Contented Yogi

Too much? Too little? What’s right? What’s wrong? Can it be just this? Or might it be that?  

A while back in yoga class I was invited to do more than I thought myself capable of and was thrilled with the possibility of progress. Then, a couple of weeks later, I was cautioned to not think of myself more highly than I ought as our instructor shared the story from Greek mythology of Icarus:

… His father, who had built wings from feathers and wax, warned Icarus not to fly too low lest his wings touch the waves and get wet and not too high lest the sun melt the wax. But, the young Icarus, overwhelmed by the thrill of flying, did not heed his father's warning, and flew too close to the sun whereupon the wax in his wings melted and he fell into the sea and drowned.

http://www.island-ikaria.com/culture/myth.asp

The practice with Icarus reminded me to stay grounded and centered and balanced as we were challenged to hold certain uncomfortable poses longer. In the process I found that I was capable of more – in the here and now. That was what that practice bore – a sense of the now. Of the moment. Being present in the moment.

These two lessons have stuck with me and now, at the studio once again this morning, I, who have too often felt that I was either too much or not enough, may have found the middle ground. The middle ground, it seems, is in the balance. Balancing postures always challenge me. Over the years of practicing yoga, the strength and core positions give clear indication that there is progression in my practice. But, it's those balance postures which seem to be my nemesis. Even so, I persist with patience and trust that as I practice, practice, practice, progress will be met.

The middle ground of balance seems to flow from contentment. Contentment rises up as I root down in loving kindness and compassion for myself. A Biblical text, Matthew 5: 5 as paraphrased in the Message frames this well for me this morning: You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are – no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.

Balance can’t be bought. It can, however be practiced. It can be learned. I am learning to be content in spite of  unsettling questions that tip me off center.

Where are you feeling off balance today? How can you extend loving kindness and compassion to yourself? Where is contentment to be found? These  are just a few questions that I ask of me as I leave this page.
I hold them gently as I go on to the rest of my day. May it be so for you.

                                                                 Image -  Vida Yoga Mandela Vector Art White

Waiting Still...

Back in December of 2012 my friend, Carissa, invited me to be her guest blogger. She published the following in February of this year: http://carissawoodwyk.wordpress.com/2013/02/26/a-grandma-in-waiting/

I was waiting…wondering….

Cora Mae was born on April 11 and I had to wait a full three weeks before I got to meet her. These weeks were full of longing.

The planned visit couldn’t come soon enough. There was so much anticipation. Thankfully, telephone calls and IPhone images captured and posted to my INBOX soothed the waiting time.
Finally – the day arrived when I could fly out and meet the precious darling.

 

Now, here I am - home for two weeks already after having had an amazing three weeks bonding with my new grandbaby. Cora Mae is 8 weeks old now – one can see that time is flying by!  Meanwhile, I’ve been assured and reassured that this long distance factor is not as big a deal as I had feared. Hmmmm – note to self – not… as I had feared. Here is new and exciting territory to be learned and navigated.  A new relationship is forming. One cannot dictate how the dynamics of this bond will play out over the years. I’m in a time of waiting – a time of incubation.The one thing I know I can do is show up with loving intention –whatever that will look like.

As another grandma congratulated me on my new role she had this to say about long-distance grand parenting – 

[I think this] opens up a whole new opportunity for creative communication. I send lots of little    packages, for no reason except to say "Grandma loves you!" I write her letters (even if she can't read), I read her books on Skype and do show and tell. They do come back [home] every summer, so we do get some face-to-face time. And most of all, I pray for her every day, and that increases the "grandma-love" more than anything.  I responded by saying: thanks for sharing my joy and sharing from your years of experience. Your words are taken as a storehouse of encouragement for the times of separation.

One of my favorite authors, who herself is a grandma brought encouragement as she shared from her experience of separation. In her book, Some Assembly Required, (which I think should be required reading for any and all grandmothers! See link below*) Ann Lamott suggests that “our love for each other (that of Anne & her grandson) is indelible, and not based on proximity.”

Indelible defined:  making marks that cannot be erased, removed… eliminated, forgotten, changed, or the like.

While I’m still waiting and wondering how this will all play out…. At this point in time I know my life has been indelibly changed now that I am a grandmother. Period. The long distance factor is inconsequential.

*http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_9?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=some+assembly+required&sprefix=some+asse%2Caps%2C259

Stronger Than I Thought

Last night found me burning the midnight oil on a knitting project – staying up way too late. Yet, as is the case for me, knitting becomes a prayer as I hold dear ones in my heart. So it was a quiet evening of contemplation and meditation – a peaceful ending to a vigorous day. When I finally got to bed, the plan was to sleep in and have a restful, laid back Saturday.

It was a surprise then, to find myself wide awake much earlier than anticipated this morning  -  sensing a very clear invitation to rise and shine and get on down to the yoga studio first thing.

Here was a choice – stay under the covers or respond to the invitation. If I had been roused ten minutes later the choice would have been made for me– snuggle in and get some more shut eye. If I lived further away from the studio, I would have turned over – knowing that the timing wasn’t right-  and put the thought out of my mind. But, there was just enough time to get a move on. Just enough time….

As I slipped, last minute into the studio, it felt good to be there. But, once we got going, I had a feeling that I wasn’t up to the task. It was turning out to be a kick ass work out -way more than I thought I could muster up that early in the morning. I surrendered to child’s pose but then, heard the instructor say, “You’re stronger than you think you are….”

Really? All right – let’s see what possibility THAT invitation holds out for me.

Breathing into the next pose, fire in the belly stoked, rooting down to rise up, I was amazed at the strength that was demonstrated. Strength that I didn’t know was there. At the same time, it seemed fitting that as other poses presented themselves, modification was called for. This was, after all, MY practice.

Grateful, a scene from one of my favorite books – The Horse and His Boy, by C.S. Lewis came to mind:

…certainly, both horses were doing, if not all they could, all they thought they could; which is not quite the same thing…And Bree [one of the horses] now discovered that he had not really been going as fast – not quite as fast – as he could. Shasta [the rider] felt the change at once. Now they were really going all out….

You’re stronger than you think you are….

You’re stronger than you think you are…

As a recovering good church lady, here I am given pause to consider how I used to push myself beyond what was healthy –addicted to performance and people pleasing and giving in to that great motivator – guilt. I was in a place of doing. Always pushing. Doing. Doing. Exhausted. Life sucked out of me.

What makes the difference here? It’s in the breath. It’s in the invitation. It’s in the choices. It’s in the rooting down to rise up. It’s being open to possibility. It’s living into the question, “what brings you life?”

            What brings YOU life? Where might you discover that you are stronger than you think you are?

war of the two wolves - contempt vs. compassion

There’s a story told – the source of which is a bit ambiguous, but it goes something like this:

A grandfather told his grandson, “It’s like there are two wolves in me. One is good; the other is bad. One leads me to be kind; the other leads me to be mean. One helps me love; the other makes me hate. A war of the two wolves wages in me.”

The boy asked his grandfather, “Which one wins?”

That,” the grandfather replied,” depends on which one I feed.”

 

If this were my story, I would say that the mean wolf is contempt and the good wolf is compassion.

I’ve been giving some thought to the ways we (or should I say, I – as if I’m the only one?) hold ourselves and others in contempt. Contempt is an especially cunning and stealth full creature –catered to by contention, competition and comparison. This contemptuous wolf – who represents my false self, has conditioned me to think that it’s hard to measure up and carries around with it a defeated sense of me being either too much or not enough in relationship with others. This ravenous wolf is never satisfied. Shame and blame are heaped on shame and blame until one finds herself buried under more contempt in a deep and dark, miry pit of isolation and self imposed exile.

For much of my life this pit was a familiar place. Over time, I am learning that I don’t have to go there. Well, at least I am now able to say that while I still fall back into the old relational style I now know that I don’t have to stay there and feed that nasty wolf. I’m learning that I actually have a choice to engage with the good wolf. It’s been a long time coming.

 

So, what about that other wolf?

 

The good wolf feasts on compassion - Self compassion and compassion for others. With gratitude and grace, the good wolf is patient and aware. The good wolf knows that kindness matters. Kindness invites me to engage with others and love myself well as I dare to live more and more out of my true self.

 

In her book, Self-Compassion: Stop beating yourself up and leave insecurity behind, Kristine Neff shares this:

When faced with our human imperfection, we can either respond with kindness and care, or with judgment and criticism. An important question to ask is what qualities of heart and mind do we want to encourage in ourselves? We can’t stop our judgmental thoughts, but we don’t have to encourage or believe in them either. If we hold our self-judgments with gentleness and understanding, the force of self-contempt will eventually fade and wither, deprived of the sustenance needed to survive. We have the power to live with joy and contentment by responding to our suffering with kindness.

 

If this were your story, which wolf will you feed? The simpering, wounded wolf who feeds on contempt or the contented good wolf who longs to be nourished with kindness and compassion?

Oh - really?

"...my righteous one will live by faith. ...I take no pleasure in the one who shrinks back. ...we are not those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who believe and are saved."
Heb. 10: 38-39 (TNIV)

 

Last week as I drove my little car around in the bitter cold, the “check engine light” came on. Each time I ventured out, there that light was – reminding me that something wasn’t quite right with the engine. I actually didn’t need the light to tell me that. I could feel the hesitation as the engine idled at red lights. Even so, my mechanical husband wasn’t overly concerned – he’s been driving his pickup truck for almost two years with the dash light on. Each day though, my little car was getting worse. When motoring along, the engine felt rough - pistons were misfiring and everything was getting out of sync. This past Sunday was the last straw. While returning home - half way through an hour long drive - I was afraid that it was going to stall out on me & I’d be stranded in the middle of nowhere along the highway.

Thankfully I got home safely and my passenger was none the wiser.

Next day, I took it to the shop. The mechanic completed a computer scan of the entire electronic system but he couldn’t find anything wrong except that there was a “faulty vacuum seal.”

 To answer the question of where the fault was and exactly why could prove to be a very expensive proposition. After the mechanic and I discussed the probability that an "O" ring had shrunk due to the extreme cold, I took a chance and drove it home.

Meanwhile, as the temperature moderated, the warning light went off & it hasn’t come back since. Here’s to hoping that it won’t come back on again as the thermometer plunges once again.

Now, you might be wondering what this little story about my car has to do with the text from Hebrews that this post began with.

It all has to do with shrinking back. An "O" ring in my car apparently shrunk back.

 

An “O” ring. A simple "O" ring. This reminds me of the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster which occurred on January 28, 1986. The catastrophic problem there was with an “O” ring that shrunk on that unseasonably cold morning in Florida.

When the “O” ring shrank, it lost its flexibility. It became stiff and brittle. This created a void - the vacuum was compromised and the whole system failed.

 

Allow me to share a favorite quote:

(please note - though often attributed to Nelson Mandela, he was quoting from Marianne Williamson’s A Woman's Worth)

 

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

 

We are meant to shine and not to shrink. This was impressed upon me yet again this morning, as I participated in the practice of Holy Yoga. In community we shared the experience. I saw the light. I felt the warmth as my body moved and breath and blood flowed into all the cold places of my heart. My heart opened and expanded.

 

May it be so for you this day, dear friend.

 

"...anyone who is right with me thrives on loyal trust; if he cuts and runs, I won't be very happy. ...we are not quitters who lose out. Oh, no! We'll stay with it and survive, trusting all the way."
Heb. 10:38-39 (MSG)

Perfect Love Casts Out Fear

Passing time has invited me to revisit a poem that I had composed a couple of years ago and add  a second verse. I'm so very grateful for the ongoing healing path that beckons towards more wholeness and transformation. Where are you on the healing path? Do you find yourself on a desolate coast or a shore of consolation?


On the desperate desolate coast...


A tinkling of fragmented glass

Stunning in its beauty

Brilliant remnants reflect

the Father's love and mercy.

Clinking filaments and shards threaten old wounds...

Bound up in courage-

Perfect love casts out fear-

step across the dazzling devastation

into new found freedom.

 

Returning…

Tides of time

Sweeping waves of grace and forgiveness

Tumble fragments – transformed edges smoothed

reminders of redemption.

Winking beach glass

Gathered up

Perfect love embraced

on the gentle shore of consolation.


(images courtesy of photobucket)

A Simple Christmas - now past

 

As I anticipated the Christmas holiday season this year I simply couldn't bear the thought of entering into all the usual rush and falderal. Memories of Christmas over the past ten years or so prove to me the reality of my existence - the times they are a changing. I can’t fight the changing times. I might as well go with the flow. May I do so with grace and ease. 

This year, extended family gatherings were planned weeks in advance of what had been traditional celebrations on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. This is the way it goes when children grow up, get married and make choices as to how and where and with whom they are going to share the holiday. When grandchildren arrive on the scene each individual family naturally circles around immediate family. I get that. At some point long ago a decision was made by my own aunts and uncles and cousins to let go of extended family gatherings and simply gather with their own. Wonderful memories remain. New memories are being made.

Now, an empty nester with both my daughters far away and not coming home for Christmas this year, I chose to not put up a Christmas tree and to leave most of the decorations in their boxes. Jim was agreeable to the idea. It felt like the right thing to do this year. Though I’ve never gone hog-wild with decorations - think Griswald Christmas lights- neither am I an Ebenezer Scrooge. I wanted to have some symbolic reference and arrived at a simple advent wreath and lots of candles and peaceful seasonal music.

Each Sunday of Advent I lit the candles one by one – Peace. Hope. Joy.  Praying that all my dear ones would be blessed with each of these. I was really enjoying the simplicity that I had chosen. As I anticipated lighting the Love candle however, a deep melancholy rose up. An almost irresistible urge came upon me – to fly to the mall and join the consumers in the last minute frantic search – for what? Self-awareness invited me to consider what was going on. I missed my girls. I missed the former times. I was sad. I was lonely. I was grieving. I’ll admit it.

Christmas day found just Jim & me at home – alone. It was a quiet restful day. I took delight in cooking up a lovely dinner for two. Even so, I would have loved having a crowd around my table. It wasn’t to be this year.

Now, two days post Christmas day I’m content. To have been spared so much rush and hurry with the choices I made did my soul a world of good.  I wondered if more of life could be lived at a simpler pace. Confirmation of this came to me from this morning’s read from Common Prayer – a Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals:

 Twentieth-century Quaker, Thomas Kelly wrote, “Over the margins of life comes a whisper, a faint call, a premonition of richer living which we know we are passing by. We have hints that there is a way of life vastly richer and deeper than all this hurried existence, a life of unhurried serenity and peace and power. If only we could slip over into that Center! If only we could find the Silence which is the source of sound!”

Listen. Do you hear the whisper, the faint call? May you be blessed with unhurried serenity and peace and power in these last days of 2012 on into the New Year.