Navigating

Drop
that fear of breathing
let that net around your heart unfurl
Your body is trustworthy, see,
legs pumping to stay afloat.

Move through this blue-green
flowing substance
(God? Time? Love? All of the above -)
pumping through heart
lungs
belly
eyes and ears,
inside and out,
You belong here!

Legs swimming, confidently now,
the steady rhythm of waves
cleanses the mind
smooths the rough edges
and heals your skin
As you surrender
As you begin

Yoga and Creativity

When I practice mindful movement, I align with my creativity.

By aligning with the creative force, I heal myself and my world.

When I started doing yoga, I was 24 years old, a recent college grad waiting tables for a living. With my degree in English, I had trouble finding a better job in my small town. To make matters worse, I was having health issues related to celiac disease (undiagnosed at the time), so my physical and mental energy were at an all-time low. Yoga class was the first exercise I had ever enjoyed. It combined music and spirituality with an exercise style that was low-impact, calming, and intuitive. And, it helped me reconcile my need for a self-created life with the physical limitations of my illness.

As a young adult on the verge of creating a life, I was torn between two extremes: a high level of creativity, and on the other hand, my unconscious belief that life was hard and there was no room for the creative soul. As my celiac symptoms of fatigue and malnutrition started to develop, life kept feeling harder. Over the next 8 years, yoga gently helped me understand, once and for all, that... life is good. That it’s OK to want things, to create them, and then to feel satisfied. Life was not, as I worried, a struggle with my lower self, as it threatened to drag me into "dark cravings" for status, pleasure, and materialistic things. No... life was an invitation to tenderly embrace those needs, thereby arriving at compassion, freedom, and satisfaction. Look,  we live on the most pleasurable planet in our solar system, full of green plants and flowing rivers. It’s not all wonderful, of but it’s certainly OK to focus on the parts of it that are, because in doing so, we find our passion for living.

Yoga has not helped me transcend my lower chakras; rather, it’s helped me meet my lower-chakra needs gracefully. Contrary to myself at 24, inspired but stunted, I now feel empowered to reach for my needs, whether it’s a cuddle with my lover, an hour with my guitar, or a great job that pays well. And it’s not only self-serving things. My being also craves things like knowledge, self-respect, connection, and purpose. As “lower” needs are met, “higher” ones emerge. Yoga helps me identify them, and simultaneously to realize they are not me. Some degree of healthy detachment is necessary in order to achieve satisfaction in life.

According to chakra theory, the 2^nd chakra houses creativity. Its Sanskrit name translates to “One’s own place”, and it holds our desire, creativity, satisfaction, and pleasure. The 2^nd chakra represents the need to create a life tailored to our unique organism. Our own place. This place, which can include our partner, friends, home and career, becomes a jumping-off point for how we contribute to the world, and for our spiritual development. All of this relies on the creative force within us.

Because I had such a difficult time claiming this need for “my own place” in my 20’s, I have a good understanding of the part the 2^nd chakra plays in spiritual growth. When I got into yoga, I knew I wanted a spiritual life. But I didn’t understand that having a lifestyle was also important, and in its absence, my spirituality withered. From age 24 to 26, I worked for minimum wage and lived poor while studying yoga, reiki, and women’s health. While my friends were establishing their careers, I was distancing myself from the world, and becoming pretty unhappy in the process. After landing my first salaried job at 28, I allowed myself to explore my long-neglected interest in fashion, and decorated my home the way I wanted. It was there, in the little brick cottage I rented, that I found “my own place” – amongst the tigerlilies, wild strawberries, and long afternoons decorating the sun-dappled living room. It was there that I forgot my spirituality, and there I claimed it again, this time with my whole self. I made room for myself as a songwriter, fashionista, chocolate addict, and eventually, a wife to my husband. None of this made me any less interested in spiritual practice. As I fulfilled these yearnings, I felt free, alive, and satisfied.

Yoga also helped me stabilize my health. In a way, the body is also “one's own place”, since it is formed by the creative energy of prana. Yoga postures are designed to harmonize the energy body, which helps physical health as well. For me, this could not happen without mindfulness. Through realizing that my body is not me, I've awakened to my body as a creature: a needy creature, but still lovable! This makes me more willing to relax into my prana, bringing health and energy.

In Western culture, our relationship to the life force isn't ideal. We seem bent on taking in as much as we can in terms of material goods, calories, and stimulation, while neglecting the need to care for bodies. While healthcare professionals try to educate us about healthy habits, we struggle to maintain a desire to be healthy, constantly "falling off the wagon". I think this could all be rooted in our unhealthy attachment to the material world. Our obsession with the physical, external aspects of ourselves keeps our core insecurity at bay, but prevents us from really enjoying life. Yoga, like any mindful practice, helps us become aware of ourselves as creators. In the stillness that follows mindful movement, we find our being, which is a fountain of inner satisfaction. Then we can begin to create boldly. We can begin to consider, not how we can ask more of the world, but what can we give? What do we want to see on this big canvas?

~

This piece relies on ideas from Joseph LePage in the Integrative Yoga Therapy (2004) Teacher Training Manual.

Conversation with a friend

I said, what sort of path is that to walk, up there?

Don’t you think it limits your vision, seeing only what you see, walking only how you go?

You said: what sort of way is that you walk? Don’t you know what I know?

Of course, friend – you don’t think so? Here’s a mere sprinkling of my vast knowledge...

If you did, you would understand me.

You think I know nothing. How wrong you are.

Let me try again.

I think I know what you know. But perhaps I am mistaken. Would you teach me?

Perhaps. Other people walk my way too. And I can tell the ones who don’t understand.   

I said, I’m from barren lands that made me old before my time. I had to learn to be young again. To speak in the voice of my body, my heart. I fear those who do not know my language. I fear the barren paths of abstention. I fear the loneliness of those who hold themselves apart.  

I want very much to be alive, and also wise.

I want the same, my friend. I can see those barren lands, and their desolation. I see how they lie close to overgrowth and poor attention. I only seek to clear the weeds. These weeds grow relentlessly, and it takes a sharp eye to discern.

I’ve heard of this, I said, this path. It’s just… I fear for you. That you’ll forget to take care of the good garden, while you’re clearing away what you think is overgrowth.

But I must eat as well, you said. And I do. I fear for those who take in whatever they see, without discernment.

I see the garden, and the junkyard, and the wasteland. I also see the sky, where you take refuge. You long to see clearly, I understand this. But I choose to stay in the garden, to make sure what we do and how we love becomes wholesome.

It’s good we each have own way. I can see you now, you know. We’re actually not so far apart.  

I know. I see you too.

The tantra of Christmas

There are plenty of holidays through the year, but for some reason, Christmas seems to be especially full of love, rejuvenation, and wonder. Why? My theory is that Christmas is the only time of year we have permission to fully enjoy ourselves. We get drunk on our senses – the lights, the bright reds and golds, fluffy pastries, decadent chocolates and savory meats beckon us to lose ourselves in the “magic of the season”. But really, isn’t life full of magic all the time? Maybe it’s just that we rarely pause long enough to enjoy it.

While many happy feelings are associated with Christmas, it's notoriously a good time for romance. We can also feel more love for our parents, children, friends, and even strangers at this time. The change is so noticeable that we may wonder, why can’t we be like this all year round? In light of a few things I've learned about neurology, and a desire for  more love in my life, I thought I'd share my thoughts.

So what makes Christmas so romantic? According to neurology, when we first fall in love, our brains release a ton of dopamine. Dopamine is a neurochemical associated with reward: sexual attraction, gambling, drugs, and exercise can all boost dopamine levels. Dopamine is also associated with confidence, motivation, and energy, which explains that "top-of-the-world" feeling of falling in love. It’s evolution's way of encouraging us to find a mate. Oxytocin, which increases later in the relationship, is evolution's way of encouraging us to settle down and raise children. It's also dubbed the “cuddle hormone”, and since there's not much else to do in December, this makes Christmas a great time for bonding, whether you're just getting to know each other or are long-time partners.

Given that Christmas is filled with rewards like shiny presents and good food, and activities like cuddling and relaxing with loved ones, it's possible that we're bathed in dopamine and oxytocin the whole time. In a sort of tantric way, perhaps this is part of the magic of Christmas. No matter what hormone it might be caused by, consciously enjoying pleasure uplifts our energy. And, true to tantra, this may be what makes us more apt to smile at strangers, give to charity, and treat others with more kindness. Maybe this is what makes Christmas "the most wonderful time of the year."

I’ve found that after Christmas, I often feel full of energy and start planning for the coming year. (This year, I brainstormed ways to green my home.) The whole “New Years’ Resolution” thing is an example of the tendency to start new projects when  we're feeling refreshed. But if we fizzle out a few months later, we need to examine if pleasure and connection are enough a part of our lives throughout the year. 

Christmas is a time when we really enjoy ourselves. We almost worship abundance, with more conscious intent than usual. Through giving gifts to others, we feel just as uplifted as by enjoying them ourselves. We create beautiful decorations, music, cards, and parties, and we slow down enough to enjoy them. But what if Christmas came in February? Personally, I’d drape my house in violet and pink cloth, make coconut cake to resemble snow, and invite all my friends over to sing our favorite spiritual songs and trade seed packets. How would you keep the magic alive all year round?

Greetings from the Darkness

It's the holidays again, when many of us participate, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, in rituals of sending Christmas cards, attending parties, and connecting with friends and relatives. As a new wife, I've found myself reflecting with a chuckle on the sentiments expressed over the years: "oh, time to do that again," or some variation of fatigue at these "forced" social overtures. I totally get it. Nobody likes to be social out of a sense of obligation, and no doubt, the receiver of said overture might not be pleased to know that their friends' visits, calls and well-wishes were less than enthusiastic. We all would like to participate in a world where our interactions with others are always enthusiastic. At least, I would.

Since my early 20's I've wrestled with this, sometimes being extremely diligent with Christmas rites, and other times totally missing friends' birthdays. Some years, I confess, I opted out of Christmas gift-giving, not for mere lack of enthusiasm, but out of revulsion at the idea of giving out of obligation. In my late 20's, I sort of white-knuckled my way through, believing that consistent participation in Christmas rites was a sign of adulthood.

At the same time, I've always sensed that this time, around the winter solstice, has its own kind of magic apart from any religious overtones. It is the darkest time of year, and we can't help but notice some of its effects. We may feel more tired than usual and/or crave quiet times at home, watching movies or snuggling under a cozy blanket. We crave bright lights and music, but we also crave simplicity and peace. We experience more than ever the paradoxical desire for the comforts of the world, and the strength of being at peace with stillness, darkness, and uncertainty. We want to celebrate at one moment, and meditate the next.

In ancient pagan religions, the solstice was a time to honor the darkness as well as the return of the sun. We carry this tradition in some ways today, as we kindle fires and Christmas lights as a reminder of brighter days to come. We look back over the year, as this is a natural time to pause and remember the past. We remember those who have come and gone from our lives, and how we ourselves have changed and grown.

I imagine many people feel this, to varying degrees, and I think they must because it is reflected in our yearly traditions. As for me, I do feel drawn to connect to old friends, new friends, and relatives this time each year. It is dark now, and cold, and I want to ask them, "how are you? Has the year treated you well? How does this darkness feel to you? And what do you hope for in the year to come?" As I write my Christmas cards I let my heart speak these messages. And before I know it, my stack of cards is done, ready to be sent out. These are not just obligatory pieces of paper; they are a token signifying that we have thought about each other, that we are connected, even - nay, especially - in the darkest times.

Pointing at the Moon

Since summer 2013, I've been blogging under Dear Americans, a record of my move to Canada from the U.S.. But I've been recording my thoughts about the mind-body connection, embodied spirituality, and living well for 15 years. As a sensual and creative person, who comes from a reserved, intellectual, and accomplishment-focused family, I was driven by a need to reconcile these two parts of myself. In my late 20's, I was busy obtaining a Master's Degree in Counseling, teaching yoga, working fulltime, and dealing with an autoimmune disease that affected my body and mind. Last year, I got married and moved to Canada, and am now on a sort of compulsory vacation. While I'm waiting for my immigration papers, I've done some reading about neuroscience and how the brain is affected by diet, lifestyle, sex, hormones, and mindful practices. While I'm not intending to dispense advice here, I am very excited to see that the connection between the mind and body is finally being understood, and I look forward to sharing both my personal experience, creative writing, and the exciting tidbits I find.

"Pointing at the Moon" comes from a Buddhist tale about a man who asked a nun to read a sacred text to him. The nun questioned the man's ability to understand its meaning, since he was, after all, illiterate. He replied, "the words are like a finger pointing at the moon. But the finger is not the moon. To look at the moon, it is necessary to gaze beyond the finger." I like this idea of spirituality as being intuitive, something best experienced first hand with our senses. I also like its reference to the Moon, because the moon is a symbol of feminity, and female cycles have been important to my spiritual and creative growth. According to ancient traditions, the feminine force is the material world, including nature's beauty and cycles, sexual power, and the body, in all its beauty and limitation. While Western Judeo-Christian culture tends to overlook the sacredness of the physical world, many of us are turning back to the body's wisdom and finding peace in nature. We are coming to believe that revering the body and nature, and taking solace therein, may be the key to restoring balance to our greed-driven society.

Coming into alignment with the body's wisdom, the power of gratitude, the rhythms of nature... these are powerful tools. Not just because of how they might help us in our individual search for health and happiness, but because through that search, we seem to become more generous, balanced, and thoughtful, and more part of a harmonious whole. Through the abundance of peace and soothing we can find within, we can feel less and less of a need to find it through consumerism, ambition, or aggression, as is the cultural norm.

This is not to say that Christianity, intellectualism, or straight-up Zen meditation are not good ways to find balance. My blog focuses on physical and emotional techniques, mostly because they're part of my own journey, but also because I believe there is a vacuum of information out there. While it has improved dramatically since the 1960's, sexual and emotional health still carry stigma and are kept under unnecessary wraps of secrecy and taboo. Much of this is for sheer lack of knowledge. Pointing at the Moon is one more voice to remove the secrecy, one voice in the movement towards a happy, whole expression of being human, warts and all.