This Ground, This Breath

My mom is special. She's the deeply sentimental type one doesn't come across very much anymore in our throw-away society. She keeps things, lots of things, but I wouldn't call her a hoarder, nor would anyone who has ever seen her pristine home. In fact, I'd say she's a master organizer and a treasure-keeper, who meticulously stows anything with heart and/or mind value that comes her way. Recently in preparation for a move, she cleaned out treasures she'd saved for decades, such as teaching materials from her long career in education, Easter bunny figurines from my childhood, and lists from helping me plan my wedding. She also unpacked and repacked for safekeeping numerous items with which she still could not bear to part, like dresses sewn for me and my sisters by her favorite aunt, who has long since passed on. There were also a number of things that made their way to my house. If you're wondering whether I responded graciously, I admit that my ini...

I went to the eye doctor for a checkup last week. It was a typical visit, until I sat down with the sales guy to pick out new glasses. I'll call him Ollie. He was a tall, self-assured fella with a kind face and an upbeat presence--rather jolly actually, in a modern sense. He told me to let him know if he was "too much" for my taste, stating he was eccentric and could come across too strong. But being too much hadn't occurred to me in the least. He was truly delightful. While he continued to meet with me, in walked another customer--a young, groovy guy, who more than matched Ollie in his light-heartedness, with a grin from ear to ear and a bounce in his step. This was one cool cat. He wore a floral surfer hat and purple, horn-rimmed glasses, and you couldn't imagine anything bothering him. He and Ollie instantly recognized and heartily acknowledged one another. After he walked away, I asked Ollie if he thought happiness was genetic, pointing out that both ...

In mindfulness yoga, we work with the Four Foundations of Mindfulness from the Buddhist tradition. They are mindfulness of the body, of the feelings, of the mind and of the objects of mind. For this post, I will focus on the Third Foundation of Mindfulness. When we observe the activity of the mind, we become aware of how it changes moment to moment, and we learn to identify less with the comings and goings of the mind. We also become aware of habitual patterns. Developing awareness of both of these aspects of mind through the practice of mindfulness leads to greater freedom by leading to changes in the brain. (In science, this is called neuroplasticity). Here's just one example on the yoga mat: We may notice that every time we go into Downward-Facing Dog, we lament the weakness in our arms or the tightness in our hamstrings. Imagine what the impact is over time if these thoughts stay the same, particularly if we identify with them as absolute truth. Perhaps we become unwilli...

I recently pulled out a cherished pair of spiral ear rings given to me years ago by my older sister. I was reminded that like many things to which I was first introduced by her (yoga included!), she was the first person to enlighten me about the meaning of the spiral symbol. She shared with me that the spiral signifies growth and transformation. As this was a period in my life of intense self-work, it was a deeply appreciated affirmation of all my effort. Recently, I've been thinking about the spiral as also signifying change that is seemingly effortless, resulting from natural forces coupled with the passage of time. Consider that the spiral is found throughout nature, from snails and seashells to fern fronds and flower buds. Even our vast Milky Way galaxy is a spiral. And time itself can be represented as a spiral, moving from the inside out. As we begin anew in 2018, I'm finding this view of the spiral as the natural course of things exceedingly helpful. There's a lo...

This is the view from the center of my house. After having lived in a bit of a topographical depression for years before moving earlier this year, I regularly marveled at this new perspective, high among the trees. Ever a lover of nature, I felt fortunate to be able to so easily observe the birds, especially as they foraged in our fig tree (just below the sightline of this photograph). And even with all the trees, I was struck by a spaciousness and a sense of abundance that had been familiar to me as a child growing up in the countryside. In short, simply peering out of this house on a hill brought me joy. This week it occurred to me that I hadn't noticed my view in awhile. The busy-ness of life has a way of doing that--of making the marvelous monotonous. We, humans, really like stimulation, and we love novelty, so it's not surprising that time and repetition seemed to have already robbed me of this newfound perspective. It's not that I hadn't continued to look out...