Yesterday I stripped bare on a secluded beach on the West Coast of Canada and threw myself in the ice cold ocean. I had to shed it. My clothes, my better judgement, the ought to’s and shoulds of culture that weigh on me daily like an ascetics hairshirt. I had to strip it down. The cloak of expectations and duty to a social order that wants to break me of my wildness. I had to become naked and swallowed by sea so I could emerge a starfish, an anemone, a grain of sand and know myself as the natural thing I really am. As I flopped and swam like a clumsy fish amidst the gentle.
There are so many things on deck in my heart that I want to write about – but this NEEDS to be written. I saw this video today and it hit me so hard. I spend a lot of time in my yoga practice and teaching on getting grounded – it’s a typical practice in yoga in general that is often paid lip service and has no real connection to an experience. Yoga teachers encourage us all the time to “connect through our feet and get grounded” and this becomes a taken for granted instruction we all perform. But what does it really mean? Why is grounding important? What is the experience of.
For the longest time I have been searching for the right way to parent. In regard to any issue – whether that’s nutrition, potty training or cultivating pro-social behaviors. I often feel anxious about finding the “right” course of action and being consistent with it. I’m learning that this is a bit of a farce. To assume that such clarity is possible is to try to place the enormous, dynamic movement of life into a box the size of my hand. Every day I am different, my daughter is different, the influences of the world and universe around us are changing. The question is not “can I find the ‘key’.
Today my daughter woke up at 5:50am, underslept and overgrumpy. Schlepping our way through our usual morning routine my first glimpse outside revealed a gray, drizzling day. I know. It’s good for the farmers. But I still felt a little oppressed by the weight of the clouds and had a hard time lifting my spirits to meet the day. That is, until the duck costume came out. My daughter has a duck costume – which she regularly calls a chicken – that has a hat, webbed feet and a large puff for a butt that wiggles when she walks. In all seriousness she struts around the house going on with.
Since I’m on a bit of theme of confessions (see last post) here’s another one: I don’t always like yoga. I know, shouldn’t I always be singing yoga’s praises? Be an eternal advocate for it’s miraculous wonderment? In actuality, liking yoga has little to do with it’s transformative power. We get so caught up in our desire for constant pleasure and gratification that when we are confronted with a pose that’s awkward or too challenging or too easy our tendency is to toss the vessel of such displeasure out the door. There goes that posture, or that teacher or yoga altogether.And what do we miss when we do this? An grand opportunity to learn. Take back bending for example. I.
My two and half year old daughter has recently taken to announcing when “night” comes. As soon a the sun’s light begins to fade she yells “night!” and with equal fervor at dawn the next morning she yells “night all gone!”. I love her sense of rhythm. I love that she gets excited the death of day and birth of night, and vice versa, with sensitivity to the continual cycling of our daily life. We’re coming up to a time that represents to most of us the completion of yet another cycle. We enter the death of our calendar year, and like with any other death this makes space for the springing forth of.
The other day I was shocked with the realization that I sometimes forget to enjoy. I spend a great deal of time processes negative impacts from my week, but not enough time letting in the deeply pleasurable moments of my life. This isn’t the same as forgetting to appreciate. I sense that appreciation runs like a soft current through my life, but to enjoy is another thing.To me, enjoying is the magical antidote to the fixations of my sometimes anal retentive personality. It even feels nice just to type it. EN – JOY. As I sit in my bed, with my beloved heating blanket on, I wiggle my toes against.
An osteopath friend told me a few months ago that my daughter tends to hinge at her hips and neck when she moves rather than moving her spine. This comes as not surprise given that I have a rigid spine compared to the hyper mobile joints at my hips and shoulders. Wanting to create balance in her body, I’ve been campaigning somewhat to get her to move from her spine more – “Look Rowan! Can you roll like a ball? Can you wiggle side to side like mama?” I’ve seen some change in her ability to round her back more fully into flexion, but generally it’s not been significant. As.
One of my spiritual teachers recently spoke of how summer is a time when the Will of nature can be most readily felt. I’m sure we all can attest to this. Stand on the edge of any field in the vast Alberta prairies right now and you bear witness to ripe, burgeoning harvest. Spend three minutes in your back yard and be serenaded by a robust symphony of bird song emating from trees bursting with life. Watch the movement of any city whir in it’s summertime play – parks and ball diamonds a buzz of activitiy while chidren and motorcycles bellow their freedom songs.But, leaves are turning now, one by one as if counting the moments to.
One year ago I wrote a blog called “The River Runs Through Me”. It was inspired by a small river located in a campground nestled amongst the Rocky mountains of Alberta. Last year I was struck by the way that the river seemed to cleanse my soul, as if literally running through my cells, washing away the silt of stress and fatigue, leaving me feel fresh and alive. I sit here, next to an unstoked fire, in the same campground and am amused and amazed by a different experience this year. I am happy to reconnect to the lovely little river that whispered renewal into my bones last year, but this year I am astounded by the mountains themselves. .