Let it Be

[Note: This post has been cross-posted to my other blog, Complexity Simplified, as part of the Yoga Monday series]

It is snowing. Again. I took this photo about ten minutes ago, and the flakes are still coming down. The weather service says this will continue for several more hours.

It's about 18 degrees Fahrenheit out there, and expected to drop even further, to around 8 degrees by tomorrow morning. The federal government, my area's largest employer, is closed, as are all the county offices and school districts.

Even the bus system has shut down. All of these events have transformed my neighborhood in Arlington, Virginia, just three miles outside of Washington, DC, into an oasis of utter quiet. No buses trundling by on Lee Highway, a half block away from my house. No cars. No sounds outside at all, except the bluster of the wind as it rattles my windows every few moments.

I could rail against this, point out that we've had just about enough winter already, thank you very much. Or I could dismiss it, the way many of us who have been transplanted to Washington DC react to the inevitable freakout that accompanies every flake that hits the area, saying it's just a little snow and people here don't know what real snow is, not the kind of snow we had back in Idaho and Montana and North Dakota.

Or I could notice how quiet it is. I could notice how relaxed I am, how peaceful it feels in my house, how tasty that lunch was that I just made for myself. Tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich! What could be better? I could notice that the snow is clean and white and beautiful, as snow always is. I could notice that our heat is working because our power is still on. I could notice that I am grateful for this, and for all of these things.

I could also notice that it is snowing whether I want it to snow or not. I could notice that nothing I say or do or feel will change the fact that, today, it is snowing. Again. This is today's truth.

In yoga, we have a set of ethical principles, the yamas and the niyamas, which appear in the yoga sutras as guides to our practice. Among the yamas, which are the "external disciplines," we find satya, which means truthfulness. When we practice satya, we focus on that which is true, that which is--not that which we would like or wish to be, but that which actually exists.

When we apply satya to our asana practice, we are truthful with ourselves about just how far we can stretch those hamstrings or bend that back. We don't pretend that we can stretch farther than we can or bend more than we ought. If we do, we are being untrue, to ourselves, as well as to the practice.

When we apply satya to our lives, we are truthful about everything--we accept the truth of our past and our present, we accept the truth of who we are, and who we are not. And we especially accept the truth of things we cannot control, like the weather.

Among the niyamas, those "internal disciplines" that guide our yoga practice, we find santosa, which means contentment. A verse in the yoga sutras says, about santosa, "Contentment brings unsurpassed joy."

And, thus, we arrive at the essential lesson of these two yogic principles: by letting go of our attachment to the way things ought to be, and accepting the truth of the way things actually are, we will find joy.

It is snowing. Let it be.

A New Beginning

I started this blog over two years ago, to chronicle my journey toward becoming a yoga teacher, a goal I achieved within a year. It was quite the journey and I had a lot to write about all through the process. I thought I would keep the blog going even after I began teaching, since I still had many thoughts about yoga to share with others. 

So, I kept posting through those early weeks and months of launching my first classes, preparing lesson plans, learning how to teach by teaching, etc. And although I thought I would keep going, since I had much to say, soon the reality of juggling a lot of new responsibilities along with the old ones left me with little time to write and even less inspiration.

It didn't seem that readers would be much interested in all the stuff I was thinking about, stuff like where can I buy high quality yoga equipment for a low price? How do I find an adequate space to rent for my classes, a space with no furniture, a quiet atmosphere and a cheap price? How do I recruit students and advertize my classes? Do I need to buy insurance and, if so, where do I find it? And while we're on that subject, do I need a business license? And where do I get one of those, anyway?

I had a lot on my mind, and it was fun to figure it out, but I really didn't think anybody would be very much interested in what I was going through to launch my new yoga teaching business. On the other hand, maybe they would be interested. And, then, just as I thought I might begin to blog about what it takes to start a yoga teaching business, I suddenly had classes to teach, sometimes as many as four or five classes a week. 

Oh, and did I mention this was my part-time job? My full-time job was supposed to be "writer," but I soon found that the writing took a back seat to a class of students waiting for me to show up and lead them through a yoga routine. Blogging is one aspect of my writing life, and it was the first to go. Before the rest of my writing life went, I finally came to my senses and cut back on my class offerings. And, miracle of miracles, my writing life came back! It's funny how clearing a space for the future, as Alexandra Stoddard says, can be the key step in bringing that future into the present.

It's now well over a year since I last posted to this blog, but I've been thinking about it a lot. When I noticed that I was composing blog posts in my head but never typing them up (since I felt the blog no longer existed) I woke up and realized that maybe I wanted to try to restart this blog.

So, here we go! I've started by changing the blog description. See that box over to the right labeled 'Welcome'? It now has new words in it. And I've been having a great time today making a list of all the topics I would love to write about here. And now, look, I've actually written the first new post!

Join me as I continue to write about my life in yoga. Something tells me I still have a lot to say.

Namaste  

The End is Near!

Erich Schiffman. Photo: Christie Zepeda

In the last month, our yoga teacher training group events have included two weekend intensives, each of which ran from Friday evening through Sunday evening, plus one other amazing weekend workshop with master teacher Erich Schiffmann. 

Our final weekend intensive included a team-taught class that our group offered to the public, a very rewarding and exciting experience. I was so proud of each of my fellow teacher trainees -- and so proud of us and what we had accomplished in these last ten months.

On top of these group activities, I gave a Kirtan demo to my fellow teacher trainees, spent an average of ten hours a week observing experienced teachers, began to write up my project, which was the organization and launch of the Kirtan circle at the Sun & Moon studio, and started to get my handouts and books in order in preparation for the written final exam.

So, needless to say (!) I have been a little busy and have not had much time for blogging. The end of this 200-hour training has arrived so quickly, it seems, and it's hard to believe that we are almost done. Once I complete the final exam, which could be as early as the first of July, I will be a certified yoga instructor, which is even harder to believe.

And now, I'm heading back to the books. I have a paper to finish writing, a few more chapters to read in the yoga sutra book, a bit of anatomy to study, some sanskrit to practice, and on and on. I am beginning to realize, if I didn't know it before (and I did!) that yoga practice and study is a lifelong process that doesn't end when one finishes the 200-hour training.

Post-Kirtan joy! Photo: Ruth Ann Lowery

Nevertheless, I will be very happy to pass through these final checkpoints and will be very grateful when my certification is completed. It has been a lot of work, but never tedious - the work was challenging, but joyful, difficult, but gratifying, sometimes bewildering, but blessedly also enlightening. Oh, and it's been a lot of fun, too!


Namaste

PS: Big thanks to my fellow yogis, Ruth Ann and Christie! Both are fabulous photographers and graciously shared numerous photos, including these two, which they took during our weekend intensives.

Hearts and Hands and Voices

As we continued with our studies of the chakras this month, making our way from chakra 4, the heart center, through chakra 5, located in the throat, and on toward chakra 6 (the "third eye") and chakra 7 (the "crown chakra"), an old hymn started running through my mind. 

I'll get back to that hymn later, but I need, first, to confess that I never knew, until now, that the hands are also associated with chakra 4. I'm not sure why it's taken me twenty years of yoga study to know that while chakra 4, the heart center, is obviously centered near the middle of the chest, the hands (and shoulders and arms) are also considered part of chakra 4. As we moved toward chakra 5, which obviously is associated with voice, I became very confused because, as a writer, my voice is often expressed with my hands. 

I do, of course, talk in the normal way, using my vocal chords and mouth, but I almost always have to write something out before I know what my heart is saying to me. And I am often trying to find the  right voice for a character, or the right voice to use for an article I'm writing. I rejoiced, like all writers do, when I felt I had found "my voice" as a writer, and the words began to flow easily and without effort. I, therefore, have had a very hard time separating my heart, my hands and my voice. I didn't know whether it was even possible for me to differentiate these two important energy centers.

And then this hymn started playing in my head. Over and over and over. It's a very old Christian hymn, written around 1636 by a German clergyman, Martin Rinckart, just as the plague descended on his town, eventually killing upwards of 8000 people there. 

Rinckart obviously wrote the words of this hymn in German, but the best-known English translation goes like this:

  Now thank we all our God, with heart and hands and voices,
  Who wondrous things hath done, in whom his world rejoices,
  Who from our mother's arms hath blessed us on our way
  With countless gifts of love, and still is ours today. 

I've always associated this hymn with the Mayflower pilgrims since, as children, we often sang it in church or Sunday School around Thanksgiving Day. Although it is clearly a song of thankfulness, I have always picked up on a strain of underlying suffering, which made sense, knowing that the pilgrims had just made it through a very tough year and were facing another harsh winter. Now, knowing the situation that the author himself was in, trying to minister to a flock that was suffering greatly, called on to bury thousands of his parishioners, I now see that there is much, much more to the story behind this hymn.

Despite the somewhat dated language (the use of words like "hath" and the sometimes-jarring reference to God using a male pronoun), I love this hymn, and not just because I've been singing it since childhood. Martin Rinckert's hymn is a hymn of devotion, so by singing it I can practice bhakti yoga, the yoga of devotion. 

I also love how Rinckart's hymn reminds me that my act of devotion can be offered up not just with my voice, but also with my heart as well as with my hands. I love the reminder that true thankfulness and gratitude comes by offering our heart and a hand to another, that it is often in the doing for others that we most deeply experience true gratitude. I love the deep lesson of this text that when we are truly thankful, the heart, hands and voice really cannot be separated.

Namate.

The Book of Gratitudes

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I love that this holiday has resisted commercialization but also that it gently reminds me, every year, to think about all that I have to be thankful for. 

Once I get started taking a mental inventory of all that I am grateful for, my list of gratitudes almost seems to write itself: I am grateful for my kids and my husband; my family, friends and neighbors; the blessing of plentiful food; a roof over my head and reliable heat and clean water; and on and on and on. I am truly blessed.

But, if I were ever to get stuck, and forget to think of all I have to be thankful for (and those moments DO come, when I am hurting or resentful or disappointed) I have a handy reference to turn to: my Book of Gratitudes.

This is a photo of my Book. It's actually a photo of "Volume 2," since I filled up "Volume 1" about three years ago. Both books contain short hand-written entries, started in 1997, for a reason I no longer remember. The entries are easy to compose: I simply write down what I feel especially grateful for on the day I feel moved to pick up the book and do so.

I don't write these Gratitudes every day, and sometimes the entries are spaced far apart. They are not always about specific people or things, and sometimes the thing I am most grateful for is quite small. The entry for Dec. 7, 1997 is typical: "I am grateful for the candles on my altar that remind me of the light within so that I can continue to say, 'Not my will, but thine.'"

And, then, there's this one, from Oct. 16, 2000, a few weeks after my youngest child went off to college: "Today is the first day of the 'rest of my life' - a newly empty nest, ready for more wonderful things to grow in it - and, for that, I am very grateful."

My Book of Gratitudes holds plenty of reminders that sometimes even those things that I wish were not true or had not happened, can be the things I am most grateful for. Here is the entry from Sept. 17, 2001, six days after 9/11: "I am grateful to be alive and that my family and friends are all safe. I am grateful for the deep caring exhibited by so many people in the last few days. I am grateful that God is with us."

And, then, there's this entry, written three months after a serious accident in which I nearly severed the index finger from my left hand. Feb. 8, 2006: "I am grateful for the ability to write and to have at least partial use of my hand again. I am grateful for the clarity this injury has provided, and the knowledge that I am, first and foremost, a writer -- and now I will begin to live that way."

I have much to be grateful for, most especially that this "Day for Giving Thanks" comes around every year, to remind me of just how much I have to be thankful for. Happy Thanksgiving! 

And Namaste.