....vignettes on an island

Yogis,
I’m back from a week spent soaking in the sun, sand, sea and sensations of the small island of St John. A few vignettes on my experience………

Earth

So many things catch your eye and leave impressions when you spend time in a place that is not home. One thing you can’t help but notice in St John is how they dispose of their vehicles. Cars, pickups and motorcycles which have happily provided service for their long useful lives are simply parked on the shoulder of the road, a bit into the brush. Turned off and left. Abandoned.

They are everywhere. Red ones, blues ones. Paint dulled or peeling away. Flat tires, a missing door or an occasional smashed windshield. Observing them is like being given a glimpse into a time gone by.

While the car became motionless, life around it did not.

It may have begun with a single vine weaving its ways around the rear bumper. A bush, blanketed with vivid red flowers, slowly drapes herself over the hood. The determined cactus coaxes the small rust spot to give way, allowing it to push its head through the truck floor, turning the truck bed into a container garden.

Slowly, very slowly, the earth begins to take back what was left behind. Creating beauty and art from that which we discarded. No hurry. She has all the time in the world.

New Friends

A raised wooden walkway led from our front door to the road, which could barely be called a road. On the right stood a very tall cactus tree and within its branches lived a small spider. I noticed her on the second day.

She had spun her web from one cactus arm to another and she waited in the center. Patiently. She was always there when I checked.

I began photographing her on the fourth day, only realizing how spectacularly beautiful she was when I was able to get my zoom to focus for an instant at a time. I spoke to her as I clicked. I watched as she thickened lines in her web that led away from her legs making her appear bigger when seen from afar.

As we left for the airport before the sun rose, I said goodbye as I passed. She was a new friend.

There were others. The donkey who stuck his enormous head inside the car window when we rolled it down for a picture. The self-assured egret who stood unafraid while acting as the greeter near the entrance to the campground. And the Turks Head cacti with their silly way of leaning this way or that in groups, appearing tipsy yet steadily guiding you along the trails.

I met and spoke with lovely humans as well, but the friends I will remember and seek out on my next visit were of the non-human kind.  

Turtle

The warm water buoyant making floating effortless. My mask bringing even the smallest shell into focus. My breath the only sound in this much quieter underworld.

I spot her floating on the bottom. An intricate pattern woven into her shell.  Her strong legs push the water aside as she swims upward. A pause. For a few moments we swim together, side by side, our eyes locked.

My heart gets a bit bigger.

Om,

SARAH

I See You......

.....when the student is ready

Yogis,
I’m not exactly sure of the timing, but it must be close to 25 years ago. There was a woman living up the street who word had it, was teaching yoga in her home. Now this was way before the current yoga wave had rolled in. No Lululemon or hot power yoga studios. I knew the word but very little about what it actually meant.

Her name was Jo Alexander and I began getting to know her through our street gatherings. She would have been in her mid to late sixties at the time, tall, slender and oh so regal. The way she carried herself and the aura of grace around her couldn’t be missed. I knew I wanted some of whatever she was having.

At that time, I along with the self-named ‘running girls’ group, were hitting the streets at 5:30 am with our dogs in tow, 5 or 6 days a week. We were runners through and through, with only an occasional aerobics class thrown in. In my mind yoga was ‘touchy feely’ and I wasn’t sure I wanted any part of that. Yet she kept crossing my path.

One morning on our run I asked the others if they had any interest in taking yoga if I could convince Jo to teach once a week before the sun rose. With their blessing I approached Jo, and much to her credit, after sleeping on it, she agreed. Yoga was about to enter my world.

For the next 5 or 6 years we learned to move our bodies in different ways, breathe consciously, watch our thoughts pass like clouds against a blue sky, and deeply sink into ourselves in savasana under the blankets she carefully spread on each of us. All in a quiet candlelit room. Seeds were being planted.

She also taught us how to chant.

Eventually as Jo and her husband Al began to age, they decided to move to a lovely apartment with a view and no leaves to rake, leaving behind their cherished home. This past year, at the ripe old age of 96, Al passed away. They had been married for 72 years.  I hadn’t seen them in the last year and regret not visiting them to have yet one more spirited conversation with Al. I didn’t want to make that mistake again…….

This week I headed over to find where Jo is living now with the hopes of being able to see her and the Universe complied. I found her surrounded by her daughter, cleaners and a compassionate aide. Jo is now 92 (or so she believes as her memory has become less dependable.) We reminisced about those Friday mornings and all our wonderful neighbors and friends.

I asked if she remembered that she had taught me to chant. She wasn’t sure.

Right before I left home that morning, something told me to bring my music and mala beads.  I took out my mala and gave her one and turned on a beautiful 108 repetition Ganesh chant. All it took was the first Om. I could see it in her body. The shift. Her eyes closed and a gentle smile appeared. 

Together we chanted.

When I had first arrived Jo joked that with her broken hip and wrist it was too bad we couldn’t do yoga together…..but I realized that we had. Yoga postures are only a technique. Yoga is a state of being and we were in it. Together once again. And I owe that to her.

It is said that when the student is ready…the teacher will come. She came and it changed my life.

Om,
SARAH

.....planted

Yogis,
Over the years you may have noticed my inclination toward photographing my feet. It isn’t so much that I believe my feet to be exceptionally good looking – although after all the years of yoga I do finally love my feet – but it’s that where they are, so am I.  Notice your feet…..notice this moment.

We use the expression ‘planting my feet’ to indicate that we are arriving, rooting down and staying. That the need to be on the move is, for at least a brief time, allowed to fall away.  That here….in this place….is enough.

There is another creature among us that embodies this principle fully. The tree. And where I look to see and feel it is where the trunk meets the earth.  This too I photograph often. 

If I had to give it a sound, it would have to be ‘Umph’. A deep dropping thud. A vibration that if felt inside would rumble down in the pelvic floor. Similar to the tremendous sound of the heartbreaking landing of my favorite tree as it hit the ground ten years ago and the reverberation that followed. A dent in the ground still remains as evidence.

Even the words ‘trunk’ and ‘stump’ have the ring of grounded-ness to them.

Being planted means being here. We have the luxury of feet that can decide to move on, which is both a joy and a hindrance. A tree does not enjoy this option. It stays.

This week I observed the variety of ways they choose to connect with the ground below. Some with a heaviness that suggests they have been standing watch over not only me, but the generations that walked before me. Others seem to prefer being a bit more on their toes. I saw tree toes both long and short. Some which appear to wear rings and others that look like could use a good pedicure.

Rough around the edges, smooth and one even appearing to wear a skirt. Covered with moss or

offering a way in for those who wish to enter its hush. Even trees who choose to plant themselves intertwined with another for life. Soul mates.

Check them out this week! As you are out and about, look down to that sacred place where the trees have chosen to join the earth. The energy of their being planted. Of being rooted. Of staying still. Feel it…..

And send me pictures!

Noticing Now,
SARAH

.....life's seeds

Yogis,
During the winter I can see my garden through the windows. Brown lanky stems holding up seed heads. Clumps of wet compacted leaves. Fallen plants which cover portions of the paths and even the shiny metal end of one of my hand shovels lying on its side, as if I was out there puttering only hours ago. 

This time of year my medicine wheel appears unkempt and messy, but I know it’s perfect. Birds taking cover in the brush while insects sleep nestled deep beneath. The fox trots through in search of dinner and the deer visit from time to time to snack. The seeming disorder providing needed support to nature’s creatures. The death of the garden now complete.

Then in a blink of an eye a shift happens. I am not tuned in enough to determine the exact day, hour or moment, but at some point, dying is complete and suddenly birth begins again. This year’s garden starts its march forward with or without my involvement……and I can sense it already has.

A couple of weeks ago the seed catalogs began to arrive in the mail. Another sign of the shift as the gardening season begins. It isn’t yet time to plant seeds or even order them necessarily, but it is time to daydream and decide what I want to plant. Most seeds placed beneath the soil will germinate so it’s important to be mindful of the ones we plant!

What is it that I want? 

Should I plant seeds of lavender to bring more peace and gentleness in? The rose may require attention but is guaranteed to awaken passion. Tall, leggy bergamot with her propensity to lean every which way could offer me more freedom….less rules. Or planting passionflower will make both me and the bees drunk on life.

Do I want to plant annuals which bring joy but leave an empty space next year offering potential for

swift change? Or perhaps I go with deep rooted comfrey that will provide trusty medicine for many, many years to come.

Our life is no different than the garden. Every single thought, action and step we take are like seeds being planted in our own fertile soil. They will indeed germinate with time and draw towards us that which we ourselves have nurtured. So why not be mindful of the ones we plant!

What is it that you want? What do you want to be, feel, see, hold? Be bold. You can grow anything! The only fence around your garden is your own mind.

I think I will be keeping the worry and negative thought seeds in their package, but definitely spreading the kindness and creativity seeds with abandon. Perhaps even the courage seeds are ready for planting this year.

As the full moon begins to wane, and night turns to day, and somehow low tide knows to turn her course to head back in, all of life swirls through this cycle of death and creation. We are included and can ride its wave. It is exciting and boundless.

Plant your seeds!

Consciously creating life,
SARAH

....do I want to suffer?

Yogis,
Here in the mid-Atlantic it has been a relatively balmy winter. Typical days rising into the forties, with only occasional nights dipping below freezing. Instead of a frozen tundra we are clomping through mud with green sprouts popping their heads out through leaf cover that has yet to decay. A dandelion bloom even smiled at me from my front yard on one of our recent sixty degree days.

When I mention it to others, many respond that it does seem odd, but they don’t mind not being freezing. I understand. I too am uncomfortable with cold on my body. Even in the 40’s I wear long underwear under my jeans and a scarf around my neck, yet I am somehow bummed. I am feeling gypped.

I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why I would want to be uncomfortable for two months with frozen fingers and toes, but I am coming to some realizations. The reason spring is so extraordinary for me is because of the stark contrast to where I have just been. The colors of the bluebells where once there was only a dull brown. The feeling of warmth on my cheeks, chapped by the bite of the icy wind on morning runs. Bird’s voices filling the previously quiet air.

We live in a world of dual forces. For every energy there is its opposite opposing force, without which life would feel comfortably numb.

I notice that it’s only after I have been sick where I truly appreciate the gift of health. Of waking in the morning with a body ready for whatever I bring its way. Without injury, something as miraculous as being able to do a yoga practice is taken for granted.

When a sorrow so deep drops us to our knees, it is only because we have lost one who swam in the well of love we carry in our very center.  If offered, would I choose a life with no sorrow if it meant I couldn’t feel the exquisite shiver of newly found love? Without one we cannot taste the other.

The Buddhist monk and beloved teacher Thich Naht Hanh once said that he would never want to live in a world without suffering. At first glance that seems incredulous. Who wants to suffer? Who would knowingly choose a path which will undoubtedly have pain as one of its traveling companions?

I would.

For without rainstorms there can be no rainbow. If life were always sunny, we wouldn’t know the moon. And isn’t it from our most challenging times that we emerge wiser and more human?

At times I watch as I constrain my tears of grief while allowing those of laughter to pour freely. Why? Are they not both salty and warm, each flowing from the same eyes that watch this world of ours pass by with all its waves?

‘Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift’  ~Mary Oliver

Om,
SARAH

.....a blank sheet

Yogis,
I have been thinking about my writing lately. I have sent these notes every Sunday, almost without fail, since I returned from herbal training in August 2012. What began as a way to share information, evolved into a ritual. A part of my week……every week.

People often ask me how I go about them. Do I look things up? Read other materials to get ideas? Have some sort of yoga resource that provides ideas? No, it’s nothing like that.

I typically sit down to write at some quiet time between Friday and Sunday morning depending on the weekend schedule. I open up a blank document in word with only a blurry idea that is stirring. It could have been from something I observed or an experience I had. Or like this week, as I was sorting through the 469 posts that I have done to date, a question bubbled up. Where did these come from?

Where do these come from?

I sit in front of a blank sheet with only the beginnings of an idea, lay my hands on the keyboard and pour words out. Thoughts turn into sentences which run down my arms, out through my fingers and onto the screen. A theme develops and carries me along for the ride. Usually within a half hour I have the page filled.

Where do these come from?

One moment there is nothing and then suddenly there is something. Inspiration. A creative life force pouring in. It flows through each of us….in different ways.

For you it may be an image in your mind that lays itself down magnificently with paint on a canvas. Your ability to look at a complex problem and know its solution instantly. Maybe your creations are done with spices in a saucepan, flowers in a garden, or by lifting a violin to your chin.

Where do these come from?

We are all creators and contain this mysterious ability to create something from nothing. A current that flows through, but where is the source?

When I try to physically feel how the idea gets pulled up, it reminds me of rummaging down around the bottom of an overfilled toy box for the one small toy your child is asking for. You sense it is there but mixed in with a crowd until you finally feel it, know, grab hold and lift it through all of the other thoughts packed around it.  

I am realizing that this blank sheet that sits before me is no different than the blank day that I awaken to each morning. Or for that matter, this blank life that I was born into. At times I look and marvel at what has poured through. I believe our only constraint is the mind, as the ocean of inspiration is boundless and will play through you….whenever you are its willing instrument.

Inspire in…..pause…..exhale it into being

As for me, I will continue to face blank pages, surrender and lean in to fill them. But perhaps I should start putting blank canvasses there too? Who knows what else is waiting to give voice……

Inspired,
SARAH

....be the tortoise

Yogis,
Remember the story of the tortoise and the hare? An Aesop Fable possibly first told as early as the 5^th century. A tale whose moral is that slow and steady wins the race.

It feels to me like life itself has become a race. Sending our children to school at three years old so they are prepared for kindergarten, to do well in grade school and be ready for the AP classes in high school, to get high scores on the SAT, so that they can get into the best colleges in order to graduate and get a high paying job, to buy a house and a car and work very hard for many years in order to save enough to be able to retire when they are old so they can finally…..relax. Exhausting to even type it!

Our world cheers for the hare. Kudos go to those who are quick, efficient, witty and successful. Those who push hard and struggle and then win! Not much press or attention given to the tortoises among us.

The only problem is the hare is moving through life so quickly, focused only on the finish line that the beauty of the individual moments is lost on him. The landscape a blur as he races through to reach the promised prize.

But what if the prize is already here? For each one of us. In this very moment. Waiting to be noticed. What would happen if we all slowed down?

I am a runner and used to do a lot of races. 5Ks, ten milers and even two marathons. Standing at the starting line waiting for the flag to wave, my vision was always of crossing the finish line. The strategy was to keep my head down, stay focused and keep moving. Even at water stations there was no stopping. You learned the art of slowing to a jog while drinking from a dixie cup without getting the water up your nose or choking. The goal was to finish. Quickly.

Now if we treat life as a race, we are rushing toward the finish. And we all know what awaits us at the finish. Yikes!

The tortoise on the other hand, notices. The vivid green of the moss climbing a tree’s base. The

indescribable beauty of the crisp winter western sky as the sun lowers toward the horizon. The rush of the wind outside the bedroom window signaling a shift in the weather. He is moving forward but his gaze is not toward the finish line, but instead taking in the life happening right beneath his feet.

If there is any time of year to practice being the tortoise, this is it. These next six weeks of winter for most of us have big slices of time with nothing on the calendar. The weather asking us to sit by the window and watch her wonder with a warm cup of tea in our hands. 

Stillness. Quiet. Rest. Powerful practices of the tortoise.

We will all inevitably reach the finish line of life. That is life’s one undeniable truth. Whether we choose to live a race like the hare, or a journey like the tortoise is up to each of us. I choose to be the tortoise.

Life only happens in this moment,
SARAH