....the world continues to spin

Yogis,

There are so many things I love about this time of year. One of them is its effect on my meditation practice. In March from 6:30 to 7 am there is a big shift around us, and I get the chance to witness it.

As I get settled in my seat and close my eyes, the world is still asleep. Everything sits quiet and dark. A half hour later as my eyes blink open, it is light. Morning has arrived and the world is fully alive. While in between the two I get to sense the transition.

On Friday as I sat, I heard the call of one bird as he broke the night’s silence. A lone voice against an empty backdrop. A few seconds later another. Within minutes there was a chorus. I knew without the need to ‘see’ that morning had indeed broken as they say. Not only by the songs of the birds but also their enthusiasm in welcoming in the day that lay ahead.

At that moment it hit me that while we humans are all navigating through challenging uncharted territory, the rest of the natural world continues along untouched. It gave me great comfort.

While we all change our patterns, watch the news and settle into a subtle state of uneasiness, the deer watch casually from the backyard while nibbling my plants. Meetings and handshakes have been cancelled, yet the raccoons still high five each other as they once again figure out how to get the ‘locking’ top off my trashcan. The bluebells bloom and the moon shines on me as I sleep. This all brings me comfort.

There is a steadiness in nature that can be called on at these times. For now, since I am asked to no longer hug another, perhaps I will nestle up to one of my beech trees. The social distancing rule of six feet does not apply when burying your nose in one of the numerous flowers beginning their annual bloom or to sitting so close to a stream that you can see the bottom. This virus can not be caught through nature.

In these days ahead, as any anxiousness or fear begins to bubble up, walk out the door and watch the clouds go by. They know not about this pandemic. Gather with the trees, stand under the warmth of the sun and sing with the birds. Be witness to the newness that spring unveils, not only from one day to the next, but even hour to hour.  And find comfort in the fact that the world that surrounds you continues to spin undisturbed.

Watching the dependable busyness of the squirrels,
SARAH

.....what to 'do'

Yogis,
What a funny world we live in…… There seems to always be at least one thing to be afraid of at any given time. Only a few weeks ago it was fires and now it is a virus.

On Friday I needed a few things from the store, but also wanted to get a pulse on what was happening out there. I had been hearing stories of shelves emptied of toilet paper, paper towels, cold remedies and hand sanitizer and wanted to check it out myself. Toilet paper?

It was quite busy at the Giant. Produce aisle looked as it always does. Meat, no problem. The section that houses the dried beans however, which normally looks like it may have accumulated a layer of dust, looked like a hurricane had blown threw leaving only a few sad bags of green lentils. Now I have been touting the benefits of cooking dried beans for the past year but clearly my voice doesn’t have the same power as fear.

Paper product aisle rather sparse looking with only a couple packs of Scott toilet paper left….so I threw one in my cart.  Not exactly sure why. Perhaps that feeling of being swept up by the momentum of a crowd. Or the inkling that maybe I should be ‘doing something’.

Now for the serious stuff. Anti-bacterial soaps and sanitizers. Empty shelves peer back with only two anti-bacterial pump soaps still standing. I grab one.  And for good measure I take one of the last bottles of rubbing alcohol. Now I am getting somewhere! Not sure where….but somewhere.

I empty my purchases at home and am reminded of the 9/11 kit that I started during a different time of fear. I am sure it is still hidden somewhere in the recesses of the basement. Duct tape, aspirin, tampons and water. A whole lot of good that would have done us.

Friday night I go to a yoga class and remember to hit the elevator button with my knuckle.  In the studio they have sanitizers everywhere. Someone else has even brought their own spray. At the end of class I use wipes to clean my props and my hands. On the way down to the car I forget and use my fingertip to hit P. And an hour later one of my hands is red and feels like it has been burned…..the sanitizers.  Appears they killed the guards along with any intruders. Darn.

So…..I realize that what I should be ‘doing’ is what I always do naturally. Keep my body strong. Eat healthy. Get plenty of rest. Spend time in the sun. Breathe fresh air. Meditate daily. Use my anti-viral herbs and oils. And most importantly, hold an internal steady flame of strength, inner peace and confidence.

Back to regular old soap and water for me. And I won’t need to buy toilet paper for a while now.

My citrine necklace reminds me,
SARAH

....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