Humble Spaces
I am often surprised at the lack of glamor that surrounds radical transformation. The big shifts in life appear to happen in a moment of instant awakening, coming like a thief in the night, are really the product of long term commitment to Self-study and small, daily changes. When transformation happens, or at least when you realize that transformation has happened, it feels so full of power, so brilliant and wonderful that it must have occurred in a dramatic landscape, or a take-your-breath away, well lit, well designed room.
Half of my weekly classes are held in a 1000sq/ft room located in the upstairs of an office building. A pretty space to be sure but one that shares a floor and a bathroom with an insurance agent and a pan-asian consulting company. In that context, it presents as a rather unlikely place for healing.
It’s true that when John Friend comes to Raleigh the event is held in a gigantic gathering space in a building owned by the Hindu Society of North Carolina. Here there is a lobby for checking in, an entire room for the Sri-Tail (retail) store, separate bathrooms, another room for a healing practitioner to offer his services; there’s even an industrial kitchen. The practice space is well lit, the colors are soothing and the ceilings are high. All in all, quite swanky. Not all of John’s venue’s are like this. Many are in old YMCA’s and community centers where no matter how much you try, the floors will never really be clean. At the Y in Cary, where I also teach, there is a fat pole in the middle of the room; cycles and aerobic equipment line the walls. There is no elegance in any of these places. But it’s in these slap-dash spaces with very little in the way of amenities or view, people experience bursts of light, deep energetic shifts, physical, emotional and spiritual healing. They change, and they change for the better.
In my home I am blessed to have a small room of my own. There is a window looking out at the patio and wax myrtles where robins and finches and squirrels like to play; three of the walls are light, creamy yellow with the fourth accented in lilac purple. Last August I relieved my parents of the honey colored oak desk set that was a part of my childhood bedroom suite and rearranged the room to better serve it’s many purposes as a place to practice, meditate (though I actually do that on the couch in the living room), write, paint, pay bills etc. Until recently the floors, like the desk, were a pleasing honey color. Two weeks after putting in the new/old desk the AC froze and then, despite the tech’s guarantee to the contrary, unfroze and water leaked into the room warping half of the floor boards. This happened in September. For various reasons it still has not been repaired. I spent the fall practicing and working in a room with half laminate, half concrete flooring. Now, as we prepare to install some lovely bamboo, all of the contents of the room have been hauled into our open dining area and I am doing asana in our bathroom. Certainly no glamor here. But there is a skylight and when I look up I see the tips of pine trees giggling with light; the black outline of birds soaring through the sky. I didn’t see this part of the dance from the window in my room and am glad I haven’t missed it.
At our old apartment I did my yoga first on the carpet in the living room next to the gas fireplace (which was excellent at 5am on chilly winter mornings) then on the sturdier vinyl floor in the shotgun kitchen. While not very big, this was a great place to practice. It’s where I learned to go from Prasaritapadottanasana to Sirasana II (standing forward fold to tri-pod headstand.) Cradled on one side by the oven and fridge and counter on the other, I had no fear of falling.
It doesn’t matter where we practice or meditate or pray (in a studio, a church, the woods, the shower) so long as we do. A clean, beautiful space creates a more inviting, less chaotic atmosphere and I think that’s important. Pleasing color, light, furniture, cleanliness is a gift we give ourselves. But what really matters is the space inside. Overtime our yoga rooms, no matter how humble or stylish, build up a resonance of Shakti and this resonance creates open spaces within for the power of Heart to take up residence. What could be more humble than residing in the house of the Divine?
New Work Coming Soon!
Happy Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. Not because of the meal, the pies, or even the gathering of family of friends (don’t get me wrong, I enjoy all of these elements, especially the family part, but sometimes all that work and energy just for a meal seems a little pointless, but maybe that’s the point); Thanksgiving is dear to me because I love that we have a holiday dedicated to gratitude. Most of the yoga teachers I know have been teaching on gratitude all week long; there’s a “24 days of gratitude” challenge going around facebook wherein people posted something to be grateful for from November 1 until today; thankfulness is in the air.
Of course Thanksgiving has a bit of a shady past, what with the implications of sharing a harvest with the Native Americans then proceeding to commit a sweeping ethnocentric betrayal and cultural decimation. Thanksgiving and the holidays in general are difficult for too many people for whom family, or perhaps worse, loneliness, is something morethan a challenge. But, to paraphrase John Friend, “We see the negative but freely choose the positive. We look for the good and in celebrating that transform a painful past into a bright present.”*
As I’ve contemplated gratitude and thanksgiving this week it occurred to me that giving thanks, saying “thank you” is an outward expression of gratitude born from the recognition of the highest good, the fullness of heart, the Divine in each other and in the full, messy, magical spectrum of life. What could more powerful, more transformative than that?
So on this day, lets start a blog-ersation.** I invite all who read this to comment with a couple of things for which you are grateful. Here are just a few of mine.
Thank You For…
1. You, dear reader. For your comments, support and willingness to read these words
2. ALL of my family, friends, and kula — especially my husband, parents, brother, in-laws, the tourists, “my girls,” Apollo & Magnum
3. A good relationship with my family
4. The ability to cook (pie crusts and a perfect rise on the bread – hooray!)
5. Literacy
6. No longer fearing dogs
7. Food, clothing and shelter — including working heat and AC
8. Creativity
9. Good movies, good books, good art (The Muppets!)
10. Yoga – for my teachers, the teachings, the honor of teaching
11. My wonderful students who always “take it up to 11.”
12. The vast, heartbreaking beauty of the earth
13. Humor
14. The “Big Truck” drivers who waved and honked at my not quite 2 year old cousin
15. The boundless Love of Grace dancing this Life
May we continue to practice gratitude as a recognition of the Abundant Love of Grace moving in and through all things. May our thanks be an offering of loving service to God and an embrace for all who suffer this day and always.
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* This from a discussion of John’s visit to the Biltmore estate which was built in less than optimal conditions but is now a source of income to many, a place of beauty, a steward of the land, and a general good time.
** 🙂
*** Ok, there isn’t a notation for a three star footnote, but I thought I’d post this anyway. For a great (and brief) Thanksgiving Prayer check out this blog post from Abby Tucker.
Breaking Open
A few years ago, when his wife’s Alzheimer’s progressed to the point where they could no longer be together, my Grandfather, who’d never been seriously ill in his life, began a spiral into depression and frailty. His tendency toward self-pity and mistrust only made things worse. He started falling down and deteriorated to the point of needing to leave his beloved home and move into an assisted living facility. Some days were better than others, but he continued to lose weight; and hope; and joy.
Visiting him was a challenge.
In August he developed severe stomach pain which turned out to be the result of a twisted mass in his colon. My uncle was out of town so it fell to me to take Granddad to the doctor, which turned into a trip to the ER, admission to the hospital, surgery and eventual death. I’m glad I got to be there for him; to lean on the rail of his bedside in the ER at 1am listening to exhausted prayers that his sons would get their inheritance; to say “I love you” before surgery; to provide some form of comfort as he tried to recover; to hold his cold hand as he shook, emaciated and ashen; to count the spaces between breaths as he lay peaceful in the warm hospice bed; to kiss his forehead; to return the next morning and place his wedding ring on his lifeless hand; to receive the flag draped over his coffin — I did not know they look you in the eyes.
They say compassion leads to Love; but to have compassion is to “suffer with.” How do pain and suffering possibly lead to an experience of Love? Pain and suffering create cracks in the planet. Pain and suffering break in, break down, breach the perimeter — the barriers we erect to protect ourselves from the very things we cannot guard against. The result of this breaking? A new landscape, raw and vulnerable. But this breaking, this breach of the perimeter doesn’t have to be a breaking down. It can be a breaking open.
Here I must pause and say that I did not invent the idea of “breaking open,” nor do I know who did. I heard it mentioned in a teacher training.
The experience of being with my Grandfather as he died broke me open in ways I am only beginning to navigate. Each time I would visit him, no matter how difficult it may have been, I was overwhelmed with compassion for this man in pain; the remembrance of which helped me move beyond frustration at his unpleasant behavior, at the annoyance of one more task to squeeze into my day and gave me the strength to return. I say remembrance because it was something I had to choose to bring to mind. It’s embarrassing how easy it is to forget, or worse, simply ignore the suffering of others because the suffering forces me, even for a moment, to move beyond self-centered ways of living. (Obviously there is a balance to strike here, we don’t want to dwell so much on the pain and suffering of others that we neglect ourselves.) Through compassion for his pain and his suffering the dutiful love I felt for my Grandfather transformed into a more mature Love born from the recognition of his Soul.
There are other openings.
Because there was a good bit of time when I didn’t want to live (or couldn’t because of illness), I’ve cultivated the capacity to delight in the little things in life: the pas de deux of the wind and the leaves, the smell of garlic and onions in the sauté pain, the deep innocent eyes of my dog; these small treasures were often the only things that kept me from checking out. They’d bring me back from the edge, remind me that there is more than my darkened mind could see. I might not have been able to live from that place of more but I knew it was there. Now, after his death, I find the sensuality and grace of the world heightened. My periphery catches smaller details that illuminate the Whole: the falling of a single leaf, the quick flight of a bird, the sound of water sliding down my throat, or creaks in the chair on which I sit. When I am too focused on my next task, this noticing shocks me — how could have missed that particular grove of Red Maple trees?
Most of the time I feel a little slushy, like the boundaries of my body and soul are kind of spilling around without any clear direction. When I was with my Grandfather in his final days I found myself standing taller, feeling stronger, more connected and together; not because I was doing anything heroic or adult, but because I was acting from my Heart, from a place of real Love. In general, I also feel this cohesion when I teach or meditate. But in the interactions with my Grandfather there was a certain gravitas to this standing tall. In teaching, it’s lighter, more playful.
Love breaks us open in so many ways and on so many levels: a slow permutation of the membranes, a quiet shift over time; a deep earthquake that shakes our very foundation or a moment of ecstasy that sends us into manic delight. Each breaking open reveals a whole new experience of Love which leaves Its vivid imprint on the Soul, changing us forever; if only we’ll have the courage to let It in.
~ For Granddad, with Love
The HouseHolder's Path 