Who we were, who we are, who we will be…

There will be emotions in yoga, my teacher quoted tonight, that emerge within the body during our practice, and rise to the surface.  Feel them, let them out.  Do not try to suppress them.

We were children, innocent and curious, filled with hopes, dreams and unrealistic fantasy expectations of the image of a future life.  We read books and believed that anything was possible.  Magic, princes on gleaming white stallions, superheros, pots of gold at the end of the rainbow and mysterious identities.  We dug in the fresh beach sand trying to reach China and bobbed over waves and learned to dive under them.  We imagined the trickle of a garden hose on an asphalt driveway was a river and magenta berries were food in a forest.  We ran out to play and stayed out until dinnertime, later until curfew, 10:00 p.m.  We rode our bikes down to the Boulevard shopping at the Five and Dime, and the corner Drug Store with its rows of candy.  Watermelon Jolly Rancher Candy Sticks were my favorite. We believed in everything and anything was possible.

The emotions arise from the disbelief that enters when all dreams do not come true.

We are adults filled with responsibilities and obligations screaming at us and visions just out of reach.  Dreams bubbling under the surface, ready to burst out if only they are given the chance.  We keep normal hours and go to normal jobs, while plotting elaborate escape plans.  Holidays are celebrated annually and traditions are created and maintained.  Our families grow, expand and contract.  We make many acquaintances tied to our children’s activities, elementary schools, middle schools and high schools.  Then our children go away.  To college, to live, starting their lives and acquaintances drift off leaving a circle of close friends and family  unaffected by the changing circumstances.

When we breathe, slowly, deliberately, inhale.  Hold.  Exhale.  Hold.  Vocalize.  Ah.  We release the trickle of emotions.  The river of stress and the waterfall of tears.

We will be walking on the path, our path, of realized accomplishments, adventures planned and spontaneous, connections and re-connections.  We walk together with partners and sometimes with children, and we walk alone.  We will hold onto dreams and see some realized in another form, at another time.  We look at the collections of life as a to-do list of expendable items.   We will look back through tears and faded photos chronicling a span of time that in the grand design is just a blip, but to us, is everything.

The body, mind and Spirit, in the union of motion, stillness, sound and breath gives us the gift of a glimpse within and the ability to, for a moment, ignore what is outside of us.

Computer Landia

So here is a picture of my cool new MacBook Pro.  I saved up for a year to get this high-tech piece of delight and have spent the past 7 days going crazy trying to complete data transfers, back up to Time Machine and enjoy the speed and efficiency of my new friend.  Finally I broke down and made a Genius Bar appointment because talking to tech assistants on the phone is driving me crazy.  Today, in a weak moment, I actually considered going back to a typewriter and real file cabinet.

The world of lightening speed computers, digital files, websites with “landing pages” and email sign-up forms seamlessly integrated together with my CompleteTeach website and Facebook page sometimes seems like a very big learning curve.  I am a willing student but I feel like I am in virtual graduate school for technology based business start-ups.

Today’s word is “purposeful.”  What is my purpose and how is Mac helping me achieve my purpose?  Well, Mac is my conduit to business growth and my purpose is to reach as many people as possible.

The purpose is to attract new visitors to my website.

The purpose is to capture their interest and enable email list sign ups.

The purpose is to provide an informative monthly newsletter and weekly blog updates with tips for helping children succeed.

The purpose is to release the 2013-2014 edition of  How to Have the Best Super-Duper School Year Ever!

The purpose is to provide an ever-expanding e-book library with information my clients need.

The purpose is to use technology to reach out to expand my  community.

Mac, we are on this journey together.

Yoga Everywhere

Yoga is the common thread in my life.  It shows up everywhere beginning with the affirmation scrawled on my round, wood-trimmed mirror and ends in the evening when I tear off the day’s page of the “I Can Do It” calendar by Louise Hay.

In between, yoga is my gift to my kindergarten students, who are learning to breathe slowly and deeply when they need to calm their bodies and reset their minds.  Yoga has taught me to move with flexibility and more slowly than I used to move in order to take the day in, to notice the lupines and the succulents blooming.  Yoga is the practice of moving towards simplicity, removing the objects with unneeded energy from drawers and cabinets and to make room for possibilities.

Last week, struggling to think of a nice yoga practice for 27 energetic kindergarten students during our regular Thursday yoga time, I brought out the book, It Looked Like Spilled Milk, a picture book about a cloud taking on various shapes.  I read it slowly, deliberately, playing with the repetitive line: “but it wasn’t spilt milk!”  I told the class it was about taking the time to imagine what shape your cloud would be if it were your favorite shape.  We took the time to take turns sharing what our favorite cloud would look like.  Mine was an ice cream cone of course!

The energy of the class stabilized and calmed and we ended our day on a positive note with thoughts of fluffy white kittens, castles, puppies and unicorns.  Today a group of girls asked if they could read the “yoga book.”  At first I didn’t know which book they were talking about, but when they held up It Looked Like Spilt Milk.”  Yoga.

Yoga waits for me on Tuesday nights, candle lit, infused with music that I always love. and challenges that stretch more than hamstrings.  Breathing slowly and reset for another week.

Salad Meditation

There is a saying about chopping vegetables, something like, if you are chopping the carrot, chop the carrot.  It sounds silly, but the intention is to recognize the act of being in the moment.  Presence.  That is my practice for the day.  I spent the day in the moment, each moment, and I got a lot done!  I wrote and prepared my upcoming workshop:  The Gift of Balance, a workshop designed to help parents create balance in their lives and the lives of their children.  I did the usual email checking, laundry, grocery shopping and blogging for my classroom.  I took a walking break with Charlie in the afternoon, climbing the hilly streets, slowly, at the pace of an aging dog.  I was in no hurry anyway and the air was fresh and warm.

I drank my tea, watched my  Feminine Business Model (Tracy Lee Jones) video for the day and took a little nap.

It was a nice day.  Quietly productive, with each activity started, completed.

I ended the day with my salad meditation, creating a beautifully delicious crunchy salad with kale that was so dark it was almost purple, sweet beets, small grape tomatoes, hothouse cucumbers, romaine lettuce, parsley, and celery and pearl white mushrooms.  Topped with sprouted sunflower seeds, it was crunchy goodness.

Today was a gift for me.  A quiet day of a peaceful practice.  Gratitude.

Three-Leaf Clovers

Strolling through the hills on my (mostly) usual afternoon walk with Charlie, I notice the vibrant green bunches of clover dotting the hillside, little yellow buds poking out of the bunchs attached by winding vine-like stems.  I notice the bright green, almost flourescent color, and the perfection of each little clover with its heart-shaped leaves.  Thought of spring come on this Groundhog Day.  It is predicted to be an early one but this cloudy day offers little evidence of the sunny days to come.  Only the clovers springing up through the mud left from last week’s rain give me the light feeling of winter’s end approaching in a month or so.

I appreciate the simple little clovers and only after observing them for a few minutes, realize that I am supposed to be looking for a four-leaf clover.  Perfection.  There isn’t one, of course.  Perfection isn’t always readily available so why do we search for it, scold ourselves for not achieving it and judge ourselves and others with perfection as the barometer?  It is a human condition to reflect on the past and the “if only” that result from those sad recollections.  To worry about the future and the unknown events that await.

Arriving home, Charlie is not content to stay inside just yet so we wander in the yard and relax on his favorite lounge chair.  Here he is content.  I gaze forward at the mountains across the Valley and notice for the first time that I can see a mountain range beyond the first set.  For a cloudy day the visibility is exceptional.  A little sliver of sky remains under the clouds and it is that sliver that allows me to peek beyond the first barrier of mountains.  Breathing.  In and out.  With Charlie resting between my legs, but poised, observing every little bird, every leaf moving slightly in the slight breeze, I am able to rest in the present.

Raining

 

Today is another rainy day and my energy is on simmer.  I woke up with my list of good intentions, managed to get a lot done, but when the soft drizzle turned to heavy droplets, loud enough to make sounds on the window panes, my resolve began to diminish. 

 

I am sitting at the kitchen table with my thoughts and cup of tea, slowly sinking ginger snaps into their hot bath, I feel content to stare out the window, through the trees at the little valley below and watch the clouds swollen gray with evaporated ponds, lakes and tears.

 

Sometimes it is nice to take a melancholy moment to relax and meditate on the sound of rain on the roof, the Kit-Kat Clock ticking regularly, its eyes taking in the solitude on the quite house, the hum of appliances and the occasional swoosh of the heat coming on, regulating the temperature and wrapping me with warm air.

 

Tapping turns to pounding and the landscape is drenched once again. Little clouds dance in the distance, tiptoeing across the peaks of the distant mountains leaving just enough space for me to peak at the sunlit light-blue sky,  just out of reach.

 

Pensive thoughts and the possibility of procrastination are suddenly lit by a burst of sunlight and the optimistic rainbow that sets itself down completely, stretching from one end of the Valley to the other, showing off the entire color spectrum.  Offering light.

 

Breathing

In my yoga practice, my favorite thing is Ujjayi Pranayama.  This is the breath that sounds like an ocean in my throat and is especially satisfying when I can’t physically be at the beach, looking at the ocean.  When time must stand still, in an asana, while showing patience, or while gathering courage, breathing can help.  So, in lieu of a mantra, since I’ve never officially been given one, I create my own.  I am breathing in, I am breathing out.

Teaching this to children, 5 year-olds, is an enlightenment in itself.  Have you ever heard children cheer when told it was time for yoga?  Have you ever witnessed the serious face of a small child gazing over his hand in Warrier 2, or smiled secretly as a little girl in triangle pose looked up at her hand and said, “Hello hand!”

Yoga can mean moving into a posture, noticing one’s environment, listening to one’s body or simple quieting the mind long enough to breathe and be calmed by that magical sound.

Gratitude, like yoga, is a practice too.  I am grateful to my teachers, to have a beautiful space to practice, to have a special place in my home to continue that practice and to share the gift of calm with 27 rambunctious 5 year-olds, who move through out the day, but who are grateful for the opportunity to slow down, listen to their private ocean and breathe in and out.