Monday 1 December 2014

Love Evolving

There was this little video on facebook the other day. It had something to do with "real love" versus "ego love." It was a nice reminder. Wanting the people you love to be happy, regardless of whether or not that means you are significantly part of their lives. Apparently, according to a yoga healer guy, the Maori culture views love as the space between two people. I dig it. I said something like that myself, after contemplating Marc Chagall's paintings. To quote myself (haha):

"Love is the existence of the ephemeral balance of sun and moon energy, of reason and intuition, of the head and of the heart. It is the point just there, in the in-between, where dualism and dichotomy can no longer exist, and where creation and destruction appear as simultaneously inevitable aspects of being."

But I haven't always had these ideas about love. Check out this heart-broken, Princess Buttercup in her rocking chair breathing the words "I will never love again," poem I wrote after my wild and passionate love affair with a dive instructor from New Zealand. Aroha Nui Dear Tony ;)



But lately. Unconditional ego-less love has been something I've understood and felt. Admittedly, I forget once in awhile. But still. Love liberates. Love transforms. And ultimately, though it can really fucking burn: LOVE HEALS.

Red flame of love. 
Lick me clean with your many tongues. 
Fire. 
Purifying. 
Dull metals littered with the dust and debris of Time Form anew. 
Pure. 
And strong. 

 Love grows when. 
Without will or purpose. 
Grows as it feeds on the knowing, that only IT possesses. 
Certainty that is lost in the mind-trap of language-thoughts. 

The heart. 
The you. The me. The in between. 
In that space. 
Infinite. Infinity. 
Expansive transformation. 

Love. She liberates. 
Everything else arriving disguised in Love's clothing: 
The pain. The hurt. The longing. 

All ego. Le moi-superficiel. Ahamkara
 And the deeper Self? Le moi-fondamental? Purusha

Peace. Love. Knowing. 
Always et pour toujours.

Friday 14 November 2014

Batter me Shatter me, I'll surface renewed

The last few months have proved, well, they've proved painful. Literally. My shoulder has been hurting since May. My left knee started feeling funny when I sat in virasana (hero's pose) and of course, I have my usual burning pain behind my right shoulder blade (actually! it moved down two inches and switched to the left...). Even though these signs might have been asking me to slow down, to nurture and love my body, my temple, I didn't do that. I just thought they might go away on their own...

And then, while walking down an ever so slight incline, wearing flip-flops, my foot slipped a mere 20cms. To catch myself, I quickly stepped with my left foot. Upon lifting my leg to step, I felt the most excruciating pain and my left quads exploded. Now, yes, I do have a tendency to exaggerate, and while they didn't literally explode, they were instantly deformed. I held them down, pressing firmly with all the healing energy I could muster. It didn't matter. This was no slight spasm. It hurt so bad I almost puked. And then, I started limping the several blocks to my car...luckily someone I barely knew saw me and saved me. I couldn't really walk for a week and then I limped around for a few more. Rather than get super bummed about not being able to practice yoga, I instead practiced yoga! I meditated and practiced pranayama. And this, this is where the real work begins (for me at least). But still! I was desperate to be ready to practice yoga asana again. The quads were mostly healed. And an amazing yoga event was coming up in Edmonton; I already had tickets to the Bloom festival and I was going no matter what!

I attended the entire week-end and from Friday night at the Muttart until the very end, I was blooming and opening and blooming some more. I sat near and amongst most gorgeous and inspiring flowers, and I learned. As Shane Koyczan writes: "So I sit before flowers hoping they will train me in the art of opening up." And, just as I was opening up in sweet surrender while dancing like nobody was watching to the wicked and amazing beats of MC Yogi and DJ Drez, I stepped a little funny and, just like that, I turned my ankle over, spraining it pretty badly. I heard the crunch, felt the familiar snap of ligaments and tendons. You see, I'd done this before, to both ankles, though not for many years. My old reaction? Instant rage. Anger. But this time I just said to my dear Megan, "I sprained my ankle. I'll just watch from the edge for awhile." I wasn't attached to what my sprained ankle meant. It meant I couldn't really dance anymore. It meant I wouldn't be practicing asana for awhile, even though I had said aloud that very night that I was super excited to have decided to start attending inspired room at The Sattva School of Yoga. I simply thought to myself, "Oh. Maybe I am supposed to be still for awhile. I think I finally got the hint."

My ankle is still a little swollen and slightly discolored. I've had strong urges to go back to the studio and practice, ignoring what I know in my heart to be true. I'm not ready yet. I'm not healed. And I am the one responsible for my healing. Only I know how to soften and unravel the painful patterns in my body. And so, I have been practicing asana. At home. By myself. Listening to my body, to my breath, to the inner teacher. I have a home practice!! For real. One of my early introductions to yoga was at the University of Saskatchewan in a drama class. The Prof got us to do sun salutations most every class. At the end of the term I asked him if there were places to practice in Saskatoon. At that time, there were only maybe two places. But he also said this: "Yoga is something that you do by yourself every day. And then sometimes in a studio." I think he is right. You can practice every day in a studio too. But I think the real undoing, the real healing is done by yourself. With the additional support of the community and the teachers you come across.

My practice, as I gently apologize to my body and give it the love it has been deserving but not getting for the last 33 years, is simple. I turn on Singh Kaur's song "Mender of Hearts." I stand still and begin to notice my breath. And then, I move wherever that breath takes me. After I don't feel like moving anymore, I do kapalabhati then a combination of nadi shodhana and ujaiie with retention on the inhales and exhales (Srivatsa Ramaswami taught it to us at One Yoga in Saskatoon). Then, I meditate. During this practice, I often break down in tears. And I let them flow. Releasing. Opening. Surrendering. And learning to Love. Love even the pain for teaching me how to heal. And for teaching me to honour my own Self, my own heart. Remembering: "This above all, to thine own self be true." To be true to myself, I need to understand, no, overstand, who I am. And on the path to finding out who I am, there is much shattering to do. Transforming. Into what I have always been, and always will be.

Transformation
Batter me, shatter me
Three persons
or Four
God; Rhythm; Spirit; Life
Throw me to the floor
Crack me open with the lightning of Love
Light-ening, letting it in

Through the cracks.

Trusting. Knowing.
Knowing nothing
Can hurt me
Not really

Breaking, shattering, opening
A blast!
Vast...
Fast and violent
There's no time to wait
There is; No time.

Time. Time? Time!

What will become of me?
Having the courage to be free. 
To be Me.

Broken, shattered, explosive light.
Fright. It's all right.
Afraid of that Power.
The Power within.

Daring enough?
To begin. 




Friday 15 August 2014

Aham Prema; I am Love; I love all the fluffy animals; Dear little Mousey (a reflection poem)

I began my day yesterday with Day 4 of Deepak and Oprah's 21 day meditation challenge. It's fun to have the guidance and to learn some new sanskrit mantras. Yesterday's centering thought was: "I am love." It was a beautiful meditation. Healing tears flowed from my eyes. Afterwards, I felt the deepest gratitude for the Earth and all that she brings. Love. For all.

I left my house later that day. On the path to school I noticed the trees bountifully springing forth fruit...I noticed, was aware of...well, everything. The interconnection of all life, and also death. And it broke me a little. I wrote the following in my journal:

The tree produces fruit.
I don't even know if it is edible.
Survival. What have we become?
A crab apple by my feet.
This tree, I know, is filled with fruit so sweet!
But they fall to the ground.
Giving. Giving. Giving.
Taken for granted. Waste and rot.
I walked and thought.
The fresh taste of from here fruit vibrant on my tongue,
"Can I pick them for you? I will bake you a pie."
Then, from the corner of my eye.
Tiny mousey, "Why did you have to die?"
"Wee tim'rous beastie."
Not an upturned earth this time.
You look so peaceful, as though asleep.
Lying on your side, no marks show me why.
Poisoned?
By this fucked up society.
You so resemble the tiny friend
Who skittered near my green felt bag
While he sat with me.
I miss him.
And you.
Let me gently move you.
Beneath the warm decaying leaves.
Back to the earth
From whence...
You came. We came. All came.
To stardust and of it too.
You. I weep for you. 
Dear little mousey.


Robbie Burns wrote a very famous poem. I recall it here, in my own. In his work, the mousey isn't dead. But the poet, the Ploughman worries that the mouse won't be able to build a new nest before winter. "Man's dominion." How long will we let it break "nature's social union?" Here it is:

To a Mouse

By Robert Burns
On Turning up in Her Nest with the Plough, November, 1785
Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
          Wi’ bickerin brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee
          Wi’ murd’ring pattle!

I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion,
          Which makes thee startle,
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
          An’ fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave
          ’S a sma’ request:
I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,
          An’ never miss ’t!

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!
An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,
          O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,
          Baith snell an’ keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,
An’ weary Winter comin fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
          Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
          Out thro’ thy cell.

That wee-bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,
          But house or hald,
To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,
          An’ cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men
          Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
          For promis’d joy!

Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e’e,
          On prospects drear!
An’ forward tho’ I canna see,
          I guess an’ fear!













































































































Monday 2 June 2014

"Can you teach me to meditate?"

The text message came to me one afternoon. A dear friend needing to make friends with her mind. My immediate reaction was one of profound responsibility. I have something to offer and when asked to teach, to share knowledge, I have heard it said, one should heed the call. But I was also struck by another profound thought: "meditation can't be taught." Now, this isn't exactly true. I texted back and said that I could come over later that night and share with her some of what I practice, some of what I know.

In the eight-limbed path of yoga, the tree that is called ashtanga, there is both dharana=concentration and dhyana=meditation. Before having a hope in hell of reaching an actual state of meditation (where the mind reaches an uninterrupted flow of concentration) most of us earthlings have much work to do. I recently was blessed to learn from Srivatsa Ramaswami and he explained that there are 5 stages of mind (as outlined in Patanjali's yoga sutra 1.32):

Stage 1: kshipta = "broken mind"
Stage 2: mudha = "infatuated with the outer world; slave to the senses, seeking always pleasure"
Stage 3: vikshipta = "distracted minds; some focus but multiple interests/distractions"
Stage 4: ekagra = "mind is able to remain focused on one thing for a long time"
Stage 5: nirodhah = "no distraction; no objects"

Most of us, he said, are somewhere between 3 and 4. So how to gain control of the mind? This has to do with energies, with gunas. The yamas and the niyamas are the first limbs in the system because they have to do with what we energetically allow into our bodies, into our energy fields. What we want, ultimately, is a sattvic state of mind SO THAT we will be able to meditate. Sattva is joy, peace, balance, equanimity, light. It is fresh healthy food and loving thoughts. It is living in the present moment and being aware of the vital force, of the love, that permeates all of life. The other two energies are tamas and rajas. Tamas is heavy, grounding and somewhat dull. It's fried chicken and alcohol; it's sleeping too much and feeling sad a lot. Rajas is fiery and energetic, if not agitated. It's spicy food and angry words. It's heat and excessive worrying. Don't get me wrong, all of the energies are present and necessary, but the work of one who wishes to meditate is to limit, to decrease tamas and rajas so that they can achieve a sattvic state of mind, which is the ultimate goal of yoga.

One of the interesting things that Ramaswami explained is that doing the asana practice, the physical postures, decreases rajas. A person with a very distracted, agitated, worried or quick mind should practice lots of asanas to prepare for meditation. The practice of pranayama is said to decrease tamas; a person who is depressed or down will benefit from doing more breathing techniques as they prepare for meditation. So, if you fall asleep in meditation, do more pranayama; if your mind won't stop racing, do more asana. Simple! (I love it when things have formulas and are simple).

I went to my friend's house and began by saying: "Meditation is not all bliss. And it's the hardest thing I've ever done. You might think that I am sitting here with my eyes closed, with my hands resting gently in my lap, tip of thumb and index lightly touching, at peace. After years of practice, I find peace at times. But in the beginning, it's hell. And it's hard. For me meditation physically hurts as blocked energy wells up beneath my shoulder blade, burning and screaming at me to let go. To open. To surrender." Well, maybe I didn't say ALL that but I did ask her not to get discouraged. And told her it was normal for the mind to race and that, once you notice the thoughts, simply let them pass by, without attaching any stories to them or following them up with subsequent triggered thoughts.

We started of with some asanas and then did some pranayama. I then led us through a loving kindness meditation where you send love to first yourself, then someone you love, then someone you have no real feelings for or against, and, finally, you send love to someone you have an issue with, to an enemy if you have one. After that we moved into our best attempts at "one-pointed focus" by repeating a mantra over and over silently in our heads. We used the mantra om but any mantra will work. I often use mantras when meditating but only recently realized the importance of sticking to one mantra. Ramaswami pointed out the importance of trying to stay with one practice for a period of time so that the progress is evident. Discipline. It's coming slowly for me. I'm starting to understand the kind of mental discipline required to achieve meditate. The other day I only strayed from the mantra 4 times in 12 minutes. That was good for me :)

I don't know if I succeeded in "teaching" my friend to meditate. The technique that will work for me most certainly won't be the best one for you. And, moreover, there is no one "way" to meditate. Meditation is more the product of intense practice and preparation than it is simply something most of us can sit down and achieve instantly. It is the marker of our progress, an indicator that the process, that the system of yoga, is working, and that the sattvic mind is achievable. Those moments of bliss, the tiny little glimpses of samadhi, where all separation falls away, rekindles the deep knowing that is within us all. Who am I? Why am I here? I do know, during those instants, and that knowing can't really leave, no matter how my ego flares up, no matter how messed I allow my mind to periodically become. Trust in that. Develop faith in that knowing. This is my work. And as Nahko and Medicine for the People sing: "The body talks and meditation helps." Yes. It most certainly helps. Even the scientists are in agreement now ;)

Tuesday 27 May 2014

Freedom from facebook (?)

Yesterday, it was a Monday, at about 6:31pm, I impulsively decided that I would forego facebook for one entire week. I noticed that my tendency, when I have a few minutes of nothing planned to do, is to check facebook. The problem is that one can get lost there for more than the foreseen few minutes. And what more productive things could I be doing with my time? Don't get me wrong, I love facebook and enjoy sharing ideas, thoughts, music, Xavierisms...and I come across some really great and inspirational stuff from time to time.

But I have been wondering what facebook does to my ability to remain in this fabulous present tense. Quite some time ago I caught myself thinking: "That would be a great status update!" And then my brain began repeatedly producing such thoughts. Facebook made me develop a new thought pattern, a habit, a samskara if we want to use Sanskrit. Now, when something great/funny/inspirational happens, I almost immediately think to myself, "Hey! I should put that on facebook!" Consider how this affects my ability to live in the moment...right? Not good. But I am torn, because I do like facebook.

I have to admit that I have, since my declaration to abstain, checked facebook in order to communicate with my friend who is not entered in my new phone. Silly, I know. So I have to message with her on facebook until she texts me. I haven't posted and I try not to read the news feed...but I see the first few things. I feel like I am missing opportunities to express myself!

Hence, I write this silly blog post, which barely anyone will read because I won't "share" it on facebook. Which brings me to another issue: narcissism. I want to express myself. And I can write a blog or post things on facebook or twitter or instagram (woah! I just realized that I can get instagram now because my phone takes pictures!! yipeee!!) So now the world can see me again! Where is this need, this desire to be seen, to be heard, stemming from? Who the hell am I and does anyone really care what I have to say? I guess some people must because I do enjoy the expressions of others. Like anyone, some posts resonate more than others.

Why is that? I feel like we can only hear, only understand certain messages. Some we disagree with, some we like, some make us roll our eyes. But the same post that makes me roll my eyes makes another person jump for joy; the same post that changes my worldview makes another person shut down and get angry. I have been so incredibly in love with the band Nahko and Medicine for the People lately. I posted like five videos on my facebook wall. It appeared to me, based on the lack of likes and such, that nobody cared. The lyrics, the message, is of unity and equality, of love and interconnection. And the music itself is fucking awesome. So why doesn't everybody love it as much as I do? The answer is not simply that we all have different tastes. It's that we have different rhythms, frequencies. And some messages make some of us uncomfortable. In any case, "Time to increase my frequency!" (That's a line from this awesome song "Budding Trees").






Friday 28 February 2014

There is a duck inside of you!

This morning was proving to be less than calm, less than peaceful, both in my mental landscape and in my surroundings. As I went about my morning getting ready routine I felt surges of excitement, anger, frustration; anything but peacefulness, nothing akin to certainty.

Don't get me wrong, I like uncertainty. It provides opportunity for growth and expansion, but it isn't always pleasant. I realized that Xavier was also feeling some emotions this morning as I entered the living room. He had been asked to get dressed, maybe even with some sternness at this point. He exclaimed, "Nothing is real! My dada is not real! My mama is not real! Not even I am real!" We are talking serious 5 year old existential crisis. I glanced around and noticed The Essential Rumi lying on the coffee table. As we have recently developed a habit of asking Rumi for help, I declared: "Wait! Let's see if Rumi can help us!"

I raise the book above my head, uniting with the wisdom therein and feeling where exactly to open the book. I even place my finger upon the page before reading whatever passage comes forth. And here is what we learned:

There is a duck inside of you.
Her bill is never still, searching through dry
and wet alike, like the robber in an empty house
cramming objects in his sack, pearls, chickpeas,
anything. Always thining, "There's no time!
I won't get another chance!"

A True Person is more calm and deliberate.
He or she doesn't worry about interruptions.

But that duck is so afraid of missing out
that it's lost all generosity, and frighteningly expanded
its capacity to take in food. (66)

It was perfect for me, as a message to reflect upon. And it was perfect for all of us, as we started laughing at the idea of having a duck inside of us and all began quacking, pecking and playing around!

On the road to becoming a "True Person," whatever that might mean, I will consider my actions more mindfully, more deliberately. I am often impulsive, maybe because I fear that I will miss out, that I won't get another chance. 

There is a duck inside of me. There is a duck inside of you? And together we might quack!





Tuesday 7 January 2014

"What would you like to do if money were no object?" I would write.

According to my most favouritest blog these days, Brain Pickings, yesterday (Jan. 6) would have been Allan Watts' 99th birthday. I didn't previously know who Allan Watts was, though I certainly did see this video at some point in the last couple of years, whenever it went viral enough for me to click on it:
 

The video had a profound impact on me the first time I saw it, yet I was unwilling to admit the answer. What would you do if money were no object? I would write, by the sea. There would be a sacred space for movement and meditation, for conscious breathing. I would live near the ocean and would head out surfing whenever possible. A space for reflection, creativity and even healing. A retreat where others could come and find inspiration as well. Not just to write but to create.

You see, I have always written. My first story was written in French and published in a children's magazine called "Clin D'oeil." I think I was in grade 3 when I wrote about a young girl who ran away and was adopted by a wolf pack for the weekend. Indubitably, the Disney version of Kipling's The Jungle Book probably had something to do with my theme. The magazine gave me some kind of prize for writing that story and, if I recall, they wrote to me and asked me to write more stories. Even at that young age, I was already somehow stifled. I never did send them anything else.

I recently found many of the journals I have kept over the years. So many of my entries begin with phrases like, "I need to write." And then I proceed to write about how I should really be writing more. Countless ideas for stories, collections and poetry fill these journals. Unedited, half-finished poems litter the pages. Loose pieces of paper pregnant with possibility are tucked amidst them with the instruction: "Finish this!" 

But I haven't. You see, I know that I am a writer, but I am afraid that I am not necessarily a "good" writer. Perhaps I am finally nearing a period in my life where my daring, my courage will allow me to move past the fear of failure, of rejection to a place of abundant creativity. Letting go not only of the judgement that I anticipate from others, but letting go of my own self-judgement. It's time for me to be "daring enough to finish." 

"Daring Enough to Finish" (Rumi)--you didn't really think reveal my own poetry for judgement yet ;)

Face that lights my face, you spin
intelligence into these particles

I am. Your wind shivers my tree.
My mouth tastes sweet with your name

in it. You make my dance daring enough
to finish. No more timidity! Let

fruit fall and wind turn my roots up 
in the air, done with patient waiting.