Yoga Teacher Training Journal: December 23

Today was perhaps the most necessary of classes I've had in awhile.

Drill sergeant teacher. Frazzled and harried students all taking a break from whatever the rest of the world believes they should be doing instead. And all of whom emerged from practice calmer, more centered, and more capable of being present with their loved ones.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: never underestimate the power of a good class to keep the Furies (the shouldacouldawoulda's) at bay.

Yoga Teacher Training Journal: December 21

Today I put taking a yoga class on my "Me-List" because I knew I really needed to go--not just to meet my class quota for the week, but because I knew the holidays were coming up and that getting to class would be difficult for a few days--and that really sucks because, if you ask me, at no time is yoga more necessary than at the holidays.

The problem is that my in-laws were visiting NYC and had decided to come to our place in Jersey City for dinner. They were planning to come at 6 and leave around 9. And I found out that morning. And how could I go to work and to yoga if the earliest class I could take would end at 6:30, putting me back in Jersey City, sweaty and unpresentable, at 8??? They would think I was the worst wife ever, right?!

Well, I boasted yesterday of my epiphany... and now here I was wrestling with what I wanted vs. what I perceived to be expected of me. So I again forced myself to let my story go and stick to my original plan. But to placate my inner child, I also wrote into my ME-List that I'd have an enjoyable visit with my in-laws.

The cool thing was that it all worked out--I got to get my practice in, my in-laws got some time alone with their son (and I think all in-laws secretly want that), and then we all had a lovely time once I got home--sweat and all.

Yoga Teacher Training Journal: December 20

I was told during Script Celebration that I need to be more of a bitch when I lead a hot yoga class. Which is hard because I've spent most of my life learning how NOT to be a bitch--one way of understanding my life might be as a series of ever-finer calibrations to the expectations and desires of people around me, trying to be what I perceive they want me to be.

This happened because these calibrations seemed necessary--when I was standing in my power, as a child with no sense that my personality might rub someone the wrong way because I literally loved everyone and was excited by everything so how oh how could someone not feel exactly the same about me, I alienated people, or they had negative reactions that they weren't afraid to publicize, and these reactions hurt me so much that I changed in order to avoid them.

Today, Rhonda was my teacher at Riverflow. And she taught the class like the little general she purports herself to be. And it was amazing--because of two things.

1. She was hard on me. And I did not even take it remotely personally. And somehow that simple fact allowed me to surpass myself in other ways in the class--learning things about poses, feeling certain things about them for the first time. I know it sounds like too much of an epiphany for something so seemingly inconsequential, but it was huge for me--because I'm supposed to be "sensitive."

2. Rhonda said during Script Celebration that we can only become ourselves and stand in our power when we stop caring what people think about us. And in class today, at certain moments, I felt I finally understood that, felt that as truth.

Yoga Teacher Training Journal: December 18

I made some mistakes last night. I don't really want to talk about what they were, but they involved meeting up with an old friend from college with whom I never get up to any good. Let's just say he's a bad influence, but I love him, and leave it at that.

This time I tried to visualize meeting up and not letting him lead me down the primrose path tofeeling crappy in the morning, especially given how ill I've been recently, etc. But then I let the past repeat itself as it has so many times before.

It's easy to beat yourself up when that sort of thing happens--and believe me, I did. And coming to class feeling the way I did almost seemed like a form of punishment--until I began to reconceive of it as an act of letting go--one more step toward liberating myself from patterns that keep me trapped in old cycles of behavior and old beliefs about myself.

Hot yoga, for me, is about letting go of those things, and about having the courage to see what happens when you do.

I'm still working on it. But each time I go to class, I take another step toward allowing it to happen.

Yoga Teacher Training Journal: December 17

Today was a beautiful, juicy, and joyful class. I could feel a pronounced difference in my strength and vitality from yesterday, and that filled me with so much joy and gratitude that I like to think it spilled over my mat and onto all the people around me.

And it was a day on which I surpassed myself and my own limiting expectations of what I could do. The day had not gone that well, and I was feeling run-down, on the brink of relapsing--again. Yet again I had been up until 2 trying to get everything done, and yet again I had to wake up at 6 to keep plugging away.

Yet again my stories were threatening to envelop me like the plastic bag my mentor talks about--all the excuses we find that cover us and suffocate us as we spin the stories that hold us back, that keep us from surpassing ourselves.

I am so happy that I forced myself to say, "Fuck my stories, I'm going to class. I can just lie there, if it comes to that, just as long as I walk through the door."

I walked through the door, fell asleep before class started, and awoke to a glorious practice.

Just goes to show you.

Yoga Teacher Training Journal: December 13

Today's class made me think about the exuberance of health. As in, how wonderful it feels to be healthy (or at least to be on the mend) when you've been sick--seriously ill--for awhile.

This was my first class back after having to take an extended break due to a severe and persistent respiratory disorder. And the fact that I didn't have a fever, and that I wasn't clammy, and that I could breathe through my nose--all of these were, in their own way, causes for celebration.

Sure, I still can't do Pranayama without hacking and wheezing and getting sharp looks from people who are annoyed that a) I'm breaking their concentration and b) potentially getting them sick. But that's okay--each cough means my lungs are getting better, that things are moving around and finding their way out of my body, and that I'm going to be back to normal soon.

Yoga Teacher Training Journal: December 4

Showbiz Pizza Time Theater. Yes, it ties in--obliquely.

Thank goodness for Bikram sometimes, you know? Or all the time, but sometimes, you really feel the gratitude.

Kind of a bad day. Exhausted. Tired of living in two places. Had a kind of hissy fit at work.

And then I got in there. And it all melted away.

Like Calgon, only better.

There was steam coming off my skin! OFF MY SKIN!!!!

Can't wait for a great night's sleep tonight. Which will hopefully arrive soon. Left the studio after 10:30 and am waiting on some videos to upload.

Sleepy time theater over here. (See, told you it tied in.)

Yoga Teacher Training Journal: December 3

Mister Mittens is going to vaporize you with his laser-beam focus!

GOT MY ASANA KICKED, BIG TIME

Whoa, Nellie. A tough, tough class today. Had to sit out a couple of poses, got the major red-face going on (which always tells me I'm not breathing enough), and all in all struggled until the very end.

But the good news is, I'm glad I went. No matter how bad I feel going in to my classes, no matter how hard I have to work to convince myself to go, I always feel 150 times better once class is over. I try to tell myself that on days when my mind is all, "No thanks!" but it doesn't always work, no matter how many times this particular fact has been demonstrated.

I'd really like to know, though, why on certain days I just can't balance for the life of me. Like falling to the side (vs. forward) in Standing Bow or falling out of tree pose? On some days, I'm like laser beam focus lady, and on other days, not so much. What can we learn about what's going on internally on the days that balance is a real struggle?

OH--and one fun fact. Met a girl from my high school class at the Manhattan studio today. What a small world!

Yoga Teacher Training Journal: November 28

Mary and Half-Tortoise sittin' in a tree...

HALF-TORTOISE SAVED MY LIFE TONIGHT

Ardha-Kurmasana, you truly are a little wonder.

Last night I had one of those inexplicably crabby yoga classes. Things started off a bit off-kilter because some circuit breakers weren't working and the heat was kind of spotty... and I never quite recovered my equilibrium.

Which is to say, I was a consummate Poopy-Pants. "Why won't that cell phone stop buzzing? Why is that person's B.O. so unimaginably pungent? Who's farting, and why?! And why won't that cell phone stop buzzing?!!"

And on and on like that.

No amount of concentrating on my breathing--or chanting "Receive" and "Allow" on the inhales and exhales--could quiet my inner Eeyore. And then... a miracle happened.

A double set of Half-Tortoise on the half shell.

My thoughts slowed down. My forehead melted into the mat. And when I came up, even the light in the room appeared different. Softer, somehow. Rosier.

Perspective shift accomplished. Thank you, little tortoise.

Yoga Teacher Training Journal: November 27th

THE TERRIBLE TWOFER!

Well, I had to do a twofer today to meet my quota...

The first class was wondrous. I marvelled at how calm my mind was, especially since all day long my mind was chaotic, and remained so right up until the moment class began. Every pose and savasana felt luxurious, and I felt like a particularly contented cat.

The second class, I started to feel that twinge in my back again, right above my tailbone on the left side. My thighs felt like jelly. I was shaking. And my mind took the opportunity of my body's weakness to start picking on me. Like, hardcore and shit. It was a testament to the power of the breath that I was able to disengage from the self-critical mode fairly quickly, soon after I realized it had kicked in.

The self-critical demon is my primary demon. And it motivates a lot of the behaviors that create unhappiness in my world. Disengaging the self-critical demon is what my practice is devoted to--when I am having a joyful practice it is all about celebration, and I don't see what I can't do, or what I can, or whether my stomach is hanging out or whether I'm crazy to wear so little clothes when women with much more beautiful bodies have the decency to cover themselves up, etc. All I see is a joyful expression of health and plenitude, of gratitude for this body and this life, for this practice and this community (or these communities) and this PEACE which it can bring me when I'm in the right frame of mind.

And once I have access to this peace and this joy, I can spread it around to others. Which is an amazing and beautiful thing.

Yoga Teacher Training Journal: November 21

THANKSGIVING PRACTICE (OR RATHER, THE DAY BEFORE)

The theme of today's practice was gratitude. Gratitude for my morning coaching call that got the day started off right and brought me peace after an anxiety-plagued, sleepless night. Gratitude for the surprise 2 PM dismissal which made it possible for me to pack AND hit a 5 PM yoga class tonight before heading to Roanoke. Gratitude for this yoga, for the healthy body that it helps maintain, my family and my amazing friends, and all the blessings in this life too numerous to count.

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone, and may everyone find something in their lives to feel thankful for!

Yoga Teacher Training Journal: November 20

If it's cool with y'all, I'mma start wearing my tie-dyed bloomers to class. And maybe kinda sorta all the time.

STEP AWAY FROM THE DESK

I'd like to start this journal entry off with a shout-out to my kick-ass Accountability Partners, the awesome Jane and June. I like to think I would have gotten out of work on time to go to yoga without their encouraging texts to STEP AWAY FROM THE DESK and get to class, but recent history has proven otherwise.

The fact of the matter is, I was waylaid enough times on the way out the door that by the time I got in my car and on my way, all signs pointed to FAIL. But the universe showed me a route to get to Riverflow that was ten minutes shorter than any I'd taken thus far. And though the roads were dark and winding, no deer bolted forth from the woods to ruin both of our days.

I got there and got to practice next to Alex (yay!) while Alyssa led the class with her patented mellow ebullience.

As for revelations/A-HA moments, I had an epiphany that is no less an epiphany for the fact that I feel like I've been told this thing I had a revelation about a hundred times: Full locust is actually FUN and GRACEFUL when you are aware of your breathing throughout.

Seriously! Fun and graceful--not a struggle--no lie! No grunting! No collapsing at the end! You can smile and feel like you're flying.

Now I just need to work on getting me some tie-dyed bloomers and I'll be all set...

Yoga Teacher Training Journal: November 18

Seriously? This happens?

A LOVE LETTER TO... HALF LOCUST?

I know I'm not supposed to admit stuff like this, but if you'd asked me three years ago what my LEAST favorite pose was, I would have had a ready answer for you: you, Mr. Double-Leg Lift in Half Locust.

(I'm sorry, Standing Head to Knee. I know you thought you were my one and only. But there was a first.)

Oh, how I used to dread you. Strategize about how to avoid you. Barely acknowledge your existence except to despise you.

And then tonight, I realized that I WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO DOING YOU. And realized that I HAD BEEN LOOKING FORWARD TO DOING YOU WITHOUT REALIZING IT FOR A LONG TIME.

(I know that seems kind of forward, but I'm just being honest.)

And there's more. I don't just look forward to seeing you. I miss you when you're gone. When I'm typing (which is often) and my hands start to feel numb, my wrists twinge-y, I miss the insane pressure that only you seem to be able to provide.

Once I learned how to breathe in you, I saw that you weren't so bad. In the yoga pose world, you're the bad-ass with a heart of gold. My greaser-in-a-hot-rod pose. The one my parents don't want me hanging out with.

You're the best, oh Third Phase of Half Locust.

I love you.

Wild Style: Street Art

OUTLAWS & VIGILANTES

In chapter three of The Tipping Point (2002), Malcolm Gladwell postulates a theory about the "Subway Vigilante" case--the incident in which Bernie Goetz shot four alleged muggers on the subway on December 22, 1984. He does not condone Goetz's actions, nor sympathize with them, but he does interpret this incident as the inevitable culmination of an urban crime wave that had been in formation for over a decade.

Gladwell suggests that the solution to the crime epidemic lay in altering context--in other words, in trying to make changes in spaces as opposed to trying to make them in people. A healthy chunk of the chapter, in fact, is devoted to examing the results of the NYPD's strategy of cracking down on graffiti. According to a corollary of the "Tipping Point" theory, the "Broken Windows" theory, graffiti telegraphs a message to people that no one cares about the environment so graffitoed--that if people have been allowed to deface the property and no one has cleaned it up, then anything goes. The analogy at play: imagine an abandoned house with lots of windows. Once one kid throws a rock through the window, others will quickly follow suit--because the broken window communicates neglect. And once you've got one abandoned house with broken windows... there goes the neighborhood.

Or something to that effect.

So if you consistently punish the train painters, say, and routinely repaint trains that have been tagged, it functions as a means of illustrating that someone is on the lookout, someone is always watching. Someone cares about the little things and therefore cares exponentially about the big things.

SUBWAYS CAN BE SCARY--BUT GRAFFITI AIN'T WHY

I'll admit that I found the subways in the era Gladwell examines ABSOLUTELY TERRIFYING, and will only reluctantly ride the subway to this day (ask anyone--I'll gladly walk three miles in the rain to avoid it). For this irrational fear, I blame a subway scene from the movie The Wiz (the glorious 1978 adaptation of The Wizard of Oz starring Diana Ross, Michael Jackson, and a comically inept Toto) in which the fearsome foursome is variously imperiled by giant puppets, hungry trash cans, and dislodged columns.

Here--some stills from the film, submitted for your edification:

Traumatizing? Absolutely. And surely the filmmakers are playing with the idea that subway stations can be menacing, even terrifying places. But man, at least in these shots, these subways are clean. You could practically eat off the Yellow Brick Floor.

Of course, pictures I've seen of the subways in the 1980's certainly lend credence to Gladwell's theory that context contributes far more meaningfully to human behavior, be it bad or good, than we have previously understood. And he provides some pretty compelling evidence to support a very tidy theory about how crime rates plummeted as subways and stations got cleaner.

Nevertheless, there's something unappealing about Gladwell's conclusion--something vaguely fascistic. Perhaps it would be instructive to pair a reading of The Tipping Point--or at least this chapter of it--with  the 1983 film Wild Style. which importantly documents the subversive street culture movement that was already fully underway that fateful night in December when Goetz pulled out his gun in a dispute over (allegedly) five dollars. This artistic explosion is itself an expression of discontent and a cry for change--but a life-giving, life-affirming one. Por ejemplo:

ART FOR THE PEOPLE

As the photos below make clear,  real street art can enhance a space, even redefine it---it says that someone cares enough about it to beautify it, to take ownership of it, even when those who inhabit that space may be politically and economically marginalized. And yet even as it beautifies, it protests the very conditions it transforms.

Need proof? See the images below. Just a smattering picked up from the interwebs.

 

As with many things I love, I know the boat on street art sailed long ago. It's far from the politically subversive force it was even ten years ago. Space Invader gets commissioned to create installations for people's homes. Shepard Ferry is now on the museum circuit. Exit Through the Gift Shop was a huge hit (and awesome!).

But no matter how mainstream it's become, it still functions as voice of discontent. An expression of the will to adorn in circumstances that demand adornment as a principle of survival. And as a means of expressing urgent messages that need to be heard, and are often heard too late.

Yoga Teacher Training Journal: November 14

My cold and cough had gotten so bad by the end of today, I thought there was no way I could go to yoga. But I had made plans to meet a friend and I didn't want to let her down. So I dragged my achy carcass to Riverflow.

And guess what? Surprise music class!!!

I LOVED IT!

There was something so incredibly relaxing about it. I found it easier to meditate in the absence of the dialogue and the class was over before I knew it--it just flowed by. Plus there was something positively blissful about being able to practice to songs I deeply love, like "And She Was" by the Talking Heads, or Simon and Garfunkel's tour de force, "Only Living Boy in New York."

My experience got me thinking that I should try not to tune in quite so much to the dialogue all the time--that maybe there's an unconscious communication that happens between you and your teacher if you let yourself slip away from the words into your poses.

It also made me want to teach a music class as soon as is humanly possible. For a deejay/audiophile/yoga nut, it's like a dream come true. Already on the set list: Radiohead's "Separator," above.

Yoga Teacher Training Journal: November 12

Last night, I took an evening class at one of the more crowded and chaotic of the many places I practice.

To be more precise, it was a 6 PM class. Which means it was--and always is, except on Fridays--the most crowded and chaotic weekday class.

In the moments before class, chaos and confusion stress me out more than they should. Especially if the class starts late, which it often does at this studio because the instructors know how insane the traffic can be on Route 1 and take pity on those caught in the worst of it.

So last night, I decided to try something new. Instead of getting to class twenty minutes early and putting my mat in the perfect spot and lying there while the room filled up, I showed up with three minutes to spare and put my mat cheerfully in whatever spot was available.

I can't believe the change this made in my attitude and level of calmness in a packed, loud and--let's face it--very late-starting class... Maybe the change resulted from relinquishing control, and along with it, certain limiting expectations?

Tough to say for sure, but I'm definitely trying this again!

Yoga Teacher Training Journal: November 10

Last night's class looked nothing like this. And I was glad.

Last night's class was just spectacular. Only four people and a teacher whose energy I love.

I have to say, a small class feels like such a special treat. Sometimes when the room is kind of empty, you don't get the same amount of energy flowing through the room as you do with a big class, but that was not the case this evening. Everyone was focused and strong, and that energy buoyed me from the moment class began. Such a joyful experience! Plus, I still (unfortunately) can easily get distracted in a full room--working on it!!!

And to think--I was up so late on Thursday night writing, and was consequently so tired on the way to the 7:15 PM class, that I almost talked myself out of it.

Lesson learned: When you're on the fence, go. You will NEVER be sorry you did.

Yoga Teacher Training Journal: November 8

Baby, it's cold outside!

WHOO! It was good to be back with all my favorite hotties at Riverflow Yoga in Lambertville tonight! The sense of community, even more than the warmth, was just what I needed after a crazy ten days. A hurricane! An election! A nor'easter!

Today was about exuberance. The joy of being back in a place you love, among people you love (even though some of them are literally complete strangers). Doing something you love.

Work has been crazy lately, and life responsibilities have been on overdrive--I've been feeling overwhelmed, and so have been less rigorous about prioritizing yoga again, convincing myself it's a luxury and that as long as I meet my 3-days-a-week requirement, then I'm doing just fine. But that's an entirely self-defeating attitude. Because nothing converts "overwhelmed" to "optimistic," even "eager," like a hot yoga class.

It's not a luxury. It's a necessity. Like food. Like water. Like air.

Three Oddest Words

THE THREE ODDEST WORDS

Wislawa Szymborska

When I pronounce the word Future,
the first syllable already belongs to the past.

When I pronounce the word Silence,
I destroy it.

When I pronounce the word Nothing,
I make something no non-being can hold.

*********************
 I don't have much to say about this. I just came across it by accident and thought it was neat.

I have to admit, the last line confuses me a little--it was translated from Polish to English so I wonder if a little something isn't translating (decalage, for all you Brent Hayes Edwards fans out there--you know who you are!). Regardless, "no non-being" is one of the trippiest double-negatives I've ever come across.

We're all in agreement that double-negatives are arranged along a spectrum of trippiness, right?

Good, I'm glad we got that cleared up.

More on Beautiful Words

In keeping with the spirit of this blog's name...

Phil Cousineau chooses nine beautiful words from his second book of word origins, The Painted Word, for a slide show on HuffPo. Worth checking out the article as well as the book, which looks like a treasure trove for people who love words, especially evocative words with stories. A Christmas present for the bibliophile in your life, perhaps?

Below is the illustration that accompanies one my favorite words, flaneur--"an urban wanderer," one who strolls to "savor the city." Beautiful picture. Beautiful word. Beautiful book.

Battered and Shiny Like the Moon

Somebody asked me recently what my favorite poem was. 

Generally, I hate questions like this. "What's your favorite movie?" "What's your favorite song?" "What's your favorite band?" "What's your favorite book?"

I could give you a Top 20, if you'd like, or a smattering from among various genres, but pick out a single one? From all the amazing movies, songs, bands, and books out there? Is that even possible? 

The way I see it, there are basically two types of people in the world. Those who can answer the "favorite" question, and those who can't. The ones who can take great pride in being able to answer, have put much thought into their answers and feel confident in the unassailable wisdom of their judgment. They don't understand people like me, and I don't understand people like them.

Because the moment someone asks me the "favorite" question, my mind immediately goes blank. Like white-hot-nothing blank. Then I grope around in the nothing until I find one thing I love, which then generates thoughts of another thing I love JUST AS MUCH IF NOT MORE!! And then suddenly I am awash in a frenzy of associations. 

How is one supposed to differentiate from among the awesome things in this world? How does one structure these highly personal hierarchies? Where does one find the stones to say, "This one. It's the one. My favorite."

I don't think I could even do that with ice cream flavors.

That's a bald-ass lie. It's mint chocolate chip.

Huh. What do you know? I guess it is possible.

And in fact, returning to the question that sparked this post, I do think I have a favorite poem. Revisiting Elizabeth Bishop--and the teaching of Elizabeth Bishop--in yesterday's post dredged up a distant memory of a poem I once had memorized, not because I had to but just because I loved hearing it in my head.

It's called "The Shampoo."

The first time I read it, I cried. It was such a visceral, cerebral love poem. About romantic love, sure, but also about any kind of love where the passing of years only strengthens appreciation and devotion. The line, "For Time is/ nothing if not amenable"--so oddly pragmatic, yet so achingly beautiful, it breaks my heart.

Plus describing encroaching grey hairs as "shooting stars" imbues them with the glamor and astrophysical significance they so richly deserve, but which largely eludes them.

Anyway, here it is. For posterity.

And so that the next time someone asks me what my favorite poem is, I'll have an answer.

THE SHAMPOO

Elizabeth Bishop

The still explosions on the rocks,

the lichens, grow
by spreading, gray, concentric shocks.
They have arranged
to meet the rings around the moon, although
within our memories they have not changed.

And since the heavens will attend
as long on us,
you've been, dear friend,
precipitate and pragmatical;
and look what happens. For Time is
nothing if not amenable.

The shooting stars in your black hair
in bright formation
are flocking where,
so straight, so soon?
-- Come, let me wash it in this big tin basin,
battered and shiny like the moon.

Somebody Loves Us All

FILLING STATION
Elizabeth Bishop

Oh, but it is dirty!
--this little filling station, 
oil-soaked, oil-permeated 
to a disturbing, over-all 
black translucency. 
Be careful with that match!

Father wears a dirty, 
oil-soaked monkey suit 
that cuts him under the arms, 
and several quick and saucy 
and greasy sons assist him 
(it's a family filling station), 
all quite thoroughly dirty.

Do they live in the station? 
It has a cement porch 
behind the pumps, and on it 
a set of crushed and grease-
impregnated wickerwork; 
on the wicker sofa 
a dirty dog, quite comfy.

Some comic books provide 
the only note of color--
of certain color. They lie 
upon a big dim doily 
draping a taboret 
(part of the set), beside 
a big hirsute begonia.

Why the extraneous plant? 
Why the taboret? 
Why, oh why, the doily? 
(Embroidered in daisy stitch 
with marguerites, I think, 
and heavy with gray crochet.)

Somebody embroidered the doily. 
Somebody waters the plant, 
or oils it, maybe. Somebody 
arranges the rows of cans 
so that they softly say:
ESSO--SO--SO--SO

to high-strung automobiles. 
Somebody loves us all.

For some reason, I was thinking about Elizabeth Bishop today. Or, to be more specific, for some reason I was thinking about this poem by Elizabeth Bishop. Maybe it's the temporary gas crisis here in New Jersey that's got me thinking in terms of filling stations, I don't know.

I don't claim to know much of anything about Elizabeth Bishop, though I probably should because she is obviously amazing, and I’m struck by the way manages to communicate profundities with an unerringly light touch. She wrote a lot of love poems, evidently, but I'm not overly familiar with those. A project for another day.

I do know that she can do incredible things within constraints that make writing poetry akin to differential calculus. Like "Sestina," or her widely anthologized villanelle, "One Art." There are others, also widely anthologized, that I should be more familiar with than I am, like "At the Fish Houses." What can I say? I was a late convert to poetry. And that title--Snoozeville, am I right?

But you see, I like "Filling Station," and what I like about it is what I like about Elizabeth Bishop, and what might in fact make her the de facto poet laureate of this blog. Look at the way she shifts our focus from the grease and the oil and the potential for conflagration to the grimy domestic details--homey, comforting, if filthy details. And as she observes more closely, she can detect the beauty in what initially seemed, at best, prosaic, and at worst, a symbol of the degradations of modernity.

It's not that the doily, the plant, the taboret are in and of themselves beautiful. It's that someone thought to put them there. Someone cares enough to convert the filling station into something resembling a home. While she is still a bit skeptical as to the efficacy of the efforts—the begonia is hairy, the plant looks oiled—knowing that someone is making the effort somehow soothes the high-strung speaker who, in the beginning of the poem, was so (Esso--so--so--so) easily alarmed.

Moral of the story?

When the world looks like a dingy or a dangerous place, it helps to remember that somebody loves us all.

Yoga Teacher Training Journal: November 5

Today I learned that sometimes, being able to tune out the dialogue is a good thing.

Our instructor didn't speak for the second set of Standing Bow, and no one in the entire class fell out.

Afterward she said, "I find it so interesting that when I shut up, you all do better." Of course, that's not true for all postures--I think she knew that we were a fairly experienced class and that's one posture that rewards sustained concentration.

I don 't think "ignoring" the dialogue is a good idea, of course, but I've reached a point in my practice where I may need to selectively focus on my body so that I can "feel," vs. push, myself into deeper expressions of the postures. As a "good" student and an obedient sort of person, I tend to attend so carefully to the letter of the dialogue that I actually don't listen to my body.

And the body really wants to be heard.

In Defense of Lifestyle Algorithms

So I know I'm a little late to the party on this one, but I just discovered StumbleUpon.com while trying to dig up some meaty 11th and 12th readings for work.

For the twelve people in the world who haven't encountered this website yet (perhaps one of which is among the three people who will ever look at this blog), it's kind of like playing craps, but with websites and blogs. And you don't lose money. And there's no guy with one of those cool sticks to scoop your life's savings away. And so you see, it's actually nothing like craps at all.

What it is, though, is a site where you put in your interests--say, cooking and science, or travel and nature--you can put in as many as you want--and it strategically generates a little magazine page for you based on these interests. Then you click on whatever among those, let's call them, say, "interest nuggets," that look most interesting to you, et voila! Fun is born!

Within minutes StumbleUpon enticed me to another fairly awesome website, The Cool Hunter, which, as its name perhaps suggests, hunts up all the cool so that you don't have to. And from among those categories of cool, I chose to check out "Amazing Places," a 5-part series featuring gobsmackingly beautiful pictures of spots that you should visit before you shuffle off this mortal coil.

Like the Pingxi Sky Lantern Festival pictured above.

And this ice cavern in Skaftafell, Iceland:

And the Petra in Jordan, seen here at night:

And the city of Riomaggiore in Italy, part of the Cinque Terre (full disclosure--I'm pretty sure I've been here, but them's was heady times, so it's a little fuzzy):

And last but not least, the ultimate in in-cave dining experiences, the restaurant in the Sanyou cave in Yichang, China:

For all my talk of loving to travel, I've not spent much time outside the US. Which is a shame, because there's a vast, wide and beautiful world out there to explore. These places--hell, every place on this "Amazing Places" list--can and should serve as inspiration to put on those traveling shoes and figure out what all this world has to offer. 

Make it happen. 

Sandy Aftermath: Some Musings and Impressions

Wake of the flood.

Losing power and heat and hot water made me feel disconnected from the flow of life for awhile--it was hard to differentiate days and time seemed to take a different form.

Then walking outside and seeing so many people's things destroyed, lives lumped into molding, rotting piles on the streets--seeing people dazed, shocked, traumatized--hard to remain unaffected by that.

And realizing the power of wind and water, and how routinely we disregard the forces of nature by which we're surrounded--it's awe-inspiring if not downright terrifying.

I know there is good in all of this, and with a slight shift in perspective, it is easy to see the miracles unfolding around me in the wake of this storm, of this flood. But I was thinking of posting in "The Universe in Action" thread on my Hot Yoga Teacher Training website about how my power and internet were restored just before our coaching call, and all of a sudden I felt selfish and misguided.

Because no one invited this storm into their lives, no one opened themselves up for this destruction by putting vibrations out into the universe. And so it felt wrong to celebrate or even comment on my personal good fortune in the face of that.

Maybe my misgivings make no sense. But there were some questions I'd wanted to ask when I first started Ask and It Is Given, thought I wasn't (and still am not) sure they were appropriate.

Chiefly, I didn't know how to reconcile certain aspects of the philosophy at the core of Ask with certain extreme events outside my own experience. For example, living in a war-torn country where bombings destroy innocent civilians. Or cases of child abuse, rape, etc.

I know that people have control over how they respond to tragedy, but I can't wrap my mind around the idea that they somehow invite it into their lives. I know I'm quibbling, and likely missing the point. I know that so far, changing my perspective little by little through the activities in Ask has been enormously beneficial for me. It's just that this catastrophe has brought up some questions I had about it early on, and that I'm wrestling with now.

Things are returning to something like normalcy now. People on NPR are complaining about how those who lost everything in the flood weren't careful to separate out recyclables, were too quick to discard things. There are riots over gas. Anger is a more empowering emotion than despair or confusion, so I suppose this is progress.

And the sun came out for a little while today, to warm the chilly earth ever so slightly.

As always, the Dead capture this turning the corner toward optimism better than I ever could: "Line up a long shot,/ Maybe try it two times, maybe more,/Good to know you got shoes to wear when you find the floor,/Why hold out for more?" ("Here Comes Sunshine," 12/19/73).

Yoga Teacher Training Journal: November 3

One thing I've noticed as I've been practicing hot yoga more and more is that it's been easier to see the positive in all sorts of situations--even post-hurricane situations. So I thought I'd share Bikram's insights into this phenomenon from his book, Bikram Yoga:

"I said that your practice will cause doors and windows to open and that through them, you will perceive things differently. Some call this the opening of your third eye, or Lord Shiva's eye, a cosmic energy center that sits invisibly between the eyebrows. Through these new ways of looking, you only see the good things in the universe. The two eyes you use most often have been taught to focus on the bad things first. Because of the negative power those attachments have, the force of negative attraction is nine times stronger than the attraction we feel to good things. But now with the third eye of consciousness, you can see the real nature of things and people, which is essentially good. Remember, God is love and God is within you. Always."

With each passing day, I'm more inclined to believe this.

Yoga Teacher Training Journal: November 2

Today I decided to recite a mantra internally as I went into each posture, something to repeat with each inhale and exhale: "You are open. You can receive."

And something clicked during Camel. I realized that I am not as receptive as I could be to the love that people wish to extend to me. And that in order to be receptive to love--to give as well as receive it--you have to love yourself.

It was a realization that came with clarity, in a still voice from within. A first step along the road to receptiveness that leads to realization.

How Cute Is This?

A fairy door DIY project on Design*Sponge.

Hey-Hey for Halloween!!!

Because Halloween is clearly the awesomest holiday of the year, I thought I'd take a moment to celebrate its unparalleled awesomeness in a space devoted to celebrating such things.

Witness the power of Halloween. Above is a picture of my nieces. Two well-behaved, sweet and adorable children on most days of the year, all it took was a package full of random Halloween goodies from their Aunt Sunny to turn them into maniacally grinning little witches impishly intent on testing the limits of their tolerance of sugar and food coloring.

Evidently, Halloween evolved from pagan Celtic roots into an event with deep religious significance, but since I just bored myself senseless trying to bone up on my Halloween history, I will not relay that history here. Because what makes Halloween so awesome is that Halloween is so damned much fun.

And it's not just because Halloween serves as an excuse for children and adults alike to ingest staggering quantities of "fun-sized" candy bars. Or because kids in costumes--even the greedy, demanding ones--are so amazingly cute. Or because it's a night when a certain kind of woman feels inspired to dress as a slutty version of a public servant and a certain kind of man always, ALWAYS dresses in drag.

It's because on Halloween, we open ourselves up to the possibility that there might be more to our world, and to ourselves, than meets the eye. As the only carnivalesque event that the U.S. celebrates on a nationwide scale, it also serves a crucial social function--by encouraging excess and turning things topsy-turvy, it facilitates a necessary release of potentially destructive or disruptive energies and restores things to their proper equilibrium. (Humans need these kinds of social rituals in order to keep things running smoothly and used to have them frequently. Many of the holidays we celebrate in the U.S. could be fairly understood as the neutered remnants of these events.)

Plus, it's one of the few opportunities we have to collectively celebrate the unbridled power of the human imagination in a country where imagination is undervalued except to the extent it can be exploited--and where the occult imagination is demonized when it isn't ignored. On Halloween, we let ourselves believe, however briefly, that whatever we can imagine, we can somehow manifest. Limits are transcended. Minds are opened.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is how newness enters the world.

So hey-hey for Halloween, when all the witches can be seen! Some are black and some are green!

And they are all awesome.

Greetings and Salutations!

"Your language too has soft and beautiful words, but they are not always appreciated. What could be more musical than your word cellar-door?" (William Dean Howells, "Editor's Easy Chair," Harper's Magazine [March 1905]).

Welcome to Nevermore/Cellar Door, a spot for celebrating the beautiful and unexpected in the everyday or overlooked.

Why Nevermore/Cellar Door?

Because a cellar door is something that, semantically, could easily be dismissed as prosaic. And yet cellar doors are quasi-extinct in modern urban environments. How can something that's disappearing still be considered quotidian? Answer: it can't.

"Cellar door" has also been presented as arguably the most beautiful combination of sounds in the English language, in terms of phonaesthetics. And cellar doors--along with wardrobe doors and phone box doors--can also serve as portals into other worlds. In stories about other worlds. And portals.

Like The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Or Wizard of Oz (in the movie, Dorothy doesn't quite make it in, but doesn't it hit her on the head and spark the whole adventure?). Or the wonderful Donnie Darko.

And nevermore is both a dismissal and, somehow, an invitation.

Supposedly Edgar Allan Poe chose "nevermore" as the Raven's refrain because "cellar door" was his favorite phrase and "nevermore" was the closest thematically appropriate sonic equivalent he could think of . This explanation may well be apocryphal, but I choose to believe it.

So that's the story. The theme. The premise. Beautiful things that are often overlooked. Wondrous things that we've grown accustomed to.

Or anything in this world of ours that deserves celebrating.