In through the nose, out through the mouth.
He first showed me what it was about eight years ago,
when we were hot and heavy into each other.
Only a month or so after we fell in love on our first date.
It was Pranayama breathing, a deep inhale and exhale,
the first exercise in Bikram Yoga,
something I had never even heard of before.
It was Telluride, in the crystalline winter,
a frost hanging over all the brick and mortar of the historic downtown.
We were on Main Street, a few blocks from the lift.
We lived in my bedroom, mainly, shacking up comfortably
in the twin sized bed on the floor.
It was called The Rasta House. It had a good vibe.
We spent most of the time with the door to my room,
right off the bustling living room, closed.
Sex was good. Great, even. We talked often of our "magnetic connection."
In my room that day, he interlaced his fingers under his chin
and began to breathe
while lifting his elbows up.
He was looking so straight ahead.
So serious.
His mouth was making this spooky, loud snoring sound,then he began to exhale,
head dropped back, elbows came together in front of his body.
HAAaaaaa! He breathed.
His breath smelled a little like chewing tobacco.
I looked at him like he was crazy and thought to myself,
"I really hardly know this guy, he is weird...weird.
This is weird."
I laughed out loud.
He made me try it; I couldn't get the rhythm down.
My snoring sounded like a dying duck,
a suffering, dying duck -
probably shot by someone with no idea
what a great duck I was.
He touched my arms, trying to get my elbows together
in front of me while he explained
ALL the great benefits of this yoga he used to do when he lived in Boulder.
I didn’t even care for one split second.
I didn’t even pretend to look interested.
I pulled him onto my little bed, while the roomies smoked bong hits
just outside the door.
I whispered in his ear, "breathe into me."
The touch on his ear drove him wild.
We had passionate, free breathing sex,
taking up every inch of the twin bed
with our flailing bodies.
We forgot all about that pranayama stuff for at least two years...
Two years later...
On our way to Boulder, Spencer (the man from the twin bed days,
we eventually graduated to a futon!) and I stopped in Basalt
to visit this couple named Bel and Emily Carpenter
who I’d heard about frequently from my man.
They were old friends.
As a matter of fact, back in Boulder where they all grew up,
Spencer had introduced Bel and Emily to Bikram’s Yoga
after he had religiously started taking class healing the tendinitis in his forearms.
At one time he said incredulously, "I couldn't even hold a beer!"
Bikram Yoga changed Spencer's life (and his drinking habits) dramatically.
Bel and Emily fell for the stuff completely
and were off to teacher training in L.A. the next spring.
Eventually they opened up a studio in Basalt,
then Aspen, then Glenwood Springs and finally in Carbondale.
When Spencer and I came through Basalt that day more than five years ago,
we took a class.
My first class.
I was the "new girlfriend", as Bel’s mom confessed to me later
when she explained that she didn’t put too much effort into
getting to know Spencer’s girlfriends until they had been around a while.
Weird scene.
I was an outsiders in the insiders world.
I was easily the worst practitioner in the room.
I even felt fat for the first time looking at all of the ripped regular students,
one of whom Spencer had dated and hadn’t exactly broken up with yet.
Awkward, and I’m not talking about the posture.
I had a chance to see about 20 people doing the pranayama breathing in that class.
Still I wasn’t really impressed.
I was overwhelmed.
And sweaty.
We drove on.
It wasn’t until about two years later that we ended up
moving in with Bel and Emily to go to massage school in Basalt.
One of the "pirks" of living with the Carpenters was free yoga.
I tried it more and more and eventually could actually touch my hands to the floor.
Then we moved out
travelled every season and were a regular set of vagabonds
until we finally settled in down the road from Bel and Emily in Carbondale, Colo.
a few years later.
Nice place.
The Bikram studio in Carbondale opened in the summer of 2007.
At the time I was working as a newspaper reporter at The Valley Journal,
one of my many post college attempts at a "real job".
I had put in two years, my standard, and was feeling pretty antsy
to rediscover myself and the world around me.
I wanted/needed more than two weeks off per year, I reasoned.
"Benefits be damned," I thought to myself. "That's no reason to keep a job."
I went to one class at the Carbondale studio
and for some reason felt a sense of ownership there
even though I hadn’t invested one dime.
I had a vision that the studio could be an amazing, thriving place
and that I wanted to be a part of it and help it grow.
I marinated on these thoughts for several days and continued to go to yoga
while researching the teacher training on the sly...
I finally confessed to Spencer that I wanted to go -
I got a luke warm response...
You see, I have been known to have a new plan for every changing season.
All great ideas, me thinks, but rarely what Spencer likes to call "realistic."
Well, he gave me the initial skepticism on my new, "plan of the week" (it is true, the week before I was planning for sure to go kayaking in Nepal with my pals.)
I stuck with this plan, though.
I wasn’t deterred by anything,
even the $10,200 price tag for training.
I was going to Hawaii for nine weeks, God Dammit!
So, somehow I managed to weasel myself out of Carbondale for several months,
including a three week stint on the Grand Canyon kayaking,
before teacher training.
Yes, I was living the dream.
Foot loose and fancy free as they say...
But, teacher training was no vacation.
Two rigorous yoga classes a day, lectures and posture clinic at all hours in between.
It was tiring, but amazingly I felt like I didn’t need to sleep.
I was activated; sleep-proof!
It was on Friday, November 16, 2007
that I stood with 280 of my peers in my last yoga class of training,
my 100th class in about 60 days.
What a difference a few years make (I still think it's weird, but ohh so good to be queer.)
"Breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth,"
Bikram said to an emotional group of almost realized yogis and yoginis on that day.
The emotion was running high. All the cryers were crying and even some others.
We all had so much feeling within us.
We had lived and breathed together for so long.
We were facing the end.
My throat felt tight.
"Breathe in by the nose and out by the mouth,
but all the time through the throat," Bikram said.
"This is our last class," I thought, really wistfully.
Sadness.
The training was so much more than I had imagined.
"It’s so fucking hot!"
"He’s going to kill us!"
(my next thoughts)
We took our last twenty Pranayama deep breaths together.
As a group, we created this amazing hurricane
of swirling energy in the steamy, stinky yoga room.
We were lifting each other up.
Feeding ourselves and our neighbors with our strength,
our power,
our divine light.
I never, ever, breathed so deep,
nor exhaled so long.
It was as if my life depended on it.
This is it.
In through the nose, out through the mouth...
One week later (after our last class in teacher training)...
I stand in front of 15 students at the Basalt Bikram Yoga studio.
Bel is taking MY class.
I’m the teacher.
"We’re going to start with Pranayama deep breathing," I say,
almost not recognizing my own voice.
"It’s good for the lungs and the respiratory system.
You should hear a slight snoring sound on the inhale, a HAAaaa sound on the exhale."
I smile to myself, thinking of that day,
standing with my lover (husband, now) by the twin bed in Telluride
hearing that sound for the first time.
"Weird," I think to myself once again,
looking at my students in front of me and the new life I’ve created.
Weird.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Puddle jumper: from one place to the next
It is covered in footprints, scuff marks, deep indentations...
my heart.
Some were jumping, singing, just squishing the life right out
steel toed work boots mashing down the soft, spongy tissue.
Others,
like ballerina's slippers dancing across the surface,
light and bright and then gone with a dramatic plie.
Those of late have taken their shoes off all together.
Pushing their calloused bare feet in like I was a pad and they the rubber stamp.
Stamping; from my heart to my mind to my soul.
To my shoulders and neck and ear lobes and groin,
late into the night.
A sweep of a baby toe, fingertips lavishly washing over every inch;
energy moving throughout.
A transmission of megawatt force.
Swirling from head to toe.
Dizziness. Laughter.
Dancing light effervescent.
But then it fades,
like you never thought it would.
So naive to think you could remember every detail,
the gaze that knew you more than you knew yourself at that moment.
You were so lost in her, in him.
It was a cheerful, knowing glance that was all of a sudden filled with such great sadness,
“This is it, GG.”
The inevitable departure.
There was that final embrace that was so magnetic,
like two baby tigers mauling each other, playfully,
frisky petting,
Kids.
Paying no mind to anything else around.
To the growing dark clouds,
the gathering forces that would pull you apart
forever, maybe.
And that’s why it’s so special,
why there are so many dents in my heart, so many feet imprinted,
stamped there and everywhere.
And of course it fades.
It must.
Or else how could you move on?
How could you open your eyes to what is ahead,
and to what is sitting on your lap right now.
Fading,
like the wind and the water washing the beach clean
erasing the footprints
of lovers and friends, loners, wanderers, staggering drunks
and every combination of them.
The drunken friends,
the wandering lovers,
the lonely strong and the lonely lost.
Gone,
but not forgotten.
Always just a whisper.
A reminder.
That familiar force
that travelled miles and miles for you
settling right down in your living room before dinner,
ignoring the guests who arrived late and drank too much.
The scent of the hibiscus trapped deep within your nose.
The occasional call
or letter.
Something that barely scratches the surface.
How could it?
The transmission line is severed.
The information is passed on clouds;
heavy grey masses and light wisps that slowly dissipate with the shining sun of each new day.
Another chance to love, another.
Each other.
my heart.
Some were jumping, singing, just squishing the life right out
steel toed work boots mashing down the soft, spongy tissue.
Others,
like ballerina's slippers dancing across the surface,
light and bright and then gone with a dramatic plie.
Those of late have taken their shoes off all together.
Pushing their calloused bare feet in like I was a pad and they the rubber stamp.
Stamping; from my heart to my mind to my soul.
To my shoulders and neck and ear lobes and groin,
late into the night.
A sweep of a baby toe, fingertips lavishly washing over every inch;
energy moving throughout.
A transmission of megawatt force.
Swirling from head to toe.
Dizziness. Laughter.
Dancing light effervescent.
But then it fades,
like you never thought it would.
So naive to think you could remember every detail,
the gaze that knew you more than you knew yourself at that moment.
You were so lost in her, in him.
It was a cheerful, knowing glance that was all of a sudden filled with such great sadness,
“This is it, GG.”
The inevitable departure.
There was that final embrace that was so magnetic,
like two baby tigers mauling each other, playfully,
frisky petting,
Kids.
Paying no mind to anything else around.
To the growing dark clouds,
the gathering forces that would pull you apart
forever, maybe.
And that’s why it’s so special,
why there are so many dents in my heart, so many feet imprinted,
stamped there and everywhere.
And of course it fades.
It must.
Or else how could you move on?
How could you open your eyes to what is ahead,
and to what is sitting on your lap right now.
Fading,
like the wind and the water washing the beach clean
erasing the footprints
of lovers and friends, loners, wanderers, staggering drunks
and every combination of them.
The drunken friends,
the wandering lovers,
the lonely strong and the lonely lost.
Gone,
but not forgotten.
Always just a whisper.
A reminder.
That familiar force
that travelled miles and miles for you
settling right down in your living room before dinner,
ignoring the guests who arrived late and drank too much.
The scent of the hibiscus trapped deep within your nose.
The occasional call
or letter.
Something that barely scratches the surface.
How could it?
The transmission line is severed.
The information is passed on clouds;
heavy grey masses and light wisps that slowly dissipate with the shining sun of each new day.
Another chance to love, another.
Each other.
Some People
(reprinted - author unknown)
Some people come into our lives and quickly go.
Some people move our souls to dance;
they awaken us to new understanding with the passing whisper of their wisdom.
Some people make the sky more beautiful to gaze upon,
they stay in our lives for a while,
leave footprints on our hearts,
and we are never,
ever,
the same.
Some people come into our lives and quickly go.
Some people move our souls to dance;
they awaken us to new understanding with the passing whisper of their wisdom.
Some people make the sky more beautiful to gaze upon,
they stay in our lives for a while,
leave footprints on our hearts,
and we are never,
ever,
the same.
Feeding the shark
The most resilient creature looms in the shadows,
darts like a bullet
through the water.
Such a keen sense, to be aware of all that is moving
ignoring it all, it may seem, with that aloof upward angle of the nose...
Then, chomp!
“I like that one,” he thinks.
“ I’m going to eat her all up with my
ten rows of sharp, shiny teeth.”
Nothing left now but a few strands of long dark hair streaming from his mouth.
“She was tasty,” he swimmingly sings with a goofy grin on his face.
He lumbers slowly through the sea, full of her.
He is satisfied, yes.
But not for long.
The shark is ever-hungry - eyes always seeing all that moves, nose sensing any latent fear or obvious ignorance.
He’s ready to take advantage of any weakness.
The fin slices through the water in a deliberate straight line
as if he was tied to a compass pointed exactly “North.”
Off to the shores of Maui... Maybe.
Then to Africa to mingle with a different sort of animal.
A tribal warfare to partake in.
But, contrary to what most people think, the shark is not violent,
just adaptable and intelligent.
Hungry.
Not seeking conflict, only to nourish himself.
One always respects the shark.
Ten rows of teeth, it has.
But, more than that.
Resilience.
The shark is a survivor in this beautifully toxic wasteworld.
A world filled with lusty unfulfilled fantasies,
nervous rapping fingertips and bits of chewed off nails.
A world being recreated everyday by the blasphemous human dwellers:
the polluters, the stockbrokers, the clock-watchers,
the doctor-drugpushers and the lawyer-liers.
Those that can’t even conceive of the magic,
and don’t even notice the beauty...
of his smooth rubbery tin can skin, those fleshy vents, flapping open and closed with each breath, the perfectly pointed fins and nose that are more accurate than the modern GPS, the ever-open eyes...
and the ten rows of teeth.
Choose how to survive.
“It is our mind, and that alone, that chains us or sets us free.”
darts like a bullet
through the water.
Such a keen sense, to be aware of all that is moving
ignoring it all, it may seem, with that aloof upward angle of the nose...
Then, chomp!
“I like that one,” he thinks.
“ I’m going to eat her all up with my
ten rows of sharp, shiny teeth.”
Nothing left now but a few strands of long dark hair streaming from his mouth.
“She was tasty,” he swimmingly sings with a goofy grin on his face.
He lumbers slowly through the sea, full of her.
He is satisfied, yes.
But not for long.
The shark is ever-hungry - eyes always seeing all that moves, nose sensing any latent fear or obvious ignorance.
He’s ready to take advantage of any weakness.
The fin slices through the water in a deliberate straight line
as if he was tied to a compass pointed exactly “North.”
Off to the shores of Maui... Maybe.
Then to Africa to mingle with a different sort of animal.
A tribal warfare to partake in.
But, contrary to what most people think, the shark is not violent,
just adaptable and intelligent.
Hungry.
Not seeking conflict, only to nourish himself.
One always respects the shark.
Ten rows of teeth, it has.
But, more than that.
Resilience.
The shark is a survivor in this beautifully toxic wasteworld.
A world filled with lusty unfulfilled fantasies,
nervous rapping fingertips and bits of chewed off nails.
A world being recreated everyday by the blasphemous human dwellers:
the polluters, the stockbrokers, the clock-watchers,
the doctor-drugpushers and the lawyer-liers.
Those that can’t even conceive of the magic,
and don’t even notice the beauty...
of his smooth rubbery tin can skin, those fleshy vents, flapping open and closed with each breath, the perfectly pointed fins and nose that are more accurate than the modern GPS, the ever-open eyes...
and the ten rows of teeth.
Choose how to survive.
“It is our mind, and that alone, that chains us or sets us free.”
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
First class
Was it two hours and full of dread?
Was it a disaster where nothing was said?
Did everyone know it was your first time?
Did they think it wasn't worth a dime?
Did you mix up the left and the right?
did you forget to turn on the lights?
I walked in full of life and so free,
a smile on my face to for all to see.
They did what I said and didn't even seem to notice me
at the end of class they said, "you killed me!"
And that was the beginning
Awesome
Was it a disaster where nothing was said?
Did everyone know it was your first time?
Did they think it wasn't worth a dime?
Did you mix up the left and the right?
did you forget to turn on the lights?
I walked in full of life and so free,
a smile on my face to for all to see.
They did what I said and didn't even seem to notice me
at the end of class they said, "you killed me!"
And that was the beginning
Awesome
The "Dialogue"
From the talent show Fall 2007 in Hawaii
written and performed, against better judgement,
by Gina Guarascio with Cindy Bernath as "Mom".
NOTE : Please do NOT reprint without permission from me -
ginabeanag@yahoo.com
KID –
Mama, give me money. I want to charge my body
forward and roll forward like a wheel.
I’ve got to go to the mall.
There’s a cute guy there who’s got a big
“T” on his nametag for TOM. I want to think very
deeply about his standing knee. I want to put our
hands/palms together, interlocked fingers.
MOM –
You’re taking a BIG STEP here. Why don’t you
bounce and bounce and bounce on over there on a
motorcycle ride. If you’re lucky he’ll be into you so
you can get your two little baby fingers touching each
other side by side. If all goes well, maybe we’ll have
a marriage between your heart and his lungs.
KID –
I don’t even know if he likes me, but it’s mind
over the matter. I guess if I can’t grab his heel,
maybe I can at least grab the outside of his foot.
Now, give me the money, I’ve got to go…
MOM –
Absolutely freeze there. Don’t move. Don’t even
blink your eyes.
KID –
Whoa, take it easy honey.
Excuse me for living. Why don’t you take a deep
breath, sit down Japanese style… and chill out. Maybe
try the half tortoise pose. You know you can get more
relaxation in 30 seconds than in eight hours of sleep.
Good things come in small packages.
MOM –
Don’t try to distract me missy.
Listen: If you’re late it’s over
and then it’s “welcome to the torture chamber.” Be
home by midnight.
Listen up, Linda,
I don’t care if this “T” as in Tom is prince charming.
I don’t want to see my perfect “L” as in Linda upside down.
Don’t let him get you in a 90-degree angle. He probably knows
you’re a beginner, but don’t let him tell you you need
to open up your knees a little bit, even if it hurts.
KID –
Don’t worry. I won’t let him touch his heel
“H-E-E-L” to my costume. What kind of girl do you
think I am? Anyway, he said he only has one leg like a
Cobra, (or was it a third leg?) I think he’s harmless.
But I kind of hope he’s not. I’m sick of all this
mental masturbation. Even if I have to struggle a
little bit harder, I’m going to get his attention.
MOM –
Don’t Give Up!
KID –
Maybe if I turn my hips 1-2-3-4-5 beyond my flexibility
he’ll notice me I can touch that Cobra and finally start living!!!
Just think of it!!
MOM –
Just remember, if he’s a double jerk, just sit up and walk away.
If he hasn’t been
doing yoga, his cobra will feel like dead meat that’s
been sitting in cold storage. BUT if you like him, let
him put your hips on the wall behind you and then "you
go down."
Pretend he’s pulling your hair toward the
ceiling or choking your throat. I always like that...
and it’s better if you keep your EYES OPEN.
Most importantly, once his “leg” is locked solid like a
lamppost,
DON’T LOSE THE GRIP!
Men are more slippery than Japanese unagi.
You look away for one second and
they’re sleeping with the typewriter…
KID –
Thanks, I’ll be back before midnight with my happy
smiling face.
MOM -
And don’t forget to feed the English Bulldog
and Bengal Tiger before you go.
The present: Confessions of a Go Go dancer
(recited on Oct. 26 the day after Craig’s killer full moon class
that had everyone howling)
Confess the truth, follow the truth
Confession 1 : The truth is I’m not a Go Go dancer
like I told everyone
in the beginning. I am a triple Scorpio rising and emerging.
Confession 2: Today (Oct. 26) is really NOT my birthday.
I only said that so I could get a hold of
the mic (Craig feels challenged, out of control,
perhaps, with a fiery Scorpio on the mic who won’t let
go.) I tell him to relax, breathe; I’ve only got a few
things to say (notebook full). I tell him he’s going
to like it. Give up the mic, Craig!
The Present
Just listen.
Last night I felt so alive.
On my way to the beach,
I passed Craig coming back from the ocean
just before the 5 p.m. class.
No doubt who would be teaching.
He was so intent on the left eye, of the bird, in the tree.
Nothing but focus, intention, strength.
Power.
I didn’t just look at him, I read a volume about him.
I learned so much in that passing moment.
When he started talking about the moon,
my senses were awakened.
Hello MOON!
The balance of the moon and the sun in the sky
above our heads,
just as we melted into the floor for the mid-point savasana
was not just dumb luck.
We created that!
Craig made us laugh with his redneck,
Jersey antics
and then immediately stand at attention.
SNAP.
With his words.
SNAP.
Inflection, color, texture – all there.
His words sunk into me.
I completely forgot I was lying under the
five million pounds
of concrete and steel of the Ilikai Hotel,
under 26 floors.
Instead, I was floating on a million stars in the ocean.
Moon rising and sun setting equal and simultaneously
above my head.
Each word he said
moon, sun, heart, breath, strength, power, love
light, light, light
dropped
like a pebble into my liquid soul
as the gravity of the outside moon tugged relentlessly
on the 80 percent of me
that is water.
PLINK. PLink. Plink.
The words dropped and rippled;
I was overflowing on the floor.
A puddle.
The corona of the moon,
the rainbow light shining out of the universe,
is the same light surrounding OUR Hearts.
That dense, meaty muscle tissue that makes us believe,
makes us feel.
Silence.
Feel the connection.
300 hearts beating together,
like one giant piece of fascia was stretched over
each and every one of us,
connecting us.
Energy Moving.
E-MOTION.
The room is full.
Breathe.
Each nerve, axon, axon branch, motor end unit -
each tiny tiny muscle fiber -
stretching out like a flower petal blooming.
Total stimulation.
Ecstasy.
Pure Joy.
A smile glued on my face.
All that before the “real” yoga began.
A natural high. SO HIGH.
A spiritual journey that will never end...
Stillness.
Breathing always normal.
END
Speech cont.
"Now, because I have the mic, and only just this once,
I ask you all for a gift.
Don’t sing me a song, just listen.
Having means nothing if you don’t know how to use it.
In the same vein,
Words mean nothing if you don’t know how to use them.
That was my thought in savasana a week or so ago
after getting hammered time and time
again in posture clinic for acting like I didn’t care,
that I was lacking a connection with people, just
reading the words off a teleprompter.
The dialogue, the words, don’t mean anything
if you don’t know how to use them.
If you do, well, you have yoga ecstasy,
something many of us felt last night.
So Powerful.
The words equal the Asanas.
The Asanas, eventually, in the future,
equal health and happiness.
The more of that in the world the better.
One more open heart in the world is
one more open heart in the world.
Please help me.
Everyone, all together now, please say to me:
“Get over yourself.”
“It’s not about you, it’s about the yoga.”
“You’ve got to believe.”
Thanks to you all...My heart cries
Week Nine
(From week nine of yoga boot camp!)
A journey of a thousand miles begins with
just one step.
We are stepping.
There is really nothing final about week nine of the nine week
Bikram Yoga Teacher Training.
Week nine is simply the portal in which we exit the
basic pastel water color painting
of a pear on a table
and enter a life painted in bold strokes of yellow, red, green,
purple, pink, fire
orange and blue.
Streaks screaming across a canvas.
A work of art that makes you pause and say… YES!
It is a life made of thousands of layers
where before there was just one
paper thin translucent sheet. Easily worn and torn.
Now we are so strong, cross fiber technology.
Unbreakable.
Don’t be sad, or hold onto the past,
and don’t live your life in plans of tomorrow.
The moment is NOW,
there is no time for attachment or sorrow.
Remember the smiling happy face.
Our lives have been defined by:
Sweating – letting go.
Staying alert - being present.
Rashes, pain – weakness, vulnerability.
Growing – triumphant.
Connecting – so soon, so deep, so real.
The bitter stink of detox wafting through the hallways.
We live within the cloud,
the haze that is worse than Los Angeles at rush hour.
We find ourselves in the puddles we leave behind.
In the deep subconscious jigsaw puzzle of the mind
that is completely relaxed,
pushing into the floor like a lead weight.
"I can’t lift my head! I’m falling!"
No, you’re in savasana,
just hold on and enjoy the ride.
Our lives defined by:
Desire. Desire. Desire.
To learn
To grow
To Connect
To fuck
Desire…
Admit it people you know it’s true,
Feel the energy surrounding you.
We’re all so strong and vibrant and free…
it’s not as if we only think “Lock the Knee!”
Thank goodness we are sex proof, sleep proof, stress proof here,
or else how could we resist making love and drinking beer?
It is week nine comrades
and it’s time we set our intentions straight:
Be conscious, be kind AND DON”T BE LATE!!
The fact that it’s “Week Nine” is actually inconsequential,
now that we’ve discovered our true strength and potential.
We will survive! High Five!
You remember in the beginning when Bikram made us a bet?
He said, “guess what, you haven’t even started living yet!”
Now, I really understand what he meant.
I’ve been in cold storage, my back hardly bent.
Now, I am looking behind on the floor,
I’ve got friends all around who I love and adore,
I’ve got so much, and I’m still looking for more.
It's like the window on the Rolls was opened at 90 miles per hour;
it’s a rush in my face,
nothing but power.
It’s time to wake up!
WAKE UP, even if you didn’t know you were asleep.
Time to make promises you know you can keep.
It is our duty, you see, to be all we can be.
An army of soldiers coming to set the people free.
Don’t shrink back, don’t hide, and don’t live in fear.
Set your course now, make your intentions clear…
Our mission to mend each broken, battered, weakened spine,
To bring light and love and peace to the mind.
One love, one heart is a good place to start.
Be bold, share your power, and be brave...
who can you serve meditating in a cave?
You’ve got to go and travel to spread the good word,
be free, be strong, fly like a bird.
Take it all in and hold on tight,
let material attachment go, only covet the Light.
Then you must share it with every person you see,
from Naples, Florida to ITALY...
Guess what everyone...
“We ARE FAMILY!”
Almost 300 people in Hawaii training this year,
trying to learn to live without fear.
From China, Japan, France and Spain,
we’re all here to receive the love and the pain.
We take it all with only an occasional whimper,
because we feel we couldn’t get much limper.
But, in the end we will emerge like a Phoenix from the ashes,
and we’ll all be so ready to go out and kick some fat asses!
How are weeks 10 and 11 treating everyone??
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Neighbors
(Sometime in Oct.)
Thank you for your energy, thank you for your breath. Your focused intention kept me moving this morning. Emerging from a dream.
You see, I had a hard night last night; this or that was consuming me. So slow to embrace the morning, feeling uninspired and the same same. Walking in to the stink as if dragging a giant dead cobra tail, stiff from the coccyx to the neck, coccyx to the toes. Everything loose, everything hanging.
I want to go back to sleep, I thought. More sleep, go sleep, now sleep, more sleep. Eyes closed breathing normal. Head back on the pillow where I started. Feet, knees elbows, hands – everything in one line in my bed.
It was class number 55 in half as many days. Groundhog Day feeling in full force. I stood and I breathed in and out and wanted to waste it.
But I couldn’t.
Around me were people with eyes staring straight ahead and mouths drawn in a straight line. Everyone so intently focused there in the mirror, listening and moving to the words that have become so familiar.
Power.
I couldn’t sit down; if I did then so does the guy behind me in the tiger shorts, and then the skinny, strong girl to my side doesn’t push it so hard. I can not vacuum up all the energy with my pity. I decide to try because I can and I must.
I believe in it.
And we elevate each other. Side by side. No words of encouragement. Just breath. Breathe in, breathe out. Stay with me. Soon you will be floating on a million stars in the ocean, just like a dream.
Thank you for your energy, thank you for your breath. Your focused intention kept me moving this morning. Emerging from a dream.
You see, I had a hard night last night; this or that was consuming me. So slow to embrace the morning, feeling uninspired and the same same. Walking in to the stink as if dragging a giant dead cobra tail, stiff from the coccyx to the neck, coccyx to the toes. Everything loose, everything hanging.
I want to go back to sleep, I thought. More sleep, go sleep, now sleep, more sleep. Eyes closed breathing normal. Head back on the pillow where I started. Feet, knees elbows, hands – everything in one line in my bed.
It was class number 55 in half as many days. Groundhog Day feeling in full force. I stood and I breathed in and out and wanted to waste it.
But I couldn’t.
Around me were people with eyes staring straight ahead and mouths drawn in a straight line. Everyone so intently focused there in the mirror, listening and moving to the words that have become so familiar.
Power.
I couldn’t sit down; if I did then so does the guy behind me in the tiger shorts, and then the skinny, strong girl to my side doesn’t push it so hard. I can not vacuum up all the energy with my pity. I decide to try because I can and I must.
I believe in it.
And we elevate each other. Side by side. No words of encouragement. Just breath. Breathe in, breathe out. Stay with me. Soon you will be floating on a million stars in the ocean, just like a dream.
breathe, sweets
Nov. 10 or so –
What does it mean to be floating out in the sea clinging to a tiny life boat?
You’ve done it to yourself, cast your self away for a chance to discover something truly epic, something that will feed you for years to come; or so you think.
There you are, drifting almost aimlessly, taking strokes every now and then to propel you one way, away from the place you came. It is a futile attempt because in your heart you know, a wave, or maybe just a gentle current will bring you back to where you were.
Defeat.
You must paddle harder.
Struggle harder.
But the craft isn’t even sea worthy, your mind falters. You are becoming weak, muscles complain and become stiff. You are losing faith, becoming confused about the task at hand, what you are doing and why. The person you were about to become is getting lost in the horizon, sinking like the setting sun as you drift aimlessly in the sea.
LOST.
Looking for something, grasping at the water that sifts easily through your fingertips, mocking you.
Where is the strength God gave you the pleasure of seeing for just a split moment, the vision that propelled you into the great sea with nothing but hope, ambition, strength, power.
Power.
You are afraid to realize your power. You almost just let it go. But now that you are in the middle of the sea, letting go doesn’t just mean deflating yourself again, living like the rest, it means death, drowning.
Sorrow.
The sun rises now, you squint your eyes as the golden rays invade you, filling you, giving you another glimpse of who you are and what is inside of you.
The boat is not sea worthy, you are feeling exhausted, a wave is building far off in India that will travel thousands of miles to sweep you away.
You are helpless, hopeless, floating with no direction,
no chance.
Then you remember something, just the sweet smile of a friend with penetrating knowing eyes.
You set your mind compass to where you want to go. You decide how you will get there, smiling back at your minds eye. Whispering thank you.
Then you are free.
The boat is left behind, the girl becomes one with the ocean forgetting about where and when, merging with the water.
Now she understands that there is no separation, we are all one - force, spirit, destination. There is no golden paradise no matter how long or hard you paddle. There is only the salt of the sea suckling your infant mass, the sticky air surrounding you, the sunshine caressing you and warming your chicken skin and the volatile earth energy awakening you like an insistent lover in the night…
these forces waiting for you to realize there is nowhere to go but under.
Breathe, sweets, breathe.
What does it mean to be floating out in the sea clinging to a tiny life boat?
You’ve done it to yourself, cast your self away for a chance to discover something truly epic, something that will feed you for years to come; or so you think.
There you are, drifting almost aimlessly, taking strokes every now and then to propel you one way, away from the place you came. It is a futile attempt because in your heart you know, a wave, or maybe just a gentle current will bring you back to where you were.
Defeat.
You must paddle harder.
Struggle harder.
But the craft isn’t even sea worthy, your mind falters. You are becoming weak, muscles complain and become stiff. You are losing faith, becoming confused about the task at hand, what you are doing and why. The person you were about to become is getting lost in the horizon, sinking like the setting sun as you drift aimlessly in the sea.
LOST.
Looking for something, grasping at the water that sifts easily through your fingertips, mocking you.
Where is the strength God gave you the pleasure of seeing for just a split moment, the vision that propelled you into the great sea with nothing but hope, ambition, strength, power.
Power.
You are afraid to realize your power. You almost just let it go. But now that you are in the middle of the sea, letting go doesn’t just mean deflating yourself again, living like the rest, it means death, drowning.
Sorrow.
The sun rises now, you squint your eyes as the golden rays invade you, filling you, giving you another glimpse of who you are and what is inside of you.
The boat is not sea worthy, you are feeling exhausted, a wave is building far off in India that will travel thousands of miles to sweep you away.
You are helpless, hopeless, floating with no direction,
no chance.
Then you remember something, just the sweet smile of a friend with penetrating knowing eyes.
You set your mind compass to where you want to go. You decide how you will get there, smiling back at your minds eye. Whispering thank you.
Then you are free.
The boat is left behind, the girl becomes one with the ocean forgetting about where and when, merging with the water.
Now she understands that there is no separation, we are all one - force, spirit, destination. There is no golden paradise no matter how long or hard you paddle. There is only the salt of the sea suckling your infant mass, the sticky air surrounding you, the sunshine caressing you and warming your chicken skin and the volatile earth energy awakening you like an insistent lover in the night…
these forces waiting for you to realize there is nowhere to go but under.
Breathe, sweets, breathe.
wake up
Cottage cheese hanging from glistening white thighs
Arms as weak as spaghetti
Brain nothing but 2000 sheets of blank lose leaf paper
Spine, shoulders, neck, head - all frozen forward
Soul empty like a bowl
Spirit small, heart shriveled like a raisin
Blood traveling slowly like grandma after Thanksgiving...
What are you doing here?
You live, you die – ignorant, stupid depressed.
You are convicted, guilty of wasting your life, your gift.
How could you? Wake UP.
You haven’t even started living yet!
Arms as weak as spaghetti
Brain nothing but 2000 sheets of blank lose leaf paper
Spine, shoulders, neck, head - all frozen forward
Soul empty like a bowl
Spirit small, heart shriveled like a raisin
Blood traveling slowly like grandma after Thanksgiving...
What are you doing here?
You live, you die – ignorant, stupid depressed.
You are convicted, guilty of wasting your life, your gift.
How could you? Wake UP.
You haven’t even started living yet!
Cult of personality
(Written after two weeks of Yoga death camp in Sept. 2007)
"Are you sure you’re not joining a cult" my mom asks just days before I am to leave for Bikram’s yoga teacher training in September. She wasn’t the only one, people I loved and cared about looked concerned for me; they didn’t like Bikram for one reason or another. They didn’t like the heat, the consistency of the postures, the man’s overwhelming extravagance and demeanor that seems condescending towards women and people in general.
Stupid idiots!
I had some of the same fears. Yes, I love the yoga and I never feel better than when I’m doing it, but beyond that I really had very little idea what I was getting into. But, I went and I had a positive attitude and I told everyone who doubted what I was doing to support me in the decision I had made.
So it turns out I did join a cult. But they call it a "family" and all the members are so amazingly beautiful and flexible and healthy and vibrant and fun. So far I have not been asked to sign or pledge to anything, or drink any liquids except electrolyte replacements.
No Kool Aid.
So my cult is fairly positive and inspiring and the mission of the devoted followers is to go around the world and "lock the knee. Lock the knee, lock the knee!"
Realistically the goal seems to be to connect people throughout the universe with a common thread of self-realization through the physical body, practicing the yoga, the spirit, focusing on the self, and the mind.
Mind control is probably the biggest lesson I’m learning in the cult. My guru (self) and the others here talk constantly about mind over the matter. And believe me, when you’ve done 20 yoga classes in half as many days in a room heated to about 115 degrees and you’ve been up until 2 a.m. listening to lectures and then up again at 6:30 to get ready for the a.m. class, there is a definite need for mind control. First, convince the mind to convince the body to get out of bed. Convince the mind to send positive signals to the body about the upcoming experience. Convince mind to shut up, when you feel like you are a pot roast on a low setting leaching vital juices out of your skin. Shut up the mind that tells you to sit out a posture, or fall asleep in the lectures -because you really need it and you paid for it!
Shut up the mind that tells you, "I can’t lock my knee. I can’t kick my leg out. I can’t extend any further…" So, yes, mind control is a big one.
We are 300 people sitting in a large room night after night in the lobby of the Illikai hotel in Waikiki. Elvis stayed here in the 1960s, Bikram says. He knows everyone and he doesn't take any shit. I like him. He has a personality. He is alive and on a mission to promote Bikram yoga throughout the world, and this teacher training shows that he is very successful. There are people from so many different reaches of the world. I am traveling and learning about other cultures, but just staying in one place. Hong Kong, Korea, Japan, Italy, Spain, France, England, Germany, Norway, Canada, Chili, Peru and so many from all parts of the U.S. We are all here because we believe we can help spread the word. Hallelujah and praise the (locked) knee!
"Are you sure you’re not joining a cult" my mom asks just days before I am to leave for Bikram’s yoga teacher training in September. She wasn’t the only one, people I loved and cared about looked concerned for me; they didn’t like Bikram for one reason or another. They didn’t like the heat, the consistency of the postures, the man’s overwhelming extravagance and demeanor that seems condescending towards women and people in general.
Stupid idiots!
I had some of the same fears. Yes, I love the yoga and I never feel better than when I’m doing it, but beyond that I really had very little idea what I was getting into. But, I went and I had a positive attitude and I told everyone who doubted what I was doing to support me in the decision I had made.
So it turns out I did join a cult. But they call it a "family" and all the members are so amazingly beautiful and flexible and healthy and vibrant and fun. So far I have not been asked to sign or pledge to anything, or drink any liquids except electrolyte replacements.
No Kool Aid.
So my cult is fairly positive and inspiring and the mission of the devoted followers is to go around the world and "lock the knee. Lock the knee, lock the knee!"
Realistically the goal seems to be to connect people throughout the universe with a common thread of self-realization through the physical body, practicing the yoga, the spirit, focusing on the self, and the mind.
Mind control is probably the biggest lesson I’m learning in the cult. My guru (self) and the others here talk constantly about mind over the matter. And believe me, when you’ve done 20 yoga classes in half as many days in a room heated to about 115 degrees and you’ve been up until 2 a.m. listening to lectures and then up again at 6:30 to get ready for the a.m. class, there is a definite need for mind control. First, convince the mind to convince the body to get out of bed. Convince the mind to send positive signals to the body about the upcoming experience. Convince mind to shut up, when you feel like you are a pot roast on a low setting leaching vital juices out of your skin. Shut up the mind that tells you to sit out a posture, or fall asleep in the lectures -because you really need it and you paid for it!
Shut up the mind that tells you, "I can’t lock my knee. I can’t kick my leg out. I can’t extend any further…" So, yes, mind control is a big one.
We are 300 people sitting in a large room night after night in the lobby of the Illikai hotel in Waikiki. Elvis stayed here in the 1960s, Bikram says. He knows everyone and he doesn't take any shit. I like him. He has a personality. He is alive and on a mission to promote Bikram yoga throughout the world, and this teacher training shows that he is very successful. There are people from so many different reaches of the world. I am traveling and learning about other cultures, but just staying in one place. Hong Kong, Korea, Japan, Italy, Spain, France, England, Germany, Norway, Canada, Chili, Peru and so many from all parts of the U.S. We are all here because we believe we can help spread the word. Hallelujah and praise the (locked) knee!
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
one more open heart
It is dark.
Lead dropped out of the sky, burying me like a pile driver deep into the earth...
I was flying so high.
Just back from nine weeks, a rebirth...awakening of a spirit song left unsung.
Unaware it was even there, and then, out of the clear blue - like a man crying for the first time in 25 years - there is singing.
Clear.
Brilliant, but almost violent. Shaking the very core of you.
Where was this part of you all along? The part that is open to the universe, like you are best pals with everyone, in love, with a smile that penetrates everything that you see.
Hope.
A light.
A quake.
How do you take this music with you? How do you come back to where you were once you've heard that voice? It's haunting. It rings in your ears. BUZZING. Singing. A distraction from any memory of the old life.
Once you see the light, forget about the rest. Leave the men and the bars and the street lights -the fading flickering lights - the Styrofoam plates and plastic ware, the blue and white streamers... leave it all behind.
Go forth with elegance and grace and power, all for less than a dollar. A real bargain...
All with the clothes on your back; nothing but determination, presence, and passion - to love; to believe in this life. To acknowledge that one life is not enough because of the way it overflows everyday and how you lay down when it's dark exhausted.
Completly spent.
Only to rise again and look at the rays of light over the water and open yourself to it. To enter it almost, barely squinting, opening your eyes to the searing white till it hurts and you see spots of blue and green and the great unknown. Obliterating the mundane, the average normal life that snails crawl around in. Soaring, once again. Whether you are in Hawaii under the deep blue sea, or in Colorado under the gray painted sky. Don't give up. Don't give up. There is something you were meant to do and there is no time to waste...
Lead dropped out of the sky, burying me like a pile driver deep into the earth...
I was flying so high.
Just back from nine weeks, a rebirth...awakening of a spirit song left unsung.
Unaware it was even there, and then, out of the clear blue - like a man crying for the first time in 25 years - there is singing.
Clear.
Brilliant, but almost violent. Shaking the very core of you.
Where was this part of you all along? The part that is open to the universe, like you are best pals with everyone, in love, with a smile that penetrates everything that you see.
Hope.
A light.
A quake.
How do you take this music with you? How do you come back to where you were once you've heard that voice? It's haunting. It rings in your ears. BUZZING. Singing. A distraction from any memory of the old life.
Once you see the light, forget about the rest. Leave the men and the bars and the street lights -the fading flickering lights - the Styrofoam plates and plastic ware, the blue and white streamers... leave it all behind.
Go forth with elegance and grace and power, all for less than a dollar. A real bargain...
All with the clothes on your back; nothing but determination, presence, and passion - to love; to believe in this life. To acknowledge that one life is not enough because of the way it overflows everyday and how you lay down when it's dark exhausted.
Completly spent.
Only to rise again and look at the rays of light over the water and open yourself to it. To enter it almost, barely squinting, opening your eyes to the searing white till it hurts and you see spots of blue and green and the great unknown. Obliterating the mundane, the average normal life that snails crawl around in. Soaring, once again. Whether you are in Hawaii under the deep blue sea, or in Colorado under the gray painted sky. Don't give up. Don't give up. There is something you were meant to do and there is no time to waste...
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