My New Happy Place

Well.

Hello there!

It has been far too long, my babies.

Not that I have anything outstanding to say, or anything even vaguely interesting, for that matter. I just got tired of seeing my last post. I should at least have something au courant, non? November is SO last year.

I assure you, reader(s), that I'm still here. As for the cybersquatters, be gone with you. (take your weblinks and thoughtless comments)(and leave the furniture - that ottoman has sentimental value).

What have I been up to? Well, I have been entrenched since September, studying away, with the intention of becoming a card-carrying Yoga Teacher.

And while it has been fascinating and exciting, it has been a humongous time-suck. Even more than facebook (really).

(yes, that IS possible)

(who knew?)

As a result of my single-tasking, my house is a toss; our dog gleefully thinks that the dust bunnies that have accumulated under the couches are new canine companions (I'm not about to break his little heart & tell him the truth).

My routines are no more; they've given way for new routines that I must somehow shoehorn in to the existing ones, to create complicated labyrinthine processes.

Our once-mindful food plan has given way to far more take-out than I care to discuss, and we've all suffered thusly.

To wit, I believe that I'm still trying to digest New Year's Eve dinner - I feel like I've got an intact block of Gruyere cheese wedged in my esophagus. Gah.

Yet, with all the kvetching, I am still bordering on euphoric. Because finally, after such a really, really long time along a really, really long path, I think I have found the thing I was meant to do.
I have always been envious of those people who do what they love, and now I think that I just might be one of them.

After what seems like forever of turning inward to imagine that breezy beach in Hawaii, that verdant forest, that still morning lake, I realize that where I am - the here and the now - is my new happy place.

I know it sounds kind of Pollyanna-like, but I can see joy again.

After a difficult few years, I am ready, willing and able to own up to my happiness. I don't need to qualify it, or temper it with stories of struggle or sadness like I usually do. I no longer feel the need to feel guilty about it.

It just is.

And it is quite spectacular.

Thoughtful Thursday

"All people wish to be happy. This seemingly simple desire appears to elude the best-intentioned efforts of even the most intelligent among us. Yet almost everyone has had glimpses of deep peacefulness when they have felt connected both to themselves, to others, and to nature. Curiously, the state of feeling good and whole does not seem to be something we can order up on demand but rather appears to happen spontaneously. In such moments we experience a sense of translucence such that that which we see, feel, sense, hear, or touch no longer feel separate from us but is experienced as a part of our own totality. When our hand resting over the heart of the beloved merges and becomes one with his or her body, when we become the same midnight sky that fills us with awe, we remember, however briefly, our place in the scheme of things. These brief flickers of remembrance imbue our vision with freshness and innocence so that we can see things as they truly are. Because these moments of lucidity are so blissful, we wish that they may become the base state of our lives rather than the brief and often-times tenuous experience to which such happiness is usually assigned. These moments of clarity have nothing to do with the caricatures of happiness presented to us through the media or popular culture. These moments have always been there. The beloved's heartbeat and the sky have always been there. These moments are simply waiting for our arrival."
Donna Farhi, Yoga Body, Mind and Spirit

Thoughtful Thursday

There is a saying: Once the student is ready, the teacher will present themself.

So while I continue to meander endlessly down a myriad of paths - to seek out those teachers that will start me on my ways - I am certain that I have found one.

An integral one; a foundational one.

My Yoga Teacher.

She is local phenomenon, and I knew from the very moment that I was in her class, she was the shizznit. Her method of teaching speaks to me, and taps into and lets flow an enthusiasm in me that I thought was gone forever.

Here is a woman who does not rest on her laurels. She's been at this a very long time. She teaches 4 days a week, to a variety of groups that her son refers to as "her people". She could very easily phone it in; just stick with what has worked in the past, keep everything routine.

But she doesn't. And she won't.

Every single class, without exception, she brings something new. Every class is fresh and shiny and exciting, and like the first one ever. She is constantly reading. Constantly learning. And she is always - ALWAYS - ready to take us along with her on her journey. For, she has told us, it is for us that she does all of this. It is we who inform her soul to keep going, to keep growing.

I can say, with certainty, it is she whom I was meant to learn from. She is grace, she is wisdom, she is perseverance; she is a cherished treasure.

On Monday, before one of our more challenging poses, she cited a poem about the pose from a book she brought along, "Yoga Poses: Lines to Unfold By".

And, although it was indeed inspirational at the time, it is something that is equally soothing to share 'off the mat'.

Padangustha Dhanurasana - The Bow Pose

For woman
bow is both
noun and verb.

How to bend
without breaking?

How to tie a ribbon
around a life
without constriction?

How to stretch
and not snap

How to love?

How to live?

Leza Lowitz

May you have a happy Thursday, my lovelies, unfolding, bending, stretching, being ...

Thoughtful Thursday

photo source here

In yoga, one of the components of our practise is something called a mudra. This encompasses a positioning of the hands and/or fingers. Each variety of mudra is rife with symbolism and purpose.

One of my favorites, the Lotus Mudra (read more here) has the yogi shaping their hands like the petals of a lotus flower. This mudra 'belongs to the heart chakra' and helps us to be aware of keeping our heart pure and unconditional , as 'love, goodwill, affection and communication reside together in there.'

I especially like it, as I feel its openness is a conduit for both receiving all the good energy which will surround one in a yoga class and for offering up any prana (life energy) back to the class. Because, as we practise individually, we are still just one part of a singular living, breathing being.

Today's TT comes to you via me via one of my brother-in-laws. A fellow, who, I can assure you is cringing right alongside Duke #1 at all of the hippy dippy voodoo bullshit that I just touched upon above.

Like most of my out-laws, my BIL is a mystery wrapped up in an enigma, with a pocket full of happiness and medicinal lint.

During one of our oh-so-witty repartees back and forth on facebook, in reaction to something I said, he said he was Aghast.

That's funny, said I.

I thought you were Agnostic.

He then informed me that he is now Acrostic.

I must say (yes, I really must) - this is quite puzzling.

An-n-n-yways...

Despite his religious and crytological leanings, he sent along this lovely piece of enlightenment specifically targetted to the JewBu population, but equally applicable to all. It immediately resonated with me purely because of the reference to the flower:

Deep inside you are ten thousand flowers
Each flower blossoms ten thousand times
Each blossom has ten thousand petals
You might want to see a specialist.

Namaste. Go in peace.

Right to the internist.

Multiple Choice

photo source here

Well, darlings, here I am, back from a mind-frazzling weekend of higher learning.

I can now tell you with a reasonable degree of confidence that the leg bones (femur, tibia, fibula) are connected to the foot bones (calcaneous, talus, cuboid, navicular, cuneiforms, metatarsals and phalanges) via the knee bone (patella) and about a gajillion muscles (and yes, gajillion is a technical term - why would you doubt me?)

Before you get too ooh-ey and ahhh-ey, I will disclose that I am NOT doing this from memory; merely writing these directly out of the Big Book of Fitness Training.

And herein lies the gist of my thought process (which, by the way, I am shocked and awed that I can still perform, given that my mind is so full of facts that I keep feeling my ears to see if blood is seeping out...).

I now am at a crossroads.

I can either cram my ass off, and quickly take the multiple choice final to get my certification, or
I can wait and study some more.

I know for a fact that if I cram, I will pass. Not an issue.

But I also know this - I am a world-class memorizer. In fact, that is I how I maintained all of my high marks through school. I would read it over and over and over and over until it was akin to breathing, and then blaeacccchhhhh; I would spew it all back out.

Retention of any material? Slim to none.

But man, oh, man. My marks were awesome.

Now? To borrow a phrase from my favorite quote machine, Tim Gunn - I'm troubled.

There is a new context here. I'm not doing this to please my parents anymore. I'm not doing this to suck up to my teachers, or maintain my standing on the honor roll.

I'm doing this as a building block to learning how to educate people.

People who sincerely want their leg bone to stay connected to their foot bone.

So, do I just get on with it, or do I wait?

One of the things that is sticking in my head is some advice I once got from a CEO of a company that I worked for.

He and I were like chalk and cheese. He was al-ll-ll business (and somewhat soulless, in my view) and I was an awkward combo of instinct, verve and science.

Yet we had some pretty fascinating conversations, and I learned much about him just by the questions he would ask me. Because I think I truly puzzled him. Example:

Baroness: "So, I signed up for Adult Tap Dance lessons yesterday."
He: "Why would you do that?"
B: "Uh - for fun?"
He: "I see...."

(which he didn't, by the way) (But it was one of his favorite conversation closers)

What I learned from him (other than he would never be my partner in the office Christmas party Lindy contest, and that I would never ever invite him to a Mah Jong game) was that if you are ever forced into making a decision, it will ultimately be the wrong one.

Its repercussions may not present themselves right away. But they will, eventually.

So now, rather than just a "do I or don't I" scenario, the implications are rapidly mushrooming.

Into multiple choices.

Weisenheimer Wednesday

Well, I'm off.

Off to take a 4 day intensive prerequisite course that will have mewell on my way to being in the Top 100 "Greatest Mediocre Yogis of the 21st Century".

It's one of those courses to fill in the broadstrokes of "The leg bone's connected to the foot bone" sort of things.

And, like any other endeavor I pursue that could actually lead me forward, I have about 50 thoughts that are holding me back and making me second guess everything.

Thoughts so far:

. Is is wrong that I HATE the layout of the manual we're supposed to be using? It's poorly spaced, the font is atrocious (Times New Roman? Seriously??). Could they have spent a couple more bucks on extra paper so that things aren't all crammed together? Gah.

. How am I supposed to learn from a document so un-aesthetically pleasing?

. Will I accidently blurt out these thoughts to my instructor?

. Will she take it personally

. Should I up my happy pill dosage for the next few days?

. What if my classmates are pretty boy lunkheads, a quarter century younger than me?

. Will I actually fulfill my promise to slap the next person who says "I know coffee is so bad for me - I'm trying to kick the habit" ?


I think I'll be eating lunch alone...

Thoughtful Thursday

One of my favorite yoga poses is Warrior II. It looks like this:

When you've really sunk down into it, and are feeling grounded in your feet, and your thighs are strong yet quiet, and your arms are in perfect alignment so they really feel floaty yet powerful, and you are surveying all you can see beyond your front middle finger, well. There is no greater feeling.

At that moment in time, you are the most kick-assing-est person on the planet.

In yoga pants.

Yeah, well - it's all about putting things in perspective.

Kind of like when the Baron gifted me a month-long membership to a hot new yoga studio for my birthday. Now this is one of those 'now', 'happening' places, where the age demographic is wa-a-ay below mine. But, I think they must have some kind of Affirmative Action plan in place in the event that old farts like me somehow stumble upon their doorway during our usual daily aluminum-fuelled random wanderings.

I must admit that I was a little perturbed by being led by a young lady not much older than my son.

Here's where the perspective thing comes into play, though. I embraced the Namaste and just let it go. And I'm so glad I did, because this lovely woman is a whoosh of fresh air in the staleness of life.

One evening, during our final relaxation pose, she read us a musing from Paolo Coelho's "Warrior of the Light"; my further investigation into this wonderful gem brings us todays TT:

"The Warrior of the Light sometimes behaves like water, flowing around the obstacles he encounters.

Occasionally, resistance might mean destruction, and so he adapts to the circumstances. He accepts, without complaint, that the stones in his path hinder his way through the mountains.

Therein lies the strength of water: It cannot be touched by a hammer or ripped to shreds by a knife. The strongest sword in the world cannot scar its surface.

The river adapts itself to whatever route proves possible, but the river never forgets its one objective: the sea. So fragile at its source, it gradually gathers the strength of the other rivers it encounters.

And, after a certain point, its power is absolute."

So, as I sit waiting, impatiently, for an appointment with the guy at the place about the thing, I will embrace my inner Warrior of the Light.

And just flow.

Flow.

Listen Up, Yogi...

... Give the people what they want.

And by "people", here I mean the Baroness. I'm pretty sure that I am not alone, though, when I humbly ask for less of this:


And less of this:


And more of this:

Ahh. All I need is a fleece blankie, a flaxseed-stuffed neckroll, and some sort of chant CD, and I am go-o-o-o-o-d to g-zzzzzzzzzzzz.

Rethink your class. It's wholesome and granola-crunchy and all, but it could be so much better. And quieter. I swear to Vishnu, call it "Yoga Naps", and the people will flock to it with such enthusiasm, it will rattle your chacras. Not to mention line your pockets for that new Ashram you've been looking at...

And a fine namaste to you, sir.

I Don't Want to Talk About It

Bonjour, dear readers! Here I am - back after an oh-so-brief "day off". Did I use this day wisely? Absolutely not. Productively? Perish the thought. As a result of spending most of Monday dealing with soul-sucking administrative mumbo-jumbo, the Baroness finds herself at a complete loss for an inspiring topic. I know that I have told you many times that inspiration abides everywhere. I'm beginning to sense that I may have been selling a little metaphysical snake oil with that assertion. For today, it abides nowhere. Ugh.

For a brief moment, I thought of commenting on the CBS Sunday Morning piece on artist and film director Julian Schnabel. Would I talk about his art? His tour de force movie, "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly?". No, no, no. I was merely digging the fact that this man considers his pajamas to be his daily uniform. A feat not many can pull off - the only other person I can think of is Hugh Hefner. And he's about what - 200 years old? Respect your elders, I say. Yet Schnabel schlubs around without appearing either pretentious or eccentric. At least to me. Truth be told, I'm kind of jealous. But I don't really want to talk about that.

I also entertained the thought of talking about yet another Sunday Morning piece. Quite the little expose where they shed some light on a grave world issue taking place, as we speak, in Northern England. The growing number of American squirrels are threatening to exceed the population of the the more genteel and refined indigenous Red Squirrel. Scandal! Mayhem! Get the United Nations on the phone! Page Angelina Jolie! While I find the whole situation strangely enlightening - in a ridiculous sort of way - again, The Baroness is once again kind of jealous. Of the Earl or Viscount or whichever sad representation of fifedom he is. For this has become his vocation, his mission. Judgement aside (and here I would state the obvious - I have many judgements on this particular story), the man has direction and focus - he wants to rid Great Britain of American squirrels. He's the Churchill of the chipmunk world (I know - chipmunk, squirrel, not the same. Back off, Nitpick Police - it just fits). Imagine. But I really don't want to talk about that.

I thought of this amazing wisdom article I read in Yoga Journal titled "The Awakening". It outlines all the steps that follow when one is faced with a transformative event in their lives. It was appealing to the Baroness in particular as she herself has stared down something pretty big. You can actually find it through the Yoga Journal's treasure trove of a website. But really - given the choice - would you rather hear about my health woes, or read about another cowboy in my past? Three words. Yippee. Ky. Yay. But I don't want to talk about that today.

Hopefully today, I'll be able to find my way to the well, and dip my ladle into something that will slake my creative thirst. Until then, I don't want to talk about it.

Honorable Mention

Ah, how the Baroness loves languages. Italian, Indian, French - they all have such a lyrical quality to them as the conversation ebbs and flows.

But the language that the Baroness is completely grooving on right now is not a language, per se, but a beautiful lexicon of terms used in the practice of yoga. Here in calm quiet intonations our yogis gently speak in phrases like body-mind connection , of attaching a breath to a movement, of relaxing into a child's pose, and they then top things off with a heartfelt namaste.

The phrase that has just recently begun to resonate with me is "honoring your body". While I've heard this at least 1000 times in the past, it's finally percolated its way into my brain to make me take pause and think. Honoring your body implies that if you are unable to accomplish a pose due to inflexibility or ache (or chronic persnickety-ness), rather than pushing through and potentially hurting yourself, you must honour what your body is telling you.

I wonder - how many of us cognitively do this? Not just in matters of all things yogic, but metaphorically? I know that until a couple of weeks ago, I didn't - in yoga, exercise, or life in general. After finally having the chemotherapy cloud above me begin to dissipate, I have been gung ho to get back into a routine. A rather gruelling routine. But the whole "honoring your body" credo has finally allowed me to create a more manageable pace. I now realize that I'm doing this for the long run, and grinding myself into the ground is doing me no favours. So now, I do what I can, and don't beat myself up over what I can't. Each day is different, each time is different, and what I'm able to do - I do.

The other day at my favorite breakfast haunt, I was eavesdropping on a conversation at the next table. The woman facing me clearly was having a health challenge of some sort, and was telling her table mates how she had been doing gardening and got carried away and really tired herself out. Oh, said one of the table mates, did you overdo it? Yes, said the other, you overdid it. No, no said the gardener sheepishly. The truth was, she probably had. But when you're finally beginning to feel better after feel so lousy for so long, it's extremely easy to let your inexhaustible spirit take over. I know this.

I've been there. But now I've made it here. Loving my re-found energy. Cherishing every moment. And honoring my body.

Namaste.