.....racing through life

Yogis,

Have you noticed how quickly everything is moving?  The years, the news, technology, styles – even our driving. While I slept one night it appears that speed limits increased. On my recent drive to see my parents, each leg of the journey permitted five or even ten miles an hour faster than I remembered.  We are all in such a hurry, but I am not exactly sure to where.

Even in the yoga world (yes there is a yoga world) the pace has picked up. Classes at times have us moving so quickly that we must stop and look around to see where we are supposed to be. With the time constraints we all seem to be under we want to move, sweat, gain strength and relax all neatly within a 60-minute window.......

This weekend I was asked to lead a restorative/yin type practice for our teacher training. The exact opposite of fast. While gathering my thoughts I read some articles that described this slow moving style of yoga. One author said something that began to make some sense to me of all this rushing. He stated that what he found when doing yin was that he was forced to feel.

Yes. When you move slowly into a posture and then resolve to be still for the three to five minutes that we stay, there is no escaping feeling. First the physical body begins to speak. Aware of the tightness and sensation of pulling in the hips. Then the busy mind kicks into gear. ‘What a waste of time! We aren’t doing anything. I bet I have five emails waiting for me.  I am not as deep in the posture as the guy next to me.’  You are forced to see and hear your inner voice and its relentless chatter. And when you stay long enough, pose after pose, the emotions begin to creep in. Perhaps a lingering sadness. Or a longing that you have never given voice to. Tears may well up with no warning.

This all got me thinking. Perhaps this hamster wheel of life that we have all created (yes, WE created this) and get on every morning as soon as the eyes blink open are a way of staying clear of the world of feeling.  If I have every moment of every day accounted for, then my feelings of jealousy never have to be observed. The anger I still carry from my childhood doesn’t ever have to be watched. I can think my way through life. Much less messy.

Our phones have provided another perfect escape. As soon as there is one empty moment, instead of spending time with the most important person in your life, the phone is grabbed. A lifeline always there to fill in those uncomfortable gaps. 

I challenge each and every one of you to take five minutes tomorrow to feel. To tap into the inner world.  The simplest way is to find a quiet place in the house, or outside, sit down, close the eyes and watch the breath. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go. Ask your heart what it is feeling. Then listen.

Now if you read over my challenge and immediately dismissed it, ask yourself why.

The world of feeling is so much richer and more colorful than the world of thinking.  We need both. Don’t let your life race by without tapping into the beauty that lies within ……when you slow down to feel it. 

Everything you seek lies within…….

I want to feel it all,
SARAH

.....taking a bath

Yogis,

Like most, I grew up taking baths. The evening ritual of settling into a warm tub, with bubbles of course.  Making foam beards, practicing going under water and seeing if I could float. Stepping out when done into a big fluffy towel held open by my mom.

I also remember that my mom took baths back then. After putting me to bed I would hear her turning on the water and grabbing her book. The sound of water, and knowing she was staying close by, was deeply comforting and lulled me to sleep. I was always bummed when it was a ‘no bath’ night.

As a teenager baths seemed to be a waste of time. The shower, much quicker and more efficient, felt to be somehow more adult. The baths becoming a dim memory as I entered adulthood. It wasn’t until I was in my mid forties that I rediscovered the magic of a bath………

While renovating the house next door to sell, the master bath plans included a bubble jet tub since this appeared to be a must have on new home buyers lists. I researched tubs and picked a deep two-person beautiful white oval one. It never occurred to me that I would end up being the one to christen it.

When we ended up moving into the house I continued my standard daily shower routine, glancing over at the tub, not quite sold on the idea, until one Friday night.  Finally filling it and dropping in, I realized I had been missing one of life’s simple yet magnificent pleasures. Friday night quickly became bath night. Ten years later the routine continues.

As with any ritual it has evolved. At first there were bubbles and jets turned on, but soon I realized I needed neither. I preferred clear water and the quiet which allowed the sound of the water running to remind me of my youth. Drops of lavender, geranium or rose essential oil hit the hot water and quickly fill the room. Soon I began to experiment with bath salts. Mixing Epsom, mineral and pink Himalayan salts with dried rose petals from flowers I was given over the year. Depending on my mood, perhaps dried lavender and chamomile flowers purchased from the natural store down the road.

I have rediscovered the healing powers of the bath. What is it that I need this week? As I light the candles I choose the medicine. Salts when my muscles ache from a strenuous week. Jasmine oil and rose petals when the moon is full and I crave connection to my inner goddess.  Or like this week, eucalyptus oil to help with the cough and sinus congestion that I have been working to keep at the front door all week, not inviting them in for tea. 

When is the last time you soaked in the tub? For me one of the hurdles to overcome was allowing myself to be unclothed in a position that forced me to see myself. To accept my body exactly the way it was and treat it with kindness. That too has been healing.

The tub itself matters not. Yes, it is nice to have a soaking tub, but even the regular bath will do the trick if you bend the knees a little more to drop in. Perhaps you don’t have a shelf for the candles, flowers or oils…..bring in a little stool to make your bath alter.  Make the time and the space sacred.

As I stepped out of the water Friday night, steam rose from my skin. I wrapped myself in my big fluffy towel and then slipped into the cool crisp sheets. My worries washed away.

Earth medicine,
SARAH

.....the winds of change

Yogis,

The winds of change unmistakably swept through here Friday night with gusto………

The past month, although the calendar has stated its autumn, has been unusually warm and damp with that muggy air which ensures bad hair days.  Even on Friday I woke to a sticky 70-degree morning with dark heavy clouds that threatened, and delivered, torrential downpours throughout the day with only a moments notice. 

I heard the winds were coming. Preparing for a weekend trip to the beach I trusted they would indeed arrive and packed only pants and long sleeve shirts, leaving the shorts behind. Dusting off my fall boots and tossing a couple of sweater coats into my trunk.

As I slipped into bed that night I opened the window. I wanted to experience them. Be present when change arrived. Feel the shift. Warm air rushed in, along with the patter of rain on the roof. I ran my hand across the window ledge checking to see if it held a pool of water but found only droplets confirming my hope that the rain would remain outside my window and not threaten the wood floor beneath my bed.

For several hours even the thin sheet I lay under felt too heavy on my skin. My arms remaining out of the covers as I dozed. Where were they? Waiting in anticipation for a clear brisk inhale.

Deep in dream, a cool breeze rushed in at last. Starting at my head it rippled down the front of my body. The winds of change had come! Fall had officially arrived. I smiled. I was present. I felt it. I went back to sleep.

We are now in the season of Vata based on the science of Ayurveda.  The season of air, wind and movement. Unpredictable. A time for releasing. A time for change.

The trees will now finally get serious about changing the color of their leaves and effortlessly allowing them to fall without regret.  Squirrels will scurry about, planting nuts in every one of my pots, leaving piles of dirt as evidence. Chipmunks will start preparations on the ‘hidden door’ they place over the burrow. 

Like the natural world around us, we too can catch onto the coattails of the winds of change and alter our path. Perhaps it is the standard changes we want.  The change in diet, a new pair of boots, a shade darker on the hair color. Or maybe this is the year to ask the winds to pick you up, spin you about and drop you facing a new direction. Unlimited possibilities…….

What changes do you want? Stand in the wind with an open body and open mind and ask for a lift. Change is in the air.

Riding the winds of change,
SARAH

.....being a woman

Yogis,

Recent events have stirred up some memories of a sense of self that I carry with me and have often tried to put into words.  First though, let me say that this week’s note is not political. It doesn’t attempt to speak about any particular people, events, innocence or guilt. My words here are about something deeper. About a daily way of living.  About…..

……..what it feels like to be a girl

 I love being female and have never wished to be a man. Yet there are some unspoken rules that go along with having that second X chromosome that we woman digest early on. Perhaps a few are learned from talks given by mom as we sat on the bed, but most come through experience. A feeling. The need be aware. The need to be ‘careful’. That the simple fact of being a girl puts us at risk.

There have been times I attempted to convey to men what this way of life feels like, but inside I have known they couldn’t fully understand. Then I stumbled on this excerpt from a book. Suddenly there were words.

On Being a Woman

As a young girl I noticed the stare that lasted a second too long or was fixed somewhere on my body other than my eyes. The low whisper from a stranger who walked by a little too close, or the notorious cat calls and whistles from the group close enough I could see their eyes. Then there is that first time when you suddenly realize that the boy holding you has much greater physical strength than you do and how it can hold the potential to harm. We learn to be ‘careful’.

As a woman I have been an early morning runner for 30 years and often alone. How many times has someone commented that it was dangerous? That I should wait until later in the day.  I have lost count. Would someone ever consider saying that to a man? No, of course not. Being a woman comes with some preset boundaries. And if I choose to step over them and then fall into harm, somehow it will be my fault. Being a woman comes with chains that others are not asked to wear.

Speaking of wearing…… Every image screams at us to look pretty. Have a nice shape. Be sexy. Wear nice clothes. But then as soon as we do we are ‘asking for it’.  Are men told not to reveal their arms, bellies, back, thighs? No, of course not. But if we do and fall into harm, even other women may roll their eyes in that ‘she had it coming’ look. Because we all know the rules.

Will this ever change? Can this ever change? Not in my lifetime I’m afraid and I know my new granddaughter will too quickly learn the rules. But I feel invigorated that at least the discussions are happening. Maybe we can be more open and bring the unspoken into the light, and instead of living it unconsciously, start naming it when it happens. 

Women are wild wonderful powerful creatures who deserve to be free and its time we take one more small step out of the fear box we have been placed in without our consent. 

Hear me roar,
SARAH

Book excerpt on .....being a woman

The Kavanaugh hearings have unleashed a wave of emotions from women and men alike. For me personally it brought back up a feeling I have always had on the inside that I could never clearly put into words.  This article comes close.........

Guys ask why women are so pissed off. Even guys with wives and daughters and sisters and mothers. Jackson Katz, a prominent social researcher, illustrates why. He's done it with hundreds of audiences:

"I draw a line down the middle of a chalkboard, sketching a male symbol on one side and a female symbol on the other.

Then I ask just the men: What steps do you guys take, on a daily basis, to prevent yourselves from being sexually assaulted? At first there is a kind of awkward silence as the men try to figure out if they've been asked a trick question. The silence gives way to a smattering of nervous laughter. Occasionally, a young a guy will raise his hand and say, 'I stay out of prison.' This is typically followed by another moment of laughter, before someone finally raises his hand and soberly states, 'Nothing. I don't think about it.'

Then I ask the women the same question. What steps do you take on a daily basis to prevent yourselves from being sexually assaulted? Women throughout the audience immediately start raising their hands. As the men sit in stunned silence, the women recount safety precautions they take as part of their daily routine:
Hold my keys as a potential weapon. Look in the back seat of the car before getting in. Carry a cell phone. Don't go jogging at night. Lock all the windows when I sleep, even on hot summer nights. Be careful not to drink too much. Don't put my drink down and come back to it; make sure I see it being poured. Own a big dog. Carry Mace or pepper spray. Have an unlisted phone number. Have a man's voice on my answering machine. Park in well-lit areas. Don't use parking garages. Don't get on elevators with only one man, or with a group of men. Vary my route home from work. Watch what I wear. Don't use highway rest areas. Use a home alarm system. Don't wear headphones when jogging. Avoid forests or wooded areas, even in the daytime. Don't take a first-floor apartment. Go out in groups. Own a firearm. Meet men on first dates in public places. Make sure to have a car or cab fare. Don't make eye contact with men on the street. Make assertive eye contact with men on the street.”

― Jackson Katz, The Macho Paradox: Why Some Men Hurt Women and How All Men Can Help