Yoga's simple lessons

Knees tucked, ribs pressing in, neck loose and arms draped, I am aware this morning of far I've progressed in my yoga practice in simple child's pose. Now it's so comfortable, so comforting and a true resting position. When I first began, I shutter to think, it was painful. My derriere was inches above my folded legs and my lower back could not, would not relax. For 14 years, I've gently eased myself into the pose. No small accomplishment in my book. Certainly, I've had my heyday of arm balances, wheels and head stands, but this basic stance has taught me so very much: humility, gratitude, acceptance, surrender, confidence, joy and love.

HUMILITY
Bowing to anything in not intrinsic to our Americanized, individualistic natures. You do it often enough, however, and it becomes second nature, even welcome. I recall a time when, out of yoga, my body moved of its own accord, which I later discovered was something called body prayer, and into child's position. The journey there was not conscious, but what I needed and where, I believe, Spirit called me. On bent knees as willing servant.

GRATITUDE
Lowering ourselves physically, such as into child, pushes our ego down, allowing us to become pliable and able to see all of the gifts we have received. We're grounded with a shift in perspective and more able to become and express our thankfulness.

ACCEPTANCE
Being humbled and filled with gratitude gently sets me in the frame and place to be tender with myself, where I am and any limitations. Yoga teaches me to accept myself in any given moment. Being curled around the heart connects me to my lost, lonely and wounded inner children. I am able to identify them, rescue some and befriend the others unaltered. There is a freedom in accepting oneself where, when and how we are.

SURRENDER
The world neglected to teach me to surrender; in fact, I think it's message was quite the opposite. Yoga slowly works its soft magic on me, wrapping my mind, body and soul into bits of release, so minuscule that I barely notice until there's an accumulation and, bingo, I desire to surrender. That darn ego strongly resists strongly, but the wisdom of the patient path matches its force, softening ego over time.

CONFIDENCE
Lowering oneself to the floor as an act of humility, oddly enough, can instill a peaceful surrender that, for me, fosters a deeper knowing and trusting, releasing a confidence I had forgotten. The confidence I had as a kid! Practicing yoga for 14 years, with good days, off days and an aging body, shows me my inner and outer strength. Never an athlete, yoga tones my mind, body and spirit and guides me toward inner strength and power.

JOY
There's no greater joy than creeping up to the mat in pain, tight or stressed and leaving it refreshed, stretched and carefree. At the end of nearly every practice, when I raise my hands overhead and pull them down into prayer position, I see a slice of green, representing the heart chakra. Yoga nearly always leaves me blissful no matter how grumpy, sad or poor in spirit I began.

LOVE
The stillness of yoga, in my experience, transforms the heart appreciably in one sitting and, greatly, over time. It is the core of my practice physically, mentally and spiritually. I came to it out of injury, yet continue if for health and well-being. It's slowness roots, calling me to humility, gratitude, acceptance, surrender, confidence joy and, eventually love, but, especially, self love.

Never could have imagined all those years ago, struggling to get my butt down without hurting my sacrum, that this posture mimicking a baby would open so many doors, especially those stuck within my heart.

• Which practices have helped me grow spiritually?
• How does movement or a physical practice open me?
• Have I considered something I already do, such as yoga, running, swimming, etc. becoming a spiritual practice with the intention of creating space for Spirit?
• How could that work for me?
• How does it already clear me?

here I am
again,
heart beating
up against
my knees

forehead resting
on the floor

blood gently

rushing

to my head,

a detoxing

inversion

deep breaths
more labored,
stretching on
the inhale,
relaxing on the ex

when else am
I ever this curled
up and folded
in on myself?

it grounds me
and reminds me
who I am, how
I am

and who I
worship and
honor, bent
in gratitude

Listen to this post:

Flowing dreaminess

My life seems to be working in reverse today. I awoke when I fell asleep and in waking, I am dreaming. What I am experiencing has that liminal quality of the sweet space between sleep and wakefulness: grogginess, ease and contentment.

I was up earlier than anyone and settled into a cup of strong coffee and prayer. The candle flame nudged me in and my gliding pen and journal were ready to capture the moment. My heart was filled with gratitude for this place of deep joy. As if I had detached and really begun to see my life, all of its blessings, and that the frustrations and difficulties only make it richer; that hardness hides a bounty.

I understand that the adversity in my life emanates from two sources: myself and my journey. I am learning to surrender the difficulty I wreak, discovering the doubt and comparison are ego’s inventions to keep me trapped and beholden to it. I don’t want that life anymore. I want my life; to live authentically as only I can. I desire to follow my path, not the path parts of me think I should walk because it casts me in a better light, nets me greater success or wealth or would look good to others. And, as my true path becomes clearer, though usually only one step at a time, I sense that it is the road less traveled. That is it a more difficult path, but one that will shape me as Spirit desires and bring deep joy as I travel toward wholeness.

Dreaming/pastel on paper

As the sun was shedding its rest and my body began to quicken, I lay with important messages filtering in and out. I’ve forgotten the details, but not the residue nor their importance. I jotted this in my journal:

This place of rememberings, of snippets of dreams, I was feeling them, knowing their truth. Not sensing worries as if that had been my auto-pilot mode. Waking as if to remember because I had forgotten. Forgotten that I have a good life – a VERY good life. Something shifted me beyond the reach of everyday worry. Like I regained something that I had lost sight of … remembering freedom and not being confined by fear and worry … even the uncertainty in my life seems like a gift. I have new eyes; eyes of appreciation, gratitude, possibility, love and creativity. This is being present.

The idea of spiritual gifts has been on my heart and mind as I prepare to lead a workshop touching on the subject next month and have drafted a proposal for a full-day retreat this fall. I am uncovering my gift of healing, experienced its presence during the Quaker mystics weekend and am experimenting with directing it within. I resonate with the wounded-healer archetype and can tap its resources best if I fathom it within myself first. It’s much easier to listen to someone else’s wounds when ours have been [ad]dressed.

After journaling, I read the daily Henri Nouwen devotion, another part of my morning meditation:

Becoming Food For the World 

When Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to his disciples, he summarized in these gestures his own life.  Jesus is chosen from all eternity, blessed at his baptism in the Jordan River, broken on the cross, and given as bread to the world.  Being chosen, blessed, broken, and given is the sacred journey of the Son of God, Jesus the Christ. When we take bread, bless it, break it, and give it with the words "This is the Body of Christ," we express our commitment to make our lives conform to the life of Christ.  We too want to live as people chosen, blessed, and broken, and thus become food for the world.

I have felt chosen, blessed and broken on my journey. Now, I am ready to be given as food for the world.

• How do my dreams [in]form me?

• What truth have they imparted?

• How do I experience the liminal space between sleep and wakefulness?

• When can I detach from fear and worry and see my life as it really is?

• How does that stir me to gratitude?

A quiet house

a single cat

wafting cup of coffee

candlelight and

a chilly July morning

appreciating the

little things

time with God:

heart to heart

believing in a

new gift, born of

pain and experience,

faith and abundance

recognizing the beauty

in my life, like being

cured of a gripping

illness that rendered

me absent

this flowing

dreaminess is the

reality, unlike the fear,

panic and constant

comparison

  

Listen to this post:

Wiggling my toes with joy

Listen to post:

What a roller-coaster week. I have been battling my fears and, just when I felt at my most scared, received wonderful news: that I have been awarded another grant for the under-served kids’ art program I am organizing.

Truthfully, on Tuesday, I was ready to hang it up because of so many obstacles. I came to my studio anyway; I just wanted to be here, in this space that God has called me to create.

I had written an e-mail to my landlord, checking in and asking for some things that had been neglected. I was expecting him to balk. He didn’t. On that note, I collected myself and went to Turtlebox Studio. I made a few calls trying to sort out some new information; someone I trust said transportation is a huge issue for this program. In my simple mind, I thought the fact the school is walkable to these kids was enough. He said I could be held accountable; another trusted source said the kids won’t come unless someone shows up to drive or escort them.

How dim I’ve been, I thought. I believed creating the space and program and offering it were enough. The thoughts spiraled out of control, triggering so many fears: that I had no idea what I was doing, that I’d be personally sued, that I would be forced to move or, when my trial period is up, the rent would be too expensive … yadda, yadda, yadda.

To distract myself, I decided to check e-mail and there it sat: the message that I am the recipient of another Quaker grant*; this one to supply and furnish my art room. Not only that, but there was a bit more available. It also said: “May the abundance of God’s love for you cause you to wiggle your toes with joy!”

I choked up and tears formed. God truly answered my heart cries and kept the promise Jesus made last winter that I would be given what I needed. It was so tangible and came at such a poignant time. There’s no way it could be other than Spirit’s handiwork.

The news helped me relax and see that part of my journey is to trust and not work myself into worry. Trust and I will receive. I heard or read somewhere that worry is a prayer for disaster. And I wrote here several posts back that, for me, trust = energy. So, I’m thinking that trust is a prayer for receiving what I need. And I just got it.

Now, I will sit back and wiggle my toes with joy!

• When have I experienced God breaking through as I am at my worst?

• How is that a game changer?

• What has that taught me about trusting?

• About relaxing into Spirit?

• About gratitude and hope?

consumed with a

mission,

bent on a

schedule

pressuring myself

to perform

and, well,

do it all

until I buckled

and almost

gave up

then a sunny

reminder that

this is God’s

work, not

just mine

and it’s

supposed to be

energyzing and

joyful

God will

provide

all I must do

is trust

*many, many thanks to Good News Associates, their generosity and vision

http://goodnewsassoc.org

A ravishing tigger

Listen to this post:

It’s day four of my solitary summer adventure, soon to not be so monastic as my family joins me tomorrow. The Amstel beer and bottle of Valpolicella, eating well and meeting a lot of interesting folks, definitely, disqualify this as monastic. Nevertheless, it’s always wonderful to regain a sense of who I am and a more playful rhythm when I am alone.

It helps me remember myself separate from the identities I take on when around people I love and know well. It’s that enneagram #2/helper thing I do and it’s sure a vacation to leave that behind.

I have been working, though not as intensely as I was last January when I visited for a week. It was easier in the bitter coldness and bulging white blanket to remain inside with a fire lit internally and externally and write. This community was almost vacant and lakeside walks turned up little more than birdcalls, deer tracks and crumbled geodes as company.

Right off the bat, I met am amazing woman who is this cul-de-sac’s go-to person. She shares her recreation key with me and we’ve had some nice conversations poolside. She’s a five-year breast-cancer survivor, who takes none of this natural beauty here for granted. Everyone seems to know Donna.

Yesterday, I wore a bright orange skirt and matching scarf, ready to cheerfully greet the day. It was quite the conversation starter and I reverted to just being me, Rosie. Brenda is a costumer who runs a jammed closet-like vintage shop on Bloomington’s square. Her concoctions of new and old are divine. Around the corner, the young guy running the shoe store made me feel like a queen trying on $150 shoes that I did not buy. I can’t remember the last time I was waited on in that manner. I sat on the comfy couch and pretended, knowing full well I would not get this pair. He didn’t seem to care, yet treated me as if I were his best customer.

I had a nice chat with the IU (Indiana University) student in the fair-trade shop, exchanged pleasantries in words and energy with the guy in the holistic space next door and generally enjoyed the day, paying attention to most all I met. Usually I’m in too big of a rush. The cashier in the department store where I did buy a pair of shoes, for $25, had the most stunning aqua eyes and I told her so. I was noticing and noticed.

I ended my outing with an iced coffee, meeting five-month-old Mohammed and his father, who was tending him while his wife was at the nearby salon.

Today, not physically dressed in orange but still feeling swept up, I made my way to the famous Saturday farmer’s market and was not disappointed: brown eggs, fresh cheese, organic meat, Indiana sweet cherries, garlic skeins, lush bouquets, Amish farmers, the guy who sold me black and raspberry bushes, students, starving artists (one from whom I bought a painting), intellectuals, upscale bakers, klezmer musicians and a woman in Laura-Ingalls-Wilder dress doling out just-popped corn from a bloated copper kettle. What a melting pot (ok, so maybe predominantly a white melting pot).

I am beginning to see everyday can be this way: a feast for the senses with many connections. Some deep, others for the moment only. It’s about experiencing each moment joyfully, with an eagerness and openness that so often get left behind in our hurry to the next task.

• When was the last time I really enjoyed being myself?

• What were my interactions like then?

• Was I noticing and being noticed?

• How can I remember that place in myself?

• How can I greet the day as myself, with eagerness and openness, instead of feeling bombarded by my to-do list?

the short orange skirt

and matching beaded shawl

made me feel like a ravishing tigger

I was

the princess trying on the glass slipper

the activist concerned about workers in Ghana

the seamstress interested in vintage costuming

the gardener learning about berries

the artist supporting another

the foodie who bought the local cheese

the visitor who felt welcomed

I was me and

all those I encountered

Birthing from the heart

Wednesday, I felt more joyful in my work than I can remember. I took my computer out to my studio to begin compiling photos of my artwork on one file, so that I can then begin to match art to text. All for the book(s) I am working toward publishing.

I have been dreaming of being in this place for so long.

While none of the process has been drudgery so far, working with these images feels so much more joyful and sacred than writing and editing. I have found those tasks fulfilling and inspired.

But these images are like children, precious little beings with their own hearts and agendas. Not so precious in that I created them, but more that they even existed somewhere inside of me. They are an expression of something. Often something beneath the surface or wordless. That is why I feel it so important to accompany my words with them. They make the words come to life for me. Add element, dimension and luminosity well beyond the text.

They come from a deeper place. A place beyond words. A heart place.

While the seeds for the words and feelings emanate from my heart, they filter through my brain to form. The images, however, bypass my mind completely. They leap from my heart and emotions through my fingers and onto the page. They often surprise and delight me.

I am grateful the dream has become reality.

• How and when do I let my heart take over?
• What emerges when I can shut my brain down and just be in that space?
• How can I consciously get there again or for the first time?
• How do I enter that creative space reserved just for me to just be myself?


Shimmering deep within,
my heart and the
creations it holds
call to me.

Whispers have
now become roars
of resurgent energy,
forcing me to
find the time and
space to give
them form.

When I can,
I am astounded
at all of the little
creatures that
trickle out,
one by one.

How does one place
in me contain so much?

I believe my call is
to regularly empty
that chamber.

Making our hearts sing

I do this kinda funny thing when I swim. I guess you could call it my trademark – or maybe just quirkiness. I hum the number of the lap I'm completing. I think of it as a goddess hum that puts positive energy into the water. I like to give something back for all it gives me. Also for the next person in my lane.

I've been doing it so long, I almost forget that I do. It's nothing anyone else could hear. I think it becomes meditative, even prayerful.

Today I began to wonder if it affects my breathing while swimming, possibly making it harder or me less efficient, so I tried about 8 laps without humming. Then, the swimming was pure work -- no joy, just effort. I could hear my air bubbles, but that was isolating and lonely. So I started humming and my heart began to sing again. This tells me I have made swimming a spiritual practice.

I may swim more efficiently, more easily without the humming, but what's the point if its joyless? Then I started to apply that concept to my whole person. I realized that even if life seems like more work to me at times, it's just who I am and what seems like more effort, may, indeed, be adding joy into my life and, possibly, the world.

And I hadn't even consciously understood that.

Maybe someday, I'll have the courage to hum or sing (a huge fear) out loud!


• What makes my heart sing?
• What happens if I stop?
• How conscious am I of how it affects me, the world?
• Have I been able to incorporate that into my life?


Onennnnnnnnnnnn
Twoooooooooooooo
Threeeeeeeeeeeeeee

almost begins to ring like ohm
in my throat, mouth, ears
and head

it makes my throat dry,
but my swim drier,
dull and lifeless
if I don't

helps curb my
restless mind,
connects it
to my body

and takes me to the
place where God
can touch me

where I can
and do open

Rooted in winter

I really do like winter. A time to snuggle up, hunker down and pull inward. I recently told a friend who adores summer and detests bundling up in winter that it may have something to do with the season in which we are born. I am a January baby and she celebrates in June.

Sometimes the lack of access to sunshine can be diminishing, but talking a brisk walk in the sun can be so recharging ... for me, anyway. I remember always feeling so alive in college when walking to and from class (or the local watering hole) layered with rosy cheeks. I am rediscovering that joy this season as I trek back and forth daily to the small office/former storage area I bummed off my husband two blocks from our house.

It also helps that I have live green things (herbs) growing in my sunniest window and just started some microgreens. They are thriving next to the spot where the cats often settle for a warm nap.

I have an appreciation for what goes on underneath that seemingly sleepy state of hibernation. Even though most trees have lost their leaves, I sense the energy that’s been sucked inside and focused toward the roots. That stillness reminds me of the Sundays I worship in silence or the times I meditate or practice centering prayer. My mind and body are quieted, yet so many things are happening gently and deeply. Shiftings of which I am barely aware, but try to trust.

I like the idea of roots and wings; being grounded, yet also ethereal and free to change or go wherever one is led. Winter seems the season of roots, centering life more intimately on family and close friends. For me, it’s also a time of more reflection – perhaps a reaction to the over busyness of the blurred holidays.

This annual cold spell reminds me of “emptying” spiritual practices and the season of desolation. Winter strikes me as emptying and desolate, yet not devoid of Spirit.


• What season speaks most to me?
• What is the spiritual correlation to that season?
• What nurtures my reflective nature?
• Do I ever take a more restful time, a time to hibernate?
• Do I notice that I have cycles, perhaps corresponding to seasons, of activity and inactivity?



the sharp wind
frosts my cheeks,
fills them with redness

I see beyond the
bleak, monotone landscape,
anticipating nature
at work

resting for
another
birth

yet, occasionally
out of that
stillness, a lone
bird sings,

as if to remind
me that after
the deadness,
spring will return

Spiritual mermaid

Every once in awhile, when I switch my daily swim to the afternoon as I did today (my favored morning time is crowded this time of year with resolution keepers, who will dwindle by March), I encounter John, a former chef. He’s a great storyteller who’s experienced much in his life, not all good, yet he always flashes a smile and seems genuinely pleased to see me.

I have met so many interesting people at that little gym pool. More than I ever could have imagined. We’re all drawn there for various reasons, but usually they are health or pain related. The water is healing as we all have discovered. Some of us have even talked about that. I also think we each add our own healing into the mix.

I could probably swim laps faster – though I work at a pretty good clip – but I hum the number of the lap I am swimming to keep track and, more importantly, add good energy and a prayerfulness to the water. I think of it as water goddess, mermaid, power.

A wonderful Quaker friend of mine introduced me to the concept of what positive intention, prayer included, can do to water ... someone has even studied it. That research concludes that chaotic water molecules organize into beautiful shapes when exposed to beneficial comments or prayers. So, I believe that by purposefully spreading affirmations as I swim, the water will be helpful and healing to the next person to take a dip.

I find diving in is such a spiritual metaphor for me as if I am experiencing the Divine in such a wonderful, kinesthetic way. Floating is the balance we all seek: being so deeply rooted in our bodies that we can let go ... enough practice and we don’t even have to think about it ... it comes naturally and everything is at ease, nothing hurts and all is pure joy.

Being in the water is pure joy for me.

• What brings me pure joy?
• Do I make it a regular practice?
• Is there anything in my daily life I can make more intentionally spiritual?
• Are there places I encounter others beyond my faith community with whom I can share something deep?

just jump in
breathe, glide
be joyful
in receiving such joy,
is there a way,
a place to
spread that to
others?
to turn chaos
into beauty?