The journey continues

I am in my office at school, supposedly writing a paper. I am a scholar. You see, I had my Vedic Astrology chart read by Paddi Moore(Paddi's blog). She said that I am a scholar, that I have been studying for many lifetimes. When she asked what it is that I do I told her, with a nervous, insecure laugh, that I am doing a PhD in French literature. Paddi doesn't miss much. My insecure laugh along with my chart confirmed that I don't value myself, I don't love myself enough, I could improve my self-worth. I've been intending to LOVE myself for awhile now (see LOVE is my intention post for how I dedicated my entire 200hr SATTVA training to loving myself). I'm making progress, but there's work to be done. She asked me to imagine what the world would be like if knowledge and wisdom were highly valued, valued even more than money. I thought to myself, "I would be a Queen in that world." I am wise (even writing that makes me cringe at the idea someone might judge me for being conceited-I do that too much. Worry about what others think. Try to please them somehow. Awkward and uncomfortable. Seldom resting into my authentic self). But I am wise. I walk into this amazing Old Arts building on the UofA campus most days, passing below the sculpted owl who reads a book as I heave open the heavy wooden doors. Owls. Wisdom. The owl that flew towards me in my meditation once.Wisdom and knowledge.

So I am working on finding value in me. I have already noted that nothing I ever do is good enough for me but I am going to stop being so self-critical and begin giving myself credit for the wonderfulness that is me. Rumi reminds me: "I remind you with these poems to dress in the flower of God's qualities, not your torn robe of self-accusation" (The Glance, 21). I want to take that robe off. I am also, according to my chart, highly spiritual and highly empathetic/sensitive/psychic. I am a nurturer. I care. We didn't get too far into the chart, actually. Much damage control to deal with. It's hard, mourning the loss of love for one's own self. Why can't I just love myself? How will I learn? More than anything I need to learn this, for Xavier. So he can grow up with a mother who truly loves herself, who has a strong sense of self-worth. How else we he believe in his own worth?

I decided to dance and be joyous as I dressed myself this morning. I was having fun but as I caught a glimpse of my body in the mirror I heard the all too familiar judgmental thoughts, mean cruel thoughts to myself about myself. I stood up for myself this time, stating things like, "Hey! That's not nice. Don't think that. I am beautiful, no matter what I say." Xavier and Meshon must have heard me. Meshon asked, "Are you arguing with someone?"
"With myself." I replied.
"What did yourself do to you mama?" My darling Xavier, so sweet.
"Myself was being mean to me." So I will work to silence the mean, judgmental self inhabiting my mind.

I share this perhaps too personal post because, I fear I am not alone in this. Self-loathing. A feeling of worthlessness. We end up living half-lives. I want to love myself enough to dream big, to live a huge and full life! I want to undress myself from this robe of self-accusation and self-judgment. If you feel the need to get naked, please get naked with me ;)

And finally, a poem from Rumi to inspire and enlighten:

Undressing
Learn the alchemy true human beings
know: the moment you accept what

troubles you've been given, the door
will open. Welcome difficulty

as a familiar comrade. Joke with
torment brought by the Friend.

Sorrows are the rags of old clothes
and jackets that serve to cover,

then are taken off. That undressing,
and the naked body underneath, is

the sweetness that comes after grief. (65)

The Power of Intention

I am becoming increasingly aware of just how powerful one's intentions can be. All the more reason for opening the heart so that the truest of that which you wish for can shine forth.

Last night I went to see Xavier Rudd, LIVE IN CONCERT! When I told Xavier that his aunty would put him to bed because mom and dad were going to see Xavier Rudd, "LIVE IN CONCERT," he replied: "LIVE IN CONCERT!? What? Xavier Rudd is REAL now? He came to our world? Holy granola bars!" (He's into making up expressions these days).

I wasn't sure which seats we had and had never been to the Myer Horowitz theatre before. We were in the 4th row along the edge. Before the show I made an intention to dance on stage at some point during the show. But you see, the thing is, it's less that I concsiously decided to make an intention and more that I realized the honest intention to do so was within my heart. I sort of knew beforehand that it would happen. I told Meshon, "I made the intention to dance on stage!" And he gently asked, "Will you be disappointed if you don't get to?" I quickly said, "No. I'm just going to be ready in case the moment comes."

Readiness. Willingness. Being ready for when the moment comes. The moment WILL come, if you are truly ready for it. So often we might think we want something but if we aren't wholeheartedly ready for that something, if we aren't fully prepared and genuinely open then it might not happen. I just danced on stage, it's not so huge. But it did take courage and openness. And also, awareness.

Xavier Rudd was playing "Let Me Be" when he called one beautiful young lady up on stage.

"Let Me Be" by Xavier Rudd

He kind of summoned her with a hand/finger gesture. Her boyfriend jumped up too and then the security guard took them off. The lovely long-haired beauty went back up and I was dancing away along the edge. Then Xavier Rudd look at me. His eyes said, "Do you want to come up here too?" I responded with my eyes, body and energy, "YES! I do. Thank you." His eyes then expressed, "Come on up then!" And we danced and danced and danced faster and faster and faster. A smile so huge upon my face that my top lip became stuck to my gums. I was working so hard that, by the time I was finished, my throat had that feeling of having exerted oneself to the point of making the lungs scream in painful ecstasy! (this may have been partly due to my nasty cough as well) Eventually the music slowed and we got down. It was a beautiful night and today I feel exactly as blissfully tired as one who has shattered everything through dance.

And I find myself wondering, how far can the power of pure intention take you? And will I be brave enough to follow the path that I know lies within me? "Please. Patience please. Patience please. I'm creating a dream."

I have a blog...but I don't write in it much anymore

Yes. It's true. I became a blogger and then faded away into non-bloggering. When I was in Moose Jaw I won an awesome t-shirt that says "peace" in a bunch of different languages and writing. It says shanti at the bottom. I said, "It's perfect because I have a blog called Shanti Shanna Lìmon...but I haven't written anything for ages."

So here I am. Writing. Blessed to be able to write and spell and use bad grammar and run-on sentences at will. To express soemthing in words, to express whatever it is I am expressing. Whatever it is you, dear reader, are finding to be meaning, perhaps, even, where there is none. But is there ever no meaning? Maybe. Is there always meaning? Maybe not. If one finds meaning then it is there, regardless of whether or not it was intended. So this leaves us with infinite possible meanings...leaving us where? Nowhere. And everywhere. All at the same time. This is a peaceful thought, no?

And so, I have begun my PhD and times are fun. I like learning. I love it. And languages! Theory. Beautiful humanities. So much less demand for objectivity. My French is improving daily. It is busy, yes. I am often rushing. Speed-reading. Multilingual classmates abound from all over the beautiful world. There is nothing I love more than hearing a Russian accent. I don't know why but I love it. It makes me feel so happy.

Blissed out on yoga. On meditating. Full moon. Sattva week-end. Strength sequence. Softening into strength. Fall is here. In the words of Xavier, "Don't know much about September. Feeling tender. Dead leaves on the ground. Dead leaves on the ground."

Love is my Intention

When we practice yoga we are often asked to set an intention before beginning, usually before chanting the mantra OM. Love is usually my intention. When asked what brought us to the Sattva teacher training with Rameen Peyrow, my intuitive answer was love. Then we were asked what, in one word, would be a barrier to that. I didn't know the answer then, but now I think I do. Judgement. Mother Theresa said, "When you judge people, you have no time to love them." Indeed. This applies especially to ourselves, I am learning. How many times each day do we judge ourselves in some way? And just how can we spread love and light if we haven't learned how to love our own selves? I do think it is easier to love others than to love oneself (I'm working on it).

We just finished doing a 2 month long cleanse. The diet restrictions were quite restrictive. But I feel really great. Of course, I had a few cheats along the way. Which brings up another quotation by a wise and wondrous woman, Indra Devi. She asked...damn, I can't find it anywhere. To sum up, she asked why, since the body is our most precious gift, would anyone choose to harm their body. Why? During the cleanse I self-sabotaged a few times. Nothing extreme but I ingested items that I knew would harm my body. Outside of cleansing I do this often. Maybe if I loved my body and my mind and my whole self then I would no longer intentionally harm myself. I don't know exactly why, as a woman, I don't always feel so beautiful and wondrous. Of course the obvious societal pressures and media influences aren't kind to women in general. I'm not sure the why is what matters; I think what matters is removing judgement and letting love fill the new space that is created in the absence of judgement.

After practice on Saturday a lovely, insightful and wittily brilliant woman told me, with utmost sincerity, that I was a beautiful woman. I got goosebumps. She said I was beautiful down to my bones. At that moment I believed here and I felt really solid. The following is a poem by Theodore Roethke; she said that I remind her of the woman:

I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I'd have them sing in a chorus, cheek to cheek).

How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand;
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin;
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
(But what prodigious mowing we did make).

Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:
Her full lips pursed, the errant notes to seize;
She played it quick, she played it light and loose;
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;
Her several parts could keep a pure repose,
Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved).

Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:
I'm martyr to a motion not my own;
What's freedom for? To know eternity.
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.
But who would count eternity in days?
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:
(I measure time by how a body sways).


This compliment to me has given me confidence. I am so grateful for her gift to help me along my path to self-love and ultimately to love, love, love everywhere and all around.

Here's REM doing a cover of Love is All Around

Coffee dying: a table cloth turned darling

I purchased this table cloth from Goodwill some time ago. I had big plans for it, but it took ages to get around to my project.

First I made a giant pot full of strong black coffee. Meshon was aghast when he saw the amount of coffee I "wasted."

Then I put my table cloth in the sink with some salt and hot water (I think a plastic or glass container may have worked better. The stainless steel might have had something to do with the very slight colour change I ended up with).

And finally you simply dump the coffee in and let it sit for an hour or two. I ran the fabric through the rinse cycle after this because there were coffee grounds everywhere. Use a regular percolator style coffee to avoid coffee ground messiness and then just let it dry and you'll have a lovely vintage coloured garment/fabric!

I simply cut a hole in the middle of the table cloth, did some shirring http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shirring, sewed some lacy ribbon on and ended up with a super twirlable little dress. But the first time I tried it I had made it too big around the bust. So I shirred some more; now it's a little tight. Alas, we sew and learn.

Svadhyaya: Self-study, spiritual contemplation

I won a free t-shirt yesterday. I knew the fourth niyama (the yamas and the niyamas are ethical guidelines and are the first steps on the eight rung ladder of ashtanga yoga-not the series ashtanga). When my awesome yoga teacher, Ryan Leier http://ryanleier.com/, asked if anyone knew what the next niyama was I searched my brain and then remembered, svadhyaya. I said it out loud and he said, "You get a t-shirt!"

Then, I failed at satya or truthfulness (the second yama). I didn't say what I meant and I certainly didn't mean what I said. What I should have said is, "Yeay! I really want a shirt! Thanks so much!" Instead, I blurted out, "It's ok. I already have two shirts." This statement in itself is true, sort of. My sister has had both of them for a couple years and they're in rough shape. I would love a new Lion shirt! So then Ryan said that someone who wanted one and didn't have much cash could have it. Which totally makes sense, because I basically refused the prize. Why did I do this!? This problem began taking over my thoughts, my mind. Even within the class I didn't feel right about this play of events. I hadn't spoken truth. But I could make it good. I decided I would like Vinny, who had been my handstand partner, to have a shirt to commemorate his excitement and thrill at going upside down for the first time! Sweet. But when Ryan said to go get the shirt I didn't speak out and say I wanted Vinny to have it. I stayed silent. The guy who ended up with the shirt might be totally deserving of the awesome shirt. Again though, I didn't use my voice well.

So what can I learn from this experience? It's so obvious. The word I recalled, svadhyaya, self-study, led me to contemplate a deeply engrained habitual pattern I have, led me to take a deep look at myself (or at my tendencies, at least). As I get into myself I recognize that I don't like to take things from people. I'm more than happy to give but I don't always like to take. Learning to accept what comes graciously is a skill I hope to gain. As for satya, truthfulness, I'm not sure what to do. My treacherous tongue often speaks before I've taken the time necessary to discover what my truth is. Maybe practicing staying silent before speaking will help.

"And I say, can you say what you mean?And can you mean what you mean what you say?
And can you say what you mean?
And can you mean what you mean what you say?
And can you say what you mean?
Every single day? Whoa, whoa, whoa."

Reflections on Pain

"Life is PAIN, Highness. Anything who tells you differently is selling something." Wesley says this to Buttercup just before they tumble down the cliff and he yells, "AS YOU WISH" revealing his true identity. Pain. Is life pain?

I went to a yoga talk the other night and the subject of pain and suffering was brought up. It's funny. I was in such a joyous moment of my reality that I disregarded the topic a little. You know, thinking it didn't really apply to me. "Oh. I don't suffer. I'm so blessed!" It's true. I am blessed but I suffer too. And I feel pain. Ask anyone close to me how much I complain about by woes, aches and ailments.

I was reminded of this as I sat in meditation yesterday. We sat. And sat. And we sat for a really long time. I certainly have less pain than when I first began meditation. Or at least the pain takes longer before surfacing to rear its burning aching tingling head. Eventually the pain came. It is right under my right shoulder blade, deep deep inside me. I used to get annoyed at this particular pain, wishing it to leave me. Yesterday I realised that the pain was there for a reason. I did or am doing something to make this pain exist. This pain is teaching me something, teaching me to let go. Teaching me to heal. I allowed this pain to be and relaxed into the sensation. I even apologized to the pain for treating it so unjustly, as if it was the pain's own fault for existing. The result was profound. Had I been alone I would have wept uncontrollably. The pain was not gone today but we're getting to know each other better, and I'm being nicer to it now.

Today I had another familiar pain anyways, likely related to the shoulder tension. I awoke with a migraine coming on. I took a shower and an advil. The pain decreased and I headed off to yoga training. The pain never left me all day (except while I was pressing my shoulder blade tension into the corner of a wall) but I tried to relax in the sensation. As I walked home I had had enough. I contemplated phoning my sister to come get me (it would have taken her longer to get to me than it took me to walk home though). I was concentrating so hard on how much pain I was in, on how miserable I was when I realized, "If I stop concentrating so hard on this pain, if I breathe and experience the newly budding leaves on the trees, hear the birds sing, walk to the rhythm of life then I'll get home with much less suffering (and then I can take a hot shower in the dark after eating an advil)." This realization was useful. Even more interesting, perhaps, was the idea that was sparked by my realization about a possible purpose of pain. Perhaps, just perhaps, we have pain to help us learn one-pointed focus or concentration (dharana). I definitely focus on my pain when it's there. One almost cannot help but focus on pain. So pain teaches us concentration? And maybe how to choose when not to concentrate on something. I guess I'm trying to see the bright side of pain, in a way.

So I have some pain and suffering to think about. It does apply to me. Everything I learn and hear applies, is useful, is worthy of pondering (otherwise I wouldn't hear it, I suppose). It's no wonder that when I began reading Ursula K. Le Guin's The Dispossessed today at the bus stop, migraine in head, Shevek had this to say:

"Suffering is a misunderstanding[...]It exists. It's real. I can call it a misunderstanding but I can't pretend that it doesn't exist, or will ever cease to exist. Suffering is the condition on which we live. And when it comes, you know it. You know it as the truth. Of course it's right to cure diseases, to prevent hunger and injustice, as the social organism does. But no society can change the nature of existence. We can't prevent suffering. This pain and that pain, yes, but not Pain. A society can only relieve social suffering, unnecessary suffering. The rest remains. The root, the reality. All of us here are going to know grief; if we live fifty years, we'll have known pain for fifty years. And in the end we'll die. That's the condition we're born on. I'm afraid of life! There are times–I am very frightened. Any happiness seems trivial. And yet, I wonder if it isn't all a misunderstanding–this grasping after happiness, this fear of pain....If instead of fearing it and running from it, one could...get through it, go beyond it. There is something beyond it. It's the self that suffers, and there's a place where the self–ceases. I don't know how to say it. But I believe that the reality–the truth that I recognize in suffering as I don't in comfort and happiness–that the reality of pain is not pain. If you can get through it. If you can endure it all the way." (page 60-61-Perennial Classics ed. 2003)

Is there more truth in suffering? What is comfort and happiness anyways? Is it simply the absence of suffering? If you were truly free from suffering, how would you even recognize comfort? Is comfort not merely the absence of pain? I remember taking a very strong pain killer once when I had a migraine. I think it might have been demerol. My body had never in my life ever been so void of discomfort and has never been so free from pain since.

Is there a thread of beauty in pain? This is what Rameen says, that there is always a thread of beauty inside the pain. "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,' - that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know." (John Keats) So we've got beauty and truth in pain. But we want to chase our pain? Or do we want to let the pain teach us what it is we need to know?

Earthy Days

On Saturday, the day before Earth Day, we dug up our grass and planted a mini garden in our back yard. Xavier was a little concerned and asked, "But why are we digging up all the grass?" I explained that we couldn't eat grass so we might as well grow something we could eat. He was down with this idea but noted that if we were cows, we would be able to eat the grass. For some reason he was especially excited to plant some onions. Xavier is also very gentle and kind to the earthworms. He would pick them up from the dirt and say, "It's ok. I'll take care of you. I'll put you in this nice dirt over here." Then he'd watch them bury themselves again. I'm not sure what was wrong with the dirt he removed them from in the first place.

Great gardeners, these two guys:

Planting white daisies. They remind me of my Grandma. She used to let me pick the ones behind her house.

 Clump of dirt with an earth worm in it. Xavier kept saying, "I need another earthworm, dig me another clump!"

Planting seeds!

And I think the seeds will all germinate. We've had warmth and rain. I also planted some herbs in toilet paper rolls in a container. They're inside for now. My plan is to put them in a cloth shoe-holder like this one I saw posted somewhere online:

Hopefully my plan will work out. Time to water my toilet paper rolls and then head to bed!

From Sheet to Shirt!!!

I made a fabulous little top this evening out of an old sheet I bought at Goodwill and a pillowcase that was kicking around here, unused. I did not, however, create a step by step tutorial. Forgive me. When I start sewing I become hyper-focused and can hardly wait to see how the finished product turns out. Here is the shirt that Shanna built:

Bahahaha! I think me trying to figure out how to take a picture of myself is worthy of a blog post. At least, once I realized I could turn the timer on, I managed to look like some kind of...I don't even know what that look and pose is all about. I was trying to show the neckline; I look as though brilliant benevolent aliens are coming to get me and I'm offering myself to them. (I made the little cut-off jean mini too).

Anyways, not only do I love my new sheet shirt, I learned some lessons about myself as I sewed along. You see, originally I had used an elastic belt as the cuffs but it looked weird (I did some great ruching though). Now, when things look weird I often just give up instead of getting out the seam ripper. Today I was more realistic about life and sewing. Sometimes you have to try again. And then sometimes again and again and again. This is life, not failure. It's learning. I'm learning.

If you like this little number and want to make one yourself, get this awesomely cool book that Serimuse got for me! It's called The Subversive Seamster http://www.amazon.com/Subversive-Seamster-Transform-Threads-Couture/dp/156158925X. The project is called "This Shirt is the Sheet!" I used the pillow case (jersey knit) for the cuffs and waistband whereas they use suspenders but it's all good. Find something stretchy.

Happy Friday night! Hope you had as much fun as I did ;)

I have nothing to write...

I want to keep up the habit of writing this blog, but I don't know what to write about tonight. Actually, I was sewing the other day and I didn't take any photos of my recreation project so I can't blog about that. It did feel nice to chop up old stuff and turn it into something new. The jean mini skirt I made is just right and the crazy light blue corduroy pants turned tank with brown frilly trim is too sexy for this mama. So I think I should sell some of these creations; problem is, I'm strangely attached to them. I don't know why. I obviously need to do some work on the aparigraha (non-hoarding/non-coveting) aspect of my yoga life. OK, I will. I'll try to sell these creations I will never wear. Or give them away or whatever. I have  a plan to make a shirt out of a sheet and a stretchy belt I got at GoodWill. I hereby promise to do a proper creation blog about it with pictures and how to instructions.

Saturated with Love

I read a book. But it was a reading experience like nothing I've ever had before. I wasn't just reading I was soaking up love and wisdom as I was invited to journey through the gentle stories, lessons and experiences of Swami Rama.

Gentle and loving; honest and humble. Not to mention descriptions of the most fantastic and amazing occurrences. One Sadhu could change matter from one form into another; Swami Rama's master, Bengali Baba, was a healer, as was Swami Rama himself. The stories are fascinating. And here is what Swami Rama teaches about intuition (a huge part of what I propose to study during my PhD...if I do end up beginning a PhD):

"When we have gone through intellectual gymnastics, we find something beyond the intellect. A stage comes when intellect cannot guide us, and only intuition can show us the way. Intellect examines, calculates, decides, accepts, and rejects all that is happening within the spheres of mind, but intuition is an uninterrupted flow that dawns spontaneously from its source, deep down within. It dawns only when the mind attains a state of tranquility, equilibrium, and equanimity. That pure intuition expands the human consciousness in a way that one starts seeing things clearly. Life as a whole is understood, and ignorance is dispelled. After a series of experiences, direct experience becomes a guide and one starts receiving intuition spontaneously" (p. 118).

I am very grateful that I happed upon this book in the library. And I am ever more grateful that this great teacher came to the West and shared his knowledge, ancient wisdom and love. He explains that "all the great religions have come out of one truth" and that the common characteristic was love. He then explains that: "Religion without love is lifeless. To practice love you must not hate anyone, especially those who do not belong to your religion, culture or community" (p. 135).

And I could go on and on quoting at length. Meditate and practice diligently and patiently, without desire for any outcome with the intention of spreading love and doing good for all of creation.

The Rise and Fall

Sunsets. Sunrises. Beautiful serene visions of coulourfully changing subtlety. How often to we take the time to sit and wait until the sun descends completely? In Saskatchewan, on the prairies, in the land of living skies, the descent of the sun is more gradual than in many places (for example, near the equator or in mountainous landscapes). When I was flying back from Australia more than a decade ago I met a Japanese couple on my flight from Vancouver to Saskatoon. I asked, quite bluntly, "Why are you traveling to Saskatchewan?" "For the sunsets," was the answer I received. Ah yes. Something we may take for granted, I realized. Not to mention the Northern Lights (which I'm certain have been spectacular since the solar flares).

The large picture window faces west and mom and dad's house. Here are some examples of what is seen through that window, from the land of living skies:

 Sunrise with cows

 Sunrise (cows on the hill)

I don't see the sun set in Edmonton. I probably don't even know which way West is (I don't). I've noticed the moon a few times, not many stars. But there is beauty, even here. The white hares hopping about are starting to turn greyish brown again. The children are out more, splashing in the slush. And I'll look more closely to see if I can glimpse the setting sun amidst the buildings and traffic lights.

Failure or not, here I am

I began this blog with the intention of writing a post every day for 40 days. I was on a role, until I went to Shellbrook and had no internet connection. I was initially determined not to let that stop me. My plan was to write an entry every day as a word document and then post them once I returned to the land of the unbelievably connected. This plan fell through. Something about seeing the post up on the blog makes it so much more rewarding than writing them in a boring word document. So I ultimately failed. I am a 40 day failure, again.

 Not entirely; I exaggerate. I have definitely kicked my chip eating habit and have maintained a daily meditation practice. And I feel pretty good about not completing my bloggedy blog task. I did some solid reading. Had my mind literally blown to pieces by I AM THAT, got some solid Murakami reading in and worked on some poems. So my ultimate goal of writing more often is continuing to grow.

I just thought I'd check in, report on my whereabouts and promise more entries to come, though I don't think I'll aim for one every day. Hopefully that will mean higher quality posts!

Days of no internet connection...one two, skip a few

Tuesday, February 14^th

“What is Love?...

Baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me, no more.” These lyrics don't really apply, do they? We do hurt the people we love sometimes; often without even knowing it. Maybe these lyrics make more sense if we're talking about self-love. That I could believe. Because truly and deeply, the only person that can hurt you, is you. (I mean this in the most highly and for most of us unachievably enlightened sense). But it makes sense. If you are kind to yourself and if you recognize that all action, thoughts and words, your own and those of other people, are just illusion (maya) then how could we be hurt by them? If you fully and wholly acknowledge and embrace the Self as the unshakable, untouchable, ever-knowing and blissful aspect within all of life (including you) then nothing can hurt you! Nothing! I don't know if I'll ever get to the point of being unhurtable. For now I am feeling loved, blessed, fed and sleepy.

THREE DAYS GO BY...

Saturday, February 18^th

Parenting 101: perhaps I should have gone

A very wise lady told me something another wise lady had told her about parenting. She said, “I just tell my kids that I did my best and if I screwed up, well there's always therapy.” We all want what's best for our kids, no doubt. And, inevitably, we all do things that have unintended consequences.

Today my brother was giving me the low down on how I should be raising Xavier. And here's the thing, we didn't get into an argument, we didn't end up fighting and he gave me some pretty solid advice (especially about how to set up an effective time-out). And at least he is saying to my face what it seems like the rest of my family is only hinting at: I don't discipline Xavier properly. I coddle him, indulge him. The thing is, it's pretty much true. Meshon and I never laid out a consistent plan for discipline. For the most part he hasn't needed a lot of discipline. He's a nice kid. But lately he has been getting really frustrated and then lashing out, often violently. This happens more if we destabilize him by changing his surroundings. In short, he demands more control if we move him around (we're at my parents' place taking care of the dogs while they're away–he's been scratching me). In short, I'm going to get some books and make a consistent plan. I'd love to hear any advice you have to give about which books are useful or anything at all. You see, if it takes a village to raise a child, then the conversation aspect of the village we live in is in part an online village. If you notice me doing something that you feel is ineffective or just bad parenting, you can tell me. Please do. I might not totally agree with you but I won't get angry and I will certainly consider and learn from what you have to say.

Sunday, February 19^th

Bugs don't bug me...yes they do.

I feel kind of yucky today. Little headache, little upset stomach and generally tired and weak. I also think I'm slightly allergic to the puppers but I'm trying not to admit this to myself. Xavier is also a little extra black under the eyes. Could be a head cold. Dad had one and so did Aunty Melissa and Uncle Booloo. In short, I don't feel very inspired or inspiring. I feel lazy. A hot bath with eucalyptus would feel nice and do me some good, I'm sure. But I might be too lazy even to draw a bath!

A post for yesterday!

I missed one again. Oh yesterday. You didn't leave me any time for bloggering. Silly yesterday. But we had a nice time with you, visiting family and friends. You were sunny. Today is also sunny. Once tomorrow comes, yesterday will still be sunny...but I don't know how long this pattern will apply.

Some languages have more or less words that describe time. For example, the word "zeg" (Georgian) means the day after tomorrow http://www.mentalfloss.com/blogs/archives/102722. But then again, if time is maya (illusion) then maybe the more we talk about time the more we struggle to live in the present, in the now.

Stream of Consciousness (or unconcsiousness ;)

Typing. Thoughts that come. Awareness. Fingers hurt. Stop chewing. Sensations first. Dry throat. The bad ones, I feel them. Search for the good. Hmmmmm? Not there. Low back aches a little. Getting stronger. Is the body feeling good simply the absence of pain? Maybe. Though touch feels good...massage and such;) So. Where to now?

Thinking. If I think about thinking then the thinkings don't come. What will I think next? The park. Xavier wants to go to a park. Dreams about parks, he does. Sleeping in the car yesterday, he awakes and yells, "NO!!! Go the OTHER way! I want to go back to the park!" Dear child. Dear sattvic and rajic child. So blessed I am.

Inhale shortly. Exhale hugely, loudly. Buzzing in my head...reeeoreeoreeeoreeeoreeeoreeo. Why? People are thinking of me, talking about me...nope. Too much sugar and bread. Bad for the sinuses. Make it stop now. It won't. Hey! It did, a little. Or at least it changed a bit. I fixed a typo. That's not allowed in stream of consciousness. Actually, I don't know if punctuation is allowed. But who makes these rules, really? Silly. Writing is creating is without rules or it should be. But to some extent one needs to be undserstood. Though are we ever, truly, understood? What would that even mean? People say, "Ahhh yes. I know what you mean." Do you? Cuz I don't even know what I mean much of the time. Or I mean differently than I'm understood. True speech. Speak Truth. How? Hmmm? Maybe without using words is best.

Heading Back to Saskatoon

Saskatoon. I remember coming to Saskatoon as a teenager and it seemed so huge! Now I appreciate it's perfect size. We live in Edmonton now. It is huge and silly. Saskatoon is just right. It's a goldilocks city. I didn't know that before. You have to leave it to appreciate it, it seems. Charles Hamilton feels the same way. Here's his brilliant piece:

I saw him perform at the small stage at Ness Creek a couple of years ago. Magpie Ulysses was there too. One day I want to try speaking words. True words. Good words. Words that move and inspire and that bring love and peace.

Waking up to dirty dishes...

Today has been a series of negative emotions, thoughts and actions. Today sucks. And I am sofa king tired today. Blasted. Whaddya do? Nothing. There's nothing wrong, even. Just a day wherein I failed to see the beauty and wonder and saw instead the shitty stuff.

One thing I know is that I woke up and eventually started wondering what to make for breakfast (I may have a food obsession to deal with–food rules my life and I want that to change). Anyway, I knew we had some browning bananas in the fruit bowl (I thought we had 3 or 4). I made some awesome blueberry banana muffins the other day (recipe found here: http://www.thesweetslife.com/2010/07/banana-blueberry-oatmeal-muffins.html ). I was going to make them again! So I came downstairs and saw a sink full of dirty dishes. Blech. I didn't even notice them when I got home from V-ball last night. I hate waking up to dirty dishes. And now I had to wash them before I began making delicious muffins. Hmmmph. So I wash them. Now it's time for muffins. Shit. There are only 2 bananas left (well 2 and the chunk Xavier hasn't finished yet). So do I half the recipe? Yes. That's what I'll do. Ok so I go to get the yogourt from the fridge. There is no yogourt? There is no yogourt. When? Who? (I think I ate it, actually). I might as well just find a whole new recipe. The new recipe I find is lame and boring. The muffins taste ok but aren't nearly as moist and hearty as the recipe I was dreaming of. Ahhhhh. Such is life.

The rest of the day progressed in such a way where everything just kind of went south or sour or whatever the saying is. So, here's to hoping tomorrow is sweet and north, I guess. And that I have better perspective. I think a good sleep should help with that perspective stuff.

A Competitive Nature

So you think being competitive is nature or is it nurture? It certainly runs in my family but that could still be nurture. My dad doesn't even let us win games when we play against him (you know how parents sometimes let their kids win on purpose so they feel happy? Nope. Not my dad). It's not that I'm a sore loser. Not at all. Especially not when everybody plays their best. But as my Grandma once said, "Of course I would rather win." She was great at cards and carpet bowling (even though she was legally blind).

Now. What does it mean to play one's best? I haven't played a competitive sport for quite some time and tonight I filled in playing volleyball in a rec league. I had so much fun. It has been awhile but I limbered up pretty quickly. And, if the ball is even remotely playable (and often when it's seemingly unplayable) I try to get it. I dive and run and do intense back–bends. I crash. I fall. I try my best. This led one guy to state that he thought I was on drugs. It's not drugs though. We didn't win but we had fun.

Some people were certainly less into trying like crazy. Is it because they think they can't get to the ball? Or is it because they're afraid they'll look silly trying so hard? The decision that goes through the mind when a person thinks, "Nah. I'll never get that one." As compared to, "If I don't try I'll never know if I could have got that one and just maybe just maybe I can get it!"

So anyway. I'm competitive. Did nature make me this way or is it learned behavior? Hmmm...

wakin' up grumpy

I don't want to write anything. Not at all. I want to wallow in self-pity and be grumpy. I'll meditate before bed though. I had a nice time teaching yoga tonight and my day has been very much a series of extreme emotions. Xavier wanted to hear Beatles songs and I played the Across the Universe video for "Let it Be" and just started crying. Xavier said, "what are you doing mama?" "Just cryin'" I replied. "But why are you crying?" he asked. "I don't know. It's just a sad song I guess." I smile. "And are you crying too because you don't know what you want to be when you grow up?" he wonders. I laugh. "What do you think I can do?" I ask him. He pauses for awhile. "Like, maybe you can help people get out of trouble and things. I'm going to be a garage mechanic!" he says. Then he says, "Cry more mama. Talk in the crying voice."

Gunas: Why we sometimes get in a slump

Not long after writing my post about little slumps yesterday, I continued my journey through the Bhagavad Gita (tr. Eknath Easwaran). The chapter I came upon was chapter 14: "The Forces of Evolution" wherein Krishna explains to Arjuna that there are three gunas, born of prakriti (matter;mind;thought-everything except pure spirit "Purusha"). These three gunas–sattva, rajas and tamas–bind the Self to the body. Sattva binds us with happiness and wisdom. Rajas is passion and binds us with compulsive action. Tamas deludes us with heedlessness, indolence and sleep; we are bound to this delusion.

It goes on to explain that (14.11-14.13): "When sattva predominates, the light of wisdom shines through every gate of the body. When rajas predominates, a person runs about pursuing selfish and greedy ends, driven by restlessness and desire. When tamas is dominant a person lives in darkness–slothful, confused and easily infatuated." So you see, I was hanging out in a sattvic state, life was good. Then I fell out of sattva-time somehow. This is not surprising because these three gunas are in a constant state of flux. The only way to attain steady peace and joy is to go beyond the gunas and devote oneself entirely to the love and servitude of Krishna/Brahman/Atman/Truth that cannot be named.

One who has moved beyond the gunas is not phased but worldy matter. (14.24-14.25): "Established within themselves, they are equal in pleasure and pain, praise and blame, kindness and unkindness. Clay, a rock, and gold are the same to them. Alike in honor and dishonor, alike to friend and foe, they have given up every selfish pursuit. Such are those who have gone beyond the gunas."

I am no where near going beyond the gunas. Rajas takes hold of me frequently. Journey on, journey on. OM and Guna-night!

Slump–itos

In Spanish -ito and -ita are diminutives. So if you call me Shannita it's like calling me "little Shanna." With names it's often a term of endearment. When attached to most nouns, it just means little. So, slumpito. A little slump.

I'm not sure when my little slump began. Maybe just 2 or 3 days ago. I've been practicing yoga everyday, meditating before bed, eating well and enjoying my time. I've been becoming increasingly aware of how I respond to situations and I was feeling on top of the world! And then, for no known reason I just started to feel not on top of the world. This happens to me from time to time (my guess is that it happens to most people). The thing is, I don't understand why it happens.

I've been focusing on breathing a lot lately and I wonder if our emotions and moods aren't cyclical in the same way that the breath inevitably rises and falls. On the inhale we can feel light and energized, on an exhale grounded and peaceful. Maybe if we inhale to drastically, get too energized, our exhale will take us to a heavy place. I don't know. So, a little slump. It's fine. I know it won't last. But I wonder, will I always have ups and downs? Is this inevitable? Masters of yoga are not affected by the world around. They live in a state of complete equanimity. So, I'll keep working on that! Work to do. As Dr. Seuss wrote, "unslumping yourself is not easily done."

I need a cookie!

A facebook friend posted this video the other day. It's Aloe Blacc singing "I need a dollar." I could listen to him sing all day. His voice is...is...there are no words to describe how beautifully rich and mesmerizing Aloe Blacc's voice is. Xavier also really loves to watch this one:

He especially loves the dancing and dances along, though he's got a few moves to learn.

Back to "I need a dollar." We took the light rail transit train to the university the other day. Meshon took Xavier to the HUB Mall (a long food court) while I met with my interim supervisor. We had been there once before and people were giving out cookies in the hall. As soon as Xavier recognized where he was he began singing, quite loudly: "I need a cookie, a cookie, a cookie is what I neeeeed!" Over and over and over again. Meshon got him a cookie. Hmmmmm? Now I want a cookie!

En Français

Mais oui! Je peus parler français. Peut-être je ne peus pas tres bien écrire mais je n'ai pas de raison pour m'inquieter. Yeay! J'avais rencontrer avec mon "interim supervisor" aujourd'hui et il m'a dit que j'ai aucune raison d'avoir peur des cours en français. Alors, je vais lire quelques romans (il m'a suggérer un auteur) pour practiquer. Je suis vraiment excité pour commencer les études dans un domaine que je trouvent tellement interessante.

J'ai mal au tête et il faut que je dort. Bonne nuit!

Why are you here?

Why are you here? This is the question that Rameen, a new teacher of mine, likes to ask. He usually repeats once or twice using a different tone, differing the emphasis. His voice is filled with sincerity. My automatic response is, "I don't know and it doesn't matter. I can just be nice and pay attention and be open to whatever life throws at me." While I kinda think that is a good answer, it seems like he thinks we should maybe try to truly figure out why we're here. I don't know for sure if he thinks that because I haven't asked yet but it seems like he's asking me to meditate deeply, to energize upon this question: Why am I here? What is my life's dharma? Deep inside I know that I know already but I also know that I'm not going to know that I know for quite some time. Maybe something will snap and I'll suddenly know, like a bolt of lightning: this is my purpose here on earth!!! I've always thought that people who know exactly what is their purpose in life are just kind of tricking themselves but I'm starting to think that it is possible to figure it out.

So, before YOU go to bed tonight, find a quiet spot and ask yourself: Why am I here?

Ooops. I missed a day. I forgive me :)

Last night I came home after teaching three (yes, I get huge numbers here at Michener Park) beautiful ladies yoga. Xavier was still awake and I fell asleep while I was getting him to sleep. So I didn't write my blog yesterday. But that's ok. Life happens. I suppose if I want to learn from this I can recognize that it would be better to write my blog earlier in the day (though this is not always an option with my lovely play companion).

And so, today I will give you an update. Part of my biggest most underlying intention for this 40 Day journey is unconditional love. So it was easy to forgive myself for missing one day. Be gentle to yourself. I used to be so so so hard on myself all the time. Nothing I do is ever good enough. It's not not good enough for other people, it's not good enough for me, in my own mind. So I'm learning to be more kind to myself. It's a worthwhile endeavour; if I'm not going to be nice to myself, why would I expect anyone else to be?

So. What is this post about? I don't know. I have been keeping up my yoga practice. I had a great class at the Yoga Loft today with Rameen Peyrow. It was a beautifully challenging sequence. I have been faithfully and steadily, even readily, keeping up with my meditation, which has been the greatest thing. I am truly amazed at how–insert word that means good but better than good–life is going these days. I am even starting to, get this, LIKE meditating! I used to enjoy the after effects of meditation but found sitting so still completely excruciating. I am so fidgety and I recall saying, at some earlier point in my life, "I hate sitting still. It makes me feel like I'm dead or something." Little did I know the only thing that might die if I sit still is my EGO! I have been feeling this really interesting spiralling sensation as I meditate. Apparently it's normal. It's a stage (Rameen told me that). I've never been at a stage of meditation before!! (Wait, that's not true. I have been at the "this hurts my back, man this hurts, ouch" stage for awhile).

We found a calendar from 2009 of Hindu gods and goddesses. Xavier now sings devotional hymns to Indra and Krishna. His favourite is Ganesh. He told me that last night. He said, "My favourite is Ganesh because he removes all the obstacles. What are obstacles?" And so I will sign off with Xavier's fave song: 

Tapas

I'm going to a yoga class at 9pm tonight (not for appetizers like Meshon thought when I mumbled "tapas" moments ago). I have been planning to do so for at least a few days. About 20 minutes ago I felt totally and completely unmotivated to go. I still don't feel like going, but I'm going.

Tapas: the fire, literally "heat"; self-discipline; austerity. It can mean essential energy or have to do with burning away negative energy. I think of it as doing something that I might not feel like doing but that my Self knows will be good for me. Good physically, mentally, spiritually–a lot of waysally. Do you know that I have never ever regretted having gone to a yoga practice? It's true. I honestly have never come out of any yoga studio anywhere and thought, "Man. I really wish I hadn't gone to that practice." So when I don't feel like going I try to remember this.

Off to practice now!

Xavier the Brave

        The boy stood in an open clearing. The full moon shone down, causing tiny fragments of the white snow to glisten like diamonds.  Across the clearing a figure paused. The child found himself staring into the eyes of a magnificent beast. The black wolf was motionless; the boy didn't flinch. No fear existed in either the heart or the mind of the young boy. He instantly knew this beast to be a part of him, knew that they were a part of each other. The wolf walked steadily and purposefully towards the boy. When their faces became so close that they could both feel the others' breath upon their cheeks, the wolf licked the boy's face gently. Xavier giggled and wrapped his arms around the wolf. Finally, they'd found each other...

I've been telling Xavier stories about the boy, Xavier, and his companion, a black wolf. They run around the forest helping whatever animals need help. It's fun to make up stories. The picture I found came with a great little Cherokee tale that I first heard at a yoga class (Dustin Fruson told it to us while we were in savasana). I like to tell it when I teach kids yoga. It goes like this:

An old Cherokee told his grandson, “My son, there is a battle between two wolves inside us all. One is Evil. It is anger, jealousy, greed, resentment , inferiority, lies & ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy, & truth.” The boy thought about it, and asked, “Grandfather, which wolf wins?” The old man quietly replied, “The one you feed.”

The version I heard began a little differently but the point is that practice makes perfect. The more we feed our anger, jealousy, greed and such the stronger it will get. The more often we get angry, the better we get at becoming angry. If we practice being joyful, loving and kind then we will get better and better at being loving and kind. 

I like wolves I guess. I wrote a story for a French kids magazine called Clin D'Oeil when I was little. It was about running away and living with wolves. I won a book or a medal or something. I wonder if that little magazine is still around? Also, I like to sing this song when I'm very hungry:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oOg5VxrRTi0&ob=av3e 

From Darkness to Light

Xavier, Meshon, Rachelle and Izzie were my lovely companions this evening as we partook in the Mill Creek Adventure walk. As we drove to the lovely Mill Creek Ravine we sang:

Om Asato Maa Sad-Gamaya |
Tamaso Maa Jyotir-Gamaya |
Mrtyor-Maa Amrtam Gamaya |
Om Shaantih Shaantih Shaantih ||

Meaning:
1: Lead us from Unreal to the Real,
2: Lead us from the Darkness to the Light,
3: Lead us from the Fear of Death to the Knowledge of Immortality.
4: Om Peace, Peace, Peace.

The trail was lit with the most beautiful lanterns. These photos simply don't give it justice.

It was a lovely time. Well, it was lovely after Meshon was able to find a parking spot and once we'd reunited with Meshon and Xavier after losing them. Then there was the crappy butt to deal with in the snow in the dark. There were many many people there as well, so it was hard to walk without bumping into everyone...nevertheless, as we walked amidst the beauty and magical splendor I internally was able to change my thoughts and emotions; I was able to move from darkness to light.

Xavier met a real magical queen named Aurora and even touched her ice crystal ball! And he was filled with the power and energy of a solar flare! Or he shot a magical ball of light from his chest at Meshon.

I'm very glad we went. Each day the light comes a little earlier and fades a little later. I'm grateful for the light. Except for when I'm trying to sleep. I'm all for darkness at sleeping time!

Postcard Story from times gone by

We're sick today. Xavier woke and his little body wretched beside me. I ran him to the bathroom, but not before he puked on Bob Marley (I was wearing Meshon's new Bob Marley t-shirt). He fell back to sleep off and on, wretching periodically for some time. Luckily, by 10am he was asking for toast and has been doing quite well. He's still has some tummy upset but I'm hoping it will all pass quickly. He really doesn't get sick much; for that I am thankful. In any case, I'm not much in the mood or state for writing. So here is a little tiny story I wrote in Senegal. It's a true story. Sadly, it didn't win me a postcard story competition. I hope you are all feeling well and at peace.

The Unk and the Ants Unite

Women wash clothes–scrubbing each inch of colourful fabric against their knuckles,–peel onions, braid each others’ hair and visit. Brilliant fabrics dry on clotheslines, children play with old tires; all the while the sun beats down. Leaning against the cement wall sitting cross-legged on the mosaic tiles, I find the heat almost bearable as a gentle breeze blows through the centrally located courtyard, though most days sweat still gushes from my pores. I have been in Sénégal for almost two weeks and have gone from drinking five litres to three litres of water each day.

I notice a gecko, called unk in Wolof, on the wall opposite me. The unk is scurrying about catching flies and other insects, one moment deathly still, the next in rapid assault. The reptile’s keen eye catches a glimpse of something trundling through the sand and in a flash it attacks. For a moment I think the gecko has decided that the bug is too large and has simply flipped it over. Feeling sorry for the overturned creature and striving to play the role of rescuer, I slowly walk the short but scalding stretch of sand to right it.

Only now do I realize that the odd bug, some kind of centipede perhaps, has been injured. One quick nip and the gecko has removed some vital part of the creature’s form, some appendage that kept it upright.

Why did the gecko leave it to suffer? Why didn’t it gobble it up entirely? Often when faced with suffering creatures I become the merciful killer and crush them; this time I leave the bug to die as it may, on its back, legs flailing beneath the intense heat of the midday sun.

I return to my seat against the wall as a young girl named Amicole runs past yelling, “Bonjour toubab!” The children all gleefully refer to me as toubab and some of the adults also call me “white skin.” I wonder if my volunteering as a teacher here is helping or is it futile, perhaps even harmful. Am I here for selfish reasons? I am experiencing another culture, much invaluable knowledge gained, I hope, but to what end?

Madame Awa approaches. “Salamalekum,” she greets me.

“Malekumsalam,” I reply.

Are you at peace? Yes, I am.

I glance back across the sand to discover that the doomed centipede is anything but at peace; its helpless body completely enveloped by an army of ants. As they continue to consume the live flesh of the flailing bug, I hear the vivacious laughter of school children returning. I take a gulp of water and prepare myself for the onslaught of play.

Avidya: "incorrect comprehension"

I picked up T.K.V. Desikachar's book, The Heart of Yoga, from the Edmonton Public Library yesterday. The 40 Day Sadhana adventurers are reading it in S'toon; I am so happy to get a chance to read it as well! Desikachar is the son of Krishnamacharya, the man who taught B.K.S. Iyengar, Sri K. Pattabhi Jois and Indra Devi (to name a few). Basically, almost everything we in the West know of as yoga stems from the teachings of Krishnamacharya.

Today I was introduced to the four branches of Avidya, which, literally translated, means "incorrect comprehension." Vidya, then, is "correct comprehension." Desikachar notes that avidya is seldom obvious, we seldom recognize that our perception is wrong; "indeed, one of the characteristics of avidya is that it remains hidden from us." Luckily, the four branches of avidya are easier to notice.

The first branch is what we might call the ego, called asmita. It's the thing that makes us want to be the best, to be always right. It's that which makes us look around the yoga class to see if we're doing the poses "better" than everyone else. ("Keep your eyes on your own mat! Unless you have to look at the teacher for instruction.")

The second one is called raga and it is about demanding. Demanding things, demanding more, demanding without truly knowing why or even if we want something. Wanting more because what we have is not enough or wanting to keep things which we are asked to give away. In my case, wanting chips just because I believe I like chips (if I truly taste them, I don't even actually like them–still going strong on the no chips!).

Dvesa is the third branch and it is a rejection of things, of people, of thoughts. It causes us to reject that with which we are not familiar and that which we believe might cause us pain. Desikachar explains, "we have a difficult experience and we are afraid of repeating it, so we reject the people, the thoughts, and the settings that relate to that experience, assuming they will bring us pain again." We all build walls to try and protect ourselves, often times this self-imposed isolation is on a subconscious level.

The final branch is abhinivesa, fear. This comes up in our everyday lives. We feel uncertain about our actions, afraid of being judged. Fearing change or growing old are aspects of abhinivesa.

"These four branches of avidya, singly or together, cloud our perceptions." (all info from p. 10-11) Little by little, slowly, slowly, yoga can help us become attentive of these branches so that we clarify our perception, so that we begin to see clearly. "The goal of yoga is to reduce the film of avidya in order to act correctly." I, for one, would like to act correctly (but that's still my ego wanting me to be good at acting correctly! Hey, it's a start!)

P.S. Again, it's late. I choose not to edit, though I fear you, dear reader, will judge me for the errors I've made.

Ode to a Spider Plant

Writing a blog post everyday is proving difficult. As I sit here tonight I think, what will I write about. I glance around. My spider plant is doing very well. I was recently reading Neruda's Odes (his are amazing...I will simply do some stream of consciousness I think). Here goes:

Ode to a Spider Plant

Your pleasant green herbacious foliage
shoots straight up from your centres
jutting towards the sky
until
each grassy leaf
gracefully falls outwards
spilling bounteously forth
making room for more
cleansing green purity

Each shapely blade
with their daintily pointed tips
striped white along the central channel
are perfect harmonious curves
of energy
and life

You don't ask for much
but you give so freely
thank you for cleaning my air
and for reflecting the light
in this dimly lit room.

I crossed the river!

Finalmente, yo crucé el río! I have been living in Edmonton for over four months and today is the first day I drove the car across the river! I know, it's pathetic but Edmonton has all these one-way bridges. They frighten me. People find it ironic that I have traveled on every continent (except Antarctica) yet I am afraid to do somewhat simple things in Canada. Nobody ever said I was logical (actually, my Grade 11 Physics teacher said I had a very logical mind. I still wonder if he thought he was writing on another student's report card.)

Xavier and I met up with my friend Ana and she brought along a new friend called Vánia. Xavier and I were able to practice Spanish. It was a lovely time and now I know that crossing the river is really no big deal.

Entonces, hasta la proxima vez. Ahora Xavier esta durmiendo en el coche, asleep in the car. Creo que esta un poco enferma; he usually doesn't nap.

Puff The Magic Dragon

Well first of all, Puff frolics in the autumness (or so I thought for many years) and the land, of course, is called Shanna Lee. This song gets me every time. As soon as I hear the line "Puff could not be brave" I weep. Today I was singing Puff to Xavier and his bottom lip began to quiver a little. He's so sweet.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wik2uc69WbU

Is it empathy that makes one cry in some songs? As a child I used to sob when my mom would sing "You are My Sunshine." I would then say, "Sing it again mommy" all snotty faced and teary eyed. Xavier cried once when I sang "You are My Sunshine." He hasn't allowed me to sing the second verse since. Do these songs have some kind of built in make a person cry triggers? Is there some sort of subconscious memory at play? I'm not sure.

Today we sang a new and extended version of Puff the Magic Dragon. You see, Jackie's son, Chuck, came to play with Puff and Puff was happy. Eventually Chuck went off driving in his new car but then his daughter Sally came along. She even decided to keep playing with Puff even after she became and adult, but eventually..."Dragons live forever, not so little boys..." Is this song sad because we grow up and forget about having magic and fun? Or is it sad because we're all dragons yet we so easily forget our true nature?

I kind of like songs that make me cry. Emotions are fascinating. Xavier has been singing "I am a Rock" lately. He belts out the last line: "And a rock feels no pain. An island never cries." I explained that I wouldn't want to be a rock because if I couldn't cry, well then I wouldn't be able to laugh either.

P.S. I didn't edit this. It's time for meditation then sleep. Goodnight sweet everyone.

Thinking of Grandma

If my Grandma were alive, she would have turned 90 years old today. She passed away just over three years ago. I miss her. She was the most amazing person; I learned so much from her and I am forever grateful for her love and wisdom. This photo was taken not long before she moved on:

 

Xavier with Great Grandma Mina

The Following is the Eulogy I wrote and gave for Grandma at her funeral. I wanted to share a little bit of my memories of this dear and divine woman with you:

Love. There are so many admirable qualities I can think of to describe my Grandma but, first and foremost, Grandma equals love. Incredible love for her family and for her friends but also a huge love of life. She could always appreciate the small things, always find beauty and joy in the everyday.

Grandma was born on January 22^nd of 1922. Her early childhood was a happy one; her mother, Nellie, and father, Vern, operated a café and had a machinery shop in Canwood along with running a farm a couple miles out of town. Vern also operated the grain elevator for a time. However, she lost both her parents at a very young age. Her mother died when Grandma was only six years old and her father died a year later. Just last week-end, last Sunday when I was visiting with Grandma she told me, “Life has to go on Shanna. I never even had a mother since I was six years old.” Despite this hardship, Grandma persevered, not only surviving her youth but growing into the kind and loving person we all knew her to be. Grandma was always the most caring mother, grandmother, sister, wife and friend that anyone could ever hope for.

After working hard throughout her youth and teen-age years Grandma met my Grandpa Willie, a man I know only from the stories I’ve heard. Grandma always told me that when they first met, she first noticed his smile; she could see from the start that he had a big heart. Willie and Mina fell in love and were married when Grandma was 18 years old. Willie was 26. Grandma continued to work hard on the farm, raising pigs, chickens, dairy cattle and horses along with, all told, seven beautiful BIG children. Four of the seven weighed more than ten pounds! But Grandma loved and cared for them all, working hard sewing and knitting clothes for them and always making sure there was food on the table. Dad always said that they never went hungry. Now that I have my own big little baby I try to imagine how hard it was to raise so many children with no running water. Grandma actually told me that she loved washing my brother Billy and my cloth diapers because she had a washing machine and it was so easy! I’m sure we could all learn from her work ethic. From these seven kids sprang Grandma’s family, 15 grandchildren and 8 great-grandchildren to date and Grandma always had more than enough love to go around for us all.

My earliest memories of Grandma are of arriving at her house early in the morning when Billy and I were quite small. Grandma loved staying up to watch her 11 o’clock news so she’d often still be in bed when we got there. We’d run into her bedroom and say, “Grandma! Can we play Mountain?” So our old Grandma, who would do absolutely anything for us, would, while lying on her back in bed, bend her knees up to make a knee mountain. We’d climb right up and sit on top until the mountain would start to tremble and shake and then collapse beneath our weight. Billy and I would laugh and giggle saying, “again, again!” Poor Grandma had to have a hip replacement a few years later…

But she would always play with us. She was never too busy to be the Big Bad Wolf as us two little piggies ran from closet to closet, making such a mess. She almost never got angry with us though, except this one time…

I kept opening the refrigerator door and looking at the contents within. She warned me to stop letting all the cold air out but I kept on opening it up. Finally she said, “Shanna, if you do that again, I’m going to give you a licken.” So, I did it again. Well, I got a little pop on the butt and Billy ran to my rescue, kicking his Grandmother for spanking his sister.

A little while later when Grandma was visiting Israel, mom found Billy crying and packing a little suitcase.

“Billy, where are you going?”

“I gotta go get Grandma from the Holy Lands. She’s gonna fall in a hole over there and she won’t come back AND she’s mad at us cuz we kicked her!”

Well, when Grandma did get home Billy gave her the biggest hug and sat on her knee for hours.

Grandma’s love never dwindled and as we got older Grandma never missed a ball or hockey game, play or concert. She was always there if she could make it. She loved watching ball the most though, and it was heartbreaking to see her so sick this summer as her little Rachelle was winning Westerns. I’m sure she would have done anything to be able to be there. We all told her all about the games and she was the proudest lady in St. Paul’s Hospital, telling all the nurses about how her grandaughter was not only the Most Valuable Player of the tournament but the Best Hitter as well.

Though she didn’t always have quite so much reason to be proud of us playing our sports, she was sure we could do no wrong. Grandma was watching me play Ringette years ago and when I got a penalty she asked Uncle Larry what I’d done. It was probably for body checking but Uncle Larry thought it would be funny to tell a little fib. “Well, Shanna hit that girl right over the head with her stick!” he said. Grandma's quick reply: “Well, what did that girl do to Shanna first?”

Grandma’s love for us all was so great. She never once forgot a birthday. I wrote this eulogy on my birthday and I’d like to think she was giving me one last gift, the greatest to date: the chance to honour her life. She even took time to remember the birthdays of those loved ones she lost along the way. Last year I called Grandma from Japan just to talk to her. It must have been on November 14^th because that was Willie’s birthday. She said, “Do you know what I’m doing? I’m having a nice cup of hot cocoa made just the way Willie used to have it with milk and cocoa and sugar all heated on the stove.” I could just see her sitting on her little phone bench enjoying the warm sweet drink. She cherished the memories of the people she missed and told stories about them, keeping their memories alive. I never knew my Grandfather or my Uncle Bill but the stories Grandma told have given me much joy, just as the stories we’ll all tell about Grandma to our children will not only bring joy but also teach love and kindness, generosity and courage.

I told Grandma on the day she died that I will always smell Xavier’s feet and say, “eww, peufty stink!” Until he giggles just like she did to all of us and when Xavier comes to me and says, “I’m Hungry.” I’ll reply, “If you’re hungry catch a bungry.” Then I’ll promptly feed him. If only I can someday cook and bake as well as Grandma could. We’ll all miss her homemade buns and cinnamon buns, her cabbage rolls, her gingersnaps of which I was known to eat many. One day as I was leaving Grandma’s house, hands full of cookies she said, “How many do you have?” I looked down and counted. “Seven.” She just laughed. Some people, especially her boys, will miss the lutefisk dinners that come along every Christmas. I do have some graham flour and have rolled the flopra many times before with Grandma so I’ll try my best to keep the tradition alive, rolling flopra and remembering all the wonderful times I was so lucky to have spent with my Grandma. She taught me it was ok to be silly, to love life, to keep your family close to you and she taught me to pray.

I remember lying in bed as Grandma taught me the Lord’s Prayer. I had a pretty good memory so it didn’t take too long. My Grandma had enormous faith but she was never judgmental or petty and if anybody had reason to become angry with God, my Grandma did. Instead she was thankful every day of her life. When she had cancer about 12 years ago she would say how lucky she was as she watched news of the genocide in Rwanda. She told me that some of those people running for their lives might be just as sick as her so she was so thankful to be safe in her own home. She always said it isn’t hard to look around and see that someone out there has it tougher than you, that there is always a reason to be thankful. I hope I learned that lesson from her.

No matter what, Grandma was always praying for us all. I know she prayed for me because as I went through all the letters and cards she’s ever sent me I noticed that they all ended the same way. “God Bless and Keep You. I Pray that Every Night.” X’s and O’s. Lots of big X’s and O’s. And you know, if I ever felt worried while abroad I would think, “I’m ok, Grandma is praying for me.” When I prayed the night Grandma passed away I knew I didn’t have to ask God to keep her, she went straight into heaven. I simply kept repeating, “Thank you. Thank you God for giving me the most wonderful Grandma in the whole world.”

Thank you Grandma, for everything. For being you.

I could keep going for hours for there is no shortage of nice things to say about such a wonderful woman but I think I had better stop and let some other people share their memories if they would like to do so. I know one person who is proud of me and thinks I did a good job, Grandma was always proud of us and loved us all. When she hadn’t even the strength to answer a yes or no question, she still managed to respond to “I love you” with a warm, “I love you too.” And she knew we loved her for the last thing I heard her say after telling her we all loved her was, “Of course you do.” How could we not love such a kind, loving and generous woman.