A new cycle begins

The ship is slowly turning and I pause

I turn my head to look upon the waves that I have left behind

The ripples follow me still into the twilight

I dance among the stars in the brightest of brisk night skies

I witness my Self a short distance away, a brief moment ahead

This thing not that and yet all at once the same

I pause to wonder why I have turned and returned

I pause to notice who I am who has been left behind

Who I am who follows me closely and who I am who is that guide just ahead of my gaze

I light the torch of my innermost commitments and sigh as I realize

The cycle begins again and yet it never has come to an end

A twist and a turn on the mobius strip of light emanating through form

And I choose to weave and extend, to weave and extend, to weave and extend this to you!

The Power of Intention and Grace

I stepped on the path, asked to be aligned and placed my feet directly in the current. I felt invigorated and challenged. I felt awe at the power of it all.

This morning I am vibrating with a particular quality of grace descending into the depths of my beingness. I have no wish to speak or even to hear the usual mundane chatter. I crave instead the rich depths of nourishment so long fermenting within my soul, within the earth, within the natural world that surrounds me.

I walked toward the water. I would destroy the futile attempts of a local beaver to build a sturdy home where he will be thwarted by the members of a skeet club, who have the right of way to this road on my land. There is a culvert under a bridge. The beavers see this as a great opportunity and every year this struggle ensues. I have been told that when the beavers get too difficult to dissuade they have sometimes even shot them.

So, I walk toward this funny undertaking with a heart that is heavy and full and content to do what I can to play the game that says "I love you" in my own peculiar way. On the path I begin to chant to the lineage of grace that is behind so much of what I love in this world. I reach toward the ecstatic being: Nityananda and offer my actions in service to divine bliss. I think of the Bhaghavad Gita I offer them without attachment only knowing that this is my way of stepping into the current right now.

And then I climb down quite literally toward the current. I am awestruck by the power of moving water and by the amazing tenacity of the beaver who must have used incredible muscular energy to draw this weave of branches, which he cut and carried in his own teeth. I laugh and delight in how hard it is to pull the branches out. I even feel a rush of fear now and then because the current is so high after the rain. I don't know how strongly it will pull me into it and I can't see the bottom clearly as I reach my hand into the mysterious mix of branches holding steadily together, fortified by the current itself.

I am nevertheless triumphant, here and there finding a branch that I can pull free until finally everything I can reach has floated down and through to the other side. I expect he will put most of it, perhaps even more back for me to find again in the morning. When I can I will re-engage in this activity. We hope he will be dissuaded and build a beautiful den somewhere else.

As I walk back I see how well this illustrates our yoga. I offer myself into the current of grace. I smell myself in South America. My hands close in front of my heart. I am willing. My heart is ready to step more fully into the currents of grace. I feel gratitude and walk tenderly, carefully. I am mindful of the rare quality of shakti that I am steeped in this afternoon. I think of Nityananda of how he spent his time swollen with grace, beaming with it. His very presence was like a beacon for so many. I want to step in, to do my part and like Durga I love the creatures. So, I hope I will be able to protect them, nurture them, spill grace over into their lives as well.

Percolating Grace

In a dream I felt "his" head nestle over my heart in answer to my question. He showed me how I would know the difference, the real deal. My heart came alive and continued to radiate this love well into my waking hours.
This was the way I began this potent day.

My daughter would graduate among people I found myself more intrinsically connected to than I had imagined. I braced myself for the stagnant invocations that never would come. The word that dripped off of their tongues was grace, uttered over and again. I felt myself trembling with happy/sad anticipation ushered in by the bagpipes leading faculty and students into the hall.

I felt the power of gratitude for education and for the impact of contrasting images presented by the ambassador from Liberia. I noticed that the students were calling us higher, not merely the reverse. I felt the wisdom of the bright being I know as my daughter and then can never really fully know. She is a mystery to me. I experience that in the deepest most respectful manner. Tears arise, then dissolve back inside. There is too much happiness for them to spill over and too much bitter-sweetness for them to disappear completely.

This ending is a new beginning and it marks the culmination of dreams; my own, my daughter's and those of many who have come before us as well as those on staff now. Some of these have conflicting agendas and struggle to preserve their own vision. I am grateful for all of these. It is this friction that creates the resonance of the heart-stirring music of life. I salute all of the above and delight in our differences as well as our kaleidoscope, ever changing tapestry as we weave ourselves into the loom of life.

Ganesha's Tongue

This morning I sat before the puja at our studio. I wanted a chance to deepen before the morning greetings.I longed for a chance to turn within before other minds would share their thoughts and my own thoughts would be filtered through the onslaught of otherness. I wanted the guidance of that which must be sought after, or at least made space for.

Once again I looked to Shiva Nataraja, I gazed at his hand of fearlessness, still strong, but not so outspoken this morning. I drank in remembered fragments of the mantras and mudras I have most recently received from my teacher. I held my heart open to my Ishta Devata, offering myself as the vehicle of her grace and requesting the removal, digestion, or transmutation of that which seems to be masking my intrinsic value. I held my heart open and willing as I passed over an image of Hanuman. This morning it was Ganesh who appeared to be most radiant and I heard, Shiva Nataraja's hand, Hanuman's heart and Ganesha's tongue. I was a bit taken aback by the latter. The teaching's frequently refer to his trunk and his tusk, to his elephant head, but this was something new for me to ponder and I had a visceral experience of an elephant's tongue. I had an aha about Ganesh loving sweets and his ability to savor the sweetness in life. Ahh, yes that would make a difference.

I sat for a while brimming with mantras, holding the particular mudra, most recently learned. I heard the words, let her into your heart and as I softened I felt an energetic pouring in, a soothing, healing wave of her grace. I knew that she was Sri, that I was Sri and that this was good. I knew that this was divine nectar once again offered, once again received. I felt grateful and reluctant to move on with the morning. I was happy to be there, to do the asana practice, to receive what my kalyana mitra (spiritual friend) had to offer. I hope my meditation enhanced the morning for others as well. One never really knows the full effect of such things. One only hopes.

The beauty of connection

Sometimes, when you live in the middle of nowhere it can be easy to resist going anywhere, especially when the wind slides a slice of summer into spring. I count my blessings for all the past practices that have taught me that there is always more to be gained when I rise to the challenge. I crossed over a beautiful mountain to get to a Sunday morning workshop highlighting Beltane brightness. I knew that I was reaching for, am reaching for the tapas that will heal the masses. I also know and need reminding that I can't do it alone. The resistance enabled the friction to help build a fire under my desire to create alchemy.

My kalyana mitra taught a superb workshop and lead us into ecstatic backbending challenges from working the rooting to a superb rise and then the ecstatic weaving, almost creating the circuit, almost touching head to feet around behind and the organic uplifting of my heart fiercely reaching for a long desired outcome.

I am at once grateful for the skill my Margaret has acquired and for her seeming ability to honor my growing sense of empowerment as I step into unknown regions of strength and flexibility. Margaret for me is ageless and solid in her wisdom. She is not without humility and reaches to weave the most exquisite of tapestries. I am glad she does not hesitate to enhance my practice with alignment assistance. I am fortified as well as intoxicated by her offerings. I always learn something I did not expect to need. I come away knowing more than ever that I am on a path of enablement. My offering bears fruit and hints of it show in the blossoming.

It is also very satisfying to feel a bit spent in the acquisition. I am reaching for something of meaning, reaching enough to match the currents of grace that make all of the difference. I am excited to know that the mystery is always just a heartbeat ahead of me, inside of me and all around me. Love and blessings to my kalyana mitra, all those of you who resonate with this sweet blossoming existence.

The wind on the waves

There was wood there by the road, the road that passes by the most sacred of lakes. The wind blew the water into waves of sringara, passionate waves. I could feel the chill coming off of mountain lake water. I thought of my teacher. Dark waters run deep, but this water sparkles and shines well into the depths as if the light of the devata prefer this place above all others. The sun danced over the surface and onto my skin as the wind blew its wildness into my hair. Ahh Vayu, are you happy with me today? Or is the whole world your happy playground and I just happen to be standing in it? I will drink your passion in regardless. I am intoxicated by this place. I have a hard time leaving.

Then as I turn to go I see a loon bobbing on the boisterous water. The first loon of the season. I hope its mate is nearby. I hope I will soon see them with offspring. I wonder how they could find enough peace in this lake and I wish I could ban the motor boats. That would probably be much harder than the people trying to ban our clothing optional beach year after year. I long to stay here to live in the sweetness of this powerful place. I feel the currents of grace swirling in multitudinous harmony like an orchestra hanging on the air, displaying itself in the beauty of peripheral waterfalls crashing down the mountainside. The brash and bold side, where I now stand, but I know there is a shanta cove across the way where the paths weave around intertwining with cedar trees that offer shade and privacy to the discreet bather who favors the quiet corner over the sand strewn beaches and rocky inlets.

The Fearless hand of Nataraja

Nataraja, I feel his hand over my heart. I feel myself empowered, called in, supported. Each time I feel the same call to express without fear my own intention into the world. To speak with the fullness of my heart.

I kneel before the image and soften to receive what is mine to receive. I am thrilled with the visceral experience of the moreness as I feel the hand that speaks to me consistently. I have no way of knowing how long this will continue or in what way it will affect my teaching, my practice. I note that my heart opening is enhanced as I bask in the glow of feeling connected, supported by this beautiful Devata. I feel the entry point and remember my teacher's words: Any one of the Devata can be the entry point to all of the Devata. Right now I have this one vibrant sign post to be grateful for. Right here I embrace the mystery of what it is to be alive and in Yoga. I cannot imagine a better way to be.

I taste the divine ember, the divine nectar as it rises from my heart to the back of my tongue. I hold myself open for this experience to linger, to expand the midline of my being and to weave into an expression. However temporary my words and actions are they are tapped in to this aham, to this Maha.

My class is the expression for this moment. I hope it will suffice to honor that which I have received. I know that whatever I offer each person will receive something different, something of their own which only partially reflects my offering.

I seek to expand my capacity to weave the sweetness into something of value. I seek to weave the intoxication into nourishment and to clear the toxicity which necessarily accompanies the intoxicating substance.

I begin to wonder when I was first touched by this hand. "Courage" they said after my sister's death by avalanche. In the tiny chapel we stood around her cast off form. The priest asked us to each hold an intention to carry on some quality of hers in the world in her memory. I asked for her strength of leadership to arise in me into the service of others and particularly into the service of that which my sister loved about humanity, the goodness of long held traditions, camaraderie, good food and drink, etc...

A few years before that my yoga teacher told me that my heart was what was sri about me. She said I should learn to move as freely in my asana practice as I did in dance. I wonder what she would say if she saw me now.

I turned 33 in Ecuador, I talked to our guide about listening to the voice of my heart. He told me that my heart clearly had a reliable voice to listen to. The shaman told me I had a very particular energetic presence. I blushed even though I never knew what he really meant.

Has my heart always been touched with this fearlessness despite the ebb and flow of confidence and insecurity? Is that why I resonate with this hand so strongly? Or is this entry point enhancing my ability to engage my innate capacity? I feel the latter and celebrate with gratitude in my gestures toward Nataraja's ecstatic dancing form.