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:

Falling in love with myself again

Listen to this post:

Once again, I have taken up temporary residence in a cabin called Simplicity. I seem to come back, again and again, to this theme. Here it is concrete; in this aesthetically plain one-room retreat of re-claimed materials. It is a place I can re-claim my life away from the material world and closer to Spirit’s realm.

My prayer last night, after arriving and settling in just before 5:30 silent worship, was this:

Dear God ­Please be with me on this retreat.
I desire simplicity in my life.
That means surrendering my fears,
tendency to measure life and live bythe world’s conventions, which
constrict and constrain me.
As those die, I ask you to replace them
with creativity, experiencing life as a prayer,
bowing to Jesus and re-claiming my soul.Amen

After a fitful, dream-laden sleep and a yoga practice, I walked to the labyrinth, my fears bubbling up, seeking to pray off the layers. I entered intent on leaving them at the center. I began silently chanting “I know I have Jesus” over and over, then searching, pleading, “but I am looking for someone to teach me from the world.”

Who should pop into my head, but my husband, the one who claims to practice no spirituality? I questioned. Yes, that one. The one I gave you as a partner … you are not alone in this world. It was almost too obvious an answer for me. Then I began to see the light: “Ah, the one who is playful, doesn’t taken himself seriously, prefers not to worry, wants to create on his terms and doesn’t accept the world’s.” And also, in some respects, his carbon copy, Lily. Ok, so Jesus is my spiritual model and Tad is my in-the-world, how-to-navigate it partner … I got it!

Guidance at the center came in the form of an exercise: “sift the fears of truth from non-truth. This sifting will bring clarity and simplicity.”

In my cabin, I created a chart labeled fear/real/truth and dealt with them. In discerning where I can let go and where I must work, two queries arose:

• How can I be MORE of myself?

• How can I live in that place between the material and spiritual worlds, between the layers where it is more peaceful?

Those answers really are merging into one as a new reality and way to live forms for me. I am haunted by something I read last night, a Thomas Merton quote, someone wrote in the cabin guest book:

 “When I am liberated by silence, when I am no longer involved in the measurement of life, but in the living of it … my whole life becomes a prayer.”

That’s precisely what I desire. I seek a constant awareness of God so that my breath is prayer. For me, that means:

– A daily practice of gratitude and another of emptying the daily stresses and fears. I require a morning meditation/prayer and one for evening. One that I create for myself.

– Exercising loving kindness, particularly on myself, and releasing my pattern of judgment of criticism of others and myself.

– Maintaining loving relationships.

– Reconnecting and centering daily, but also regular retreats to re-balance, such as this one, and spending time in nature, among God’s creation.

– Engaging in meaningful work.

– Showing my vulnerability and undertanding that other’s reactions are projections of their own wounds, not their judgment of me.

– Falling in love with myself again.

Simple. And freeing … here. Can I do it at home?

• What role does simplicity play in my life?

• What would my prayer be around it?

• What fears am I driven to explore, possibly cast aside?

• How can I do that work?

• How am I called to be MORE of myself?

MORE OF WHO YOU ARE

Be MORE of who you are.

Not less or who anyone else says you are.

Listen deeply, inside, to know who you are.

Not outside.

Listen to your heart.

To me [God].

To love.

Love is always the answer.

Live in love.

Respond in love.

Act in love.

Love.

Strength of a rose[ie]

Lonely heart/pastel & paint on paper

Listen to post:

For days in yoga, I keep hearing a haunting song [see link below] as we’re ending practice and entering shavasana. It’s a real song the teacher spins on the dvd player.

These lines, in particular, echo deep within:

            “And it’s happening to me and you …
 

           … Where we’re bound nobody knows ..."

The subject is our wildness, to me, the terrain of the heart. It’s such a wonderful transition from the activity of poses to the coolness, winding down and turning inward of relaxation. And even though I have heard that song at least a dozen times, it always catches me … in knowing. It helped me remember something I wrote as a pre-teen, about the age of my youngest daughter. I penned these lines:

            “I am bound where no man goes.”

It was a somber piece about living in isolation, then I translated it as the Steppes of Siberia. I am coming to understand it was about my wrestling with growing up, keeping part of myself and letting others go.

A month ago, while deep in pastoral counseling, my shaman asked me to remember/visualize when I first felt less than. The image of a pre-teen girl in a fetal position immediately flashed in my mind. It quickly shifted from me to my youngest daughter and my heart sank. I know she is in the same place. Shunning the physical, psychological and emotional changes stirring. My heart aches for her as it does my inner pre-teen: the one lost, confused and feeling isolated.

This week in my monthly archetypal-astrology group, we discussed the drama of opposites with regard to astrological aspects, the angular relationships between the planets, and from a Jungian perspective. A handout carefully prepared by our teacher, discussed that “ego development requires that we reject even essential parts of what makes us whole; and this is what becomes the shadow … the road to wholeness is rough and bumpy … but we continually seek that which we have unconsciously discarded.”

I wonder what I discarded in that fetal position as a pre-teen and what my daughter intends to shed?

Two nights ago, I had an interesting dream; I haven’t remembered dreaming in months:

My twin sister and I are on a train. I fall asleep and awake in a car with her driving. I feel as if I have been drugged. She acts as if all is normal. We stop and I notice one of my daughters, some female cousins and nieces a half block behind us milling around another car. My sister directs me into a store, where we encounter my mother haggling with a woman about a cabin reservation. My mother insists she bought the cabin across the creek behind the store. The woman says she doesn’t even have a reservation.

When I first looked at this dream, I felt betrayed, as if my family tricked me into this journey. But when I explored it again, it seems as if this line of living women in my family is waiting to cross the creek into the cabin of the ancestral women who have come before. The ones waiting at the car are, well, waiting. My mother has tried and my sister has brought me here. I think it’s my turn, my work. I notice my other sister who has a son is absent as is my youngest. They aren’t part of this yet. I believe that my sleeping on the train is a key to how to get past the gatekeeper/shop owner, cross the creek and get us into the cabin.

To do so, I must traverse the terrain of the heart and retrieve my discarded parts. The song “Strength of a Rose” by Deva and Miten Premal describes that journey. Rose is my maiden name; Rosie is my nickname.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QuoQQsHUmZE  

• How have I experienced the terrain of my heart?

• When have I felt isolated?

• What parts of myself have I discarded?

• When have I also felt connected?

• What is my current calling toward wholeness?

No more accidents

Embrace (feeling transformed by Spirit and expressing that)
Pastel and paint on paper © Cathy Barney

[I wrote this blog specifically for a contest answering how words have transformed someone spiritually, but I also think it’s appropriate here. Because of a 300-word limit, it is a shorter-than-usual post and without the ending prose-poetry summary. I’d love for you to share how words have done the same for you!]

 Listen to post:

God used to speak to me via auto accidents; probably because it took me a long while to discern her softer whispers. In 1998, I experienced a doozey, which triggered an arduous journey toward fibromyalgia diagnosis, acceptance and healing. Pain has been my constant companion and teacher, inching me closer to Spirit, though I am not always a willing student. Images and words have become my therapy, my lifeline.

Righting what seemed like a wrong directed me toward yoga and Quakerism, a melding of mind, body and spirit. In redefining myself through the lens of disease, I rediscovered art as an opening. A mentor suggested I journal about my art. I had been the journalist who never journaled; I only wanted the facts as they related to telling someone else’s story. Dozens of notebooks and hundreds of blog posts later, I understand the power of words to transform and heal me, unlock and nurture others.

As I wrote about my art, I recognized it was expressing my deepest self. My heart began to flow through my pen and onto the page, softening it to God. For me, journaling and art are my purest forms of prayer. Exposing the deepest, darkest, messiest parts of myself in writing clears the way for Spirit’s transforming light, tapping that of God within and calling me forward. Calling me to be more of who I am. Often, my words end and God’s take over. We have one breath, one heart and one mission: to love. No more, no less.

No more accidents.

• How have I experienced God?

• What has discomfort taught me?

• How has it brought me closer to Spirit?

• How does writing or self expression clarify my relationship to God?

• How have words, mine or another’s, opened me spiritually?

Synchronicity of simplicity

Listen to post:

As I was grabbing a few things to pack for this retreat, I uncovered the Journal of [Quaker] John Woolman and decided to leave it behind as I had enough books to tote. My mother, not a Quaker, had recently been cleaning, found the copy and passed it on to me. Eventually, I thought, I’ll read it, but not on this retreat. Besides, I was heading to a convent, nowhere Quaker.


In a welcoming e-mail, Susan, the retreat director, said I’d be staying in a cabin called “Simplicity.” Perfect, I thought; sounds pretty Quaker. While scouting out my one of the seven cabins, I came across, “Hope,” “Wonder,” and “Namaste´,” before uncovering mine. Why was I assigned Simplicity? I asked myself. Surely any of the others seemed to hold more significance for me: hope in figuring out my next steps in life, wonder at spending quiet time in nature and with God, Namaste´ because I practice yoga regularly and adore that word. Of course, I always want to simplify, but that wasn’t my intention for this retreat. That’s such a mundane, everyday kind of thing. But, come to think of it, I’m not really clear what my goal is, except to get away alone and write.


As I was settling in, Susan came by and welcomed me and, as she was providing a rich and endearing history of this commune of hermitages, permanent dweller Elaine arrived, asking Susan to move her truck. We were introduced and I was drawn to look Elaine square in the eyes and hold that gaze while saying: “I was led here.” Woops, that surprised me. She had a knowing face. Our gaze broke and she was off. So was Susan and I explored outside on my own.


After a rigorous afternoon crossing creeks, pausing at the labyrinth and peeking at the other, unoccupied cabins, I headed in to grab some tea and reflection time prior to the 5:30 daily prayer in the chapel only a few steps away. This is perfect, I told myself.


I picked up a journal with entries from others who have coveted their time at this cabin and was immediately mesmerized. One kept quoting Prevallet, who had some petty insightful things to say about simplicity. I soon discovered this author penned a Quaker Pendle Hill Phamplet entitled “Reflections on Simplicity.” This writer was a nun with a wonderful theological education (Ph.D) and a year spent studying Zen Buddhism in China. She also happened to teach spirituality and Scripture during a two-year tenure at Pendle Hill, a Quaker contemplative community near Philadelphia.


I mentioned to Susan after silent prayer that I had noticed the simplicity pamphlet. “Oh, yes,” she responded. “Elaine wrote that.” The Elaine with whom I’d shared a deep moment upon arriving. The synchronicity was a little too uncomfortable. In that same conversion, I also learned that a member of my Quaker meeting, Pauletta, had just spent time here. Spooky as I had brought her book of poetry, the gift of a small-press publisher/friends who had given it to me for my birthday though we’ve never really verbalized our Pauletta connection. I’ve known these friends well before I was ever Quaker.
After prayers and before and during dinner, I dove into the book on simplicity. Elaine's words, like her eyes, immediately reached in and grabbed me with “I listen for the decision rather than make the decision” in a discourse on basing them from your center, the place connected to God. And then she began to quote from John Woolman’s Journal. You know, the one I didn’t bring. And then I read more things that are exactly what I need to hear to discern my next steps and it really is all about simplicity.


So I am here, where I am supposed to be, savoring every moment. This is retreat.


• How have I experienced synchronicity?
• How long did it take me to connect that it was?
• How am I more open as a result?
• What’s the synchronicity of simplicity in my life?
• What is my usual mode for decision making?






only took me a year
to get here


can’t even really
tell you how I found it


or why I came now
of all times


except that it was
out of desperation


to be alone
and with God
and to listen


and to follow my sister
Pauletta and meet
my teacher Eileen,
be nurtured by Susan


and let my whole being
rest in the Godfulness
of this time and space

Held somewhere apart

Listen to post:


Tried NOT to dwell on the thought that I needed a second mammogram all of last week and I did well in not keeping it front and center, but it did gnaw a bit, always at the back of my mind. I presume that's natural. This is the third time in 12 years I've been called back. Each time I worry a little less, telling myself it was ok last time, but remembering my mother's sister who died of breast cancer.

I did not feel ill in any way. As a matter of fact, I have slept better and had less pain than in months. Friday morning I did all of the chaturangas (holding a push-up position as you slowly lower yourself down) without straining in yoga and slid into upward dog with ease. I felt strong and healthy.

I was greeted by Kitty, a wonderful imaging technician I had remembered from previous years. She put me right at ease. We discussed the variety of scenarios (one picture may be enough, the radiologist may ask for more or order a sonogram), but that I would definitely meet with a doc that afternoon and know my results PERIOD. No going home wondering.

As I undressed, Kitty explained that the more pressure I could take, the better the scan would be. I held my breath (easy thanks to regular swimming and yoga) as the machine pushed. Finally, I called enough. She got the film and said that was a hefty amount of pressure. I was ushered back to the closet-like changing room and told I would know something in ten minutes. I picked up the copy of Caroline Myss' Sacred Contracts I had brought along and focused on that. I was reading about her clients that began to see the incidents in their lives more metaphorically. I was particularly entranced by her series of dreams of being grounded and not allowed on a plane as she finished to complete her first book. It meant her book wasn't ready yet, even if she thought it was. I compared that to the book I seem to have been working on for ages, but know teaching it right now is more important and feeding me to create an even stronger work.

The doctor roused me from somewhere else. I had also been praying that I could handle whatever the news. It was all so dreamlike, the radiologist saying the picture was so much different than the original and that everything was normal. "Go out, buy yourself something, you deserve it, enjoy the holiday and we'll see you back in a year." He knew it had to have hit me hard. I thanked him, only it seemed like I was on autopilot and observing from above. It was all so surreal. I closed the door and as I dressed, tears streamed down. Tears of relief, tears of de-stress, but, mostly, tears of gratitude.

I had felt held in a very safe place, somewhere aloof from the chatter of the world, from the instant I entered the imaging center door. It all confirms for me that God does have special work for me, as he does us all, and this was not going to get in the way! This experience has opened me to a newer place; one I am not yet able to define.

That night I wrapped presents until midnight, awoke at 7 am (this is the kind of energy I used to have BF/before fibro) and started right back in with Christmas prep. My youngest fought me tooth and nail all day long. I still don't seem to remember that when I bury myself in a project and she's around, I can't detach myself from her. I finally closeted myself in the small kitchen bathroom and sobbed. I did not know what she wanted from me [and told her so, then we embraced] and then I knew my next action was to haul my body to the gym and swim it off ... every iota of stress from the health scare and the holidays. It was so clear: I had neglected any self care. Mechanically, objectively, as if I were not part of the decision, I gathered my gear and told my family I'd be back when it was time to go to my mom's.

The pool was gloriously empty and bathed in afternoon sunlight. After a frenetic swim, I grabbed two noodles and floated for what seemed like en eternity. Again, I felt held and held apart.

I don't know what this is, but it feels very right and the next step in wherever I am headed. I surrender to it.

• How do I handle tenuous situations?
• How have I learned to surrender into Spirit?
• When have I felt held apart?
• What did that teach me?
• To which work is Spirit currently calling me?


took a deep inhale,
then exhaled audibly and
shut the car door


did much the same
as I opened the
imaging center door


after that, I don't
recall actively participating
I sorta sailed through


conversing with the
technician, waiting
alone, reading


then hearing the
doc say the scan 
was normal


where was I?


being held
somewhere apart

The furry portal

As my oldest cat, almost 16, is slowing down in life, I am beginning to see him as a portal. To a new energy source and something so BIG.

I think I knew this subconsciously, but now am beginning to know it more tangibly.

Two days ago, I felt the urge to hold him. I found him in a favorite, tucked-away corner and bent down to retrieve him. Cradled in my arms as I started to stand erect, I felt a twinge move fiercely across my lower back/sacral area. The source of so much in my life, including pain. I have learned how to navigate strained and pulled muscles rather well, but sensed this was something else. Instinct forced me to instantaneously sit and I realized the wave had taken something away, replaced it with something else and loosened that part of my body. All in one brief swoop – while I held my cat.

I hugged him tighter, massaged his hips to see if he took the pain and looked into his eyes. He, definitely, knew something. An ability – until then – hidden from me. An older cat, who died a year-and-a-half ago, possessed it, too. They spent a lot of time in each other's company, pretending not to notice one another. They were not close, nor did they fight. Perhaps she transferred something to him before she went to the purple place,* he acquired it recently or always had it. I'll never know.

And, it really doesn't matter. He does, however, since that experience, hang closer to me than I remember.

I've been paying attention to that area of my body, wanting to believe something real took place, not pushing it and trying to trust. This morning I headed to yoga and figured this would be the time to see what's been happening internally over the past several days.

I felt strong and flexible – even in my lower back. That right side was able to relax in child's pose as it hasn't ever. I didn't engage in yoga until I was searching for pain relief, about 10 years ago,

I am feeling bursts of energy more and more, traveling through that previously locked and dark place. I have been considering what was (b)locked there, not a new notion. Doubt, fear, anxiety and some self hatred. Triggered first by a miscarriage (and I think my body still clings to try to bring that baby back) and then a car accident.

A year ago or so, I started saying affirmations to my body as a cleansing act of self forgiveness. Maybe a shift started then. Perhaps, I'll back slide. I don't know. Yet, I feel in a new place, one of confidence in myself, the work to which I am called and where I stand in the world. That's been the past few weeks.

Maybe my cat has sensed that and the Universe/Spirit/God has responded. I am grateful.

* The purple place is my girls' and my term for the afterlife, inspired by a beautiful painting


• Have I ever had an unexplained or unusual experience with an animal?
• What do animals mean to me spiritually?
• What in my life has been a portal to something bigger?
• Have I been able to trust that?
• Have I ever shared that experience?


for a 
dozen
years,


I have
pushed


to force
my body
back
into
position


the more
relaxed
place
it used
to be


forced


I forced


somewhere
along
the way,


I simply
gave up


accepted
my body
where it
was


even
forgave it


recently, 
out of
the blue


my
thinning,
elderly
cat


breathed
new energy
into


that old
wound