TL Yoga To Go!

No one wants to be thrown off a cliff.

If you told me that you wanted to learn how to swim and I said great, I have a perfect way to teach you how to swim. Then I proceeded to hike with you cliffside, precariously perched 100 feet over the surface of the deep blue ocean. As you stood there, braced against the wind, asking details of how you were going to learn to swim, without warning, I shoved you off the side of the cliff, and waved as you flew screaming through the air.

Chances are you wouldn’t learn to swim when you hit the water.

Growth—new habits of mind or body, doesn’t happen from a place of fear.

I know as you’re reading this, there may be someone out there who says— YES! that’s the perfect way. Please shove me off the cliff! Fear is the only way I am motivated to learn new habits, or drop old patterns.

For most of us, lasting growth begins from a place of security. A place of feeling grounded, centered, with a little bit of ease, a plan, and support, armed with a desire to thrive, not just to survive. Maybe a modicum of fear, because maybe we need to fear losing something (balance, healthy blood pressure, clear mind) to get off the proverbial couch.

This isn’t the JUST DO IT NOW mentality, the— one-more-30 -day-challenge or 10 video course to succeed— that marinating we do in our western culture. If we listen, our cultural messages are constantly screaming—do it now, do it better, aren’t you ashamed at how long you are taking, you wimp, look what everyone else is doing! Oh, how easily the storm of shoulds and need-tos gather.

The truth is my older daughter learned to swim by throwing herself in the water. I wanted to bring her into the low end with her little floaty wings and hold her belly, while I coaxed and held her. She would have none of it. When I wasn’t looking, she threw herself into the deep end, and proceeded to swim diagonally towards the bottom of the pool. I leapt in and saved her, dragged her up, still kicking, sputtering, and coughing. She lay there in the warm sun on the concrete, but before I knew it, that three year-old was doing the same thing again.

The difference is that she was throwing herself in the water. She made a choice. Growth does come from a place of making a brave choice, but making that brave choice from a desire to expand, to flourish, to thrive—not because we think we need to look like someone else, not because we need to fit into society’s image of what we should be, not because that we’ve fallen prey to our culture’s ageism, able-ism, sexism…

We make a brave choice to expand, to grow because it matches our deepest heart’s yearning, to flourish and to thrive. The Greek root of the word happy is human flourishing—living in sync with your inner spirit, your heart’s deepest desire. It is not the transitory emotion that we might experience when that mocha Frappuccino tastes really sweet and icy delicious. That is surface happy, nothing wrong with it, just like any other transitory emotion, it comes and goes, as it is designed to do. Thriving joyfulness comes from moving forward, making a choice to bravely expand with liberating self-love.

The mental health world calls this titration— where we move into a little bit of expansion and then we come back into our comfort zone, assess, and then we move back into expansion, test that a bit, then we come back into our comfort zone. In and out, back and forth between stress and comfort.This is the way that we care for our nervous system, to keep us out of flight/fight mode, so we build our capacity to stretch a little bit more, not only for our bodies, but for our hearts and minds as well.

Let me use a yoga asana (pose) example. You can try this with me, if you’d like. The video below goes through the process for Dragonfly, a pose not only for expansion for hips and legs, but also for mental clarity and calm. If you’d like to skip down to the end and give it a try, I promise not to throw you off a cliff.

Grab a beach towel or sturdy blanket, maybe two, a couple of cushions, pillows, and a book or two, or yoga blocks. Sit on the floor, legs straight-ish, and open in a V shape. If this isn’t possible, no worries, most people get tight tendons in the hips and legs, you can also sit on the edge of a armless chair with legs wide. In yin yoga, a school of long stretch yoga, this shape is called dragonfly, a leaning forward of the spine, stretching all the muscles, nerves and connective tissues along the spine, lengthening the side body, inner and outer leg tendons, fascia and muscles around the knees, the Achilles tendon, glutes, and a good stretch for the hamstrings.

Once you are in this V -shape, notice if your low back is rounding. If it is too much to straighten your back, sit on a folded up towel or sturdy blanket, slide forward to put your low back at an angle forward, tipping your pelvis. Your legs don’t have to be straight, maybe put a rolled towel under your knees. If this is still incredibly tight in your body, sit on a chair, you can work down to the floor.

You can also do this laying on your back maybe on the floor or a bed, lift your legs up and open them up into a V shape, if you’re laying on your back, reach up and hold onto your thighs, draw your thighs and your knees in towards your shoulders. Try a towel or a belt to help draw your legs a little bit closer to your body.

I’ve been teaching yoga for a long time, so I have some flexibility in my hamstrings, but if I lean forward, say, I just got out of bed, I’m not going be able to lean very far forward, I’ll feel tightness in the back of my thighs and around my knees. I might even feel it down towards my ankles.

If you are feeling discomfort when you lean forward, place a book or two in front of you and see if you can lean on the books or blocks, or onto the seat of a chair or couch. If the back starts to round, straighten up, move back into a place of some comfort. Remember we’re dancing right at the edge of the comfort zone, in and out. Then when you are ready, take a few breaths in through the nose, out through the mouth, and slowly slide forward again.

Try anchoring your attention to the breath by noticing the texture, speed, length of inhale and exhale. Notice it in your belly, your ribs, moving the chest and shoulders. If the mind wants to focus on what hurts, re-anchor the attention to the breath.

As we’re testing the boundaries of our comfort zone, leaning forward, we are doing more than lengthening muscles, we are also rebuilding the capacity of our subconscious mind and the autonomic stress reaction to hold both comfort and discomfort in the same moment, which deepens our nervous system resilience.

This simple stretch deepens our courage, so that we can step a little farther into flourishing, into growth, mentally, emotionally, physically. And if this sounds like high expectations, could it hurt to maybe lean into the possibility that this all might be true?

Research shows the first minute or so in a stretch affects the musculoskeletal system, the second minute affects the energy flow in the connective tissues, the fascia. The third/fourth minute affects organ systems, and then the nervous system. So this little stretch can bring calm and ease to the whole body, mind and heart.

Now bend your knees, feet to the floor, slide side to side, make some circles with your knees, maybe wiggle or massage your legs— whatever feels comforting to you. Try not to get up and leave, stretch your legs out for just one more minute. As you lean forward one more time, notice if something is changed, celebrate even a centimeter closer to the floor.

Celebrating any change is important, teaching our nervous system we don’t have to cling to the negative. Lay down on your back if you can, maybe knees bent and feet on the ground, slide your knees side to side. Breathe deeply and evenly, and gently massage or tap the center of your forehead, just above your nose, bringing energy to the wisdom center of your brain, sealing in the knowledge that growth and change is always possible.

If you are interested in working with me 1:1, to offer you the support for growth, either virtually through zoom or FaceTime, or in-person, contact me today for availability.

Try Upavista Konasana or Dragonfly pose with me-sustainable yoga!

Puzzling one piece at a time.

My daughter gave me this 1,000 piece puzzle for Christmas, Faith Ringgold’s The Sunflower Quilting Bee at Arles. I love Faith’s work, she is a highly honored Black writer, artist, quilter, speaker, and activist for racial and gender equity. Her celebration of some of the women heroes of the Civil Rights movement includes Sojourner Truth and Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks and Mary McLoud Bethune—women I love and admire. This painting is joyful, and a pleasure to see the bright colors and patterns of this art. I want to honor the gift and the art by completing the design, but I have never done a thousand piece puzzle, not sure I can.

I am not a puzzle person, but my hubbie and I completed several smaller puzzles in the last three years, because, Covid. I enjoyed the time we spent together, clicking pieces into place. I miss that, now he is busy, and I am on my own, puzzling. My daughter told me she is happy I worked on it, and I can put it away if I like. I want to keep the pieces out for a bit longer, I have grown to love the faces of these women and the warm sunflowers surrounding them. On one edge of the quilt they hold, printed words say— The sunflower is an international symbol of dedication to change the world. With these women looking out at me, and Van Gogh too, who persevered in his art to the end, how can I stop working on it? What if I see this as an opportunity to develop ‘puzzle person’ skills? Can I surprise myself with a new facet of my being? Changing my small world in a way? And then, if I choose to put the puzzle away unfinished, no guilt, just feel appreciation for the mindful time spent with these people.

Turns out, while the whole of a puzzle is entirely overwhelming to me—once I separate like colors, create the borders and edges, work on small sections, bit by bit, I find my way. I celebrate every single piece as it snaps into place, with a fist pumping “YES!”

I’ve had many people ask me how do we find calm, peace and ease in the midst of the world as it is. While mindfulness in and of itself is not the goal, it is a everyday pathway to more ease, more resilience, making meaning from the losses and pains of life. This is human flourishing, expanding in wisdom, dedication, and compassion. This is joy.

There are plenty of days I want to escape; when the whole messy puzzle of life is too much, and I just can’t see any pattern anywhere, it all feels impossible. I think ahhh—to go live in the mountains somewhere in a cave or monastery and have a lovely, peaceful life. Or maybe a quiet beach in Hawaii, just listening to the waves. But honestly, you have to come down from the mountain for food, water, clean clothes. Sometimes leave the beach when you run out of sunscreen, shaking the sand out of your suit. As messy and uncomfortable as life is; it is our school, the experiment of everyday life, of learning to just keep going, and kindly help those around us to do the same.

Resilience building is daily, hourly, getting still enough to be aware of the possible shit storm going on between my ears. Blaming, self-judgement, fears, anxiety, neurosis. All of it. Then, rather than spinning off into more explaining, reasoning, ignoring, all the things the ego wants to do, maybe I can resist, kindly. Hold onto an anchor and get my bearings, and breathe.

The simplest anchor is noticing the feeling of our feet being attached to the ground, the sensation of the breath, the rise and fall. And the pause between breaths. The sensation of what we hear, see, smell— fully focusing on our senses. This moment.

This is what I think is meant by the word mindful— it isn’t mind FULL. It is mind— open, present and aware, noticing the sense information that we are taking in, just in this moment, not letting our minds spin in judgment of the past, or worry and anxiety about possible futures, it is giving ourselves a gift of awareness, and then doing that over and over and over.

We all live in the Western cultural marinade of; you just need to work harder, and everyone else has it together. The myth that if you just work hard enough, stay busy enough, you will find success (attention, money, power). If you do it perfect, do it right, you will earn and absolutely deserve— peace, fortunes, and heavenly angel choruses.

It doesn’t seem enough to value our every day lived experience. To believe that everything is holy; all a valuable part of our human flourishing, everything— the potholes and paranoia, the burnt toast, and the heartburn, the angry kids, the frustrated spouse, all a pathway to our acceptance of self and others, deepening our kindness and expansion into more love, joy, peace, trust, hope, and awe.

I could look at my life as I might look at my thousand piece puzzle. I could allow my stress reaction, my ancient primitive brain’s fight, flight, or freeze reaction to play out, so I never get the puzzle out of the box and it stays piled in a corner; that’s the freeze response at work. Maybe I feel guilty every time I see the dusty box, but I ignore it. Or, I spread the pieces out on the table and start whining.

I can’t do this by myself! I say. Someone needs to come here, come here, come help me do this— I could whine and whine, long and loud enough so that finally just to get me to stop— someone in my house helps me place a few pieces. But since I forced it, I would just have to keep whining in order to keep them at the table. I could complain about the puzzle, the pieces don’t fit, I could blame it on the person who gave it to me— why would they do this to me? Why would they give me this really hard thing, don’t they know that I can’t do thousand piece puzzles, don’t they know me, love me— what’s wrong with them? That’s the primitive brain fight reaction.

I could feel guilty and embarrassment that I just can’t seem to do the puzzle as it lays half done on my table and distract myself by getting busy with thousands of other things. I tell everyone I’m just too busy, I don’t have time to work on a puzzle. That’s the flight response of the primitive amygdala— we busy ourselves out of being mindful, of doing the task at hand, which is to build our awareness, deepen resilience of our nervous system, strengthen our hearts as we resist blame and shame, so that we can participate in the liberation of all beings.

Say instead, I choose to sit myself down in the chair with dedication, love in my heart for the giver and the receiver, the artist, and the message of this puzzle, and then I look for patterns. I realize that there are only a handful of pieces this one particular shade of blue, and these straight lines travel through one little curved bump of a puzzle piece, and I search just that one small group of blue pieces, carefully looking at each piece, focused with dedication and awareness— and, I find it. With a snap, the piece is in, and I celebrate with a little moment of joy, clapping my hands, WOOHOO! I say.

Mindfulness takes moment by moment practice; holding ourselves with some kindness, everything that’s in our heads, as we anchor ourselves to the breath, to the sensation of sitting or walking or drinking tea, or working on a puzzle.

When we take the time to be fully alive, fully grounded in the sensation of what it means to be, the more we return over, and over, and over— the more resilient we become, more balanced, more truly, ourselves. Our soul’s path, our heart’s deepest desire, becomes more and more clear. And life gets easier. Not pain -free, but we move a little more spaciously, more grounded, more kind to ourselves and to others.

I was thinking about the word— kind. The Dalai Lama said, “my religion is kindness”, and I thought just what what does this mean this word— kind? If you buy something at a store and you want to return it, but you don’t have a receipt, you might be told that you could get an in-kind exchange— in other words, of equal value.

Each piece of my puzzle has equal value, without even one piece, the picture is incomplete. Each piece of our lives has equal value as well, the dark, the light, the shadows, the joys. The more I pause, feel my feet, resist those ancient reactions, and take this moment to fully love all the bits and pieces of my life, the more the puzzle becomes meaningful art.

Face Yoga, anyone?

One of the best ways to boost our immune system is to do a lymphatic massage. The lymph system is how our body fights infection, and it is a system for removing toxins and waste from the body. The lymphatic system doesn’t have muscles or a pump like the heart. It relies on movement; so if we exercise regularly, our lymphatic system is probably doing just fine. But as we get older and we move a little bit less, a regular lymphatic massage can be very helpful.

The extra benefit from doing this face yoga massage is toning the Vagal nerve, which builds our resilience, regulating the nervous system, and this too boosts the immune system, helps us sleep better, and digest food more efficiently. Might help get rid of 2nd chins, wrinkles, and strained neck tendons too. I hope you enjoy this video!

I see the moon and the moon sees me.

brown wooden dock — Photo by James Wheeler on Pexels.com

In November of 2022, the world’s population reached 8 billion. I can’t imagine that number at all, maybe looking at a night sky filled with stars I can get an idea, or the grains of sand spread across my favorite beach. I can choose to feel foreboding, worry, anxiety, hopelessness about that unimaginable number, but I can also wonder: what if only a tiny fraction, say three percent of all those human beings turned toward the full moon as I do, once or twice a month, on a somewhat cloudless sky, and breathed? Just breathed in wonder, awe, appreciation, hope, joy. Nearly 250 million people. All filled with awe on the same night. I can let my mind drift to possible resulting planetary shifts in vibration when hearts sing the same song, all over the planet. I believe this kind of shift in focus, energy, and awareness can happen, and will. Change always comes, maybe not on the timeline of human expectation, but it comes.

In the meantime, I will pause and take the time to reflect during those lunar shifts— the full moon, and the new moon. About every two weeks. I take stock of where I am, asking kindly;

-What am I consuming (food, water, social media, my own ruminating thoughts) and to what end?

-Are my daily actions aligned with my deepest heart’s desire?

-What small shift can I make to bring myself more freedom, more liberation?

-How can I love myself more kindly today? As if I was my own beloved friend?

-Can I tune in to my own dear, wise body and ask: What do you want me to know?

When I align myself with natural rhythms, I invite a release of chronic patterns of mental anguish, emotional cares, and physical pain and dis-ease. I practice trusting the wise healing processes of my own body, and invite my mind to rest. I let go of blame, shame, judgement, and invite forgiveness, release to myself, and to others.

It is good to do this reflection in community, check out my patreon page for full Moon live sessions monthly for patrons— mythic storytelling for adults and reflective practices.

UPDATE! at 7PM PSTI offer 1st Sunday, a free HeartSong Yoga Nidra guided meditation, with breath practices that release stress, and acupressure massage to bring balance to mind, body and heart. Yoga Nidra is an ancient guided meditation to bring the body into a full state of relaxation and rest, while the mind is gently engaged. These ancient tools are powerful ways to align with the Earth’s rhythms, celebrating the gift of the full moon and its reminder to reflect, and tune in with mindful, loving intent. I would be so honored if you consider joining me.

You are invited to a Zoom meeting.
When: Sunday 07:00 PM Pacific Time (US and Canada) for one hour.

After registering, you will receive a confirmation email containing information about joining the meeting.

Perigee Moon-Lunar Eclipse (NHQ201509270022) by NASA HQ PHOTO is licensed under CC-BY-NC-ND 2.0

The Sacred No: Resist rather than resent.

I listened to a NY Times Opinion podcast interviewing a 19 year old teenager in Brooklyn who has become a leader in a resistance movement. What are these activists up to?

NY Times, “ Started last year by another Murrow High School student, Logan Lane, the club is named after Ned Ludd, the folkloric 18th-century English textile worker who supposedly smashed up a mechanized loom, inspiring others to take up his name and riot against industrialization.” It was surprising and delightful to hear about a group of modern teenagers deciding to ditch their phones for more time reading, chatting, playing games and living life, tech free. No really— only flip phones or no phones, these Brooklyn teens have committed to a hand held device-free life in the midst of the 21st century. And doing very well, thank you.

I thought about how we are in an attention economy, where every click, link and subscribe is determined to get and keep our attention. I am deeply embedded in this life, as I send out this post on my device. Could I do what these teens are doing? Well, no. But I can choose and curate my life, my attention, and create space for more deep connection to self, others, and the planet. Without my phone. I call this…

The Sacred No.

Where I take stock of where my attention and time and presence are spent, and remember that I have a limited supply. How do I want to spend my minutes, hours, days? Do I want to keep justifying one more minute (which never is) scrolling mindlessly? Do I want to listen to my stress brain that says, “oh, c’mon, I deserve five more minutes relaxing…”

What if this life is all I have and every minute is precious? I can spend my time in expansion and awareness, conscious of my presence; my sensation of feet to the ground, or, not.

We are always in flux; always changing, every five years our trillions of cells are replaced, but the patterns remain. No one can change those patterns but ourselves, we choose to constrict into fear/anxious/irritated brain in whatever way that shows up, or, we expand in love, peace and joy. The choice is ours.

I like the idea of A Sacred No, I was taught to ‘be nice’, to say yes, even when I didn’t feel it; be polite, fit in. The word ‘no’ was somehow a bad thing, selfish. So, I would not say a clear no, and then resent later, and that eventually explodes in one way or another. Not a pattern I need.

If I look at NO as a commitment to healthy heart boundaries, a sacred promise to peace, love and ease in every moment, then that word becomes sacred, holy, joyful. I curate my life, my sacred-art-in-progress, with determined honoring of self, my path, my life.

This starts with an honest appraisal of just what my day-to-day life looks like. What habits of time, energy, relationships, are really serving me, and which aren’t? How can I bravely choose how to spend each moment, even to the words I say to myself— how many times am I using the words— I AM…. Followed by words that I don’t want to embody in a permanent way—sick, tired, angry. Before I go to bed, can I use those precious five minutes before I nod off to affirm what I AM: Joyful, patient, loving to self and others, whatever I want to make real. I can choose, like those Brooklyn teens to lovingly rebel against my patterns, my cultural habits, my past. May we all love ourselves, give ourselves the gift of the Sacred No.

When They Sleep

by Rolf Jacobsen

All people are children when they sleep.
there’s no war in them then.
They open their hands and breathe
in that quiet rhythm heaven has given them.

They pucker their lips like small children
and open their hands halfway,
soldiers and statesmen, servants and masters.
The stars stand guard
and a haze veils the sky,
a few hours when no one will do anybody harm.

If only we could speak to one another then
when our hearts are half-open flowers.
Words like golden bees
would drift in.
—God, teach me the language of sleep.

A place of Maybe.

“You mock my pain!” Exclaims the Princess in that lovely classic fantasy farce, Princess Bride.

Farm Boy/Pirate Roberts replies, “Life is pain, Princess. Anyone who claims otherwise is trying to sell you something.”

This isn’t bad news. We are born into a life that will be marked by loss; impermanent, imperfect, and painful. But this is what all of us face; this can be a place of compassion, not depression, maybe of holding ourselves and others with a little grace.

The Buddha and every philosopher before and since grappled with the same question. What is our purpose here on Earth? How do we best live our lives? What is really important and worthy of our attention and focus?

In Buddhist teachings, there are three commitments to be made to live a purposeful life; the first is to refrain from causing suffering to self and others, the second is to acknowledge and lean into the impermanence of life, and the third is to commit to service, deepening compassion for self and others.

In my life, it was easy to focus on the third, to make it my mission to fix and manage and wring my hands over the ‘mistakes’ and needs of all those around me, including the whole wide world. What a burden. Impossible, even.

This grasping, moving constantly outward without having my feet firmly planted on the ground, never accomplished what I thought I needed to accomplish. So much easier to focus on everyone else’s failings and feel the need constantly to make other’s needs my work— what I perceived, through my own cracked lenses, not what was real. This cloudy vision and a focus outward prevented me from real freedom within.

What can I do today to treasure life? To refrain from ruminating on pain, loss, I turn toward joyful gratitude.

What can I do to celebrate life? Not in hoarding way, or a pitiful -tomorrow-we-may-die way, but a gentle unfurling of petals, a quiet blooming of resting in sensation over and over— just a moment to fully be present with my living experience in this moment. Then let the next action or thought be born from that presence.

Asking the question: Am I in line with my heart’s deepest desire? What can I shift with kindness? Just one degree closer to my true north? Can I lean into a place of maybe, gentle possibility, that the world and it’s inhabitants are far more beautiful and precious than I can imagine?

I can try. We all can; over and over and over. Gently peeling away the layers of protection and fear, softening into the truth of life as it is, not as we wish it to be.

In meditation one day, I asked how I could love the Earth better. The quick thought to my head; love yourself better. Maybe, lean in to the beautiful mess that is life with a wink and a hug. So, that’s the plan. How’s your heart song singing these days?

Dear Earthling; go outside. Love, Mama Earth.

Let’s decide together to be Aliens.

When I was doing my student teacher training almost 20 years ago, I was mentored in a class of eight and nine year olds. One day, a student wrote me a note that started— Dear Ms. Alien, and he told me thank you for being his student teacher. The note was sincere, didn’t seem tongue-in-cheek like I was expecting with a greeting like that, and so I figured he misspelled my last name Allen.

Or did he?

As to the sock photo, when I opened this Festivus present from my daughter, yes I celebrate all the things this time of year—I couldn’t stop laughing, and I remembered that kiddo long ago, and thought, he was abso-freakin-lutely right.

I am an alien. Or I aspire to be—an alien who sees the world differently, rejects those cultural practices that don’t bring alignment, deeper consciousness, and joy. An alien who refuses to accept old paradigms and opens to a larger perspective. In my alien point of view.

What common paradigms of the old world do you reject? Which do you want to release, and claim your Alien-ness?

Maybe we can start with rejecting the idea of New Year’s Resolutions. Since this is a source of blame and judgement, guilt and irritation by about the middle of January or earlier, and nobody needs that, we can let it go, or at least make it work for us.

How did we come up with this idea anyway? I did a little research, thank you internet, and turns out this is an ancient celebration that doesn’t fit the rhythm of the Earth. The Babylonians kept records of Akitu, a celebration of the new year, a time to honor commitments to pay debts, return borrowed items, complete rituals to cleanse homes, and commit to an honorable life. Sounds familiar, but they celebrated the New Year at the first New Moon of Spring Equinox, when the earth is greening, plants are growing, and the world awakens in the northern hemisphere. Their celebration was perfectly tuned to the energetic rhythm of the planet they walked on, so their alignment was effective.

So how did we get this important celebration in the dark of winter, when our part of the world is asleep and hibernating?

Thank those hardworking Romans.

Their invented calendar dragged the New Year into January to honor the goddess of the home—Janus, with a hope to bring good health, and good fortunes. Records say the Romans worked at least part of New Year’s Day, being lazy was a bad idea. A focus of better health and finances, also sounds familiar. The top five modern resolutions involve exercise, losing weight, paying off debt, and quitting smoking/drinking. Sounds very Roman— but also, not tied to the rhythm of Nature— when the world calls for quiet reflection, joyful family time, organizing, cleaning and preparing for coming Spring, we are totally out of sync as we battle to start that new habit, work harder, or release a habit to comfort our overstressed nervous systems.

Could this be why we aren’t successful?

Not only is this a natural season of rest and reflection, planning and cleaning; according to eastern philosophy of how energy moves through the earth and all its creatures with different rhythms, that fit the seasons, this is the time of the element of water. What happens in the seasons of the Earth echoes in our own energy systems.

An imbalance in the water element can show up in our subtle energy bodies as imbalance; over energy, stagnant or under energy, or frozen energy. We may feel anxious, a little paranoid, worried or bored, lonely, sad. We may have trouble making decisions, moving forward with plans. Think about flooding waters— how stressful that is, or stagnant pools with no life.

The way to feed the water element is to do daily mindful practices to focus our energy, align us with the flow of Earth’s energy, drink plenty of warm liquids, broth soups, get enough vitamin D, lots of sleep.

My resolutions will be simple; a dedication to realign with my inner child; remembering those activities that brought me joy as a youngster, and creatively finding ways to express those loves in my current life. Play Stevie Wonder while I clean the house, maybe.

I believe in touching the earth every morning with my bare feet. Just for a few minutes, to say good morning to Mama Earth, to connect. If I don’t do that, I massage the soles of my feet with a spoon to reconnect my energy, get everything flowing, so I can absorb healing energy from the earth, and release energy not needed. I clear and balance my chakras, and I meditate every day, but I often do it with movement. Sometimes just swirling around in my room. Sometimes I lay on the earth and just breathe for a while. So lovely.

I think swimming is healing. Especially in salt water. I meditate while I swim too.

I think making cookies is meditation. I love cookies. Why do things have to be ‘the enemy’? Someone told me they were putting ‘the white devil’ in their tea, and I was imagining some awful Hindu demon infused concoction when he said, ‘You know, sugar.” What?

In my alien mind, if we aspire to an aligned, compassionate life; there is no good and bad, righteous and evil, there is just a tangle of energy that needs loving attention and a bit of patient untangling. Also, there is no perfect way to be a good human. There is no ‘right way’ to be, think, do, live while we navigate as kindly as we can. In my alien perspective, with a wink of my big green eyes.

What alien way of living would that be to live without judgement, only compassion. I can hope for that Beautiful Community while I do my best to bless and forgive every human I encounter. Mostly. And then forgive myself when I don’t.

My only other resolution is to deeply explore the things I am grateful for; even the struggles, the tough things, the aches in mind, heart and body. If I can find love and joy in the tough stuff, I can do anything.

Reflection is so natural at this time of year; repeating mantras to build my resilience, so I can truly transform in the coming year. Simple, easy wisdom— I flow with confidence, courage and kindness. I trust.

Tapping is a wonderful way to shake up ‘stuck’ patterns of energy; take a look at my resource page for links to a wonderful Tapping website focused on tapping techniques and meditations, or check out one of my 5 Mindful Minutes videos for a few simple acupressure holding points and tapping points to bring release, ease, and calm.

Happy New Year!

The Music of the Pause.

As an independent, traveling yoga teacher, who spends a titch too much time on social media noticing all the events and workshops and retreats other yoga teachers offer, I put stress on myself by feeling the need to offer workshops and events in addition to the classes I teach. I do enjoy offering these events around seasons, particularly full moon and solstice times. But even though I enjoy it, the stress of creation and offering, marketing, and registering all are stressful. I am a one woman show. And yes, I am a yoga teacher that deals with seasonal depression, anxiety, social comparison, panic attacks and eating too many Christmas cookies.

I am a pretty effective teacher anyway. And also, because of my own failings and neuroses. I want so much to reach those that aren’t ‘yogis’, just regular people with aches and pains, willing and wanting to love themselves just as they are. And hope for a little more ease in mind, heart and body.

So I will take my own advice and take an even breath, pursing my lips on the exhale, like my exhale is flickering a candle flame. Rest for a moment, then turn my attention to this workshop I am really excited to offer.

As I think through my upcoming winter solstice workshop, I wonder; will my event be ‘spiritual enough’, but also not too ‘woo-woo’? I know too much woo-woo when I hear it— I have been to a yoga class when the teacher’s high lilting voice with a dreamy but possibly forced calm echoes around the room while she paces the yoga studio, and makes some impossible hypothetical suggestion like, “Now free the heart, really open, feel it float above you….breathe it up and away.”

What?

I peek around the room, and others are lying there, hands on their hearts, faces calm. Am I the only one concerned that my heart might float away? Don’t I need my heart?

Back in my own room, I tap my fingers on my thigh. I am staring at my screen, my iPad in my lap. I want to create this experience that will honestly hold whatever is with us, an honoring of all that is real. Not forced calm, not trying to avoid the reality of aches and pains, not pretending that we can assume the pose and all negative energy or plain discomfort will just evaporate and float away. Or that a floating, open heart is really the goal.

The word solstice —sol-, the sun, -stice, still. The still point of the sun; a moment of turning. A pause between dark and light. No action needed, just being in the moment. Easy to say, hard to do.

I have heard students say a focus on a deep sustained breath is triggering to them, causing weight in the chest, possibly causing stress that moves into panic attacks. I’ve heard that hands on the chest is also triggering, a holding down that is reminiscent of traumatic events. I know these things, so it is so important to me to honor what is with us, invite a sense of support in the way that works today. When we are feeling churned up, to the brim with stress, worries, trauma, maybe we don’t need action, a deep breath or pressure— which can inspire judgement, blame, or shame.

Maybe what our deep soul lights are asking for is a focus on the pause. The space between.

What if all the healing happens in the pause, where we tune in to our earthling nature and just listen to the rhythms of blood and breath, with the tides and winds of earth and sky, with our own sweet animal selves. The pause to resonate, reverberate, and fully express, just be ourselves with all of what we are; and inviting a connection of who we are in relation to the Earth, the cosmos, life, and each other.

French composer Claude Debussy said, “Music is the space between the notes.”

To hear our soul’s music is to pause, to sit with, be with, feel the breath, and the spaces between the breath. Can I feel my own music? I cross my hands in front of my chest, interlocking my thumbs like a bird taking flight. I rest my thumbs against my sternum, center of my chest, my fingers resting at my armpits and upper chest. A few breaths, simple and even as I lift my chin on the inhale, drop my chin towards my chest on the exhale. I press in fingers on the left, then gently on the right, seesawing back and forth as my breath rises and falls. Then I rest my chin to chest, take a few breaths, focusing on my heart. I offer love and light to my own sweet heart. I imagine that light flowing out and down to my toes, and up through the crown of my head, and now, I feel the pause. I feel the light.

I get out of bed, take a shower, get dressed in my baggy sweats and head to my meditation cushion, and my yoga mat, just as the sun rises over the mountains.

Off the mat; into the world

The morning fog embraced the land, sun rays slowly colored the horizon a stripe of orange just above the mist as I drove eastward. My car gently swerved along the curling river road as I moved toward the sunrise. My eyes were drawn to the ever changing light show while my mind circled, organizing a sequence for my upcoming yoga class this early Thursday morning. As my plan coalesced, occasionally I lifted my eyes to the changing sky, each moment the color merging, shifting, now more red, more pink, a slice of gold just above the misty mountain ridge east of me. I drove, window down, breathing in the bracing early fall air. I love teaching morning yoga, the flow of the class moving with the morning light, and to offer this class felt like a blessing. Nestled among twining maple trees on a quaint historic downtown street in a small valley town north of Seattle, the Mariposa Day Spa was my destination for Yoga Bliss: Yin yoga and Yoga Nidra, one of my favorite classes to teach.

scenic view of mountains during dawn — Photo by Stephan Seeber on Pexels.com

Arriving in town, I gathered my supplies, locked the car, and quickly hustled down the sidewalk, then down the concrete stairs to the lower level of the hundred year old brick building hulking on the corner of First and Maple.

The mist hung low and full around this lower level, and as I got to the end of the stairwell I jumped a bit, startled by the soft snoring of a homeless man asleep on the concrete just at the end of the stairs. I looked toward the doorway of the Spa, encircled by beautiful ceramic pots, a large fountain gently bubbling, inviting lounge chairs facing the trees at the end of a long patio. My heart pounded in my chest with a primal body fear of lone woman in the dark with a possibly unpredictable male. I hurried to the door, shoved the key in the lock, pushed my way in, locked the door behind me. I am the first one here, alone in a dark room where no one will hear my scream. Possible crackhead 50 feet away. As this drama thought zipped through my head, it was quickly followed by a flood of guilt at my lack of compassion. All my Zen-like qualities of Yoga Teacher failed me now, I was just a woman terrified, anxious, and now as I quickly set up my class, angry.

Should I call the police? Call the owner? Pretend he isn’t there? Yell at him to leave?

I hated the police sweeps of the homeless in my town, so calling the cops was a no-go. Funding disappeared for mental health advocacy in our county, so there were no other numbers to call. This is the pain of a broken system. Here I was, right at the frontlines of inequity, inside a beautiful place of ease and privilege, outside cold concrete and suffering.

Its so hard to stand in this place. My heart hurt, and anger at everything flooded my body. I stepped outside, clapped my hands, calling, “Hey, excuse me, can you leave please?” The man lay there, deep asleep. I stood there for a second or two, breathing heavily, my hands gripping the doorframe. His shoes were lined up beside him, a blanket folded neatly under him. I turned quick and went back inside, locking the door again.

Well, this isn’t working. Maybe I will text the owner.

I did, explaining the situation, ending with ‘just thought I would let you know.” Feeling a little relieved of responsibility, I turned back to get ready for my class, laying out mats, blocks, blankets, supplies to help my students release, let go, expand joints, muscles and bodies. The irony of what I was doing juxtaposed with the irritation and anger in my head was not lost on me. I felt adrift in my own anxiety, judgement, and guilt. Who to blame? How to help? What to do? What not to do?

I started my playlist of meditative flute music, and my body softened. A little. I stood by the front door, staring out through the glass, intent on the stairs, so I could quickly unlock and open the door when students arrived. I still hoped the man would leave before anyone arrived, but that looked doubtful. As I stood, looking out through the large windows at the man sleeping on the concrete, I swayed a little with the music, thinking how he was in the same position we purposefully choose at the end of a yoga class— Savasana, corpse pose. A reminder of the transitory nature of our human existence, that each day we rise, changing with every moment, just as the light changes in a sunrise, and then we lay ourselves down, resting, bringing rejuvenation to bodies, minds, and hearts as we ‘sleep’ in this yoga shape.

The grip of anxiety loosened as I focused on my breath. Slowly, I felt my mind shift, as it does with a mindful breath. A slow rise of my own inner sunrise. The words of a loving kindness meditation called Metta practice began to flow, “may you be free from suffering, and the causes of suffering, may you be at ease, peace, feel safe, and protected.” Over and over the words flowed out of me, in time with the lilting flute. My body continued to soften, and now I realized that as this man had so carefully placed his belongings around him, he had only one sock on, and his blanket was up around his middle. I stared at that bare foot. I looked down at my own bare feet. My feet were bare on purpose, to help me connect energetically with the healing power of the Earth. Every class I talk about active compassion, that the authentic purpose of self-care is to care for ourselves first, so that we have the capacity to serve others; integrating love at a cellular level. When we are grounded in compassion, loved hearts and hands move more easily into truly compassionate action. Not just fixing something to make our own discomfort go away, or ignoring—pretending we just don’t see.

In that moment, my awareness shifted again, a flood filled my chest, an ease and spaciousness. I walked back into the yoga studio and picked up one of my warm Mexican blankets and quietly took it outside, draping it over his feet. All the while, I continued the blessing; may you be well, may you be free, may you be safe and at ease.

He continued to snore.

I felt more ease, less anxiety, more kindness, but still I hoped my students wouldn’t notice him as they entered the Spa. I still felt like a hypocrite.

Students claimed their spots, I locked the door, and we started class. We flowed, we moved, breathed, and relaxed, but I wasn’t feeling bliss, all I could think about was the man outside. He was still there when the students left, and the owner arrived. He said the man had been there a few nights, and was told he needed to leave by morning, but how do you keep track of time when you live on the street? As I loaded my supplies in my car, I considered the possibility of just going home, letting this be someone else’s problem. There are many ways to extend compassion, and finding the way in any particular moment that feels truest, for the greatest good—means having a conversation with my heart. Sometimes I can trust a quick intuition, but sometimes it takes a conversation. So, I sat, in my car, a hand on my heart, closed my eyes, turned inward, and asked.

What is my deepest heartfelt desire in this moment? What serves my path of compassion?

It takes courage to face discomfort, lean into it, cradle it kindly. Just about no one wants to feel uncomfortable, and needing to fix, manage, blame, or judge ourselves or others is the first response to inner or outer conflict and turmoil. I sat with my heart, and rejected the need to ride my own fight or flight reactions. That dance takes effort.

As I watched the morning traffic, I sighed. I couldn’t sit there forever. True self care has a trajectory; I lean in, so I can extend out. Love is, as Eric Fromm wrote, “the will to extend oneself for the purpose of nurturing own’s one or another’s spiritual growth.” Each time I face my patterns of fear and judgement, I claim the opportunity to love myself a bit better, so that I can reach outward in active compassion.

The owner of the Spa came into my head, a wonderful man trying to offer varied healing modalities, over burdened with a new business, running it himself. I realized the triad of need in this moment was too much for one person to equitably meet; this is the suffering of living in an unbalanced, painful system that does not support the business and the house less man equally.

The street was waking up, now filling with dogwalkers, moms and strollers, business owners. I got out of the car, quickly walked to a coffee shop down the street, purchased a breakfast sandwich and a cup of coffee, and headed back with determination in every step. I could do this. I have been chased and screamed at by unstable people before, and survived, I would survive today. As I walked down the steps I gathered my composure in deep, full breaths. Coming back to my center, over and over, was what kept me from drowning. As I exhaled, I remembered the many positive interactions with houseless people I have had through the years.

My heart pounded as I stepped down the stairs, my breath fast too. I held the coffee and sandwich out in front of me, as I leaned down. I spoke clearly, a bit loud— “Excuse me, good morning, I have coffee here for you.”

He shook his head as he rose up, confused, and only partly awake. “Good morning,” I said, “My name is Terra, I have breakfast for you? Do you like breakfast sandwiches with sausage and egg?” I could hear my rambling as he slowly sat up, gathered the blanket closer with one hand and took the coffee from me. I placed the bakery bag beside him, he looked at me over the coffee cup. I smiled hopefully.

“You can’t stay here, friend. This is a business for many women, so you need to find another place to rest. Can I help you move your things?”

He sighed, ran his hand through his tousled hair, scratched his chin. He looked at me again while I continued to chat about the Spa, how much I loved working there, the wonderful people. He reached into a pocket, pulled out a hearing aid and wiggled it into place.

As I watched him adjust, my resolve to be a ‘sweeper’, even a kind one, began melting. I repeated myself, “My name is Terra, what’s your name?”

He opened the bag, “Carl.” He pointed to his ear, “I’m deaf. My truck died, I think it needs an alternator, or something…” His voice trailed off as he bit into and chewed the sandwich.

I nodded, “That’s frustrating, when cars break down. Do you have bus fare? Is there someone who you can see about your truck?” I felt like such a fraud. A few threads of thought in my head; maybe I could call a repair shop? Give him a ride? Do I know a mechanic?

He answered, his voice soft and muffled by the food, I leaned in a little closer to hear, focused on his face, but distracted by my thoughts. I nodded, not quite sure what he was saying, not wanting to hurry him, hoping he felt heard.

Carl chewed his sandwich and sipped his coffee. I looked around the patio. “This is a lovely place, isn’t it?”

He nodded and looked up at the patio roof. “Dry place to sleep. Be great with a hot tub over there maybe,” he pointed to the edge of the covered patio, near the trees. We sat for a moment on the cold concrete together, imagining a beautiful bubbling hot tub, friends gathered. Sadness started creeping in with cat feet, scratching at the edges of my heart.

“Carl,” I stood up, “please let me help you, I can get bus fare for you if that will help.” He nodded, pointing at two small plastic bags, “I need a larger bag.”

“Ok,” I said, slightly relieved to be able to meet this smaller need, “ I will be right back, anything else?” He shook his head, I hurried up the stairs to my car. I rustled around to find whatever change and loose bills I could find, grabbed a shopping bag from the back seat and ran back down the stairs.

Carl was standing, now with shoes on, folding up blankets. I noticed trash beside him. “Can I get that for you?”

“No, I got it.” He took the bag, stuffed the blankets in. I handed him the change, “For a few bus rides?”

He nodded. I felt a wash of sick in my belly that I couldn’t offer more than this, but I needed a healthy boundary, I would offer what I could, I would release what I couldn’t.

I shifted foot to foot, feeling awkward and helpless. I talked fast, “Thank you, Carl, thank you for moving. I hope you find the support you need.” Not wanting to stand over him, I smiled weakly and started up the stairs, hoping he would follow soon. I got into my comfortable, warm car and held the steering wheel. My mind felt a little numb from this encounter that could have gone sideways, I sat and breathed. Sometimes I just want to crawl into bed and not come out. I called into my head the serene faces of the women in my class, the grateful look in the spa owner’s eyes, but Carl’s furrowed brow was there too. I looked at my rear view window, Carl came up the stairs and turned right. I watched him move down the street, my shopping bag banging against his leg.

May you be well, may you be free, may you feel comfort and ease.

My head wasn’t convinced, but I repeated this over and over on repeat, imagining waves of light flowing from my heart to his, to the whole street now lit with morning, with all it’s stories of anguish, delight, frustrations, love, guilt, remorse, gratitude—all of it. I turned my car to the left, and drove home.

Maidenhead Railway Bridge from River Road by Marathon is licensed under CC-BY-SA 2.0

Ready to crack the cocoon?

I realize that people sign up for one of my yoga classes not because they are doing great, but because they are hurting. Maybe some sign up because they know the blessings that come from this ancient body wisdom, and want community and accountability. But mostly, people come to relieve tightness, pain, and recover from disease or injury. Some feel hopeless, helpless, worried, and afraid. Some aren’t sure this is for them, they were encouraged by friends, family, or health professionals. The ‘shoulds’ dragged them here, but they most likely won’t be back, I can tell before the yoga class is over, usually. Some spend the whole class afraid this movement will make things worse, or not be enough.

Fear and worry aren’t motivators for change. We think in our driven culture— the birthplace of Just Do It, we can work harder, force ourselves to be better with the jackhammer of our will. Overcome our flaws with more hard work. But the old paradigm of work, work, work has failed, and continues to crumble— what we need culturally, publicly, and privately can be summed up in one word.

REST. Just to BE. That’s it.

Makes most people twitchy just reading that, I bet. Doing more doesn’t work when we are riven with the stress of collective hurt, collective loss, collective anxiety. More meds, more trips, more shows, more content, more stuff—- doesn’t work either.

What does work is so simple, so accessible, and ridiculed in the face of a multiple billion dollar wellness industry. No app or membership needed. Could it be that I have this incredible tool— the union of movement/breath/intention— or in a shorter version: yoga— at my fingertips? Can this change my world?

What if it was easy? What if we do have the tools individually and collectively to heal? To feel peace, ease, resilience, even joy in a world of chaos? What if?

Can we rest in the possibility that this could be true?

So, dear friend, for everyone is a friend I don’t know yet— rub your palms together, get some heat going, fresh energy. With fingers warm, place the heels of your palms on your cheekbones, cupping your eyes, let your fingers gently rest on your head and temples. Go ahead, take a few minutes to feel the warmth of your own hands, breathe, and breathe again, I’ll be here when you get back.

There, you did it. You moved with intention, focused on the breath. That was yoga. Thousands of years ago, yogis experimented with the union of movement, breath and mind focus and discovered the true power to change our human experience. A pathway for ease, peace, hope, and joy, no matter what surrounds us.

Try another movement; bring your middle finger of each hand to just below your ear, in the groove between jawbone and neck muscles, just behind the earlobe, allowing your other fingers to rest along the neck and jaw. Notice any sensations of ease, release, or nothing. Just rest the mind on the sensations of your body, the breath. Breathe in and out a few times, then massage downward towards the collarbones a few times. Rest your hands just under the collarbones, top of the chest, one hand over the other. Let your chin rest on your hands and breathe. Maybe close your eyes.

How was it? Strange? Feel the need to hop up and DO something? Brain commanded you to GET BUSY? That right there is evidence of an overstressed nervous system. If a few moments of quiet, still, rest feels just the opposite; we are in a stress reaction fight/flight/freeze state. This is most of us these days, most of the time, and we are convincing ourselves this is normal. It isn’t. We deserve rest. It is time to demand rest, claim ways to heal, claim radical kindness for ourselves and each other.

Maybe try palming the face again, this time armed with the knowledge that I am more than my nervous system response. I can breathe through anxiety. Let it be there, not trying to ignore it, stuff it down, or pretend it’s not with me, but draw my anxious mind to the focus of the body breathing, the warmth of the hands, just this place of being. Not doing. Just for now.

Humans have been in an imposed cocoon for too long, it is time to stretch, time to expand, time to claim our wellness in body, mind and heart with truth. Say yes to everything we are experiencing; the loss, the love, the worry, the hope, the fear, the ease, all of it. And we don’t do it alone, we share our experience of our very real inward and outward lives, claiming our connection to each other, to grow in the resilience of being life—-together. The students in my yoga class today laughed as they wiggled into an awkward shape, and the room lightened. We forgave ourselves and forgot our pain in that moment. We claimed our humanity and our resilience grew.

The butterfly cannot fly if it doesn’t test the boundaries of its cocoon over and over, expanding in new ways with patience, fortitude and hope. By the time the Monarch butterfly emerges, it is resilient enough to fly through storms, more than 3,000 miles in the only butterfly migration on the planet. Then they do it again. We have the Monarch to remind us, resilience is our living birthright. It is ours to build, one loving, restful breath at a time.