Final Week reflections
Last week I found myself writing about “death” and how this showed up in my yoga practice. Interestingly enough and without intention, I find myself thinking about aliveness this week and connection to the divine. Yoga teaches that we must surrender to a higher principle in order to find peace and experience our inborn divinity. Ishvara-Pranidhana means to dedicate one’s every thought, word and deed to the Lord and surrender them at his or her feet with total faith.
Why surrender to God? What do I know about that? I am not even a person who embraces a traditional judeo/Christian God. Neither do I embrace any Eastern Gods. However as a Unitarian Universalist, which is fortunately a generous liberal religion and encourages spiritual exploration, I find that I am not an atheist either. I find that I do believe in an eternal and supreme force. I do believe we are all connected and that we are all good inside. I believe we are all connected to our ancestors and our ancestors’ ancestors and to the people of our future. I do believe in something bigger than myself. I believe in the concept and power of love. I believe that we are more that our physical bodies and we are more than our thoughts. At the same time, I believe you can reduce me down to blood and bone and my essence can be found there.
My essence:
My essence was felt in New York City this weekend where I went for a visit with my nine year old daughter and my good friend. (Thank you to Miss Kimberly.) This time of year, as the evenings get darker a little bit earlier and earlier each day, I find myself becoming increasingly dark and lonely and somewhat unsettled. Not sure of what is to come. Interestingly enough, these dark feelings were shed in the energy and life of downtown New York.
The three of us arrived by train early Saturday morning and were met by the smells of exhaust and horse urine but the sun was also shining and the promise of something beautiful and pure rode on the backs of the occasional crisp breeze. Looking up at the ceiling of Grand Central Station is indeed as magnificent as any chapel.
On this spectacular shining day, New York City was alive and teeming with people. The thousands of people we saw were busy and beautiful and surprisingly friendly. We got many smiles, had doors opened and many people made small talk with us on Saturday. The thousands of people we observed and interacted with this weekend reminded me that people are basically kind and good. The “vibe” of New York was alive and electric and it was exciting to be a part of it. We did have some small setbacks, mostly an American Girl Doll whose leg fell off, but we managed to get it bandaged up and go on with our day and not let a broken doll leg get us down.
In the busyness and electricity of New York, I felt amazingly calm and centered inside. I felt a connection to this vibrant place and to all the people and dogs (small) and buildings. I felt an awareness of a presence much greater than the city and of which I was a small, but nether the less, inherent part of. I felt a belief in all that is good and kind. I felt no need to be any greater than I already am. I felt extreme gratitude. I felt peace and I felt alive. I felt there was purpose and order in this world much larger than my own and my true nature was to surrender and trust.
My all day walk of 24 New York City blocks felt like a walking meditation of life. With each step I became less weary and more clear and grateful to be alive.
I think about teaching this Saturday for the first time in 2 months and hope to bring my own “vibe” to my teaching. My own vibe in not mine alone but a shared vibe of feeling alive and connected to earth and grass and cement and buildings and people and passion. A vibe where we trust that we will get to where we need to be or even better, trust that we are exactly where we need to be in this moment if we allow ourselves to drop in and be present. A vibe where we embrace our own life force in our bones and blood and breath and feel a connection to all beings. An understanding of something so kind and magnificent that it can’t be intellectualized, only understood from somewhere deep and still inside. I surrender to God(or Goddess) and trust the process.
Jai,
Anne
p.s.- Many thank you’s over the past 8 weeks especially to: Dawn-how did I get by before you? Matt- for talking me into the pop up camper.. Mom-for taking risks. Tracey and Gymm-for being there in all of my pinches and for letting me wallow. Natalie-for being real. Nikki-for being my new friend. Eve and Jaime-for nourishing my family with yummy meals during YTT. Pam-for coming back into my life. Stacy-for bringing beauty and organization into my home. Helen and Nil-for reconnecting. Lisa P.-for cutting off all my hair. Kim G.-for showing up at the right moment. Cynthia-for being you and following your dreams. Jeff and Temple-morning practice.
Monday, September 26, 2005
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Child's Pose-Poem by Anne
My yoga brings out my muse. I have been facinated with Garbasana or "Child's pose." My child's pose feels so sacred to me lately.
Child's Pose
Sometimes
I have to stop myself.
I wanna get down
On my hands and knees
Bowing to the simple ground.
Scooping up dirt in my fingers.
Spreading the earth's moisture
On my body.
Forehead pressed down
Into damp darkness
And Breathing
Yes
And Breathing.
Juicy alive breath.
Connecting
Deep down
To all beings
That have ever
Bowed to this ground.
Child's Pose
Sometimes
I have to stop myself.
I wanna get down
On my hands and knees
Bowing to the simple ground.
Scooping up dirt in my fingers.
Spreading the earth's moisture
On my body.
Forehead pressed down
Into damp darkness
And Breathing
Yes
And Breathing.
Juicy alive breath.
Connecting
Deep down
To all beings
That have ever
Bowed to this ground.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Reflections on my 6th week
Today was a humid and overcast morning. However, it was still a morning that promised the possibility of sunshine. The early morning humidity promised a day of heat and stickiness. Today is a late summer morning and I am aware that cooler fall mornings are soon to come. Today I take in the familiar morning sounds I have become accustomed to as I practice my yoga in my studio; the humming of the exhaust fan from the restaurant downstairs, the sounds of a delivery truck coming and going.
As I prepare myself to surrender into shavasana or relaxation at the end of my 6:00 a.m. Ashtanga yoga class this morning, I hear the teacher say, “Now lay on your back, preparing yourself for corpse pose. You are now entering into the death of your practice.”
In that moment, on my mat- I think about this. “Death.” For me, the word “death” is a word that brings up fear or sadness or even a lack of feeling. A numbing. I don’t like to think about death, my own or anybody else’s. It scares me.
The words of the yoga teacher this morning also brought me right back to when I was learning to be a yoga teacher. We learned that relaxation pose was often called “corpse” pose and was representative of our own death. Eventually, an enlightened yogi is not afraid of his or her own death. I had forgotten this completely but now I was reminded. Every time we practice yoga and end our yoga session with corpse pose, we are entering into a small death.
Relaxation pose feels wonderful as does letting my practice come to completion. To let go of all efforts in my body and my thoughts feels so freeing and liberating. It amazes me that I used to resist relaxation pose. I used to think of it as a big waste of time. Now that I look forward to it and have completely embraced it, I think I should examine why. Maybe if I contemplate the beauty and sacredness I consistently feel in the “corpse pose” that I do almost every day, I will be able to bring in acceptance of “death” into my own life.
Often in corpse pose, I find myself in the most peaceful place of my day and am able to balance off my anxious self. In corpse pose, I almost always embrace that “everything will truly be ok.” I allow myself to integrate all of my efforts and experiences (good or bad) in my yoga practice. I come to a place of complete acceptance of what is. Today when the teachers suggested that we enter into the death of our practice, I surmised that this is what real death is like. Peace.
I think about a personal state of peace a lot, most likely because I am often not in a peaceful place. Actually, I have not been in a peaceful place on a regular basis for most of my adult life. As I struggle with my anxieties and daily happiness, I find myself repeating patterns and circles that seem impossible to get out of. I consistently feel that life is spinning too fast and that I am caught whirling in its orbit. I almost always feel that there is too much for me to do and what I do accomplish is only about ½ good enough. I am pretty sure this could be a loose interpretation of the definition of “overwhelmed.” I am also pretty sure that being consistently overwhelmed can lead to overall unhappiness and/or depression. I am pretty sure that I am clinging to wanting to become more or better at everything I do. I must admit I am human and “attached” to the physical.
It was interesting this morning to hear the word “death” at my yoga class, to be reminded of an essential teaching of yoga that I had long forgotten and to have a teacher ask me to willingly go into my death and let something that I cling to die. Yes, I do cling to my physical practice.
What else do I cling to? I cling to feeling that there is too much to do. I cling to rushing around and trying to do everything. I cling to having unrealistic expectations about my abilities.
What would it feel like to bury my chaotic pace and self- judgmental voice forever? What would it be like to kill my attachment to outcome, to put my self-criticism to death? Would I be a different person? Would I fall apart and never accomplish anything? Would I know happiness? Would my true self have more space to flourish?
As I contemplate the need for “death” in my present life, I am comforted by these words from the sage, Sutta Nipata:
“The one who is very attached to the cave of the body, that one finds detachment very difficult. Those who constantly crave for pleasure are hard to liberate and certainly cannot be liberated by others, only themselves. Sometimes it is only death that brings a realization of endings, and then the sensual person, deeply immersed in the body, will shout: “What will happen to me after death?”
The way toward liberation is to train your self to live in the present without wanting to become anything. Give up becoming this or that, live without cravings, and experience this present moment with full attention. Then you will not cringe at death or seek repeated birth.”
As I read and reread these words, I realize that I am a sensual person wanting to be fully present and alive in this lifetime. I take comfort in the words of Sutta Nipata and as always I remember to tell myself that, “I am doing a great job.”
As I prepare myself to surrender into shavasana or relaxation at the end of my 6:00 a.m. Ashtanga yoga class this morning, I hear the teacher say, “Now lay on your back, preparing yourself for corpse pose. You are now entering into the death of your practice.”
In that moment, on my mat- I think about this. “Death.” For me, the word “death” is a word that brings up fear or sadness or even a lack of feeling. A numbing. I don’t like to think about death, my own or anybody else’s. It scares me.
The words of the yoga teacher this morning also brought me right back to when I was learning to be a yoga teacher. We learned that relaxation pose was often called “corpse” pose and was representative of our own death. Eventually, an enlightened yogi is not afraid of his or her own death. I had forgotten this completely but now I was reminded. Every time we practice yoga and end our yoga session with corpse pose, we are entering into a small death.
Relaxation pose feels wonderful as does letting my practice come to completion. To let go of all efforts in my body and my thoughts feels so freeing and liberating. It amazes me that I used to resist relaxation pose. I used to think of it as a big waste of time. Now that I look forward to it and have completely embraced it, I think I should examine why. Maybe if I contemplate the beauty and sacredness I consistently feel in the “corpse pose” that I do almost every day, I will be able to bring in acceptance of “death” into my own life.
Often in corpse pose, I find myself in the most peaceful place of my day and am able to balance off my anxious self. In corpse pose, I almost always embrace that “everything will truly be ok.” I allow myself to integrate all of my efforts and experiences (good or bad) in my yoga practice. I come to a place of complete acceptance of what is. Today when the teachers suggested that we enter into the death of our practice, I surmised that this is what real death is like. Peace.
I think about a personal state of peace a lot, most likely because I am often not in a peaceful place. Actually, I have not been in a peaceful place on a regular basis for most of my adult life. As I struggle with my anxieties and daily happiness, I find myself repeating patterns and circles that seem impossible to get out of. I consistently feel that life is spinning too fast and that I am caught whirling in its orbit. I almost always feel that there is too much for me to do and what I do accomplish is only about ½ good enough. I am pretty sure this could be a loose interpretation of the definition of “overwhelmed.” I am also pretty sure that being consistently overwhelmed can lead to overall unhappiness and/or depression. I am pretty sure that I am clinging to wanting to become more or better at everything I do. I must admit I am human and “attached” to the physical.
It was interesting this morning to hear the word “death” at my yoga class, to be reminded of an essential teaching of yoga that I had long forgotten and to have a teacher ask me to willingly go into my death and let something that I cling to die. Yes, I do cling to my physical practice.
What else do I cling to? I cling to feeling that there is too much to do. I cling to rushing around and trying to do everything. I cling to having unrealistic expectations about my abilities.
What would it feel like to bury my chaotic pace and self- judgmental voice forever? What would it be like to kill my attachment to outcome, to put my self-criticism to death? Would I be a different person? Would I fall apart and never accomplish anything? Would I know happiness? Would my true self have more space to flourish?
As I contemplate the need for “death” in my present life, I am comforted by these words from the sage, Sutta Nipata:
“The one who is very attached to the cave of the body, that one finds detachment very difficult. Those who constantly crave for pleasure are hard to liberate and certainly cannot be liberated by others, only themselves. Sometimes it is only death that brings a realization of endings, and then the sensual person, deeply immersed in the body, will shout: “What will happen to me after death?”
The way toward liberation is to train your self to live in the present without wanting to become anything. Give up becoming this or that, live without cravings, and experience this present moment with full attention. Then you will not cringe at death or seek repeated birth.”
As I read and reread these words, I realize that I am a sensual person wanting to be fully present and alive in this lifetime. I take comfort in the words of Sutta Nipata and as always I remember to tell myself that, “I am doing a great job.”
Monday, September 12, 2005
Reflections on my 4th and 5th week
Reflections on my fourth and fifth week of not teaching
This has been the week of a “good cry ”for me. Totally unexpected –yet it makes sense. Totally unexpected, I have found myself crying in my yoga practice. I am comforted by knowing that I am not the only one who is crying. In some ways, our whole nation is crying. Crying for the victims of Katrina. Crying for the devastation and power of Mother Nature. Crying for the unfairness of poverty and the distrust of those who are our leaders. Many are still crying for 9/11 and the painful losses of loved ones that still hurts and leaves holes and gaps in their every day lives.
As a country, I felt we are all tired this week. I felt it when I looked at the prices on the gas pumps, when I happened to catch the news, when I looked around at all of our yoga students and saw the tight shoulders and necks and jaws. I felt as if we are all feeling vulnerability and rawness.
To me, crying is not comfortable territory. I know that it is a wonderful release and even benefit from the releases that my infrequent crying jags can bring on, but still, I don’t cry often or easily. I almost never cry at a movie or cry because someone else is sad even though I might feel their sadness. As a child, I remember wanting to cry a lot but I never would. Instead I would suffocate the cries deep in my throat. It is surely not a coincidence that during my childhood, I many times came down with strep throat.
As an adult, I don’t usually cry but, this week I did and I attribute it to the amount of really good yoga I have been doing on my time off . I not only attribute the conditions for me to cry to come from the yoga but also from being tired and vulnerable and uncertain about our world. I attribute the conditions for crying to come from being brought outside of my comfortable box.
For the past 5 weeks I have been doing a lot of yoga. Every day. On great days, I practice more than once. I have been allowing myself to sink into my practice, not think about any thing other than the moment and the breath I am taking in that moment. My yoga time has become sacred and uniquely mine again. I feel open and truthful to myself.
When the tears came this week in a very gentle seated wide angle forward fold, I knew they were tears of release. As a yogi and a yoga teacher, I am no stranger to the benefits of tears in a yoga practice. But even with that first hand knowledge, I still wanted to push them away and shut them off and I knew in that moment that I had the power to do so. Fortunately I resisted that first urge and actually had a brief conversation with my “witness”, that part of me that observes myself with out judgement. The witness was very direct. She told me, “Go with the crying. See where it brings you. Do not go into fear or on automatic pilot.”
So I did just that. I cried and did yoga and cried some more. I felt waves of sadness and disappointment so intensely. At some point I realized that I was also crying for the girl that I was and the woman that I am who won’t let her feelings out and feels overly responsible for having to have the appearance of holding it all together. I cried for the girl and woman who does not allow others to comfort her. I felt sadness and an understanding of my self all in the same moment.
After I was done crying, I felt great. I had the best yoga practice I could remember and even got into some postures in a way that I had never experienced before. Following this practice of crying and yoga, I wiped my tears off and immediately taught a 2 hour hot sweaty yoga class to the Yoga Teacher Training(YTT) Students. Teaching felt so right and so clean and easy.
I look out at the world and I see how beautiful the mornings are this time of year in New England. How grateful I am for my morning walks and yoga. My morning practice begins in darkness and ends in the most glorious light of the day. For that I am truly blessed.
This has been the week of a “good cry ”for me. Totally unexpected –yet it makes sense. Totally unexpected, I have found myself crying in my yoga practice. I am comforted by knowing that I am not the only one who is crying. In some ways, our whole nation is crying. Crying for the victims of Katrina. Crying for the devastation and power of Mother Nature. Crying for the unfairness of poverty and the distrust of those who are our leaders. Many are still crying for 9/11 and the painful losses of loved ones that still hurts and leaves holes and gaps in their every day lives.
As a country, I felt we are all tired this week. I felt it when I looked at the prices on the gas pumps, when I happened to catch the news, when I looked around at all of our yoga students and saw the tight shoulders and necks and jaws. I felt as if we are all feeling vulnerability and rawness.
To me, crying is not comfortable territory. I know that it is a wonderful release and even benefit from the releases that my infrequent crying jags can bring on, but still, I don’t cry often or easily. I almost never cry at a movie or cry because someone else is sad even though I might feel their sadness. As a child, I remember wanting to cry a lot but I never would. Instead I would suffocate the cries deep in my throat. It is surely not a coincidence that during my childhood, I many times came down with strep throat.
As an adult, I don’t usually cry but, this week I did and I attribute it to the amount of really good yoga I have been doing on my time off . I not only attribute the conditions for me to cry to come from the yoga but also from being tired and vulnerable and uncertain about our world. I attribute the conditions for crying to come from being brought outside of my comfortable box.
For the past 5 weeks I have been doing a lot of yoga. Every day. On great days, I practice more than once. I have been allowing myself to sink into my practice, not think about any thing other than the moment and the breath I am taking in that moment. My yoga time has become sacred and uniquely mine again. I feel open and truthful to myself.
When the tears came this week in a very gentle seated wide angle forward fold, I knew they were tears of release. As a yogi and a yoga teacher, I am no stranger to the benefits of tears in a yoga practice. But even with that first hand knowledge, I still wanted to push them away and shut them off and I knew in that moment that I had the power to do so. Fortunately I resisted that first urge and actually had a brief conversation with my “witness”, that part of me that observes myself with out judgement. The witness was very direct. She told me, “Go with the crying. See where it brings you. Do not go into fear or on automatic pilot.”
So I did just that. I cried and did yoga and cried some more. I felt waves of sadness and disappointment so intensely. At some point I realized that I was also crying for the girl that I was and the woman that I am who won’t let her feelings out and feels overly responsible for having to have the appearance of holding it all together. I cried for the girl and woman who does not allow others to comfort her. I felt sadness and an understanding of my self all in the same moment.
After I was done crying, I felt great. I had the best yoga practice I could remember and even got into some postures in a way that I had never experienced before. Following this practice of crying and yoga, I wiped my tears off and immediately taught a 2 hour hot sweaty yoga class to the Yoga Teacher Training(YTT) Students. Teaching felt so right and so clean and easy.
I look out at the world and I see how beautiful the mornings are this time of year in New England. How grateful I am for my morning walks and yoga. My morning practice begins in darkness and ends in the most glorious light of the day. For that I am truly blessed.
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