, dresser top, or maybe outdoors. Light a candle, get still, and create sacred in this moment with your loving awareness.

TENDING THE ALTAR

A Ritual of Return and Remembrance

Materials (optional):

A candle or small flame
A bowl of water or a stone
A photo, symbol, or object of ancestral or divine connection
A small bell, chime, or your own voice

1. Begin with Breath

Stand or sit before your altar.

Inhale slowly, whispering inward: “I return”

Exhale gently, whispering outward: “I remember”

2. Light or Touch

Light your candle or touch your chosen anchor object.

Say aloud or silently: This altar is an anchor of spirit.

This moment is an offering of attention.”

3. Offer a Blessing

Place a hand on your heart.

Offer this poem as prayer or blessing:

I come not perfect, but present.

I come not to escape, but to remember.

This flame, this stone, this breath—

They are enough to call the sacred near.

I honor the ones who came before—

The tender, the strong, the wounded, the wise.

I anchor my spirit here.

I root in care, I rise in light.

I weave the worlds with open hands.

Today, may my life be the altar.

May my presence be the prayer.

4. Close with Sound or Silence

Ring a bell, hum, or simply bow your head.

Visualize the shining threads you’ve woven—between worlds, between breaths—glistening around you.

Daily writing prompt

List the people you admire and look to for advice…

View all responses

Embracing Pain: A Journey to Self-Reflection

Slash of pain, blood at my fingertip, then drips on the cutting board as I quickly wrap my finger in a paper towel, all the while berating myself for stupidly cutting my finger while chopping carrots.

I paused the running narrative between my ears, thanks to years of mindful training, now I am getting a little quicker at noticing this brain train before it does too much damage. The calm voice arose: “I am not dumb, it is a brand new knife, and accidents happen.” I patiently wrapped my finger a bit tighter to calm the blood flow and held the throbbing finger in my other hand. Luckily, my husband was nearby and took over chopping while I watched him with my hand in the air.

This search for a scapegoat when something bad happens is human nature, but life happens, and then if ‘bad’ things pile up, I wonder why I can’t catch a break, have some peace, an easier life? What have I done to deserve this? I cry, fist shaking at the heavens.

I am trying to be a little tender with myself, and my desire to avoid any pain and suffering, but is it avoidable? Poet philosopher Rainier Maria Rilke writes about this yearning—-

“Why do you want to shut out of your life any uneasiness, any misery, any depression, since after all you don’t know what work these conditions are doing inside you? Why do you want to persecute yourself with the question of where all this is coming from and where it is going? Since you know, after all, that you are in the midst of transitions and you wished for nothing so much as to change. If there is anything unhealthy in your reactions, just bear in mind that sickness is the means by which an organism frees itself from what is alien; so one must simply help it to be sick, to have its whole sickness and to break out with it, since that is the way it gets better.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

Rilke is right, I do want to evolve, to grow, to become the most aligned and clear version of myself I can be, and I know It really comes to my perspective, the way I choose to see the events of my life. If I can wonder kindly what this ‘bad’ event is teaching me, what the need is here, where I find this in my body, what ancient hurt is being called to the surface, if I can investigate with some objective curiosity, then I open to a new way of seeing life, as a path to freedom, as Rilke writes. A path to growth.

Self reflection is a powerful tool, but sometimes we need a bit of support to have the space to reflect. Sometimes our brains are tired and we just need to rest, and restore our sense of possibility, of hope.

Join us the first Sunday of each month for this free online offering I call Heartsong: Yoga Nidra for rest and re-alignment, 7PM PST. An hour to rest, to recover, to align body, mind and heart in one simple, ancient guided meditation that allows the conscious mind to rest, and the nervous system to reset. Turn off your camara, relax on the floor, couch or bed, and let my voice bring you to the resting brain waves of Dreamtime. My gift, to you, to us, to all.

You can find the zoom link at my patreon site— http://patreon.com/tlyoga2go

This is such a slog. And, a journey of inspiration and inner peace.

1,800 foot elevation gain, highest altitude 7,123 feet, 7.4 miles of varied terrain, from lovely alpine meadows to melting glacial snows. This is the Skyline Loop trail on Mount Rainier, arguably one of the premier mountain hikes in the world. This lovely active volcano in the Pacific Cascade range south of Seattle boasts unparalleled flora- some 20 different flowering species at my count, on a warm July day. A challenging hike whenever I have done it; my rite of summer each year, for the last dozen years or so.

Due to ever increasing tourists from around the globe, now you need a reservation and assigned entry time for this National Park, and the parking lots fill by early morning hours. It is a privilege and effort just to get in the gate. I am blessed to be able to spend the money and time to come to this beauty of nature, and last week, with alpine meadows in full bloom, I planned to enjoy every single moment of my time here.

The first mile or so of the trail behind the Paradise visitor’s center is paved, there are moms and strollers, teens in flip flop sandals, grandmothers clinging to the arms of grandkids, all ‘oooing’ and ‘aahhing’ at the brilliant rainbow of wildflowers, trickling waterfalls, cheeky chipmunks and the golden marmots sunning on rocks, unafraid of humans. Occasionally I am passed by the serious hiker/skier folks, their mammoth backpacks bulging with helmets, skis and ropes. In between are the hikers like me with small daypacks, moving steadily along, stopping occasionally for a snack or to snap a photo.

Its interesting to me how my journey up this mountain has changed over time. I used to pay attention to the time it took me, feeling like a failure if I took ‘too long’. Then with injuries and arthritis, there were a few years I couldn’t even have managed the tourist half mile by the visitor’s center.

Now, I carefully manage my trip, prepare my sturdy hiking boots, supportive socks, strong hiking poles, and plenty of water, and a commitment to release the need to check the time. This year, I included a small paperback of plants of the Cascades in my pocket, so each stop could include some identification. It was my delight to share with a young couple about Rainier Pedicularis- a sweet yellow tube flower only found on this mountain. We ‘oohed’ and ‘aahhed’ together while snapping pics.

I’ve done this hike many times, so I know each rise that brings difficult rocky terrain and sometimes snow to plow through. I know these sections don’t last long, and there is always a beautiful mountain meadow at the end. So I gather my courage, when things get tough. Slow and steady, encouraging others and accepting their encouragement with gratitude. Hikers are generally nice people.

A few times, during the rocky parts, I heard a teenager say, “This is such a slog!” Each time I heard some variation of this as we pushed ourselves over rocks and uneven paths, I made it my practice to notice something beautiful, to fully enjoy the tough parts. To remember this trip was a choice, a blessing, a privilege not all can experience. Certainly there was a time I thought I would never do this again. Today, I made the choice over and over to stop, to breathe, to sketch in my journal, enjoy a snack or just look at the awe inspiring horizon.

Then, as I dropped down into the meadow, I turned back for one last look at the towering volcanic mountain and her skirts of glacial ice.

What if I thought of this life the same as this trip; a blessing, a precious choice, something to be enjoyed at every turn? No matter how rocky the terrain?

Jiddu Krishnamurti, Indian philosopher and teacher, traveled the world sharing his wisdom. It is said that one day, with a large audience hanging on his every word, he asked them if they wanted to know the simple answer, his secret to living life well. Everyone leaned in, of course they did! He supposedly tilted his head, and calmly said, “I don’t mind what happens.” That was it, no further explanation.

What if it was truly that simple? To not get attached to expectation, or to disappointment, irritation, frustration when things don’t go as expected. To calmly meet life with an open mind, a softened heart, fully living in the present moment as much as possible. It is that simple, but also challenging, like tackling a mountain hike most wouldn’t consider at my age. I believe that the attitude we choose throughout each day either tightens us on a cellular level, or it softens us. If I choose to feel irritated, that vibration brings limits to mind/body and heart. If I choose to say to myself, yes, this is a slog, but I choose to see the beauty in this moment. I am not ignoring what is happening around me, I am just choosing how to react and respond to it. I notice the conditions, I prepare myself with kindness and release self judgement, and I proceed. Things don’t go perfectly because there is no such thing. I don’t mind what happens, and then I have the capacity to fall in love with life with each step. I don’t know how many times I will be able to do this particular hike, but I am grateful for each trip, whether painful or pleasant. It is that simple.

One mosquito, two mosquitoes, three mosquitoes, four.

Five mosquitoes, six mosquitoes, now I’m out the door.

Some get squeamish around spiders, or slugs, maybe you find moths creepy. I hate— double hate— mosquitoes. I swell up with a bite, and if I become bug food at night, I will scratch until I bleed. There are mosquito bite scars on my body. So, as I sat in the meditation hall, at the retreat center in the desert of New Mexico, quietly breathing and minding my own somewhat mindful business, when the zzhhzhzhzhzh sound near my ear started a little eye twitching. The day before I carried a fan everywhere I went, but today, I was fanless, covered in natural mosquito repellent that seemed instead to be an attractant, trying my best to Zen myself into calm. Wasn’t working. Zzzhzhzhzhzhzhhz.

All the ‘shoulds’ filled my head.

I should sit still, everyone else is fine. It’s just a bug, relax. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I just chill out? I am the worst meditator on the planet.

Funny how quick the self blame machine whirs into action. And that just makes everything worse. The finger pointing started moving outward: why did they leave the door open? Don’t they have a mosquito zapper? Oh, wait, Buddhists don’t kill bugs….

I would love to say the inside conversation stopped there, but the voice in my head just got louder, until finally, I stopped.

I am making my own suffering.

I paused, breathed, and listened to the not so faint hum of mosquitoes hunting. I was making this worse, and I was deriving no benefit from my practice in this moment. And, the truth is, why do we expect the sometimes impossible from ourselves? Why do we drown in our own comparisons to other people, when it just creates frustration, resentment, irritation, judgement, blame, and on and on? So, I looked myself (metaphorically) in the eye, and thought,

Sweetie, it is time to take care of yourself.

So, I quietly got up from my meditation cushion, walked slowly back to my room, closed the door, and laid down on my small bed, all blissfully quiet. I felt my muscles relax, a sigh of breath, and now the work of releasing self judgement began. There would be times for me to build my dedication, my devotion to the practice of mindfulness in community, but not today.

I breathed, felt the rise and fall of my ribs, the belly moving with the breath, and I thought about the beauty of the high desert surrounding me. Sometimes, expecting ourselves to be present, to be mindful and grateful when we are inundated with mosquitoes— whether those pests are internet noise, politics, neighbor drama, family issues, or our own buzzy minds— is just too much. We have limited resources after all. So, what do we do?

Make space. Maybe time to take a short break from that friend who loves politics just a little too much. Maybe choosing to leave the cell phone off for the day, or the hour. Maybe drop that Absolutely Necessary task for now, and take a walk outside. Maybe subtracting activities rather than adding them, just for now.

Space. Kindness. Care for ourselves as we navigate the sometimes chaotic noise around us. What we need in these times is not less self-care, less recharging, we need more. And, finding truly nourishing ways to build our resilience, to get a little quiet, connect with a human, or an animal, maybe a tree. We build resilience and regulate our nervous systems with patient, regular care. We know how, no fancy app needed, just swing your arms around and breathe, fully, in and out, noticing the breath move the body. Stretch, like a cat or a dog, and look at the sky.

And when we make that kind choice to care for ourselves, then maybe we have the resources to step bravely back in, to see what our relationship is to the mosquitoes. If we feel more resilient, less reactive, then YAY! Celebration time.

I did go back to the hall later, armed with my beautiful bamboo fan, and fanned everyone around me, as we listened to the blessed quiet.

If you need a little space, some breathing room, please consider joining my live sessions on Zoom, first Sundays of each month for Heartsong: Yoga Nidra, and Full Moon Meditation, the date changes depending on the moon cycle. Check my patreon.com/TLyoga2go page for links.

Chills, goosebumps, tears. The metrics of awe.

A couple of weeks ago, the aurora borealis was so present, many that have never seen those sky fireworks saw sun sparks dancing right outside the doorstep. My husband tracked the time of the best show, packed his camera equipment, and hurried down to the beach a few miles away. I was sleeping, dreaming of northern lights, maybe. He came back, woke me and breathlessly said, “come out, just to the front step!” I groggily followed, and sure enough, waves of what looked like fog swirled above our heads. He slid his phone into my view, and green and yellow light pulsed in the air. I held my breath for just a moment, speechless. Even my brain was silent for that moment.

As we walked back in the house, he said that maybe a thousand people gathered on the beach, and there were moments of hushed awareness, then spontaneous clapping broke out, waves of “ahhhs” and “oohs,” everyone transported to the place of innocence and wonder, the place of Awe.

When someone has that moment of pause, the timelessness of experiencing wonder, have you noticed how the face softens, becomes childlike? We have a longing to feel this childlike state, free of the worries, cares, and troubles of adult life. We yearn for connection to something greater than our small struggles. In that brief moment, we are paradoxically free, but woven too, in the infinite timelessness of cosmic wonder.

So if this is a state we long for, why is it that moments of awe are so infrequent?

We are living life, humans so easily caught in the illusion of the ego mind that keeps us spinning in wishing and wanting things to be different, oh if only I was younger, healthier, stronger, more attractive, richer, calmer, kinder—-asleep to the cosmic delight dancing around us, if only we open our eyes and see. How do we train ourselves to seek and enjoy those tender moments? To pause in that precious state of childlike timelessness, resting in the infinite circle of our souls?

Practice. When I was a school teacher, I had a magnet on the front board that read, in bold, PRACTICE DOESN’T MAKE PERFECT, PRACTICE MAKES AWESOME. The word awesome combines that state, that expression of delight, reverence, a sense of sacred, and maybe fear— with the suffix -some, meaning body. So to feel a state of awesome awareness is to embody reverence. This reverence embodiment pauses the thinking/wishing/fearing mind, and says to every cell: Notice. Pause. Feel. In this soul time, we experience the metrics of awe; a shiver down the spine, goosebumps, a tear gathering, the mouth opening in ‘aahh’, spontaneous movement. All this is body evidence that we are truly in the moment, stepping out of tedious time into breathless flow as we experience what is true, good, and beautiful. This is the human experience. There is no human alive that does not have this capacity. As children, we first discovered, laying on our baby backs, that those things waving above us—toes—- belonged to us! Awesome!

An experiential sensation of awe, wonder and delight resides in our cellular memory, maybe buried deep in the hard experience of adulting, but still there. To access this state is to deliberately, pointedly make a practice of seeking awe in every day life. Yes, there are those wonderful rare moments where the sky dances in flashes of light, but when we open our eyes to the divine around us, a small caterpillar bumping along can become awe-inspiring. Gratitude and appreciation boost awe. The more we open our eyes and see; the more we perceive; a bird song weaves into our souls. A bee hum becomes a symphony. A newly opened dew-kissed rose, a sacred sacrament. The Earth is always here to bless us with these opportunities, but this is co-creative work. Soul expanding work. Maybe the why of our presence on this planet.

Ancient Planet in a Globular Cluster Core by NASA Goddard Photo and Video is licensed under CC-BY 2.0

Seek moments of awe. Practice by focusing on the face of a beloved. Pause. Notice. Feel. Maybe truly tuning in while listening to a friend on the phone. Without judgement, opinion or advice. Deciding to see the customer in line as a relative, a sister, brother, cousin. Invite awe to fill the mind, the heart, and it will. Little by little. We can make these choices, day by day, and as we do, our perception changes, the world becomes more beautiful, our lives more precious, and compassion expands us in grace and freedom.

What if…(some good thing)

When I was a public school teacher, if I described something new that would be happening, the student reaction was the same whether it was a good thing; field trip, kickball game, or party—or a possible bad thing; test coming up, new unit, new kid. When I asked, “Questions?”

Pause. Then, almost without fail, “What if (insert catastrophic possibility)?” When I was a newbie teacher, I entertained those ‘what if’ questions with sincere answers, but after awhile, I tilted my head with, “Not playing the what if game, any more non what if questions?”

Our brains are hardwired for the negative, the possibility of the worst thing. Survivally minded, our instinctual brain shoots those ‘what if’ scenarios front and center whenever even the teeniest bit of threat is sensed. If you are prone to anxiety mind like me, you know these thoughts can spin around and around til you just can’t take it any more, so you dive into distraction, or comforting habits, play the blame game, or pretend any problems just don’t exist.

But what if….. the power to change really is in our hands? Or, more specifically, in our eyes? What if my choice of where and what to focus on, what to see, can shift my attitude, my reactions, and my empowered sense of capacity?

Try this: think about a ‘what if’ scenario concerning a problem in your life with work, relationships, health, resources, maybe the world. Quick, before you start the drowning mind spin and inevitable search for comfort, lift your eyes. That’s right, just simply lift your focus as if you were looking into your own forehead. Then, lift your eyelids and eyebrows, just a tiny bit. Stay there, soften your shoulders, and breathe evenly for a minute or two. Go ahead, try it, I will be right here waiting for you.

Our consciousness rests just behind the eyes, between the ears, where our brain is taking in sense information and processing it. If we simply lift our gaze, consciously shifting upward, we are changing the rhythmic energy of our heads. This is a mindful moment, where the patterns of ‘what if’ thinking get a little pause. This is blue sky space, the field of all possibility the ancient mystics wrote about. Experiment with where to place your inner eye attention, as you shift your awareness around in the head, maybe further back, or higher up, you will find that softening space where cares disappear. All of us have this energetic capacity to connect to a space above our busy thinking mind. The more you practice, the easier it gets to access, and the more resilience and spaciousness you begin to enjoy.

Now the fun part begins. All change starts with the imagination, working with the subtle energy world of spirit. When we allow ourselves the time and space to daydream, or place intention into our night dreams before we fall asleep, we are calling into being a new way to live our lives. This is working with energy, so the focus in not on things I want to get or have, not on needs or wants, the focus here is how it will feel when I have the abundant life I seek. The question I am asking is, “What if I have the fulfilling relationship I dream of? How will it feel to be in that experience? How will I see the world, myself, others? What if I am already loved, admired, celebrated, and chosen?”

What if I am already blessed, abundant, and joyful, and what I need is to shift my gaze?

What if?

woman surrounded by sunflowers — Photo by Andre Furtado on Pexels.com

This is powerful work, and practice makes this shift profound, but humans also need support on the path to greater awareness, presence and joy. If working with me, either in a group, class, or one to one calls to you, please check out my offerings on my event page here, or classes online and in person here, or intuitive healing sessions here.

May our hearts be woven, our minds open, our spirits free.

love and light, Terra Lea

I love you 10 + 1

A February dedication to self-love.

A friend laughed while handing me a book and said, “My love language is gifts.” I took the book, said my thanks and went home wondering, because, well, I didn’t feel loved in that moment. In fact, I felt uncomfortable. I’ve heard about Gary Chapman’s book, The Five Love Languages, but never read it. What I do know is that gifts are not my love language. In fact, it makes me feel unsettled when friends or loved ones give gifts— an old trauma response from my childhood that I still carry, even in my wise years. I have learned to breathe, and be present, and grateful, but there is still a tightening in my chest when someone gives a gift, especially if I wasn’t expecting it. The thing is, love isn’t just about the intention, deep connection is about thinking more about how my offering might be received, a respect for the impact, the response. My loved ones know that my love language is words of affirmation and presence— asking me questions about what I think and feel, really listening to me. These two love languages warm my heart. But my loved ones don’t always speak my language, and that means I could feel resentful, irritated and unappreciated. So what to do?

In a nutshell, these are the five love languages.

These languages work in every relationship, and can change over time. I remember when a hug from my six year old son was the sweetest thing ever, until he turned seven and hugs were definitely not cool. Not his love language, at least in our relationship. Love is not about control, that is the opposite of love, needing to control someone else is fear; that you may not love me, the way I want. To be fully present in a relationship means to get really authentic about how I am in relationship with others. How can I honor other’s needs, hold boundaries and space for myself fully, ask clearly for what I need, and then listen to other’s heart’s desires? How can I feel and express love in effective ways?

The best place to start is with myself. If I truly wish to connect with others in loving, compassionate and kind ways, then I first need to fully express those things to myself. Fill the cup, so there is something to give.

I decided to dedicate the heart-warming month of February to self-love, so that I have more love to give. Shopping therapy is not loving to my budget, and I remember gifts aren’t my thing anyway. Since words of affirmation are my love language, I bought myself a pretty hummingbird journal, a special fountain pen, and I will write myself a love letter every day. I don’t know how I will feel at the end of the month, but I look forward to getting 29 (yay, leap year) love letters this month.

Another love language that appeals to me is presence, being fully here in this moment, no distractions or busy mind, just me and the breath. So, if being fully present for others or having that attention from loved ones is your language maybe try this breath practice.

The number 12 in numerology is a number of completion, a full cycle. Eleven is a number of movement toward completion, a magic number of 1 and 1. A reflection of self. I take eleven breaths, in through the nose, fully inhaling, then out through the mouth with a HAAA sound, the qi gong sound of fire, stimulating the heart, and the blood.

As I inhale, I think my name… as I exhale, I visualize a flow of love moving with the breath, and I maybe also say, “love…”. ‘My name’, then ‘love’, over and over. Eleven times. This powerful breath is even more magical when you visualize something about yourself you aren’t too crazy about, or a place of pain or illness. Scrunch up your face on the inhale (like you are smelling something bad), as if you are breathing in that part of you that you don’t like— then open the mouth and send a breath of love to that part of you. Try this every morning, and every night before you go to sleep, and then notice the shift that comes, when your body, your energy feels the effect of love. Big, juicy, joyful love.

May you investigate the ways your heart warms this month, and turn in with loving kindness to yourself, in whatever languages fit you best. And, then feel that expansion flowing outward in blooming ways.

Welcome today with a spirit of wonder.

May I welcome today with a spirit of wonder.

May I have the courage to speak my truth.

May I listen deeply to my soul’s light, and to others.

May I ask, what else needs hearing? What is the voice of wisdom saying?

The voice of true wisdom arises from the depths of hearts and souls, it is not the quick voice of a thinking brain. As I tune in deeper, drop my shoulders and my ego, soften my face into ease, and my fears into possibility, I wait for that still, small but clear voice to arise. Not the ‘what if..” or “yeah, but…” or ‘should be…’ voice. This intuitive voice strengthens the more I listen to it. This voice is one of clarity and imagination and strength—not blame, rationalizing or self-victimizing. This voice is open and free like the night sky, like the dancing light of moonbeams on water, the kiss of wind on my cheek. This voice says, ‘maybe…. And may it be… and YES.” This is the energy I choose to bring into the new year.

An aurora crowns the Earth beneath a starry sky by NASA Johnson is licensed under CC-BY-NC-ND 2.0

May I release, just for today, fear and anger and their destructive, distracting force.

May I welcome sometimes seismic shifts that signal growth.

It takes bravery to welcome change, but devotion to growth deepens courage—-inviting one small step at a time, one shift at a time. I feel my feet on the ground, I assess kindly where I am, and where I stand, and what is needed for clarity, resilience and balance. Then I make one small promise to love myself better today than I did yesterday. And one action to affirm my promise. Tomorrow, repeat.

May I welcome ease, peace, wonder, joy, bliss and beauty, that arise in the shifting sands.

May I welcome uncertainty, resting in trust of the journey.

And. May I take time to play, to throw the ball, or kiss that child, or bury my cheeks in a flower’s face.

May this be a year of welcoming kind wisdom, and aligning our thoughts, words and action to our souls.

If you could use a little gentle alignment, join me the first Sunday of each month, 7PM PST for guided rest, breath, and restorative yoga nidra, or yogic sleep.

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be excessively gentle with yourself.

John O’Donohue, Irish poet, priest and philosopher, offered prescriptive wisdom for the tumult of these times. In the Blessing for The One Who Is Exhausted, in his beautiful book of blessings; To Bless the Space Between Us, he writes, “weariness invades your spirit. Gravity begins falling inside you, dragging down every bone, … something within you has closed down; and you cannot push yourself back to life…” Then it is time to, “take refuge in your senses, open up to all the small miracles you rushed through.” And, ‘Learn to linger around someone of ease who feels they have all the time in the world.” Remember, “you have traveled too fast over false ground, now your soul has come to take you back.” So, “imitate the habit of twilight, taking time to open the well of color that fostered the brightness of day. Draw alongside the silence of stone until its calmness can claim you.”

And this sweet line; “Be excessively gentle with yourself.” Excessively.

This made me pause. What would excessive gentleness toward myself be like? More than sufficient tenderness. Ridiculously over done kindness. So much self sweetness, for a possible toothache! Ok, silliness, but what if I asked myself this question each day; how can I be excessively tender with myself today?

May this new year bring gentle tenderness in all its forms to you, may your resolutions be those of loving kindness first to yourself, then gently, tenderly outward in all conditions and relations.

The whole poem of John’s is below. Enjoy!

Gratia is grace + kindness

I could feel the excitement rising as I walked down the wooded path. I had a bag of candles in one hand and my cell phone in the other. The path was covered with a layer of big leaf maple leaves, brown and gold and wet, so no crunch as I walked over them. It was only about 4 PM, but this is the winter season, already the light was falling. As I came around a curve in the path, huge stones monoliths rose in my vision, this giant stone circle— an anomaly here on the western coast of the US, passion project of Chuck Pettis, the owner and creator of Earth Sanctuary meditation gardens on Whidbey Island. A place of sacred intention, the perfect spot to stage my meditation on gratitude.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how surface and superficial ‘thanks’ can be. I realized this form of gratitude is a social contract. We call it common courtesy; a culture’s rules about when something is done for you, the appropriate response is appreciation, thank you, because this is a contract, an expectation. If it’s a rule, with an expectation, and if it’s important to me that people follow rules, and my ego is now involved in that expectation, as it will in any kind of contract, then if I don’t get the expected result for my action, I feel irritation, or resentment, or frustration, or disengagement. My judgment arises that I am in the right and you are in the wrong and if this is what we think gratitude is then we’re missing the deep and beautiful depths of the crystalline azure alpine lake of real gratitude, which comes from gratia— in Latin, meaning grace and kindness entwined.

As I set the candles in the center of the 30 foot stone circle, the sky darkened. I adjusted my headlamp, and checked my cell phone battery. Getting low, already. I prayed for the energy to last, to speak words from spirit, to offer this gift, a time for being in the nourishing presence of darkness, and turning with kind devotion to the Light. If you would like to listen to the replay of this meditation podcast, click on the photo below to take you to the crowdcast replay, the link is also below the photo.

I wish you peace, grace, love and kindness,

Terra Lea

REPLAY: https://crowdcast.io/c/1ytqh7g8grll