Cosmic windshield wipers

I teach one yoga class a year. 

Actually, it's billed as a short stretching session in order not to drive off participants nursing hang-overs, but if you were sitting inside my head for the week leading up to it, watching the workings of my brain, you'd think I was planning the most intense 7-day retreat featuring hours and hours of practice each day -- big themes, jokes, sequences.

Even if it’s only 30 minutes or so and super-casual and in the living room of the cabin when I’m spending the weekend with a gaggle of women, I spend the better part of the week leading up to it considering how I’ll order the flow of poses, what would be good given the activities of the day ahead.  And which stories I’ll tell.

For whatever reason, while tramping through the woods all week with Mr Burns and thinking about this class, I thought a lot about Shiva Nataraja.  It could be because Shiva is, for me at least, the foundational image of Anusara, my yoga home for the past 7 years.  As a devoted student, I've absorbed this story to the level of my cells.  But I think the ground was prepared long before.

When I was a kid sitting in my parents' Borgward, comfy in the center of the back seat, no seatbelt, no sisters yet, so probably age 4, on a rainy day I formed this notion about the windshield wipers while watching them describe their monotonous, reliable pattern.   It was utterly silent, except for the sound of the wiper blades cutting their path; I was wrapped up entirely in the musings of my little mind.  As I watched, first one wiper, rising, would leave in its wake a little untouched flat-topped hill of water on the windshield.  Describing its downward arc, the other wiper would obliterate that hill and, rising, leave its own. Which the first side would proceed to smash in its downward motion.  One side build, the other side smash.  One side build, the other side smash.  That thought at age 4 translated itself into a lifelong metaphor, not quite Sisyphus, but my own childhood myth invented in a car, so 20th century. This, I realized on the red leather back seat, is how it goes: build, destroy, build, destroy, endlessly, reliably.  

Shiva is cosmic windshield wipers.  All form into being, all form dissolved, all form into being, all form dissolved.  Just as I did at 4, I find that enormously comforting.  All things pass, the good *and* the bad. Things come, things go.  Don't hold on.  Watch from the back seat with big eyes, take it all in, let things come, let things go.

The practice I imagine leading (since who knows if I'll actually be able to pull this off) will be basic, emphasis on hips and thighs to open us up for the hiking that's coming later on what looks like it will be a stunning sunny day in the mountains.  But the point will be to work those wipers, clear the windshield, so we can see clearly where we are and point ourselves in the direction we wish to go.  Because what are we if not Shiva in our own right?  Breath in, booze out. What we were yesterday is gone.  Breath in now, exhale the past. Clear the windshield, see clearly where you are at this precise moment, go where you wish.

That's how it plays out in my mind, anyway.  And it's particularly important to me today to stay with Shiva, to stay with the teachings today of all days so as not to get caught up in the latest controversy around my beloved yoga, to keep my windshield clear, Shiva dancing it all here and dancing it back out again.  To give my friends the gift of a little peace in their own hips -- no stress or strain, just quietly watching the pattern repeat, predictable, true.

XX

Wanderlonging

The Wanderlust buzz has started.  Emails are showing up about the annual festival from the organizers, from teachers, from studios, from friends.  The Facebook chatter is beginning -- while some people are talking about whether they won tickets in the Burning Man lottery, others are beginning to plot our trips to yoga camp.  I've been injured since December (piriformis) and not practicing as I try to heal, but still I'm feeling swept up already in the dreaming of being back at Wanderlust this year, to see if I can replicate the most excellent experience I had there last year.

I consider myself an unlikely convert.

I went prepared to Wandersnark, and truly, there was plenty I couldn't relate to or really didn't care about, as the following sampling of Facebook status updates demonstrates.  I'm generally suspicious of the lifestyle-marketing, and always a little wary in a big cohesive group, wary of our very cohesion, alert to any sign of cultishness.

The long, hot Wanderlust days passed in a blur of class, heat, laughs, class, more heat.  I spent my entire time in Village Anusara, my yoga home, venturing to other classes only once -- no need to go elsewhere.  I fell completely head-over-heels in love with Amy Ippoliti.  I felt too busy the whole time, unable to take in everything happening around me, only able to focus on one ring of the multi-ring circus.  I never went to the tea house, didn't eat from the Dr Bronner's food truck, didn't take the tram to the top, didn't bla bla bla.  Watching videos afterward, I was amazed at all of the things that happened that I missed.

But what did happen for me?  I practiced, a lot.  I enjoyed back-to-back classes, some with music, classes packed with people, with a breeze blowing by.  I laughed and jumped around and generally was so happy to be at camp, doing nothing but yoga with my friends, practicing with new teachers in a gorgeous setting.  There was art happening everywhere.  In every class, the yoga was a form of expression.  As usual for Anusara, it was never just poses on a mat.  It was always what can you express in this pose, how do you make this the purest expression of who you are.  And people were expressing themselves all over, whether in class or out, stilt-walkers, painters, acrobats or just whatever get-up any given person was wearing.  It was, even though not 100% my scene, still deeply beautiful.  Damn it, like a Ren Faire of yoga, but sweet.  An entire self-sufficient little universe.  I wished to be there longer.  When it came time to go, I was ready to be home but also sad to leave.

And the next morning, as I sat at my desk at work, the little bomb detonated -- this little bomb I'd been seeded with while doing yoga in the mountains with my friends went OFF.

Completely unexpected.

Facing a day of spreadsheets and invoices and the cool and usual satisfaction of numbers, I sat in my chair and stared, dumbfounded, at this realization: 

I am an artist, and this is what I do all day?

Yes, after four days at Wanderlust, that four-day immersion in art, I came back changed in that one most-significant way, suddenly and uncomfortably aware that I am truly a creative person and that I absolutely have to make that existence for myself in which I make a life and a living from what I truly am.  It was a flower bomb that went off, but a bomb nonetheless.  Yes, I can do the spreadsheets more artfully (believe me, I do), bringing every bit of creativity to that process I can, but really, end of the day, bottom line: that ain't it.

There's more.  There's more and like those pesky little seeds, that more is germinating and clamoring for light, pushing its way out, knocking other shit out of the way, all in the interest of expressing itself.

Damn.

That's a long way from "I will not slackline," right?  The thing that's so cool about it for me is that I never had to buy all of it -- I never had to slackline or get feather extensions or park my intellect at the door.  And *still* I had a life-changing experience, the one that I needed to have.  I got the bomb with my particular name on it.

And that is something fierce.

So even though I'm hurt and unsure when I'll ever be really, fully back on my mat again, let alone capable of rocking back-to-back intense 2-hour classes, I am dreaming of the next Wanderlust, hoping to be strong enough, wanting to re-create the feeling I had there last year at yoga camp.  I won't be nervous about it like I was my first time, trying to figure out how to work it, how to have an experience that is not the full-package of daytime enlightenment + poolside debauchery.  I won't care.  I'll just know that I'll go and have whatever experience is there waiting for Just Me.  I'll pick up whatever bomb has my name on it, and see what happens next.

It'll be good no matter what.  It'll be bombs and flowers all over again.  In the meantime, I'll content myself with the little reminders I keep around and this profound shift in how I feel, who and what I know myself to be.  Oh, the fruits of practice are so many, and sometimes so unexpected.   Who knew I'd go to camp for four days and come back so resolute, my inner artist awakened?  Who knew that even 7 months later I'd still be feeling the glow?  That three-day Seeker ticket was just right.  I found what I didn't even realize I was seeking: a glorious sense of Me, one that's still with me, one that ticks and throbs just under the surface of every single moment since.

XO

Home practice: so much easier with guest stars!

Getting to a yoga class has been challenging for a number of reasons lately: loss of some time-flexibility at work, as well as a desire to be home with family instead of away until after dark and dinner.  I've been missing time on my mat, and feeling it.

Then along comes Darren Rhodes's yogahour iPhone app (iTunes, $2.99), which made its big premiere in my dining area today, kicking off my new attempt at a home practice.  Oh yeah, so much easier to get and stay on the mat when I have someone talking me through a sequence.  And Darren, the literal poster-boy of Anusara: how to say enough good things about him?  I've had the good fortune to attend several weekend workshops at YogaKula San Francisco, co-taught by Darren and Sianna Sherman.  Darren is inspiring, funny, real.

So, it was pretty awesome to have his voice in my house, putting me through my paces between 6:30 and 7:30 this morning.

The format sure worked for me.  It was easy to commit to one hour, during a time when Joe was out walking Jasper so I would be less distracted.  Yes, because there is an absence of pronouns and articles, sometimes the instruction's a bit telegraphic, but that's fine.  The stripped narration makes some little gems shine, like "eyes soft, heart determined" which is clearly still ringing in my head.

Laura will be happy to know that her favorite "Mix Master" pose is included in the one-hour practice, called "Cosmic Abs" instead!

At this point, since I can't get to my favorite class tonight or Friday, I am going to do this yogahour daily until Saturday, when I can re-join the kula in Sausalito, and then beyond, trying to get to my mat daily.  I'm excited to have some guidance -- master guidance at that! -- helping me with this new practice at home.

Yoga is where I live

I'm home after Day 1 of the 5-day Immersion with John Friend in SF. Wow! It's hard to know where to even start to describe how fun, how inspiring, how awesome the day was. I am just so glad I'm doing this. Honestly, I wish I could do exactly this every single day!

I have pages and pages of notes from today, of course, and am still processing every thing we heard. If there were more hours in this day, I would re-read my notes, and read the new Immersion Part 1 curriculum that was distributed today - first-time ever that's been handed out! As it is, it's almost 8 and I just polished off dinner, and I'm feeling the virtually-irresistible draw of the couch and cozying-up under a blanket with my husband and watching something funny on tv, then retiring to my book and some ridiculously-great natural sleep.

Aaaaah, what a day. I am so looking forward to tomorrow, to hanging around with my buddies again, to learning more and to practicing for hours and hours. Sheer bliss!

Almost no matter the question, the answer = chit ananda!

Cycle 6, Day 3: The bounty of friendship, another gift of yoga

After walking with Jasper at the levies this morning (big tide rushing in, harriers trolling for their breakies), I sat with Joe by the French doors in our room for a while and watched the busy-ness of birds outside. Joe had a bit of a rough night, feeling very weak today and funky, but nevertheless left for work around 8:30, which is late for him. Not sure how long he'll last there today, honestly. Even though it's the last time, it might be the worst time, his poor body weakened by all of the chemo and side-effects that came before. Hanging in there...

I continue to be amazed at the kindness and love of the beautiful people we are so graced to call friends. Last night, darling sisters Alexandra and Gillian brought us an enormous pot of delicious chicken soup tied with a red bow, warm, delicious garlic bread, fresh and delicious zucchini bread. And a handmade sweet card. We were all delighted and dazzled by their presence, so moved by their generosity and unbelievable cuteness.

Besides the sheer delight of their presence, just how lit-up they each are, what's so awesome about it, for me, is that I only met these two lovelies in April of last year, when we had the good fortune to meet and spend a week together at Laura's retreat in Careyes, Mexico. For me, it was love at first sight, in that way I've grown to expect through yoga, that the people I meet through the practice become my fast- and heart-friends. I would do anything for them and know they would do anything for me. It's as if we've always known each other, because we see and know the truest thing about each other from the very beginning. Until last night, Alexandra and Gillian had never even met Joe, but still they came, bringing all that love for us to eat.

I never expected this, to meet such wonderful people through Anusara, to rest back into the arms of such a warm and loving community of yogis and yoginis, to be so very loved and to love so very deeply, so very madly, all these new friends all the time, every day.

The gifts of yoga are so much more than flexibility, handstands, peace of mind -- all of that is wonderful, but what is the real gift, the biggest joy, is this super-connectivity to others. I am so grateful to our teacher, Laura, who creates the conditions in which these friendships burgeon and flourish, Laura who consistently inspires each of us to see the good, the light, the beauty all around us. Through these glorious friendships, I touch the One-ness of which we truly are a part. Thanks to these lovely friends, I am reminded every day, on the mat and off, that Love is all that matters, the one and only real purpose of our time here on this earth.

XX