Melanie's blog

The Body is Unreliable

Saturday, May 16 2015

The longer I practice, the more I learn, the body is unreliable. 

The body fails me.  It lets me down.  We use the body in yoga, to know more deeply, that we are not the body.  For the last year, I have been healing from an injury I incurred from an adjustment in Dwi Pada Sirsana (second series pose where you are sitting upright with both legs crossed behind the head). I was in a large class working on lifting my legs up to put them behind my head and the assistant was helping me settle them in place.  Once my legs were in place, she pulled down on my feet.  I immediately felt a shot of pain from my left occiput to my left SI joint. Upon coming out of the pose, I experienced intense pain in my lower back on the left side.  I am still feeling that pain, and more than that, I am still limited in my abilities to enter certain poses because of the injury. 

For the last year I've had to change my practice and relearn my limitations.  I've had to get to know myself again without the ability to be comfortable in many of the poses.  Even some of the simplest primary series poses have been a struggle for me.  For the last year, I have not been able to do any of the first or second series poses with extreme back bends, like Kapottasana, or deep hip openers like Tittibasana or Eka Pada Janu Sirsasana.  Describing this experience as humbling, doesn't even begin to touch the surface of what it has been like.

Why?

I have questioned yoga on all levels: my practice, my teaching, my purpose, my future.  I have almost come to accept that my body is forever changed and that these poses are in the past. 

I started practicing yoga in 1992 because of the pain from my scoliosis - I was trying to heal my body.  What I understand now, is that yoga couldn't straighten my spine, but it did help me stay pain free for many, many years and decrease the severity of my curve.  Because of my scoliosis, when I received the adjustment in Dwi Pada, instead of being helped by the pushing down on my feet (like it would with someone who had a straight spine) it instead compressed my thoracic and lumbar, spraining my posas, SI joint and thoracic spine.  The physical therapist I saw, said it was like my spine had been aged by 20 years because of the scoliosis and the impact of the adjustment.  The adjustment was like pressing on an accordion.

Adjustments are a very important part of practicing.  It is of the utmost importance that when doing an adjustment, that the teacher sees the student and not the pose.  Seeing the student allows the teacher to understand the uniqueness of each individual in the pose.  Seeing the pose can result in injury and an inability to understand the process.

Secret

I am realizing that I have been trying to hide this secret and hoping that no one notices my scoliosis, that I have physical limitations which impact my ability to do certain yoga poses, that I live in a body that is crooked. 

And yet, scoliosis began my yoga journey. 

Not long ago, when I was practicing, I broke down in tears because of my limitations.  I got down on my hands and knees and said out loud, "I give up. I quit." 

Dre came into the room and asked, "What are you quitting?"

I said, "Teaching, yoga, practicing, everything."

She simply said, "No you're not.  You'd never do that.  You can't, it's your life."

I am limited

And so here I am, still practicing, still teaching, still on this path of delving into myself, my vulnerability and yes, my limitations.  When I saw the x-rays of my spine, I was shocked. It is true. My curve is real and it is in the center of my body. The PT said, my "S" curve looks worse, but it is actually my "C" curve that is doing the most damage right now.  My sacrum is pressing into my lumbar and causing instability and pain daily.  "Ouch!"

Once again I am humbled and without a plan.  There is no fixing my spine.  There is no fixing my practice.  There is no fixing anything.  I am left with myself and my breath.

The breath is dependable

The breath is more dependable than the body.  It comes.  It goes.  Over and over again, inhale, exhale, without even thinking.  I have only one choice, to come back to the breath.  This is a breathing practice after all, and all I have to do is follow it.  The breath will come and go until death.  The body, will go, more than it comes, as I age.  The body will continue to let me down as I age.  The breath, however, I can count on as long as I'm living.  If I'm breathing, I'm doing the most important part.  I tell myself this.  I hear my voice say it in class. 

I've said it at least a thousand times when I teach, "the breath is the most important part of the practice, everything else is extra."

Om Shanti

Returning from Caz

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

On Sunday we arrived back home from our annual trek to Cazadero Family Performing Arts Camp.  Ideally it would be a slow re-entry back into the real world, back into daily living with computers, driving, texting, screens, working, cooking, teaching . . . but for most of us, myself included, the re-entry has not been slow at all.  Alas, students are waiting; emails need to be returned; work has to be completed; dinner has to be made . . . 

We love Caz

Going to Caz is definitely our favorite time of the year.  For two weeks Noah, Ren and I are together exploring new things, taking risks, playing, laughing, making new friends, eating wonderful food, listening to amazing music, having so much fun, all underneath the redwoods.  We go for two weeks because I teach yoga for both sessions. This year Dre came for Session B and stayed for the week.  What an honor to watch her sing in the gospel and a capela choirs.

Caz is a place that fully supports the human spirit.  It is a place that children, grandchildren, aunts, uncles, friends, parents, partners, and teachers all live together in community for a week.  You can take classes in drumming, guitar, ukelele, sewing, drawing, painting, circus arts, yoga, hooping, capeiora, dancing, singing, writing, theatre, creek walks, kid city, arts & crafts, piano, photography, taiko, and so much more. 

 

 

 

 

Teaching Yoga

For two weeks I teach yoga:  morning stretch, yoga flow, ashtanga & yoga/hula hooping with Kaye.  Each time I come back, I am overwheled by the gratitude of the students I get to teach.  They are of all ages (from 6 to 75) and of varying yogic abilities.  We settle in amidst the dirt, music, chatter, noise, trees, doubt, hope and cold mornings.  Some of the students already have a connection to yoga in their lives, but for some of them, this is the yoga that carries them through the year.

The students seem forever changed by the connection to their bodies they experience - many of them tell me what a difference this yoga practice at Caz has made in their lives.  They tell me about getting into yoga at home; about standing straighter; about being pain-free, about feeling amazed at what their bodies can do when they are not being judged.  I am truly blessed.

My practice while I'm at Caz is one of letting go of what it looks like from the outside and being with what immerges, what needs to immerge, and not what should immerge.  "It's a beutiful thing" as Libby always says.  And it is. That is what we are all doing together in this majical place - being with what is.

Soulful Connection

Even more amazing, than the classes themselves and the opportunity to learn new things, is something that can't fully be put into words.  It's a feeling, a soulful, connected feeling, that can be experienced while there.  People hang out together, talking, laughing, playing music, sharing meals and no one gets pulled away by a text or a phone call.  In fact, on site there is no internet connection and no cell phone service.  There is a land line that can be used to call on when needed, but nothing comes in on a device.  Children of all ages, included teenagers, are talking to each other.  No one is looking at a small screen.  When questions arise, someone actually has to figure it out or accpet not knowing, because google is not available.  Instead of seeking outside help, here people rely on each other for problem solving and support.

 

There are so many things that make Caz special:  the campers, the staff, the kitchen team, the redwood trees, the music, the smell, the dirt, and for me espeically - spending two weeks with my children.  Because I share custody of my children, we spend part of every week apart.  Caz gives a chance to settle into a rhythm together, surrounded by community, while being together.  It is a fantastic way to spend our time.

As we were leaving on Sunday to head back to Berkeley, Noah said he was already counting down the days until next summer at Cazadero.  "Two weeks, Mama!  We have to always go for two weeks!"

Thank you to all of the people who make Caz possible:  Joelle, Libby, the Board, the fantastic staff of teachers, all of the people who help with set up and clean up, all of the families who attend, the kitchen staff, and the people at home who support us to go.

Until next year . . .

Om Shanti

The Yoga of Baseball and Softball

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

I parent like I teach yoga - calmly, directly, boldy, with a lot of reasurrance and strength.  I don't make a big deal about what is expected, but I expect a lot.  I talk in an even tempered voice most all of the time and I make a lot of space for the individual. It's such a privilege to do both of these things.  I wouldn't trade either of them.

I watch my children playing sports very differently.  I yell; I'm loud; I am not consistent or calm.  The upside is that I am almost always encouraging and am definitely still direct.  It's been an interesting process to watch this side of myself emerge on the sidelines of Noah's baseball games and Ren's softball games.  Most often I'm keeping track of the pitch count at Noah's games and keeping score at Ren's games.  I always know what is going on, who is winning, who's pitching, who's doing what.  I'm not even competitive (usually). I have made my life about yoga - a tangile, physical, intense practice that is not about winning, being good, or getting anywhere.  This practice is what grounds me in this human body.

Something about my child being on the field changes everything.  It's not even that I care if they win.  I mean, don't get me wrong, I want them to win so I can see that grin on their face, but it doesn't really matter to me.  Ren's team doesn't even tell the kids the score and they never know who's winning or losing. 

No, it's not about the winning - it's about watching them in their bodies, really in their bodies, and finding their strength.  It's about being their biggest fan out in the bleachers and wanting them to succeed for the sake of learning something and getting better at it.  It's about the anticipation of what might happen next.

 

I have yet to find the yoga of baseball and softball in my spectatorship.  I keep telling myself before each game to keep my mouth shut, to turn off the vritti, to breathe deeply each time Noah's behind the plate catching, or Ren is playing first base.  And then moments later, I find myself yelling:

"Be ready Yankees (Noah's team)."

"This one is yours Bumblebees (Ren's team)." 

"Throw it in the glove."

"Smack the snot out of the ball."

"Move faster Noah."

"Keep your eye on the ball Ren." 

And once again, I've been loud, and a little unruly, and I am rooting not only for my children, but for every child on their team.  Ren has a game tomorrow, I will begin again . . .

Om Shanti

The practice is your best teacher

Friday, December 7, 2012

  

Of all the teachers, your practice is the best teacher of them all (DK).  It is the truest reflection back in the mirror.  It is the teacher who greets you in the dim light of the morning when no one else is watching.  It is the reflection of the heart and body.  It bares the truth, when we care to see.  It bares the truth even when we are looking off somewhere else.  It keeps us honest.

Daily practice

For this reason, daily practice (whether at home or in the shala, whether asana or sitting) is essential.  If we practice here and there, we might get caught up in the difficulty, the ease, the ego, the story, and miss out on the true teaching.

Every day we must get on the mat and take the arms over head and see what follows.  Even if this is all that gets done, the truth will be revealed; we will begin to see that we are not our thoughts and that are thoughts are not the truth. 

Yoga Sutras, Book 1:12-1:14, discusses this idea - by cultivating practice and non-attachment, we begin to control the thoughts;  practice is the effort toward stillness and steadiness and it only becomes well-grounded in the truth when continued with reverent devotion and without interruption over a long period of time.

Without interruption over a long period of time - that is our best teacher - because that is what it takes.

My practice

I practice every day, without fail.  Sometimes that means one and half hours, even when my to do list is the size of Australia and I am grumpy.  Sometimes it means sitting still on my mat and falling in love with the breath.  Sometimes it means 10 sun salutations, because that is all the exhale I can spare.  Sometimes it means I practice for 2 and a half hours and experience love, fear, exhaustion, bliss, and relief.  In my opinion, the merit of the practice is not based on anything fancy or long, it is simply based on the reverent devotion to practice.

On Tuesday, Dena gave me the preparation for a new pose.  On Wednesday, she officially gave me the pose - pose one of third series or Advanced practice (depending on who you ask).  In the eventual pose, the body is in side plank with one leg lifted up, while holding onto the big toe with the first and second fingers.  Core strength, arm strength, flexible hamstrings and balance all come into play in this dynamic asana.  Sheesh.  I approach it the same way I have done all new poses.  I fall down.  I crash.  I get back up.  I try again.  I wobble.  I laugh.  I question.  I laugh some more.  I breathe.  I say thank you.

Om Shanti

And that I reckon, is the best I can do

Thursday, December 6, 2012

desire is to miss

to miss is to long

to long

is too long

without you     poem by gyan, Bear in Mind, 2012

Night out on the town

Tonight I went to a poerty reading of sorts.  The woman who owns the boatshed, the little one room studio I've been staying in during my time in Bryon Bay, is a talented singer, songwriter and author.  She invited me to the book launch of her new book Bear in Mind.  It was lovely. 

Tonight is the only time I've been out in the evening during my trip here.  By choice, I've gone to bed early and arisen with the sun (and the chirping, howling, singing birds).

This poem spoke to me.  My trip is about half way through and I'm beginning to feel the pull for home.  The longing to be back with children in arms, students on yoga mats, and love nearby.

Missing creates a deep ache inside of me.  An ache I welcome.  An ache I am grateful for.  It lets me know there is something worth cominng home to.  I welcome it, because on some level, I know it is temporary.

It always comes back to the yoga . . .

Luckily, I have the privelege of coming home to myself every time I step on my yoga mat.  That is what Dena offers me through her teaching - a place that welcomes without judgment.  This trip has reminded me of the freedom of letting go; the freedom that comes from forgiving instead of judging; the freedom that comes from NOT contorting around someone else's needs; the freedom that comes from undoing.

Freedom is what many of us seek on this path.  Freedom from suffering.  Quieting the mind long enough to have a love affair with the breath, long enough to still the relentless thoughts that keep coming and coming.  Those brief moments, when pratyahara is realized (as fleeting as it may be), and we recede from the distraction of the senses, and into the land of stillness, we begin to taste this freedom.

The cemetery

The other day I spent two hours walking around the East Ballina Cemetery.  I was fascinated by all of the stories, the goodbyes, the grief, the longing, the force with which we love.  I knew no one in this cemetery, and yet I could feel the loss of loved ones.  As I walked through the graves, reading many of the tombstones, I found myself thinking that nothing prevents this part of life.  No matter how much yoga I do, how graciously and compassionately I live my life, the end will come.  One day I will wake up and it will be my last. 

As I reread Gyan's poem, I wonder if her poem was about losing her mum.  I know her mom died when she was young.  I wonder if she's been aching for her mother throughout her life. I know that ache.  Not of a mother.  But, I know the deep ache of missing someone who is never coming back.  The loss that leaves a gap.

Many people in my life:  students, friends, family, have experienced loss recently.  What do we do with that grief?  That loss?  How do we create a place for it to live without taking us with it?  Can we use the breath and the body to feel the pulse and vibration?  Can we sit near the ocean to know life continues on?

Attachments

I admit, I am truly attached to my life.  I am attached to making it back to Berkeley safely and enveloping Noah and Ren into my arms.  I am attached to kissing my partner's smile when I get off the plane.  

I make my living teaching yoga.  I am dependent on people wanting to transform.  It is a huge gift and honor to impart the knowledge of prana and asana and pranayama and dharana . . .  to others.  I make sense of it like this:  helping others evolve into their best selves and creating a place for people to arrive as they are, creates a bit of longevity.  So, even when I am not on this earth, even when I am long gone, hopefully there will be gardens growing from all the seeds I've seen planted and helped to water.  And that I reckon, is the best I can do.

Om Shanti

I Begin When I Am Scared

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Byron Bay, Australia

What if the doorway is not through struggle and effort?   What if softness and letting go lead us through the door?  What is so scary about letting go? 

What are you scared of?  Pause here for a moment.  Breathe  deeply.  Ask again.  Ask yourself, “Self, what am I scared of?”  Over and over again keep asking this question.  If you come up with nothing, chances are you are not fully alive.

I feel my feet at the front of my mat and breathe.  “Vande Gurunam Caranaravinde . . .”  Tapping into this ancient source I begin.  I inhale my arms over head and exhale release my spine and head toward my legs.  I inhale lengthen my spine and lift my heart.  I exhale back into chaturanga.  In this way, every day, I begin my practice.  

I begin when I am scared.  I begin when I am open. I begin when I am lonely.   I begin when my body feels like singing.  I begin when my body feels like crying.  I begin when I am in love.  I begin when I am heartbroken.  I begin when I am in Berkeley.  I begin when I am in Byron Bay.  The same way - with the same beloved breath, I begin.

Dena asked me on day two what I wanted her help with during my time here.  I told her I wanted her help to keep walking through, and working with, my fear. 

“Ok,” she said.  She didn’t ask what I was scared of - whether it was a particular asana or a particular situation in life.

Today in practice, my body felt good.  It was a day of pure song - steady, solid, focused, and free.   That is until, I began to approach kapotasana.  My heart started to race and I could feel Dena’s eyes upon me.  “Here it is,” I thought.  “This is what you asked for.  This is what you are scared of.  Clearly she knows.”  I have come to peace with this pose when I am practicing at home.  In this moment, I realize that it is no longer the pose in and of itself that scares me.  It’s the adjustment in the pose that scares me.  In this pose you are lifting up on your knees.  You backbend, reaching your arms up and back.  Ultimately placing your head on the ground and your hands on your feet.  For me, it is the most vulnerable asana that I have experienced - to have my heart fully exposed while my head sets on the ground and my hands cover my feet, and then to have someone come and place their hands on me. 

As I was trying to settle my mind and heart and ground through my knees and the tops of my feet, Dena arrived at the front of my mat.  “Let’s see what you got” she said.  I inhaled my arms up overhead and then exhaled them back as slowly as i could while lengthening through my waist.  She said, “breath!”  She took my hands and moved them to my heels and held them there.  “Breath!” she emphasized. 

“One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .  five.  Straighten your arms.  One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .  five.  Come up.” 

At that point I began swimming in the tumultuous sea. I was somewhere under water.  I knew she was saying something else, but I could no longer hear her.  I stayed incredibly still.  I looked up and she was helping someone in another pose and she looked at me.  I said, “I know you told me to do something, but I didn’t understand you.”  She said, “I know.  Just wait.” 

She came over to my mat again and told me to do three urdhva danurasanas (full backbends) and then do two more kapotasanas.  I felt like I was going to vomit. I felt like my heart was going to take flight and leap from my body.  I’m pretty sure I cursed her in my mind.  I told her my back hurt.  She said, “like there is a catch or like there is a deep, deep ache?” 

“A deep ache,” I said. 

“Oh, that’s ok.  That’s good.  Three back bends and then two more kapotasanas.”

After my three back bends, there she was at the front of my mat again.  I was hoping to do these next two kapotasanas solo.  But, to no avail, she was there helping me again.  She looked into my eyes before the last one and said, “this one will be the easiest, because now you are completely warmed up.”

When my practice was over and I lay in savasana, I felt incredibly alive.  The question came into my mind,     “What are you scared of?”  “What are you scared of?”  Answers began to spill forth as tears streamed steadily from my eyes.  

It occurs to me that I keep trying as hard as I can to let go, but what if the doorway is not through struggle and effort?  What if the letting go is not through doing, but rather undoing.  What if it is as soft and effortless as the tears flowing down my cheeks?

Om. Shanti.

 

Byron Bay

Thursday, November 29, 2019

Byron Bay Australia

It is 10:30 am on Thursday, November 29th in Byron Bay.  It is 3:30 pm on Wednesday, November 28th in Berkeley, CA.  From the time I left my house in Berkeley on Sunday to head to the airport, to the time I arrived in Byron Bay at the boat shed (the little one room studio where I am staying on Beachcomber Dr.) it was more than 24 hours of travel, plus the loss of a day due to the 19 hour time change.  I left Berkeley on a Sunday and arrived in Byron Bay late on a Tuesday.

My journey in this lifetime, continues to be one of walking through fear.   This is the first time I’ve traveled solo.  The first time I have traveled away from my children half-way across the world.  The first time I figured it all out. The thing about fear is, once you move to the other side - there is this feeling of empowerment waiting.  Getting here to Byron Bay this time reminded me of the journey of my second birth.  The path is a familiar one because I’ve been here before, but at the same time I’ve never done it this way.  The last time I was here in Byron Bay was almost exactly three years ago.  I was here with my children and my ex-partner.  We came here as a family, even though we were living in two homes and ending a relationship. 

Just like giving birth to my daughter Ren, this journey was familiar and yet so incredibly different.  During my pregnancy with her and preparation for childbirth, I wanted two things.  I wanted to let go of everything, so that I could not push for three hours and I wanted to stay with myself and birth her with full awareness of my body and her body.  Birth was familiar because I’d given birth to my son and yet it was still the complete unknown because I’d never given birth to Ren.

Leading up to this trip, I was overcome with anxiety about so many things.  Anxiety about leaving Noah and Ren and traveling so far away; traveling alone; arriving to see my teacher broken (I injured my wrist  badly); leaving my students and the yoga studio in Berkeley; leaving my girlfriend; primarily, I was scared of the ultimate loss of control - death.  What if I died on this trip and left everything behind?

Just as in childbirth, this trip felt like I was on my way to the ultimate loss of control - in birthing this very important part of myself.  I’m not completely sure what this part is, but I feel it emerging and blossoming into something.

And so it is with all of my imperfectness that I arrive on my mat at The Yoga Shala in Byron Bay with Dena.  In true Dena fashion, we began our practice this morning with a sit.  Unlike Mysore practice in the States, where students begin their practice as they arrive.  At Dena’s studio, we all begin together with a sit.  Dena invites us to take part in Swadhyaya (self-study).  We move from the thinking room to the quiet room and begin the love affair with the beloved breath.  In and out.

She talks about the many obstacles in our path that we will undoubtedly encounter over and over and over again.  These obstacles and pit falls are part of the practice; part of being human.  We can not control their arrival or departure.  We can only control our attitudes.  We can choose the attitude we take towards everything.

It is really that simple. 

After a bit of pranayama, we commenced our practice with the opening chant.  For two hours I practiced.  I felt steady and took good care of my injured wrist.  I held back a little and stayed in, focused, and strong.  Nothing fancy.  Nothing amazing.  Just me and my yoga mat.

Today was unlike three years ago when Dena helped me with karandavasana over and over again and was on me not to “drop the baby.”  Three years ago she said, “ok, imagine you have a baby in your arms and it is small and slippery.  You can’t drop it.  If your butt hits the ground, then you’ve dropped the baby.  Don’t drop the baby.” 

In karandavasana, you begin in forearm balance (pincha mayurasana) and place your legs in lotus.  With the legs in lotus, you lower the knees into the armpits while balancing on the forearms.  The butt stays off the ground and you hover there for five breaths.  Then, you take the legs back up into pincha mayurasana and then lower into chaturanga. 

Today, while I was lowering, my lotus knees into my armpits, Dena came over and lightly helped me balance and hover for one, two, three, four, five breaths.  Today was another day that I would keep hold of that small slippery baby.  I’m curious to see what happens when she watches, instead of helps, and how in the world I will ever be able to get back up into pincha mayurasana by myself. 

Because of my injured wrist I had to modify some postures and back off a little.  Today that felt good.  Today I was able to meet myself within my limits, without forcing anything.  Today I held onto my truth and let go of the place I am trying to get.  Because really, what even happens when we get there and where are we going anyway?   

Om. Shanti.
     

Day Two

Monday, November 5, 2012

Woke up this morning and warmed my sesame oil infused with lavendar and began the long strokes of the abyanga massage.  Paused and took some long deep breaths.  Drank my digestive tea with ghee, made my kitchari for the day and rushed off to teach yoga to fourth graders.  I was able to pause many times this morning since I woke up early.  Somehow once the oil was rinsed off in a hot shower my day started moving more quickly.   I was running late and needed to be out the door.

Even so, I thoroughly enjoed the moment of massaging oil into my body and the 20 minutes of waiting before I could rinse it off.  Each of my days is incredibly full with little time to pause.  This cleanse always reminds me to check in with myself and see if there is anything I can do differently.  Because there are no substances to ingest to dull the emotions which arise, I am left to simply notice them, notice myself, and be with them.

Sometimes it feels like there is nothing that a smoothie from Cafe Gratitude can't solve, or a soy chai latte, or a piece of salted dark chocolate.  Oh how my mind is craving.  The teaching that I have learned over and over from my yoga practice is "no craving; no aversion."  Of course, as soon as the cleanse begins I notice how much I crave for these things, because I have eliminated them.

Not only does this cleanse give me a chance to recognize the ingestible things I crave, but also the desire to be happy, satiated and energized.  This is the way I feel most comfortable in my body. 

I feel good and free and clear today.  For now I am able to pay attention to the craving and let it pass without much effort.  For now I am able to enjoy the way my body feels without sugar, dairy, meat, alcohol, caffeine, and processed foods.  For now I am able to honor the sadness or anger that emerges from deep down.

For now I am at peace.

Om Shanti.

 

Fall Cleanse

Saturday, November 3, 2012

Tomorrow will be the first day of my annual Fall cleanse.  Cleansing the body of toxins, sugar, alcohol, caffeine, refined and processed foods helps the physical body work better:  boosts the immune system, supports the digestive system, in particular the small intestine, supports liver function, aids in metabolism, resets the palette, removes allergens, etc.  More importantly, it cleanses the mind by creating a simple diet without distraction.

The daily decisions about what to eat, where to eat, and what to cook are eliminated.  Instead, these things are already decided upon.  On this cleanse, based in the Ayurvedic tradition, the main diet is kitchari (or sometimes spelled kitchidi).  It is a simple diet of mung beans, basmati rice, ghee, cilantro and spices.  There are also optional snacks of sunflower seeds and a digestive yogurt takra.  Before each meal the digestive fire is increased by drinking warm liquid, most often ginger tea or a digestive tea with cumin, corriander, fennel and licorice root.

Each morning begins with a self-massage of warm sesame oil (http://www.chopra.com/abhy) to help with the cleansing process.  Aside from the myriad of benefits of this self-massage, it just plain feels good and is an incredibly noroushing way to start the day.  While the oil soaks in the body, there is a chance for slowing down and drinking a cup of ghee tee (tea with a tsp of ghee in it).  After about 20 minutes a warm shower is taken to help the rest of the oil penetrate into the skin and do its magic.

More than anything about the cleanse, I like the way it slows me down and creates space in my life.  My body feels sacred and my mind feels incredibly clear.  Typically on day four however, I start to get a little tired of the same meal over and over again.  At this point my mind takes over.  Even though my body is receiving very nutrious food and doesn't actually need anything, my mind begins to need chocolate.  Every time I cleanse, it's always chocolate that I want.   I am usually able to wait it out, add more spices to my food, eat an extra sunflower seed snack, and stay steady.

Eating is such a primal experience. When we remove the ability to eat out of reaction, boredom, and habit, often emotions arise.  Sometimes I feel grumpy or rebellious about this feeling of restriciton, and want to say _ _ _ _ this.  More times than not, I hold steady, drop into my breath, and continue on to the end because I know how important it is to investigate and process whatever it is that arises.

Tomorrow begins the cleanse.  We'll see how I feel when I'm in the midst of it. 

Om Shanti.

 

Milo

My practice carries me into all parts of life, showing me the way forward. 

When there is doubt, it teaches me to turn within and trust the universe. 

When there is suffering, it teaches me to move from the mind into the body and feel my feet on the ground and know that I am doing my purpose. 

When there is joy, it teaches me to be right in the middle of it without attachment. 

When there is pain, it teaches me not to crave the joy, but instead settle into my limitations and know that all is temporary anyway.

These lessons I have to learn over and over again on and off my mat.  That is why daily practice is so important, because once in a while practice, is not enough to have the lessons infused into the psyche.  The mind is always looking for the easy way through it all.  And yet, this same mind is the one that causes all suffering. 

The ashtanga system is based on practicing daily:  during times of doubt, suffering, joy, pain, birth, death, ease and difficulty.  I roll out my mat between the rug and dogs and fireplace; I roll out my mat amidst my children and girlfriend talking to me and asking me questions; I roll out my mat even when I don't have time.  It is never perfect; it is rarely quiet; it is almost never warm enough.  I lift my arms over my head and inhale right in the middle of my life and exhale, folding forward, letting it all go.

Right now I practice beside Milo, my dear beloved dog whose life is fading.  He's fourteen.  My first child.  He's part Basset Hound and part Terrier.  He's a king.  He gives of himself without expectation and wags his tail endlessly and sheds with abundance.  We love him so very much and he is dying.

We will love him up until he takes his last breath.  He has been with me through life's biggest moments:  birth, death, divorce, moving, falling in love, unfolding, growing, aging, without every judging any of it.  There are so many of us who will miss him dearly.

I can't imagine practicing without him next to me.

And yet I will continue to practice:  inhale, exhale, extend, contract, open, close, bind, let go, rise, fall, life, death . . . Ren and Noah have already asked what he will be in his next life and how we will know when it is time.  Noah has already been through the death of Midnight, Gepetto, and Traci.  We love so fully even though we know nothing is permanent.  I guess that is what makes loving so profound, because we do it no matter what.

Somehow I keep feeling inspired to live and love fully, to stay open even when I want to shut it all down, and keep inhaling for as long as I can.

Om Shant.