Ommm Focus- Finding My Inner Drishti

While I’ve been slacking a bit with posting lately, I have been busy writing. I have been given the most wonderful opportunity to write for the amazing folks at Nourishing Storm, my yoga family. Here’s a glimpse of January’s post. I’ll post bits each month so stay tuned. If you follow the link to keep reading, browse the site and check out what these beautiful souls are sharing with the community.

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The new year comes and I reflect on the previous year. How quickly it has flown. Already much of this coming year is booked. Appointments, commitments, obligations. It feels overwhelming. I begin to think about what I’d like to change in the coming year.

But it doesn’t feel right. To ask myself what I wish to change while still standing firmly on last year’s ground. Instead I will stand deeply rooted in today’s ground and ask myself where I wish to go from here.

Continue Reading Here….

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Remembering 9/11. And wishing.

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I wrote this about a week or so after 9/11 but never posted. I thought it may not be relevant but I just read the towers have just reopened for business. So maybe?

September 11th just passed. I don’t know that I really sat with that memory on the day.  I don’t recall taking a break in the day to reflect.

Maybe it was the distance of time.  Maybe I was too busy – work, practice field, snack stand, dishes, home, dishes, laundry, lunches.  I know I acknowledged it in thought but didn’t tap into that space like I had in previous years. So here I am now taking that break.

The emotional impact was far greater than the impact of the airplanes.  Everyone watching was aware of nothing else but that moment.  Whatever thoughts were scrambling through our minds, none were disconnected from what was happening before our eyes.

Millions of us watched as the second airplane hit, not believing it even as we saw it.  Who could begin to comprehend?  We watched horrified as people so desperate for escape, jumped from the building.  Throats choked and burning, tears steaming down our faces, confused and helpless, we could do nothing but continue to watch.

We may or may not have known someone who lost their life there on that day but we probably all know someone who did.

I remember I couldn’t stop thinking about the people who jumped.  How terrifying it must have been.  I could never ever truly know my own mind in that situation as I’ve never been stretched to that point.  But I did fully imagine how it might have been.

I felt a deep compassion for everyone involved.  And that was everyone.  Everyone who lost their lives, everyone who lost someone in their lives, everyone who watched helplessly, everyone who held their family a little tighter, everyone who saw us all as family.

That is something I remember most about the aftermath.  I don’t remember anger in people or outrage or even fear.  I remember compassion.   I remember everyone being so sensitive to their fellow man in the fragile days that followed.  We were touched by the truth of life, that we are all in this together.

I remember carrying my son in a grocery store parking lot, pushing my cart.  My son dropped his sippy cup and it rolled underneath the car.  When I started to get down to get it, a man ran over and told me he would get it for me.  And he did.  Other people stopped just to smile.  I was so grateful I cried.   So thankful to see the good in people.  My son gripped the cup with his chubby little hands and shined his 1 year old, gappy-toothed grin. I’ll never forget that.

I doubt this simple act had the same effect on anyone else around. And maybe no one remembers the following days in the same way.  But my eyes began to seek contact with everyone just to somehow say, “I’m here with you”.  I now wish I could have somehow preserved that spirit within myself, that awareness of the connection we all share.  All the meaningless distractions, all the time I am blind to the people around me as my mind races over my to-do lists, that obliviousness was suspended in the wake of 9/11.  The event made clear what was truly important in life.  I felt a deep sense of community as we all tried to make sense of the tragedy.

In reflection now I long to recapture that feeling.  I am hopeful the world doesn’t need the deep hurt of a fresh wound to stir that compassion again, that I don’t need to imagine such an experience to snap out of the daze brought by the daily grind.  I need to open my eyes to the community of good people around me. Shake off the weight I pick up when I focus on all that is wrong, unfair, hateful.  That good I saw is always there.  I just need to remind myself to look.

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In Memory of Gavin Wolfe: Learning the Strength in Bending from the Man of Steel

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Sometimes life really tosses us around. We are thrown up into the air. Spinning with no ground to stand on, everything around is suddenly unfamiliar, nothing makes sense. Caught in a whirlwind, we can’t grasp anything we see.  Everything is moving too fast.  We  realize we can’t find a way out.  Because there is no way out.  Only a way through.  And then we have to make choice.

Our hearts are laid open and in these moments we must decide if we can keep them open despite the pain. Or do we close them off because feeling the love hurts too much? Do we harden ourselves to the world and all its heartache or should we own our pain and, with it, our love, trusting time will forgive and heal? It is only through love, I think, that we ever truly live. And so here, in the midst of deep sorrow, we must choose to bend or to break .

Love is bigger than this world. Keeping open to the love is the only way left for us and those who are gone from us to make a way through together.  I think the way to accept great loss and tragedy is to stop grasping for the part that is no longer there but instead catch hold of the part that can never, not ever, be taken away.  It isn’t an easy reach.  We have to be willing to stay open, to be vulnerable, to soften our hearts to allow for the stretch.   It takes a small leap of faith because we see nothing to hold in sight.  But something is there.  I assure you it is there forever. We just need to bend.

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Turning my Inner B into my Inner BFF


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So sometimes I think I may have a split personality or maybe an alter-ego.  I don’t know. . . something.  I don’t black out and find out I’ve done something terrible or anything.  I haven’t formed any fight clubs that I’m aware of at this point.  But in some ways, I might as well have.

Let me ‘splain…  Every day I start out with all good intentions.  I do some yoga moves, drink a bottle of water, peek in on my sleeping kids and hubby and smile and silently wish them a great day.  I hop into the truck, play some meditation kind of music or something that makes me happy.  You get the idea…. It’s all good.  Ease on into the day.

At some point in more days than I care to admit something switches.  My crazy surfaces, we’ll call it my Inner Biznatch.  I’m not sure what sets her off.  Traffic jams, interacting with an office finger-pointer, dealing with an automated customer service system (“I said ‘Yes’ muthacussa, YES!”)  Whatever it is that gets her panties twisted,  I am shocked at how quickly my inner zen is shattered and appalled at myself as I speak how fast I break the four agreements.  (I try to honor the agreements from Don Miguel Ruiz to take nothing personally, be impeccable with my words, make no assumptions and always do my best.)  Gone.  All gone in one, “I’m about to split somebody’s wig up in this b…”.  Then my zen scrambles to stay alive.  Glung, glung, muthacussin GLUNG!

I realize I need to address this.  I can’t keep doing this.  I can’t replant my loving-kindness seeds and cultivate an authentic spiritual practice then keep effectively trampling all over the sprouts.  So I have set out to see if I need professional help or if I can get a handle on this.  Bottom line, I can’t make progress if I keep on the cycle of losing my cool then giving myself mental beat-downs.  I have to keep my glung whether I’m in my coveted yoga class or in my despised cubical.  I have to keep it whether I am eating a soul sustaining, leisurely meal prepared with love for my family or eating a super sucky lunch at my office computer, keep it whether I’m driving to someplace wonderful on a beautiful day or just got flipped off by someone who cut ME off on my way to work in the rain.   I can’t spin around like Wonder Woman and quick change into my cranky pants because I’m frustrated or because somebody is giving me a slice of their nasty.

So first thing’s first.  Who am I really? Which side is the real me?    What if my Inner Biznatch is my real deal?  Thing is I’m honestly a bit of everything.  My dream job on most days is being a part of a holistic wellness retreat center writing, massaging, and teaching in a space complete with an herb garden and an apiary (wayiBEE) with a bunch of like-minded folks offering their magic.  I would LOVE this.  Other days, I could see being Terry Tate the Office Linebacker, laying out my coworkers for killin’ the jo’ and not making mo’.  Both are true, my zen and my rage.  But my rage, I treat like the proverbial red headed step child.  And maybe that’s the problem.

My Inner B is misunderstood.  She is abused and reprimanded for speaking her truth.  Stifled and starved, she gets a little rammy.  So something small feels a little bigger than usual because she’s already lugging around a ton of baggage, baggage she wasn’t given the opportunity to drop.  Hand her one more thing, look out below ‘cuz here come a slice of Nikki’s Pain Cake.  But after I dish out that slice, I’ll pay in guilt for all the damage.  Yep, that’s the cycle.  Have something that should only be a minor aggravation get doused with a decade’s worth of suppressed anger and watch the fireworks.

My biznatchery was a lifesaver in my hyper self-conscious teen years.  She was my champion that got me through some awkward times.   But then she got too familiar.    And I started not to like her.  So I shunned her after all she did for me. I got it in my head that part of controlling my temper was never getting mad.  All those little angry bits got shoved in time out and left to calm down only I never went back to check in once it all settled.   Well lately it seems all these angry bits have come together and found their advocate in my Inner B.  And she is tired of being shunned and ready for some revenge.

Now that I’m starting to really look at this I see my Inner B really just needs a friend.  She can be kind of likeable.  She is pretty funny with some of the stuff that comes out of her mouth when she gets going.  She is just a little misguided.  Her aim is off.  She misfires a lot.  Her energy is really powerful.  It just needs a better outlet.  She needs to be accepted by me, brought into the fold, and listened to thoroughly.  She needs a hug.  This is going to take some time, as I’ve pretty much denied her for most of my grown up life.  I can see getting kicked in the shins the first few attempts.  She hasn’t gotten any love.  This is going to take some work.

I have implemented some office coping mechanisms to take the edge off while she heals.  (Most of my issues arise in my place of work, probably because I don’t like my job or cubicles in general… they are unnatural but that’ll be another post…)   Each morning I remind myself of my values.  I do this by putting them at the top of my “To Do” list every day.  Yeah, I can hear the “Um, yeah…weirdo!” now but it is what I do and it forces me to get my day off to a mindful start.

Music is another must have.  Of the laid back, happy variety.  I used to put on songs from bands like Rage Against the Machine  when I felt angry, like my anger needed an anthem.  Someone dumps their work on my desk and I play Killing in the Name and all my fury feels a bit more acceptable and starts to grow.  Not the best plan for me.  So I’m finding it better to tune into a positive vibe to simma’ down these days.

I’ve also started to do yoga at lunch.  Amazing what a few sun salutations and a headstand will do for a body. (I’ll have more on this in a future post.)   Having access to some good snacks too can’t hurt.  Chocolate and popcorn pacify her.  When all else fails, I appeal to her sense of humor.  This little nugget may be like letting one of my many freak flags fly but sometimes I make pretend I’m on a sitcom like “The Office” when I’m interacting with people who make my bit**switch finger a little trigger happy.  I’ll even look at my imaginary camera and shake my head when they walk away.  Sounds a little nutty but it works, for me anyways.   If I get caught doing it, they will have glimpsed some of my crazy and probably leave me alone for a little while at the very least.  A winner either way!

These things have been helping me shield new baggage while I work on addressing the old stuff.  I’m  doing some fall clean up.  Sorting through it all and sitting with it for a bit.  Recall the memories, why I decided to hang on to a piece of some previous resentment this long, and then say goodbye.  Some remnants of wrath I may recycle into something useful to me now.  Some I may not be ready to let go of, so I’ll dust it off, throw a little love at it and put it back for the next baggage claim day.

Funny that I have a lot of grace for most people in my life and not so much for parts of myself.  For so long I beat myself up for not being an ideal human by some misguided standards I unknowingly adopted.   No one is without anger.  No one is always the perfect embodiment of happiness and bliss.  (And people who are always all chipper are seriously annoying right?  Can I get an “Amen”?….  sorry that was what she was thinking…  she’s so crazy..)   Bottom line, we all get a little salty sometimes.  As I’m seasoning, I have come to embrace that.  We all need a bit of flavor.  Everything in moderation.  A little briny brings out my sweet.  So I have some catching up to do with this old friend of mine.  We’re gonna chew some fat.  And a little bit of salt is just what it needs.FullSizeRender

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Why I Dig Yoga.

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I see the pose I want to get into. See the flexibility and balance. See the strength and the courage. And I push into it. But I can’t.

My body isn’t there. And even more my mind and my breath aren’t there. They have to move together. My spine, my chakras, my energy all must stay in line. And my body will follow.

I have found and perfected a simpler, transitional pose. A tiny step closer. I probably could force myself into something resembling the real pose. It may look identical to anyone looking too. But if I can’t breath in it or can’t think of anything but “Dear God, when are we moving into child’s pose?”, I haven’t found the truth of the pose. I haven’t connected to it. If I need a prop, I know it is not a sign of weakness like I once thought. Oh the strap of shame, proclaiming my inflexibility to all. It is a tool to help me stay in line while my body releases and adjusts to the pose. It can take weeks, years. And it is only a step. I’ve come to love this slow work.

In this it is like my life. Every day is just another step. I can’t skip steps and advance to anything authentic. I have to do the work. I have to prepare. I have to find balance. I grow into myself, much like flowing into a pose. And it flows when I am aligned. Mind, body and spirit.

Yeah. that’s why I dig yoga. Because it makes me dig.

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Soul Searching: Sat Nam: Truth is my name

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Let your life speak.  I have always loved this phrase.  When I hear it, I immediately think upon my own life.  I look at how I’ve invested my time and energy and ponder what that says about me.  Then I think of what I wish it to say about me and what needs to change.  That has been my way of defining the phrase – reflecting back and imagining forward.

But life does not speak in the language of my past nor can I write it into the script of my future.  It speaks in the present.  While I can gain wisdom from looking at my past and apply that wisdom in making plans for my future, I can only find direction in the quiet space of now.  My sacred compass, oriented on my Truth, can only be accurately read when I sit still with it.

I understand the true meaning of the phrase at this moment.  To use the metaphor of my life as a book, I can read the previous chapters to get the story so far and get a sense of my voice as its author.  Then I can think of all the possible ways the story could play out from here and what voice I hope to convey to the reader in the next chapter.  But I must not begin to write the next page without pausing to see what my life is saying right now.  I must let it speak to me in its own words, in its own voice.

Life is an ever-changing story.  I am the author of my own life in the midst of a world full of its own stories, some of which cast me as a character.  I must not alter my own voice to play a part, even one I wish to play.  I have spoken at times in a forced voice and it was foreign to my own ears.  My voice, when spoken in its natural timbre, is honest and authentic.

To “let my life speak” is not an outward expression to be purposely determined but an inward revelation to be mindfully followed. I must stop and silently listen to it.  I must practice sitting in silent communion,  allowing my voice to find its pure resonance with Love then genuinely listening to what it has to say.  Only from this place can I go forward knowing, without doubt, my Truth speaks for me.

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Oh well a touch of grey kinda suits me anyway . . .

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I pull into the parking lot at 6AM as I do a couple mornings a week. I meet my friend to exercise before work. Sometimes we jog, sometimes we walk, sometimes we lunge our way through the park. Okay, mostly we walk. We say our good mornings. We see the same people along the path. We can almost time our walk by where we see them. We know we’ve reached the home stretch around the time the one man says, “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

When the weather broke there were two new faces. Two elderly men. I stopped to watch them in the parking lot while waiting for my friend. One of them began to unpack his car slowly. Time had hunched his back – the peak of the hump was nearly level with his eyes. If I had to guess, I’d say in his mid-eighties. He wears a big brimmed baseball cap, the kind with the thin cord at the base of the bill. It reminded me of the baseball caps my grandfather used to wear when he was fishing.

He unloaded a box onto a cart that was both to carry his stuff and act as a walker. It took him about 15 minutes to go about 20 yards to his spot, a patch of pavement in the park facing the open field. His cart turned into a chair and he sat down to unload a remote control, then an airplane. His friend was already there. I doubt his friend was too much younger but he was of a slighter build and still had a bit of spring in his step. I wondered if the man sitting envied that spring. My friend arrived and on we walked.

Another morning they are there again. My friend and I are running late and the old man in the grandfather hat had already started the 20 yard trek to his spot. I watch him from my truck. He sits down and begins to unpack. It looks like a ritual. Slow, deliberate and methodical. I don’t know why this holds my attention. He is setting his airplane off into flight by the time we make it up to the start of the path. His friend was getting his helicopter out. I saw them suddenly as little boys. I could imagine them as kids with their first toy planes running around their yards making engine noises by flapping their lips. There was no less joy in my imagined scene than there was in the scene before me. Grandfather Hat did a flyby at old Springy’s head. Springy looks shocked then they both start to laugh. I smile.

I stood thoughtful for a moment. I snapped a picture and we started our walk. We talk as we walk, me still thinking about the two elderly men. We didn’t jog at all on this particular day. We only did a few lunges but my body felt stiff. Maybe it was the yoga or the push-ups from the night before? I wasn’t in pain or anything, just stiff. I’m getting older. Hey, that’s life.

I think of the old man sitting. And it hits me. I am completely struck with a compassion and a respect for this man. Just as I think to curse the limitations that come with age, I see him laughing. Yes, his body has (same as mine) reached its peak. The aches and pains, the stiffness, they probably are not going anywhere. But there he was. Yeah, set up took a little longer but the great show still goes on. There are planes to be flown!

I snap a picture of the tiny plane in flight to capture a memory of this lesson. I share the picture here. You’ll have to conjure your own image of Grandfather Hat. I kept that first picture of him for my own.  A reminder. My view on aging was near-sighted, focused on what I felt was drifting out of my reach into some blur ahead. Job opportunities, physical abilities, a natural hair color. If not for that little airplane, I may have stayed hoping somehow I could dig my heels into the space I occupy now and stop time. I could have kept fighting it, kept protesting for the anti-aging campaign. But right then I accepted it. I accepted all of it. Because yeah, that’s life! And I’ve got some flying to do.

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Soul Searching: Amazing Grace. How Sweet the Sound

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Grace is found in being present in the moment.  When we are mentally still in time.  Where we are okay and we know it.  Neither the future nor the past is in our Sight.  Our eyes see only the right now.

Our minds cease their endless chatter about imagined scenarios and remembered emotions.  We are at Peace.  And from here we listen . . .

. . .To our love

. . . . . .To our loved ones

. . . . . . . . .To everyone

. . . . . . . . . . . .To ourselves . . .

And just then we find Grace.

Letting our lives speak is what we do once we hear her call.

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How do you eat your Reese’s?

reesesI often go to the Friends Journal website to take a peek at the upcoming topics.  As a member of the Religious Society of Friends and a very irregular attender, I like to use the topics as prompts for meditation so I can get my Quaker on when I’ve been away too long.  I sit much like I’m at Meeting for Worship and ponder these topics and let them go where they lead.  I recently read an upcoming topic, Concepts of God, and chewed upon it for a while.  As I can’t stop chewing, I feel compelled to rise and speak.

In my faith, I am a constant seeker.  I am forever searching for greater connections to my source.  I have found my deepest connections in Quakerism.  I love the SPICES.  As I chew on the concept of God, I feel I need to sprinkle it with Equality.  I do believe, no, I know it to be true in my experience that there IS that of God in every one of us. And I can just as wholeheartedly declare there is that of Buddha in everyone, that of Allah in everyone, that of Odin in everyone.

While I am speaking from my own Truth, typing it now I feel a bit conflicted.  It is actually very difficult for me to say God is interchangeable with Buddha and Allah and (insert your God’s name here).  Not because I don’t truly believe what I’m saying, but because I honestly do.  I was introduced to God by way of Jesus.  Jesus is the way of my ancestors and I am rooted in my faith through Jesus.  And any good Christian knows there is no way but through Jesus.  But it is not what I know to be true.  You see, my grandfather, Frank Hansen, was a man of great faith.  He took me to church with him.  I recited my Bible verses, read the stories and listened to the preacher’s message each week.  I took it all in.  My grandfather was held in high regard at his church and in his community.  He was kind to everyone, always respectful and considerate.  I don’t recall but one time seeing him lose his patience.  He never pushed his religion, but could school anyone on the subject.

Once, as a child, I told my grandfather I felt uncomfortable going out to evangelize as the youth group did from time to time and maybe that meant I wasn’t a good Christian.  I knew he, at least for himself, believed there to be only one true way and would tell me if I was missing the boat.  He told me I was okay.  He told me how he had always thought it was better instead to be like a lighthouse.  Let your light shine so it is there in case someone needs it to find their way.    And that is how he lived his life, like a brilliant, beautiful, shining lighthouse.  It is his life that speaks more purely to me of Jesus than the Bible ever will.  I can see clearly that Christ, in scripture, in words, in death, isn’t the way; living as Christ, in peace, in compassion, with love for all, is.

I eventually left the church that seemed so preoccupied with “saving” everyone.  I believe no faith holds a monopoly on salvation and righteousness.   It isn’t the words I use, the name I speak or the images that hang in the church I visit that connect me to God.  It is my practice.  And not my practice on Sunday mornings (which I’ve already said is lacking), but my life as my practice.  I developed my practice starting with my rooted beliefs, the beliefs I inherited.  My grandfather introduced me to my source through his connection (J.C.) and allowed me to become familiar with God so that, I believe, I may recognize Him when I see Him in this world.  As I have my own life experiences, I have compared what I have learned to what I have been taught.  And one thing that jives with my own experience but perhaps is not so harmonious with what I was taught is that my God is not exclusive.  My God, that Divine Light my grandfather introduced me to, is not limited to one point of access.  I have connected to my God leaning my back on a pew in a meetinghouse and leaning my back on a great oak in a fairy glen.  I have heard my God speak in the scriptures, in a bird’s song, and in a fortune cookie.  I have felt the presence of the Holy Spirit at a mass, at a yoga class and at a basketball game.

If I could call him nothing and be understood, I would.  Religion, to me, is like a language.  I may speak only one language, but if I cry, or I laugh or I smile, chances are good that I will be universally understood.  God is the smile and the tear, the expression of our deepest emotions where there is no mistaking the meaning but neither are there words to truly convey it.  Religion is the concept, these ideas that try to capture and contain into words, into one cohesive language, what can only be experienced.    I can’t fathom defining the divine source of all life, all of life’s expressions and manifestations, the same way as anyone else as no one experiences life the same way.  Everyone comes from a different point of reference.

But while I know everyone expresses their connection to their source differently, I absolutely accept that I glimpse my source most often in other people.  I find God in the common experiences of life that aren’t exclusive to one culture or faith.   And when I find that connection, I don’t know nor do I care what their dogma is, what name they pray to, or how they eat their Reese’s peanut butter cup.  Because I know there is more than one way to come to the Truth.

I know that what serves to separate me from my brothers and sisters will also separate me from my creator.  So I don’t sweat the names given to the source.  I know the light shines in each one of us.  It is glorified when I bask in the light of another and reflect it back out to them.   As I’ve thought and listened deeply on this topic, I’ve come to be okay with simplifying the great religious debate down to potato/potahto in my mind and knowing it does not disrespect my grandfather’s faith.   Everyone must find what speaks to them, and then they must let their life speak to what they’ve found.   Me?  I have found loving-kindness and compassion speak the truth.  I strive to master these sublime tongues first and will go on from there.

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Pause for a breath

Every moment I can be reborn. Every moment is fresh and new. The world of all possibilities is before me. If I can let go.

Each breath can be taken with an awareness. A breath in can bring health and vitality. Or it can bring me more deeply into my dis-ease and unrest. All riding on my state of mind.

All states of being only exist in the frame of my attention. My focus creates the state.

Right now I enjoy the quiet state. I am well and I am grateful. May all stop to visit this peaceful place within.

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