Rowan and I have a route that we walk almost every morning. I cherish those times, she loves to be in her stroller and I love to greet the morning sky in it’s myriad of forms. Because our walks are generally kept to one or two routes we get to see the seasons expressions change from budding sprouts and bursting flowers to the wilting and drying up petals of yesterdays blossoms. Sometimes it seems we are expected by the stray cats that speckle the neighborhood around our house. They greet us, in their own way, and then carry on the very important business of being cats. Sometimes we see the same people and.
I am currently reading Maps to Ecstasy by Gabrielle Roth who is the founder of the 5 Rhythms – a practice of ecstatic dance and a profound movement meditation meant to bring us into deep intimacy with ourselves. I am completely spellbound by her words. She is a healer, an “urban shaman” as she calls herself, and a woman interested in an immanent relationship with living. No transcendence, no stoic unemotive state of enlightenment to chase – her work is dedicated to being in the world in the most whole way we can as thinking, feeling, emobodied beings. I just finished a portion of her book on nurturing instincts. She.
In two weeks I will be starting my Master's degree in Counselling Psychology. For years I have considered many avenues for graduate study, more often than not I have been tyrannized by the thought of making the wrong decision. I've stewed about what the outcome might be – would I be employable? Would I ultimately enjoy the work? If I open this door what about all the others that would shut? Most of all, I've worried about the time and energy it would require from me. But, despite the confusion and fear I am continually haunted by academics and have an undeniably, seemingly DNA based penchant for learning. So, this.
From www.michaelguth.com A few weeks ago I had a session with my long time therapist and mentor. At one point during our conversation he relayed the story in the Bible of Jesus’ transfiguration (Mark 9:2-8). The story, in brief, describes how Jesus journeyed to the top of Mount Tabor with disciples John, James and Peter. Here, these discples, and holy witnesses Elijah and Moses, witnessed the transformation of Jesus into a physical expression of his Divinity. His face shone like the sun, his clothes glowed whiter than anything they had ever seen. The voice of God echoed from the sky “this is my Beloved son. Hear Him!”. Peter, James and.
Every once in a while I get sick of trying to make myself feel better with yoga. Yesterday was such a day. After a small argument with my husband I prepared to enter the haven of my practice and I couldn’t. Every time I approached my mat a well of anger rose up in me. I could have simply trudged through the thick wall of irritation that paralyzed my movements, as some approaches to yoga advise. Instead I fell onto my bed, face stuffed cock-eyed into a pillow and stared blankly into the mess of my ensuite bathroom. Blink. “What the hell’s going on?” Blink. “I only have an hour until Rowan wakes.
All of existence comes alive in us. When you really contemplate it isn’t it true? It is the Awareness that we are which perceives the heat of the sun, the smell of freshly blossomed lilacs, the glorious flavor of Haagen Dazs ice cream on our palate. In awareness the inner world bursts forth as well. The perception of hunger, the heat of our passions, the heaviness of our grief. All of life, internal and external, become illuminated by the light of Awareness. In the asmitamaya kosha we come to know ourselves as this Awareness. We see that it’s not that awareness is in the person but that the person is experienced in Awareness. .
In my last post I explored the sheath of Joy. At this level of awareness seeking ceases. We come to realize that the Joy that we spend so much energy on trying to attain is closer to us than any possession or achievement could ever be. Thank god this Bliss of living is not an attainment, it cannot be bought or sold, given or taken away. It is part of the fabric of what we are, although often forgotten. As we become still the body of Joy is revealed; remembered. The Joy that we long for is present and contentment arises. If only for a moment. In the lucidity of this contentment there is spaciousness, the mind.
In my last post I concluded by saying that I may not be able to experience life’s ultimate Truth but I can experience it’s ultimate Joy. After recognizing the limitations of the intellect there is a natural letting go that happens. For me, by becoming intimately aware of my koshas I come to see the transient nature of all experiences. There is no foothold on which I can place my security; there is no constant state of pleasure without pain, no ultimate Truth, no state free of the potential for suffering. When I am reminded of the natural flow of things I fall into a state of Grace where every.
At this level of my being I tap into the stories, concepts, images and thoughts that whir about within me. As I self-reflect I notice some anxiety (at the level of the manomaya kosha) about finishing this post knowing that I have little time in the next few days to do so. At a subtler level there is a belief that drives the anxiety. The belief is that if I don’t get it finished and readers are expecting a post that I will have failed in some way. As I try to stay with this belief it gets bumped out by random images of the potato soup I am cooking upstairs and a curiousity about.
I’ve been actively avoiding this post all week. I have often guarded my feelings and emotions and so publicly writing about it fills me with fear. I’m afraid to be honest, I’m afraid that I won’t be honest. So I start there. In the fear. I move through the first two sheaths with ease, I am comfortable here, in sensation and energy. And then I bump up against a wall of butterflies- this is often how I feel fear or anxiety – as mass of butterflies that jitter in my torso. And the butterflies go nowhere. They just flit about in chaotic non-patterns, bunging up any sense of flow within me.I bring more awareness to this moving, immovable mass. As I do this the butterflies seem.