Do you know just enough to be dangerous?

soph·o·mor·ic [sof-uh-mawr-ik, -mor-]  

adjective

1. of or pertaining to a sophomore  or sophomores.

2. suggestive of or resembling the traditional sophomore; intellectually pretentious, overconfident, conceited, etc. but immature: sophomoric questions.

conceited and overconfident of knowledge but poorly informed and immature <a sophomoric argument>

of, relating to, or characteristic of a sophomore<sophomoric humor>

I remember a college professor telling my class the meaning of “sophomore”. Since most of us were sophomores at the time, we were highly insulted; myself included, apparently, since I still remember it! But face it, we’ve all pushed a point with great certainty, all the while missing a main fact that would nullify our argument if only we knew it. (And if this scenario does not seem familiar to you, ummm, just ask a friend if he’s noticed you being sophomoric!)

We often close ourselves off to new opportunities and new ways of doing things because we think we already know it all. Perhaps we are better off being perpetual freshmen, open to what is before us and willing to admit we don’t know everything.  In yoga we speak of “the beginner’s mind”, reminding ourselves to step into every situation with an open mind and heart.  It doesn’t mean that the way you do something is “wrong”; but often, it doesn’t hurt to try the other guy’s way. 

Ultimately, you decide what is right for you, but if you have been able to weigh both sides of the situation and then make your decision, you have graduated sophomore year and are now a junior!  

Home Planet

We fondly refer to her as Mother Earth. This place of beauty and joy, of hardship and sadness. Our home for a few years or many, where we take things for granted and forget to say thank you; where we rejoice in gratitude and appreciate the gifts.  She’s been called by many other names, like Terra Firma, the Big Blue Marble, Gaia; I like to consider her Mother.

Everyone could use another Mother, right?  No matter how you feel about your earthly mother, Mother Earth is a universal source of nurturance and care.  The more mothers the merrier, I say!  (Just ask my brother, who grew up with five older sisters and a mom – on second thought, maybe it’s still too soon  . . .) Mother Earth brings us food, and presents us with materials for shelter.  She steadfastly revolves around the sun to bring us Day and Night, Summer and Winter. Even when we strew trash around like we tossed clothes on the floor of our adolescent bedrooms, Mother Earth doesn’t desert us. She may not be thrilled, but she just shakes her head (earthquake!), sheds a few tears (flood!) and hopes we learn someday to clean up after ourselves.

I don’t actually think Mother Earth quakes and floods to punish us, but it is a nice illustration. We take it personally when Mother Earth overwhelms us with her changing moods, but truly, she is neutral.  She turns and churns, creates and destroys, nourishes and starves with impersonal regularity. 

Even when we become a planet populated by peaceful, loving citizens, Mother Earth will still have her earthquakes.  She will still spew lava and spill too much rain. Oblivious to the despair she has wrought, she will then bless us with sunshine and soft grass beneath our feet, and be a source of much joy and wonder. The advantage we will have then is the ongoing care and love from our neighbors, when neighborhoods stretch across the entire planet.

And I like to think that would make Mother Earth smile.

Walking in Circles

I step into the labyrinth as the church bell towers strike nine.  The slow, even count echoes my footsteps; or is it the other way around?  The chimes turn into a melody, and I walk on to the sound of “Holy, Holy, Holy”.  Yes, it is.  The sun is warm and the air is soft.  As I turn right and head toward the strip of woods the ground grows hard and cold, no grass growing in the deeply shaded area.  I continue around and step into the sunshine, where the grass is thick and soft, warm beneath my bare feet.  A small brown and orange butterfly flits across my path to settle on a tiny yellow flower.  I carefully step around her and continue my circling.  As I walk along the paths edged with old brick, I try to empty my mind of all but sound.  The church bells fade into silence and the birds take over, chirping and tweeting their secret messages to each other.  Cars going by on the road make a sound like the wind through trees, and again I am in the sunny section of the path, soft grass and warmth on my shoulders.  Ah, the center.  Here is where I pause and gaze up into the tree tops, spring leaves rustling softly, sun on their tops and their lower branches in shadow. I return to the path, retracing my steps, circling the labyrinth’s center in small circles, then larger, then, surprisingly, another small circuit close to the middle before widening out again.  Slow steps in rhythm with my breath.  Clover, wild strawberry, packed dirt, soft grass; beneath my soles each step takes a different tone.  I start to wax poetic in my mind: Life is sometimes cold and hard, then the next step takes you into the sun, with soft freshness to carry you forward . . . then I turn off my brain and return to my senses.  The spring air is fragrant with green, the dog rests patiently in the sun, hidden animals scurry beneath the trees, and my feet touch the Earth.  Oh, how quickly the return trip seems, always shorter than the walk in to the center.  I step out of the labyrinth and go up to the ancient pin oak, pressing my palms on her rough bark.  I know her roots are spread wide beneath me, echoing her branches, holding her deep into the ground.  I pat her mossy surface, and call to the dog.

Don't Push It, Follow It!

The popular perception of yoga is that it’s a good stretch.  Or that yogis sit around twisted like pretzels. Oh, and the magazine ads with the young women in midriff baring tops and tight shorts?  You have to go to a Level 3 class in NYC or LA to find a room full of them! Yoga is a good stretch, and yogis do twist around a lot, and if my top is too loose it will fall over my head in adho mukha and reveal way more than anyone bargained for.  But the best thing about yoga is that it improves more than your muscle tone.

This is yoga . . . 

What yoga has over other forms of exercise is this:  Yoga connects your body to your mind. When’s the last time you thought about your shoulder blades?  Or the way your weight settles into the soles of your feet? If you listen, your body reveals all sorts of secrets. What hurts, where, how and why? Side angle pose is better at telling me I’ve gained a few pounds than any scale, because when I lean sideways over my thigh, I can feel anything “extra”.  No judgment, though, because a couple of pounds up or down, I can still rock the parsva!

I also like that you can’t try too hard with yoga.  If you push a pose, your face will start to scrunch and an attentive teacher will remind you to breathe.  Slow, even breathing insists on safe, appropriate movements.  Surprisingly, you will go further by following your breath than by pushing your body.

. . . and this is yoga.

In essence, yoga is the union of breath and movement.  Once you get this concept, almost anything can be yoga (except maybe the step machine at the gym.  That’s just craziness).  Hiking a trail becomes step, breath, step, breath. Swimming forces you to breathe with your movement because you have to time your breaths with your strokes. Running warm-ups and cool-downs share many postures with yoga, and doing them with intent rather than by rote will add an unexpected note of serenity to your running session.

Go ahead, try yoga.  You’ll get a good stretch. You’ll make a few pretzel shapes.  You’ll breathe.  You’ll love it.