Insanity kicked my asana

Four weeks ago I started the Insanity workouts. During those four weeks I never missed a workout, and followed the six-day-a-week workout calendar exactly. I'll be taking my measurements next week, at the end of "recovery week" (also known as "the week in which the daily workout makes my thighs long for the good old cardio recovery days"), but I am starting to notice the changes in my body.

I have to confess that I haven't kept up my yoga practice during the last month. With a 30-40 minute workout to squeeze in, my mornings are pretty tight. I take a class when I can, but my meditative morning practice has been replaced with lots of jumping around. I was feeling a bit guilty about that, until I made an interesting discovery:

Insanity pushed my asana practice up a notch.

Shaun T is pretty serious about stretching, so I'm not surprised that, after four weeks of daily hamstring stretches, I'm more open than I was. The Insanity workouts are also very core-focused, so, despite the lack of an obvious six-pack, I might be stronger after the first month. It turns out the two ganged up on me.

Navasana is an excellent core-strengthening pose, and I can hold it comfortably as long as I keep my knees bent. My hamstrings are too tight to achieve the straight-legged version, and I never even imagined experiencing the beautiful variation where you draw your legs and upper body closer together. It turns out I might have been a bit hasty in accepting my limitations.

Last Saturday I spent a couple of hours bellydancing with some ladies from the yoga studio. Later that evening I unrolled my mat to stretch a bit. I don't know why I thought to try it, but I ended up here:

This picture was taken today, which means I can still do it, two days later. It wasn't just one of those freak yoga things.

Thank you, Shaun T, for the yoga breakthrough. I'll forgive you for all those mornings when your workouts kicked my asana.

Making my Niyama Case for Virgosity

Don't  move my salt shaker. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Don't bother googling "virgosity." It's a word my husband made up to describe my extreme Virgo-ness. I don't know what it is about being born during late August or most of September, but everyone I know who was born under the astrological sign of Virgo has the same catch-phrase. It is "Don't move my stuff."

My husband coined the term "virgosity" to explain behaviors that to his Leo brain seem completely irrational, like sliding the salt shaker a half-inch to the right so it will be exactly where it belongs, or arranging candle holders so they will be in a perfect non-linear scatter. After I've had some alone time at the yoga studio, the classes arrive to find all the blankets folded identically and stacked with all the fringe facing the same way, a specific number in each stack.

Lucky for me and all my fellow Virgo yogis and yoginis, Patanjali justified our virgosity in the Yoga Sutras, right there in the list of Niyamas. Number one on the list is Shaucha, which is purity or cleanliness. Shaucha refers to both your external environment and, being yoga, what's going on in that mind of yours.

We know that a cluttered mind creates obstacles to the practice of yoga, whether it's asana, meditation, self-study or one of the other branches. What makes this Virgo heart sing is the acknowledgement that a cluttered or dirty environment also creates those obstacles. Maybe it's just me, but I have a hard time focusing on work when my desk hasn't been cleared off, as I learned the hard way when I allowed it to get out of control. I have never been satisfied with an asana practice surrounded by piles of laundry.

You can do lots of things to purify the body and clear the mind, but your breakthrough might be stalled under a stack of dirty dishes. The simplicity of life when everything is in its place can free up energy for the internal work.

And if you don't know the exact place for your salt shaker, it's time to make friends with a Virgo.

A shower, my thighs and Ahimsa #365Yoga

A guy rocking Scorpion Pose (Photo credit: FabulousTerrah)

Yesterday, after I finished Insanity Cardio Recovery (a.k.a. the "slow, painful death of my thighs" workout), I was thinking about whether or not a painful workout went against the "nonharming" principle of yoga. I was standing in the shower at the time, and I was also wondering how a non-cardio workout could have made me sweat so much, so don't expect anything too deep and philosophical here.

Ahimsa, usually translated as nonharming or nonviolence, is the first of the Yamas in Patanjali's Yoga Sutras. The Yamas teach us how to control our personal conduct when dealing with others. In its simplest terms, the principle of Ahimsa asks us to not hurt anyone. But, if it's part of the code of ethics for dealing with others, does it allow us to hurt ourselves?

I've heard yoga teachers point out Ahimsa as the reason we shouldn't push too hard during an asana practice. "Show compassion for yourself!" "There's no pain in yoga!" "Stay within your edge!" I've said these things myself. They are yoga teacher language for "Please don't get hurt in my class." I have to wonder, however, how the guy rocking Vrischikasana never pushed past his edge while learning how to get there. And if he was sore for awhile, like I was when I was regularly working on scorpion pose, did he feel un-yogi-like because he wasn't gentle with his body?

My thighs disagree, but I think using Ahimsa as an excuse not to take reasonable risks with my body takes something away from the Yamas, which are supposed to remind me that it's not, in fact, all about me. The violence we're supposed to be avoiding isn't muscle aches from a good workout, it's the harm we do when we think we're separate from everyone else. It's the pain that we cause whenever we allow differences in race, gender, nationality, religion, living conditions, etc., to create an "otherness" in our thinking. It's the rips in the web of existence that we create every time we come from a place of fear rather than openness.

I'm not advocating recklessness in yoga classes or home practices. We should always practice safely and with intention and awareness, to avoid injuries. I just think we do a disservice to Patanjali when we claim Ahimsa while we're dropping into child's pose but forget to talk about the much deeper commitment nonviolence requires when we step off our mats. After all, Patanjali probably never saw a forearm balance. I know he never checked out Insanity.

Yes, there are awesome yoga teachers out there digging into the Yamas in their classes, but they weren't in the shower with me. It was just me and my thighs, and, Ahimsa or not, we've got another workout tomorrow.

I'm not dead (I don't want to go in the cart)

Sometimes I think that Shaun T, creator of the Insanity workout from Beachbody, is trying to put me in the cart. I'm not dead, though. Not yet, anyway. While the workouts are hard, I'm hanging in there. I haven't missed a day and, I have to say, I think I'm getting better.

What I appreciate the most about the workouts is the stretching that is included every time. I haven't even had to yell at the television because Shaun does a good job with the alignment of the yoga stretches. He's even given me some ideas for Body Shop, a vinyasa-based yoga class I created to include hand weights, resistance bands and some Pilates-inspired core exercises. I enjoy planning and teaching the fusion class and it gives me the opportunity to put my personal trainer credentials to use.

All I have to do is survive the next workout. I think I'll go for a walk.

Don't do this, do this #365Yoga

(Photo credit: GO INTERACTIVE WELLNESS)

There is a saying that if you really want to integrate something, you should teach it to someone else. I've found that to be true, especially with yoga. Then creating and teaching a yoga teacher training program really drove home pieces of yoga philosophy that I had been just flirting with for years.

For the session that just started, I decided to narrow the study of Patanjali's Yoga Sutras into an in-depth look at the Yamas and the Niyamas. As a result, I've been researching how different people interpret and apply yoga's ethical guidelines. Like all of the Sutras, I wonder how best to apply the Yamas and Niyamas in the time we live in.

The five Yamas are yoga's "don't do this" list - "don't harm," "don't lie," "don't steal," etc. The Niyamas lay out five better choices to make, including staying clean, cultivating contentment and exploring your inner self. All ten are at once simple and extremely complex.

While what North America has truly embraced is Hatha Yoga, it is interesting to note that, when Patanjali laid out the eight limbs of yoga, he put the Yamas and the Niyamas first and second. Did he believe that the rules for living needed to be embraced before one was ready to tackle the other limbs? Well, that's a question for a group of yoga teacher trainees in a couple of weeks.

And, Rest... #365Yoga

yoga (Photo credit: GO INTERACTIVE WELLNESS)

After six days of Insanity workouts, there is a rest day, if we can call a day that starts with teaching a 7:00 am yoga class followed by eight hours of teacher training and ends with a 7:00 pm meeting with my Bona Fide Butterflies partner Annie to work on our January women's retreat a rest day.

My body was awake and ready to go ridiculously early. It apparently doesn't see the point of rest days. I was very surprised at how good I felt. There was some minor muscle soreness, noticeable only when I moved in certain ways. My yoga practice felt strong and I was pretty together most of the day.

Of course, it was very uplifting to spend the weekend with the group of incredible people who started their teacher training journey. They are all very different, and collectively different from the last group; each one is unique expression of the divine oneness. Seeing that inner light makes me want to work very hard on their behalf, yet I know the real work is theirs. My work, really, is to show up and unlock the studio door.

And to tackle another Insanity workout. The rest day is over.

Insanity before teacher training #365Yoga

Yesterday's Insanity workout was called "Cardio Recovery." I have renamed it "kill your quads." While it didn't have much cardio, there was a great deal of lower body strengthening. My muscles were burning! Surprisingly, I'm not very sore. A great yoga class on Wednesday along with post-workout Isagenix shakes helped reduce the aches. My energy level is way up. I don't think I've ever been this productive, which is good, because I have a very busy weekend ahead.

My favorite part of last winter was leading a 200-hour yoga teacher training for the first time. Tomorrow I begin again with a new group of trainees. I have heard from some that they are excited about starting the program. I wonder if they are as excited as I am.

Some of the graduates of that first program are teaching at the True North Yoga studio, so I have been able to enjoy their classes and watch them progress as teachers. It is very humbling to notice that their classes contain so much more than the basics I offered them. It reaffirms my belief that good yoga teachers are made on the inside, inspired by and integrated with the great Guru, or whatever you choose to name god/dess, and I am just providing a space for that integration to start.

Even without the extra energy provided by the Insanity workouts, I'd be headed into the weekend filled with excitement, and humility, open to the flow of grace which will guide my teaching. This is for the new teacher trainees. This mind of mine, this body of mine, my every atom is dedicated to you, for the next six months and forever.

False Summits and Forward Bends #365Yoga

The view from one of Noonmark's false summits

Some of our favorite mountains in the Adirondacks High Peaks region, like Baxter, Rooster Comb and Noonmark, tease us with false summits. They appear when we've been walking for what seems like forever, drawing us hopefully on with glimpses of blue sky through thinning trees. There's relief, satisfaction and, often, a beautiful view, all ending abruptly when one of us notices the trail marker beckoning us back into the trees to continue up the trail.

I thought of false summits while leading a yoga class through a series of forward bends. We were working on moving to the edge of the stretch, lengthening our spines when we inhaled, releasing further forward with our exhales. The edge is uncomfortable and, like a false summit, makes you think you've gone as far as you can. Unless you give yourself time and muster up the fortitude to continue on, you'll never know what the view looks like from the top.

For the false summits of our forward bends, we can thank musculotendinous sensory receptors called Golgi tendon organs (GTOs). Through their reflexive actions, the GTOs help to regulate muscle stiffness. Low-force, long-duration static stretching, felt in the hamstrings during Paschimottanasana, brings on a temporary increase in tension as the muscles lengthen, the first "edge" we discover. Don't give up there because, after seven to 10 seconds of holding and breathing, your GTOs activate and the muscle tension temporarily releases. Another exhale and you'll find yourself deeper into the bend.

The muscle quickly reestablishes its stretch threshold and a new edge is reached. You may work through a few before you reach your true edge, provided you can stay patient, focused and breathing smoothly throughout the process. After practicing consistently for a period of weeks or months, the muscles will lengthen more or less permanently, so you'll be able to go further forward before reaching the first edge. As a result, the true summit of your yoga pose keeps getting further away.

The true summits of the Adirondack mountains keep getting further away, too. The Adirondack mountains are still growing, at a rate of about one millimeter per year. Some days, when it seems like we've been walking forever, I'm sure the mountain has gone through a recent growth spurt. Climbing these mountains requires patience, focus and lots of breath.

Seeking Eagles #365Yoga

Photo of a Bald Eagle taken at the Toledo Zoo. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Taped to the wall behind the yoga studio's reception desk is a snapshot of a bald eagle, captured by one of our yoga teacher training graduates. Bald eagles are native to the Adirondacks, although they had to be reintroduced in the 1980s after DDT use in the 1960s all but wiped them out. Now they are spotted throughout the Adirondacks, but, unfortunately, never by me.

I enjoy practicing and teaching Garudasana, known in English as eagle pose. In deference to the presence of America's bird, it seems fitting to wrap arms and legs into the look of a perched eagle at our Adirondack studio. Exclusive to North America, the bald eagle could not have been the intended reference in the Sanskrit name. There are Indian spotted eagles and short-toed eagles, but it is generally agreed that the name honors Vishnu's mount Garuda, a massive half-man, half-eagle known for devouring serpents.

Here in the Adirondack mountains, surrounded by so much of the natural world including the elusive, at least to me, bald eagle, I can't help but bring the spirit of that beautiful bird into my practice of eagle pose, despite its Indian origins. As a shamanic totem, the eagle represents access to higher planes of consciousness. Borrowing the eagle's strong wings and courage, you are free to fly to great spiritual heights.

Being birds, the eagle is associated with air, but they have sturdy legs to walk on the earth and hunt over water, and thus are grounded while seeking spirit and also carry the cleansing energy of water. This is very balanced energy, fitting the balance of eagle pose. Whether on my mat or on a rock, I embrace Adirondack bald eagle energy in Garudasana. Perhaps, after enough practice, I'll finally get to see one.

Calling Ganesha: Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha #365Yoga

Ganesha (Photo credit: bandarji)

Last week, my meditation practice morphed into a mantra practice. I didn't sit with the intention of chanting "So Hum" the whole time I was meditating. It just happened. 

Afterward, it felt like it had been the right thing to do. I repeated it the following day, and the days after that.

Last Saturday, Lisa Devi, during a visit to the Adirondacks, led our New Moon Circle. She welcomed Ganesha, the Hindu elephant-headed god, with the chant "Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha." Ganesha is called at the beginnings of things, perfect for the new moon, to clear obstacles from the path ahead.

Yesterday, instead of "So Hum," my chant was "Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha." Again, I didn't intend it. It just came out. And, again, it felt right, so I repeated the chant today.

The Sanskrit phrase "Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha" means, basically, "Salutations to the remover of obstacles." "Ganapatayei" is another name for the widely-worshipped Ganesha. In addition to removing obstacles, Ganesha is known as a patron of the arts and sciences, and as the deity of intellect and wisdom. 

Why do I feel compelled to ask Ganesha to help me past the obstacles in my life? Perhaps this is part of the letting go I've been doing lately. I'm in the habit of doing too many things, taking on too much, and never asking for help because that felt like weakness. Putting those things that are holding me back into the hands of a deity with four arms and an elephant's head is a small step towards allowing myself some weakness, towards admitting I can't do everything myself. Giving your problems to God, to Ganesha, to the universe, or to whatever your sense of the divine, is the first step in twelve-step programs for good reason. It's very freeing to put obstacles in the hands of a higher power.

I'll send salutations to Ganesha until a new mantra arises or silence returns to my meditation practice. Meanwhile, thanks to Ganesha moving roadblocks from my path.

Exploring Snake Energy: Cobra Pose #365Yoga

English: Indian Spectacled Cobra, Naja Naja Family, one of India's venomous snakes. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes?”

For a good part of my life I echoed Indiana Jones whenever I encountered snakes. My less-than-friendly feelings toward snakes started in ninth grade, when a classmate presented an oral report on their care and feeding, including a demonstration involving his pet snake and a live (for a short time) white mouse. After I crawled out from under my desk, I decided I was very fond of rodents and not at all fond of snakes. I also decided I no longer had a crush on the young man who did the presentation.

Twenty years later, when my daughter held a snake at a petting zoo, I decided it was time to get over my distrust of snakes. I've taken time to learn about snakes and have new respect both for their place in our eco-system and their symbolism. I still jump when one startles me on the trail, but I no longer dislike snakes.

Snakes represent transformation and healing. They are re-created each time they shed their skin. By tapping into snake's energy you can shed the past and emerge into a fresh, new life. Asclepius, the Greek god of medicine, carried a caduceus, a staff with two snakes wrapped around it. The caduceus has become the symbol of modern physicians. If a snake appears in your dream, be on the lookout for new wisdom, healing and changes ahead.

In yoga, snakes represent Kundalini, a Sanskrit word for the sleeping feminine energy thought to be coiled at the base of the spine, waiting to be awakened through asana and meditation. When aroused, Kundalini rises up through the major chakras until it reaches the head, completely transforming the individual along the way.

Practice Bhujangasana, or Cobra pose, to explore the transformative energy of snakes. Lie face down and stretch your legs back, feet hip-width apart, and press the tops of your feet into the floor. Place your hands under your shoulders, fingers spread, and hug your elbows to your sides. Keeping your pelvis pressed into the floor and straightening your arms as you make space to do so, lift your heart. Relax your shoulder blades down your back, draw your lower belly slightly off the floor and lift the top of your sternum. Draw your ears away from your shoulders, lengthening your neck.

You can hold Cobra for a number of breaths or experience snake's movement by rising with each inhale and lowering with each exhale. When the pose feels complete, rest your head on your hands for a few breaths before moving on to a twist.

For the record, although I have made peace with snakes, there are no pet snakes in my house. I'll stick to my bug-eating lizard, and let the cat deal with the rodents.

Let Freedom Ring

English: Fireworks on the Fourth of July (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Bo·he·mi·an  [boh-hee-mee-uhn]  noun

1. a person, as an artist or writer, who lives and acts free of regard for conventional rules and practices.
2. a Gypsy

I suppose it's appropriate on July 4th in the United States to reflect on one of my core values, independence. What does independence mean to me, and how do I cultivate the spirit of independence without packing my hemp backpack and wandering around the lesser populated parts of the country? I've been feeling the pull to wander for a few months, while at the same time treasuring the time I can spend at home. Perhaps, like the day lily that appeared in a previously un-lily-ed part of the garden, my own roots are so firmly planted I am ready to risk spreading out.

I am lucky to have a wonderful life coach to guide me through turbulent times and to remind me to dig deep under the feelings to discover the value I have been living out-of-sync with. That's where the "ah-ha" moments happen. After sitting with hiding under my covers and trying to ignore what seems like such a conflict, followed by a minor meltdown, I began to see how much making space in my life for both home and wandering was going to be necessary.

Am I packing my bag? No. The work I've done around the house lately has made it feel more open, and I feel less trapped. I've made time in my schedule to wander in the woods at least one day a week. I've also taken a deep breath, reminded myself that teaching yoga was never supposed to be a full-time occupation, and accepted that my little yoga studio in our little town will never make me financially independent, leaving me free to stop striving and to focus on serving those whose loyalty keeps the studio sustainable. That is, after all, why I wanted to teach.

Yesterday I finished reading Marianne Elliott's Zen Under Fire. In it, Marianne talks about learning to slow down and drop the high standards she had set for herself, and about finding peace while working as a human rights worker in dangerous, post-U.S.-invasion Afghanistan. As I read her account of her morning yoga practice and how that ritual supported her work, I realized I have neglected my own practice. My yoga practice makes me whole, and when I step into the yoga studio as a whole person I can better serve those who come to me to guide their own practices.

So, if I have been skipping networking events and neglecting to update the studio's website, it is because I have redefined "enough" to give myself freedom to wander my little corner of the earth and explore my own spirit, so that I may serve you well. And, although I haven't packed it yet, I do own a hemp backpack and may someday take off on a bohemian adventure. But only if my house is clean.

Connect with Fire: Candle Gazing Meditation #365Yoga

English: This picture shows the motion of a candle flame. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In honor of the summer solstice, we rebuilt and improved our backyard fire pit, then lit a big bonfire to honor the sun at its peak. Gazing into the fire, watching the flames dance and jump, reminded me of this simple candle-gazing meditation, which can be done anywhere you can safely stand a candle holder.

Find a place where you can sit undisturbed for a few minutes, either on a cushion or blanket on the floor or in a sturdy chair with your feet on the floor. Using a table or other props (yoga blocks or a stack of hardcover books work nicely) position a lit taper or pillar candle in a holder so the flame will be at eye level. You'll want to use a holder which will support the base of the candle and catch any dripping wax, but which won't block your view of the flame.

Find a comfortable seated position and close your eyes for a few moments. Bring your awareness to your breath. Breathe through your nose and lengthen your breath. Notice your thoughts, then let them float away. Notice when you feel centered and present to the flow of your breath.

Gently open your eyes and gaze at the candle flame. Focus your awareness fully on the flame, letting other thoughts drop away. If your attention wavers, bring it back without judgment. Begin to notice all the qualities of the candle flame. Notice the colors. Notice the movement. Become fully absorbed in watching the flame. Blink whenever it is necessary.

With your awareness steady on the flame, notice the thoughts flickering in your mind. Acknowledge any thoughts or feelings that arise, then let them go as you bring your attention back to the flame. Sit with the flame for five minutes, or as long as you are comfortable. Enjoy your connection to the flame.

When your meditation is complete, blink a couple of times, then close your eyes and notice your breath. Take four or five slow, deep breaths, then allow your awareness to return to the room. Open your eyes and return to your day. Be sure to blow out your candle!

Yoga to Walk on the Earth #365Yoga

June got lost in a whirlwind of activity. Actually, I just lied to you. June got lost, but the whirlwind was in my mind so there was no visible activity to speak of. I spent four days at the beginning of June with Laura Cornell at her Overflowing Workshops retreat in northern New Jersey. It was fantastic and I enjoyed both the learning and the connections.

But it started the whirlwind.

At the retreat and at other times, I've been asked why someone would want to take yoga with me, and I never know the answer. People do take my classes, so there must be reasons, but I couldn't say what those reasons are. What I can say for certain is people do not come to me to learn how to do the pretty poses of the uber-flexible. I want people to learn how to walk on the earth with awareness, to fully breathe the air, to experience the fire of transformation and to move like a river, flowing through life with ease and wellness.

Yoga to walk on the earth.  If you hike, at some point you are going to meet a snake. We're lucky here in the Adirondacks because we only have one kind of venomous snake, the shy eastern timber rattler. I've never encountered a rattlesnake, but I've come across a number of his benign cousins sunning themselves on the trail. Every time it goes like this: I don't see them until I startle them into movement, and then the movement startles me and I jump out of my hiking boots. I used to blame the snakes for laying in wait for me, but I've realized that each time it happens I have failed to walk mindfully, failed to be fully present to the act of hiking. When I'm on my yoga mat I practice being aware of where my feet are, and where they are going, and I share that practice with my yoga students, so they can walk mindfully on the earth, whether on a hiking trail or a city sidewalk.

Yoga to breathe the air.  After practicing yoga for eighteen years, I automatically check in with my breath many times a day. As soon as that last sentence formed in my mind I deepened my breath. Breathing fully into my lungs has become so natural that I often have to remind myself that this is not the case for everyone. Pranayama, the practice of breathing exercises, is as important as the asanas as far as I'm concerned. Deep breathing exercises the diaphragm, moderates the stress response and improves focus. Deep breathing also makes me aware of the air itself, and how important it is that we have clean air to breathe. Did you know planting trees was a yoga practice?

Yoga to experience the fire of transformation.  If you've been following my blog you know that yoga has created profound change in my life. If you practice yoga, sooner or later you will experience a transformation. You may give up all your possessions and take up residence in an ashram, or, more likely, one day you will notice that you are standing a bit straighter or that the old ache in your hip is gone. I'd like each of my students to experience their own transformation, no matter how subtle, so I make sure each class fuels that fire.

Yoga to move like a river.  For a society that seems to be all about getting somewhere, we don't move much. When we go places we go sitting in cars or on airplanes. We send emails to the coworker in the next office and see a good deal of the world on a television screen. When my clients complain that it gets harder to move as they get older, I point out that they are moving much better than many of their peers, because they make a deliberate effort to keep moving. An aspect of the yoga practice I find fascinating is how, by relieving stiffness in the body, other parts of life that were stagnating start moving too.

In some of my yoga classes we work on challenging asanas. Most focus on minutely refining the basic poses until you are aware that your feet are firmly rooted to the floor, you can direct your breath, you notice a small change and, when it's time to move on, whether to the next pose or back into your life, you can flow with ease. 

If you really think about it, why do you practice yoga? Please, share in the comments.

Making space (and something new) #365Yoga

Chakra Muladhara (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I recently began leading a series of Chakra workshops. Working through the aspects of the first Chakra, I rediscovered my own imbalances. We all have an energy block or two somewhere. One of mine is at the root.

My root Chakra imbalance shows up as an accumulation of clutter. It's not that I want the stuff. I just don't take the time to get rid of it. I look at my basement and see a mess too huge to deal with in a reasonable amount of time. (Remember when I felt that way about my desk?)

The problem with holding onto stuff, for whatever reason, is that it leaves no room for anything new. The unwanted items not only take up physical space, but they take up space in my mind and block the movement of energy. Rather than being a comfortable, safe place to live, prosper and grow, my house feels like it's closing in on me.

It's time to let go and make space for the energy to flow. The basement, the closets and the kitchen cabinets are about to be purged - a bit at a time.

While I was thinking about making space, my kids were thinking of another way to bring new energy into the house. My Mother's Day gift was a baby bearded dragon, to fill a space in my heart that's been empty for four years. When I need a smile, all I have to do is sit and watch the little guy scamper around the enclosure.

Oh, about that enclosure - it was in the basement collecting dust. There's already more space.

Turtles and Stardust: Experiencing a Shamanic Journey #365Yoga

Photo of a Florida Box Turtle (Terrapene carolina bauri). Taken in Jacksonville, Florida, USA. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Despite my endless exploration of all things spiritual, I had not, as of last Saturday morning, experienced a shamanic journey. I'm not sure how I avoided it for so long, considering that I've been in the company of shamans a number of times. I really wasn't trying to avoid the practice; there was just never a good time to try. 

True North Yoga hosted a shamanic journeying workshop last weekend, so I finally got my chance. While being led on two journeys I experienced intense physical sensations, including floating, falling and dancing. And I saw turtles.

When I first got my Medicine Cards I pulled my seven totem animals. Turtle was the first card I pulled out of the deck, and is my totem in the East, or the guide to my spiritual challenges. But I haven't seen the turtle card for quite awhile.

Turtle represents Mother Earth in the cards and in a number of cultures. Hindu and Chinese mythology (and Terry Prachett's Discworld series) describe the world as being supported by elephants standing on the back of a turtle. Native Americans call North America "Turtle Island." I wasn't surprised to find turtle in a vision in which I was guided to connect to the earth.

Besides representing earth, turtles might also represent the lunar cycle, protection, perseverance and longevity. Turtles have been around 200 million years or so. They are wise old souls.

In my vision, turtle was stepping deliberately, to the drumbeat, and stirring up stardust. 

I've had a couple of days to consider what turtle means for me, besides the obvious earth connection. A few web authors suggested a need to slow down, to practice patience. Others point to turtle's ability to withdraw, to hide in its protective shell. Both explanations are fitting, but neither feels complete.

Turtle pose adaptation

This morning I led my yoga class into turtle pose (a preparatory adaptation of Kurmasana) and as we were holding the posture I thought about turtle's ability to draw inward. It seemed to me it wasn't so much about fear as withdrawing into perfect stillness, which sounds like Pratyahara, or the withdrawal of the senses, the fifth of the eight limbs of yoga. Perhaps this is something I'm being called to practice.

Sitting on my desk is a wax turtle, meant to be a candle but unlikely to ever be burned. It was sent to me by an internet newsgroup acquaintance, someone I never knew in real life. If you remember newsgroups, you know I've had this turtle candle a long time. (If you don't remember newsgroups, just know that I accessed the newsgroup with a computer that had dual floppy drives to accommodate both sizes of floppy disks. If you don't know what a floppy disk is, please don't tell me. It makes me feel old.) I received this turtle because the person felt I should have it. It has represented earth on my personal altar many, many times. I don't remember how the turtle candle came to be on my desk today, or how long it's been sitting there, but I've decided it can stay. It seems to belong there now.

Now if I could just find some stardust...

Awake in the Outdoors #365Yoga

Chalis Pond, North Hudson, NY

We are finally seeing spring in the Adirondacks. When my son and I went for a hike today the temperature was sneaking past 70 degrees and the sky was bright blue. We followed a short trail into a pond, then sat at the edge and watched tadpoles and baby fish play in the water.

My son is starting to experiment with creative writing, and is often trying to imagine settings for his made-up stories. While we sat by the water, I suggested he try noticing as much as he could about the place where we were, to get an idea of the details that make a setting imaginable for others. So we sat, and we looked, and we listened. We even smelled and felt.

How often do we get lost in our thoughts and overlook all the small details of where we are? How much do we miss? What would life be like if we took the time to stop and notice? What if we were truly awake to every moment?

Sitting by the edge of the pond, we woke up. We watched the water ripple in the breeze. We saw the bigger ripples left by surfacing fish and the v's left by water bugs skating by. We watched the light dance in the leaves of the trees. We saw birds and clouds above and below, reflections in the water. We took in the frayed edges of tiny leaves just uncurling from their buds.

We heard the songs of birds, some melodious, some chattering. We heard the muffled voices of two fishermen floating in canoes across the pond. We heard the splash when a fish jumped.

We felt the warmth of the sun and the cool of the breeze. I smelled pine and decaying leaves. My son smelled my deodorant. (I suppose that could have been worse.)

I struggle to meditate with my eyes closed, focusing on my breath. My mind wanders. But out there by the pond, open-eyed, I found the calm awareness that I look for on my meditation cushion. My meditation is to become fully awake, in the outdoors.

Do What You Think You Cannot #365Yoga

"You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” 
~Eleanor Roosevelt

The first time I saw AcroYoga was at the Yoga Journal Conference in Estes Park, Colorado, in 2008. (I first blogged about it here.) I remember watching the performance in the video below and being blown away by the grace and power.

I also remember being pretty sure I would never be able to practice AcroYoga.

Fast forward almost five years and I now can make a good, long list of things I thought I couldn't do that I've gone ahead and done anyway. The interesting thing about doing what you think you cannot is that once you do a few of those things, all the other ones seem much more possible.

(Hello, third Chakra.)

So, after watching AcroYoga videos with my yoga teacher trainees over lunch one day, I responded to their interest by saying, "I'll try to set up an AcroYoga workshop here." Never mind that I didn't actually know anyone who teaches AcroYoga or if anyone would want to come to our little town. That's what Facebook is for, right?

I connected with Catherine and Scott of Team WillCo. They made the trip. They are awesome AcroYoga teachers. And we had a great afternoon.

Remember how I thought I wouldn't be able to practice AcroYoga? I've got another thing to add to my list of things I've gone ahead and done anyway. I'll follow up with pictures and/or video later, but let's just say that at the end of the workshop the word that popped into my head was "wow."

My body is amazing. After many years of practicing yoga it still takes me to new places. Yoga gives me opportunities to be a confident beginner - to open to something new and sometimes scary knowing that whatever happens I can breathe through it. Fifteen years ago I breathed through my first Vinyasa class. Today it was inverting with my shoulders resting on someone's knees.

This is why I begin every class I teach with pranayama. If someone is on their yoga mat and focusing on their breath, I've done my job. Yes, I'll guide my class through asanas, but those are just opportunities to practice breathing. Oh, and to discover what their bodies can do, which is probably more than they think they can.

If you've been telling yourself that you cannot practice yoga, ask yourself this: "Can I breathe in? Can I breathe out?" (If you're reading this, you can.) Then come see me, or a yoga teacher who serves your community, and do what you think you cannot.

Thank you Scott and Cathy for coming north!

Too tired to say I can't #365Yoga

My long-time yoga teacher, Tracey Ulshafer of One Yoga and Wellness Center in East Windsor, New Jersey, often told us that breakthroughs in her yoga practice happened when she was too tired to tell herself she couldn't. After having plenty of my own exhaustion-inspired breakthroughs, I've taken that to heart and shared it. My first lift-off into Bakasana came at the end of a long vinyasa workshop that followed a sleepless night of riding trains to New York City and back. (Don't ask.)

Like pushing through the "wall" when running, at some point during a physically demanding yoga practice your body decides thinking is using too many precious resources, and redirects them to your muscles. Your brain still works, it's just gone on autopilot. And you don't have the energy to say "I can't."

I've been exhausted for months thanks to my uncooperative ear, but I haven't been asking much of my body. For weeks I've been relegated to supine, non-dizzy-making poses. And, since it's still pretty cold here in the North Country, most of those supine poses have been practiced under my fluffy quilt...which is on my bed.

Anyway, today I did something my feisty life coach Annie tells me to do sometimes - I took a "f*ck it all pill" and had myself a real, physical, sweat-producing yoga practice. I practiced Surya Namaskar with no dizziness, no nausea, no ear pain. Woohoo! Then I took advantage of my recovering equilibrium to play with a home practice sequence I tore out of Yoga Journal months ago and promptly put someplace I'd be sure to never see it again, unless I had some time on my hands due to lack of practicing and cleaned my desk.

I was enjoying myself, thinking of ways I could adapt the sequence for my varying levels of flow classes until I wore myself out too much to think. When the paper said Bakasana, I flew. Then I read the next step. (Yes, while balancing on my hands I was reading from the magazine page. Yoga does have its perks.) It said to draw my chest forward and float my feet back into Chaturanga Dandasana. Countless times before, when a yoga teacher said "jump back from crow," I quietly put my feet down and stepped back into plank.

But today I taken a "f*ck it all pill" and I had made myself too tired to say "I can't." So it did what it said. And it worked...almost. I went a bit sideways and only one foot found my mat. But the second time it worked just fine. And the third, and the fourth. Then my brain woke up and sent me into Balasana.

When my forehead hit the floor, a big chunk of something (use your imagination) slid down the side of my throat. I swallowed before I realized what I was doing. Gross. But when I swallowed, my ear didn't make the crunching sound I'd gotten used to hearing. So I swallowed again, just to be sure. I'm not positive it opened completely, but something definitely changed in my ear.

At the Colorado Yoga Journal Conference a few years ago, David Swenson told us that we would, at times, be visited by the yoga fairies who would sprinkle us with fairy dust and we would suddenly be able to do whatever asana had been eluding us. He also pointed out that the yoga fairies had a sick sense of humor, so after achieving that challenging asana, we'd probably not be able to do it again the next day. So I won't be surprised when I wake up tomorrow and my ear is cracking and I can't jump back from crow to low plank.

But today, when I was too tired to say "I can't," I had it.

A gift to special not to share: Dance #365Yoga

dance with the wind (Photo credit: cambiodefractal)

The first class of yoga teacher trainees graduated from the True North Yoga Advanced Yoga Studies/200-hour Yoga Teacher Training program on March 10th. I had an amazing six months with these women, learning as much from them as I hope they learned from me. The time we spent together felt like weekends with old friends. The love and support these women offered each other was incredible and I feel blessed just to have been able to create the space for them to come together.

The "final exam" for the program was to teach a yoga class. Each class was unique as the personalities and experiences of each teacher came through in their words and asana sequencing. One new yoga teacher wrote a poem for the others in the group and shared it at the end of her class. It was touching, meaningful and embodied the author in every way. I asked her if I could post it and she agreed. Enjoy this gift from yoga teacher Alexis Sandiford-Fisher:

Dance

My wish for you

is that you take the time to...

Dance with the earth, draw your strength from the strong roots that keep you

steadfast in the face of adversity.

Dance with the wind, blowing your cares away and ushering in the breath of new life and ideas.

Dance with the flames that fuel the desires of your dreams. Move with them as they rise and wrap

themselves around to shape and reveal the truth in your heart.

Dance with the rain, let it wash over you clearing your body and mind of all negativity.

Dance with the rays of the sun, with your bare toes in the grass and flowers all around.

Dance with the falling leaves while colourful dreams swirl all around you.

Dance with the snowflakes - even if there's slush in your boots -  let them kiss your

nose and caress your cheeks.

And finally... Dance with your children - or significant other - whether 2 legged or 4 legged 

because there is nothing sweeter than this.

AFS  3/13

Thank you, Alexis, for giving me the gift of your friendship, your presence, and your energy. And thank you for the lovely poem. I danced with the snowflakes today. Lots and lots of them.