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.

If you have sisters, you always have a helping hand

So there I was, straddling a mossy, fallen log stretched across a creek, as water swirled madly around rocks below me.  I hoisted myself an inch at a time across the log, looking ahead and not down, lifting my seat with tiring arms, swinging my hips forward and hoping not to land on anything that would poke me in an uncomfortable place.  I inched forward toward my sister Carolle who had already made it to the other side.  She encouraged me as I labored upward – of course, the log hadn’t landed straight across, but tilted up to give me a better workout! – and she informed me when I was past the water and over the rock ledge.  Almost there!  Well, three-quarters of the way, anyway.  Lift, scootch, pant. As I carefully swung my leg over to lie on my belly and slide off to the ground, Chantal yelled a cheer of congratulations.  Both sisters, I know, were slightly surprised I made it.

We were playing out the same scenario that had played out since we were little:  My bookworm self, chasing after my lacrosse playing, track running, gymnastic team-member sisters. (Four of them.  Yes, four.)  Me always a little behind, needing a boost or a hand or a quick lesson in fence hurdling.   Probably to the relief of my sisters, I often opted to stay on the couch with my Wizard of Oz books.  These days, though, with middle age encroaching (are we there yet??!!), I am loathe to miss out on an adventure, and guess what?  Now I’m a yoga teacher and although I’m not hurdling fences, neither are they.  I’m still much more cautious (okay, scared) than they are, but physically, I can keep up.  Slow but steady, my lifelong motto, has served me well. Yes, the tortoise is finally catching up to the hares! (Lucky for me the hares were my cheerleaders, not my tricksters!)

Off the log, up the mountain to the waterfall we went. Hurricane Irene had sent two intertwined trees down the banks of the creek, their top branches resting high up on the rocks, and their roots lifted like a huge platter of wood and mud.  The power of water is astounding. 

The power of sisters is astounding, too.

A Leap of Faith

I've been thinking lately about Dumbo's feather.  You remember, Dumbo wakes up high in a tree with the crows (after a drunken escapade -- Disney blackout!!), and the explanation of how they got there is, well, Dumbo, you must have flown!  The crows convince the baby elephant that if he holds a “magic” feather in his trunk, he can fly.  It works!  Dumbo soars merrily about on his huge ears, until the feather is whooshed out of his grasp and he panics, hurtling toward the ground.  The crows must make fast work convincing Dumbo that the feather was an unnecessary crutch, and the flying is in him, not in the feather.  Just in time, Dumbo believes them and swoops upward again.

So, did the feather make Dumbo fly?  It’s true that without it, he would never have taken the step off the high limb. But think: It wasn’t the feather that let Dumbo fly, but his belief, his faith, in the feather.  He believed, and so he flew.  When the feather got away, his belief in the feather stayed fast, and he started to fall.  

Okay, so it wasn’t the feather itself, but his belief in the feather . . . Wait, it was really his ears that made it possible for Dumbo to get airborne.  Not the feather, or even the belief in the feather.   True, without the feather  he would not have tried to fly, but he probably had the skill for a while before it was discovered/uncovered.  It was an innate ability; Dumbo was born with the tools for flight.

So the ears have it!

What skill were you born with that is waiting for a feather? 

A Poem

Space Between

I just learned

That it is the space between heartbeats

That knows you.

Between the beats

Lie the emotions you thought you’d hidden

From the World.

No empty spaces.

Your heart propels the vital life forces:

Blood and Love.

Me and My Tattoo

I have a tattoo on the back of my neck.  I got it when I became certified to teach yoga.  It is a beautiful lotus flower, in the traditional sailor-tattoo blue.  It makes me very happy.

My thousand-petaled lotus represents yoga to me.  Each petal is imbued with compassion, love, and gratitude, and I can visualize sending a petal floating off to people around me.  The lotus helps me remember why I practice yoga instead of step aerobics:  I strengthen my body while I elevate my spirit.  Sounds lofty, I know, but it’s true.  Yoga has many “limbs”, and although I began with the practice of poses (asana), I was soon led to practice compassion and gratitude, to meditate, and to live a life of awareness.  (Note the use of the word practice -- I ain’t perfect, but I am trying!)  My lotus tattoo is always with me to remind me of the life I aspire to lead.  

Not everyone appreciates my tattoo, and I understand that.  My mom likes it, though.  In fact, she came along with me and got a tattoo herself, a nice ankle bracelet that matches the silver bracelet she wears on her wrist.  To answer a popular question, yes it hurt.  But not so badly that I wouldn’t get another one, if the spirit moves me! For now, my thousand-petaled lotus blooms on my neck, reminding me to greet everyone around me with compassion and love -- and to float a petal for myself once in a while, too! 

The Nature of Yoga; or is it The Yoga of Nature?

Our bodies pulse with the rhythm of the tides, and dance to the music of the stars.  We are not only connected to Nature, we are an integral part of Nature.  When we breathe out, trees breathe in.  As we witness the sun set, our emotions rise.  Hand in hand with a child, resting in the shade of a tree, the sound of the wind, the sweetness of summer’s first strawberry – all these are connections to our world. All these make us a participant in Nature, not merely a bystander. To nurture your body with good food and delicious movement, to use nature’s gifts to find shelter and joy, is to give thanks for Life.

Yoga brings an awareness of the body that some other forms of exercise neglect. Yoga demonstrates the connections that your body makes instinctively – breath to movement, stretch to release.  Yoga encourages you to find ease within the effort, softness around the holding, connection to the stars above and the earth below.  Yoga reminds you that your body is a gift that responds to nurturing, care and attention.  Yoga is not simply exercise. Yoga builds the connections between body, mind, and spirit, and strengthens our attachments to nature.  So pulse with the rhythm of the tides, and dance to the music of the stars.  Shake that booty and open your eyes to see that Nature is within and without – offering love, sustenance, protection, and more love.