I now know her name and she and her family were kind enough to share a link to a website reporting how she is doing. Amazing. People really are amazing. Once we get out of ourselves, get out of the way and see each other...really see each other...we can be truly amazing.
The meeting at Duke went well for her. She has a treatment option that has given her and her family hope. Hope, what a wonderful place to focus your energy.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Fuzzy-brown-gentle-spirit-lady
Today I met a woman…well, actually, I encountered a woman that had a profound effect on me. I don’t understand the full significance of our crossing and I suspect I never will.
I was sitting in the airport in Omaha waiting for my plane to depart when I noticed this woman walking with a younger woman, who appeared to be her daughter. She caught my eye because she was wearing a fuzzy brown jacket and a matching fuzzy brown hat—much like those fuzzy socks that are so soft that you don’t want to put them on your feet but would rather stroke them across your face. She kept my gaze though, because there was a gentleness of spirit that I could “see” emanating from her. I really do not have the words to explain it. The best I can come up with is that my energy could “see” her energy.
The flight from Omaha to Chicago was relatively uneventful. As I boarded I was amused by the scene. Flying Southwest, I could select my seat wherever I could find one that was open. On this occasion, I was near the end of boarding—I guess because I was one of the slackers that checked-in AT the airport instead of on-line. As I waited for the line of passengers ahead of me to load their carry-on bags and select their seats, I looked at the rows of people who were seated and staring straight ahead. Except for the rare occasion where 3 people were traveling together, just about every row was occupied by two people separated by an empty seat. They were all concentrating SO HARD on NOT making eye-contact that it made me laugh aloud. If they DARED recognize my presence I just might want to sit beside them thwarting their expectations of a flight free of the struggle to share an armrest with a stranger. I was able to find an aisle seat in the 19th row, where I too had an empty seat beside me. One crossword, two Sudoku puzzles and a wind-whipped landing later, we were on the ground in Chicago.
While waiting for my turn to exit the plane, I realized that the fuzzy-brown-gentle-spirit lady had been seated between her husband and her daughter across the aisle a row back. Her husband and I were making small talk about the landing, the wind, the weather, and such. In this conversation I learned that they would be on the same flight as I would to North Carolina, prompting the polite inquisition of the destination and purpose of travel. She had made the perilous drive from Mitchell, SD to Omaha, NE the night before. The wind had been ferocious and icy conditions of I29 reportedly make a mockery of the “scary” landing we had just experienced. She was on her way to Duke University to see a specialist about, what they believed to be, a brain tumor. They had been to Mayo Clinic and another place I don’t recall (somewhere in New York???) where the approaches had been modeled after discoveries that had been made at Duke. They were to meet with the same doctor who had provided care to the late Ted Kennedy. Through this whole conversation, she said practically nothing. Her eyes met mine a few times and she shared a sweet smile, but she did not join the conversation but to say “Thank you” when I expressed my hopes that they would find what they were seeking. Before the conversation ended, she stepped into the aisle and was standing directly beside me as I was turned speaking to her husband who was directly behind her. In that proximity, I could FEEL the gentleness of her energy. I used EVERY social grace I had to stop myself from reaching out to touch her. I so badly wanted to share my energy with her, perhaps in some fanciful notion that somehow my energy would strengthen hers and help her physical body return to fullness. I was able to stop myself, and, I would assume, spare her the embarrassment of being groped by a complete stranger.
As I walked into Midway Airport, and parted ways with her and her traveling companions, I ventured to find a sandwich. I could not get her out of my mind. When I say that, I am not referring to “thinking” about her, I’m talking about something deeper. Despite my efforts to direct my attention to the task at hand, my spirit would not let her go. “She needs to hear from you. You have something important to share. You need to give voice to this energy.” The badgering I was getting from within would not relent, so I submitted. I walked the entire terminal, found a greeting card and a bookmark, picked up a sandwich and then took a seat near my gate.
There was not enough room to go into detail about why a complete stranger was compelled to write her a card, which is probably just as well. The words that needed to be shared flowed freely as I tried desperately not to impede the process. I know what was expressed fell short of what was intended, but it was the best I could do.
At this point, I was still bewildered by this whole experience, wondering exactly WHEN do you walk up to a stranger and hand them a greeting card? If I did it too soon, I would provide that awkward space where they would have time to acknowledge my action and respond. They would have to deal with the discomfort of having that space staring at them when they might not know how or even care to respond to such weirdness. I decided to let them board before me, hand it to her as I boarded, and sit further back in the plane so that they would deplane before I did. I knew that we would likely meet up again at baggage claim, but I was not willing to take the chance that I would miss the opportunity to give her the card.
I’m still trying to make sense of this. What I get from a soul-level is that I needed to get out of the way and let the divine use me at that moment in time. If I am truly seeking to transform from 3 to 1, then I figure I had better practice integrating mind, body, and spirit instead of compartmentalizing them.
As I pulled the bookmark out of my bag, the tassel of it had come apart. At first I was disappointed, but then I decided that, perhaps I should not be so egotistical about this whole thing. Perhaps the Divine was using HER to speak to ME? I decided to keep it for myself so that I would have a reminder of my experience of her energy. As I boarded the flight to Raleigh/Durham I found where they were seated. She was at the window, her husband was in the center, and her daughter was in a different row or across the aisle, I really don’t know. As I reached out to hand the card to her, she was too far away, so I gently waved it in front of her husband and, with a surprised look, he took it from me. I am actually sitting on the flight right now logging this story in a word document so I can post it later. Where she takes what I expressed to her in the card is up to her. I have faith that wherever it goes, it will serve its purpose.
I was sitting in the airport in Omaha waiting for my plane to depart when I noticed this woman walking with a younger woman, who appeared to be her daughter. She caught my eye because she was wearing a fuzzy brown jacket and a matching fuzzy brown hat—much like those fuzzy socks that are so soft that you don’t want to put them on your feet but would rather stroke them across your face. She kept my gaze though, because there was a gentleness of spirit that I could “see” emanating from her. I really do not have the words to explain it. The best I can come up with is that my energy could “see” her energy.
The flight from Omaha to Chicago was relatively uneventful. As I boarded I was amused by the scene. Flying Southwest, I could select my seat wherever I could find one that was open. On this occasion, I was near the end of boarding—I guess because I was one of the slackers that checked-in AT the airport instead of on-line. As I waited for the line of passengers ahead of me to load their carry-on bags and select their seats, I looked at the rows of people who were seated and staring straight ahead. Except for the rare occasion where 3 people were traveling together, just about every row was occupied by two people separated by an empty seat. They were all concentrating SO HARD on NOT making eye-contact that it made me laugh aloud. If they DARED recognize my presence I just might want to sit beside them thwarting their expectations of a flight free of the struggle to share an armrest with a stranger. I was able to find an aisle seat in the 19th row, where I too had an empty seat beside me. One crossword, two Sudoku puzzles and a wind-whipped landing later, we were on the ground in Chicago.
While waiting for my turn to exit the plane, I realized that the fuzzy-brown-gentle-spirit lady had been seated between her husband and her daughter across the aisle a row back. Her husband and I were making small talk about the landing, the wind, the weather, and such. In this conversation I learned that they would be on the same flight as I would to North Carolina, prompting the polite inquisition of the destination and purpose of travel. She had made the perilous drive from Mitchell, SD to Omaha, NE the night before. The wind had been ferocious and icy conditions of I29 reportedly make a mockery of the “scary” landing we had just experienced. She was on her way to Duke University to see a specialist about, what they believed to be, a brain tumor. They had been to Mayo Clinic and another place I don’t recall (somewhere in New York???) where the approaches had been modeled after discoveries that had been made at Duke. They were to meet with the same doctor who had provided care to the late Ted Kennedy. Through this whole conversation, she said practically nothing. Her eyes met mine a few times and she shared a sweet smile, but she did not join the conversation but to say “Thank you” when I expressed my hopes that they would find what they were seeking. Before the conversation ended, she stepped into the aisle and was standing directly beside me as I was turned speaking to her husband who was directly behind her. In that proximity, I could FEEL the gentleness of her energy. I used EVERY social grace I had to stop myself from reaching out to touch her. I so badly wanted to share my energy with her, perhaps in some fanciful notion that somehow my energy would strengthen hers and help her physical body return to fullness. I was able to stop myself, and, I would assume, spare her the embarrassment of being groped by a complete stranger.
As I walked into Midway Airport, and parted ways with her and her traveling companions, I ventured to find a sandwich. I could not get her out of my mind. When I say that, I am not referring to “thinking” about her, I’m talking about something deeper. Despite my efforts to direct my attention to the task at hand, my spirit would not let her go. “She needs to hear from you. You have something important to share. You need to give voice to this energy.” The badgering I was getting from within would not relent, so I submitted. I walked the entire terminal, found a greeting card and a bookmark, picked up a sandwich and then took a seat near my gate.
There was not enough room to go into detail about why a complete stranger was compelled to write her a card, which is probably just as well. The words that needed to be shared flowed freely as I tried desperately not to impede the process. I know what was expressed fell short of what was intended, but it was the best I could do.
At this point, I was still bewildered by this whole experience, wondering exactly WHEN do you walk up to a stranger and hand them a greeting card? If I did it too soon, I would provide that awkward space where they would have time to acknowledge my action and respond. They would have to deal with the discomfort of having that space staring at them when they might not know how or even care to respond to such weirdness. I decided to let them board before me, hand it to her as I boarded, and sit further back in the plane so that they would deplane before I did. I knew that we would likely meet up again at baggage claim, but I was not willing to take the chance that I would miss the opportunity to give her the card.
I’m still trying to make sense of this. What I get from a soul-level is that I needed to get out of the way and let the divine use me at that moment in time. If I am truly seeking to transform from 3 to 1, then I figure I had better practice integrating mind, body, and spirit instead of compartmentalizing them.
As I pulled the bookmark out of my bag, the tassel of it had come apart. At first I was disappointed, but then I decided that, perhaps I should not be so egotistical about this whole thing. Perhaps the Divine was using HER to speak to ME? I decided to keep it for myself so that I would have a reminder of my experience of her energy. As I boarded the flight to Raleigh/Durham I found where they were seated. She was at the window, her husband was in the center, and her daughter was in a different row or across the aisle, I really don’t know. As I reached out to hand the card to her, she was too far away, so I gently waved it in front of her husband and, with a surprised look, he took it from me. I am actually sitting on the flight right now logging this story in a word document so I can post it later. Where she takes what I expressed to her in the card is up to her. I have faith that wherever it goes, it will serve its purpose.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Dodging a Bullet
I have a good friend who lives right next door to me. We both work full-time and have 3 girls and life is crazy busy. Not surprisingly, we don't see each other much. Often times our "visits" are greetings yelled from driveway to driveway as we are cramming our children into car seats and zooming off to the next activity or errand on the list. I realized the other day that the last time I had any contact with her was Christmas morning when I called to borrow space-heaters. It has been even longer since I have actually SEEN her. I honestly don't remember the last time I saw her. I do know there is life at her house. I have seen her husband in and out of the garage and have found myself beside him--both of us at the ends of our driveways shoveling in sync.
So a couple of days ago my mind began to wonder through those spaces that often take me by surprise. It dawned on me that the community neighbor on the news that is awkwardly interviewed outside the house of the family that has been "off-ed" is often heard saying things like, "I just don't know what to think...he was always such a nice guy, I can't believe he could do something like this..." When I was a young teenager living in central Illinois, a perfectly benign man with a typical family in a middle class neighborhood was charged and found guilty of murdering his wife a children in my hometown. The neighbors were in shock--could not believe the loving father was capable of such horror (and it was horror). So here I am, pulling into my driveway giving the polite wave and nod as I pass my friend's husband and I am ACTUALLY wondering if he could ever be capable of killing his wife and kids and burying them somewhere in the middle of a wooded area. Of course I don't BELIEVE that this is the reason I have not seen my friend. But I am stunned that I find myself actually entertaining this notion.
Given my strange train of thought, I have found myself looking at the house as I drive by, searching for some sign of the chaos associated with 3 young children and no free time. Nothing. No lights. No movement. Tonight, I arrived home at about 7:00. Before my children figured out I was home, I shut the car door quietly and walked over to the neighbor's house. My plan was to say a quick hello and amuse her with the inanity of the idea that her absence had led to my wondering about her husband's possible criminal behavior. As I was approaching the steps to the front porch it ocurred to me that she may not answer, but he might. What do you say?, "Hey there neighbor, haven't seen your wife and kids lately, did you knock 'em off and unload them somewhere in Iowa?" No, but seriously, I knew what I was going to say to her, but what would my lame excuse be for ringing the bell at the outset of the bath-time bed-time ritual? Obviously I have little pride because I stepped onto the porch, saw light emanating from kitchen, and rang the bell. Nothing. I waited for about 20-30 seconds, and stepped away.
As I walked back over to my house, I realized that I may have just dodged a bullet. I guess I will get my confirmation that my neighbor is NOT a hidden psychopath on another day. I'll keep you posted.
So a couple of days ago my mind began to wonder through those spaces that often take me by surprise. It dawned on me that the community neighbor on the news that is awkwardly interviewed outside the house of the family that has been "off-ed" is often heard saying things like, "I just don't know what to think...he was always such a nice guy, I can't believe he could do something like this..." When I was a young teenager living in central Illinois, a perfectly benign man with a typical family in a middle class neighborhood was charged and found guilty of murdering his wife a children in my hometown. The neighbors were in shock--could not believe the loving father was capable of such horror (and it was horror). So here I am, pulling into my driveway giving the polite wave and nod as I pass my friend's husband and I am ACTUALLY wondering if he could ever be capable of killing his wife and kids and burying them somewhere in the middle of a wooded area. Of course I don't BELIEVE that this is the reason I have not seen my friend. But I am stunned that I find myself actually entertaining this notion.
Given my strange train of thought, I have found myself looking at the house as I drive by, searching for some sign of the chaos associated with 3 young children and no free time. Nothing. No lights. No movement. Tonight, I arrived home at about 7:00. Before my children figured out I was home, I shut the car door quietly and walked over to the neighbor's house. My plan was to say a quick hello and amuse her with the inanity of the idea that her absence had led to my wondering about her husband's possible criminal behavior. As I was approaching the steps to the front porch it ocurred to me that she may not answer, but he might. What do you say?, "Hey there neighbor, haven't seen your wife and kids lately, did you knock 'em off and unload them somewhere in Iowa?" No, but seriously, I knew what I was going to say to her, but what would my lame excuse be for ringing the bell at the outset of the bath-time bed-time ritual? Obviously I have little pride because I stepped onto the porch, saw light emanating from kitchen, and rang the bell. Nothing. I waited for about 20-30 seconds, and stepped away.
As I walked back over to my house, I realized that I may have just dodged a bullet. I guess I will get my confirmation that my neighbor is NOT a hidden psychopath on another day. I'll keep you posted.
No More Waiting
What the hell was I waiting for? I tried to ignore it. I tried to simply tolerate it. I even started making deals with myself to get through the day with it. Poking. Prodding. Pinching. Finally--today--I decided that I could no longer avoid the inevitable.
I reached into my bathroom drawer and began searching for a sharp object. With each second, my search became more frantic as it was a race between my ability to find something sharp and my nerve to go through with it. Finally, beneath a hodge-podge of the bare make-up necessities, I saw the silver glow of my manicure scissors. "Perfect!"
With the same fervor, I pulled off my shirt and yanked off my bra. I carefully investigated the area to be sure that what I was about to do would leave the least amount of damage while still being effective. It took slightly more effort than I had expected to cut through the top layers but moments later I found what had been such a pain in my side. Carefully and deliberately I reached in and slowly pulled it out.
It was much easier than I thought it would be and I am so glad I finally did it. I put my bra and my shirt back on and returned to the task of completing the morning bathroom ritual. All I can say now is, "What the hell took me so long?!?! What was I waiting for?!?!" My bra is SO MUCH MORE COMFORTABLE without the underwires.
I reached into my bathroom drawer and began searching for a sharp object. With each second, my search became more frantic as it was a race between my ability to find something sharp and my nerve to go through with it. Finally, beneath a hodge-podge of the bare make-up necessities, I saw the silver glow of my manicure scissors. "Perfect!"
With the same fervor, I pulled off my shirt and yanked off my bra. I carefully investigated the area to be sure that what I was about to do would leave the least amount of damage while still being effective. It took slightly more effort than I had expected to cut through the top layers but moments later I found what had been such a pain in my side. Carefully and deliberately I reached in and slowly pulled it out.
It was much easier than I thought it would be and I am so glad I finally did it. I put my bra and my shirt back on and returned to the task of completing the morning bathroom ritual. All I can say now is, "What the hell took me so long?!?! What was I waiting for?!?!" My bra is SO MUCH MORE COMFORTABLE without the underwires.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
The Other Side of Doubt
Tuesday 1-19-2010
My very good friend Sally always says that when she feels resistance she interprets it as a sign that she is moving in the right direction. She says when she pushes through the resistance, she is often awed and inspired by the perfect gift she receives from the Universe having had the faith to persevere.
Today was yoga class #3. It was the first day of meeting during the week as intended. The last two weeks had been shifted to the Saturday class, one an act of Mother Nature (blizzard) the other an act of Motherhood (kindergarten round-up). In the interim, the class I had originally signed up for had disintegrated due to a mix of scheduling conflicts and medical restrictions of the other members. I was left with the option of staying with Saturday or, maybe, squeezing into an evening class. There were no other Hyp-Yoga classes during the day during the week.
Despite the days, weeks, months, and even years of commitments, distractions, other priorities and so on that would fall into the category of resistance that has kept me from this quest, for blogging sake, let's start the resistance discussion at this scheduling change. I had that internal conversation with myself that we all have concurrently with an external conversation--at this moment my telephone conversation with my yoga instructor. "Don't be difficult, just pick a time that is available. You could just quit, but you really want to do this so pick a time that is available and you can just work it in. Don't worry--husband and children won't get in the way if you try to squeeze this in on THEIR time, they will gladly step aside and take care of themselves while you are practicing self-care" EEERRRRKKKZZZ. I could literally hear the needle scratching across the vinyl as I confronted the reality that I was standing at the abyss separating me from my yoga practice. I could see the waving arms and clutching hands of my dear, sweet family grabbing at my ankles trying to pull me in. I emerged from this vision as I heard myself explain to the instructor that I was not willing to compromise the freedom I had by attending a class held at a time when childcare was assured ('cause if the kids are cared for, Daddy is overly generous to have me follow my whims). She offered me a spot in the Tuesday morning meditation-yoga class. Disaster averted.
Fast forward to Tuesday morning. As I am backing the van out of the garage I look down and see the time, 8:49am. My yoga class is downtown (between 10th & 11th Streets) and I am pulling out of my driveway at 136th street. Not good. I have to drop the girls at preschool on the way. Not good. But why worry...you can just bust into a meditation class late without disrupting the process, right?!? Given the late hour of morning traffic, I approach the University right at 9:00. I call ahead and ask Ms. Megan if she will meet me outside so I can simply slow down and let the girls leap from the car. She graciously agreed and by 9:04, I was again on Dodge, heading to the Old Market. I parked the car at about 9:12, and as I plugged the meter, the internal commentary cluttered the airwaves with "you don't want to go in late. Maybe you should just call and ask to make up the class at another time." I heard myself say aloud, "no, damn it, you are here now go inside". I chuckled to myself at the realization that any passer-by would be witness to a crazy lady having an argument with herself.
The next 3 hours surpassed my every expectation. For 2 hours I meditated, listened to a reading, centered on a purpose for my yoga practice, practiced yoga, practiced relaxation, meditated again, and then shared tea with my instructor and classmates. The energy of the women in this room was amazing when I entered but the shared energy we created in the process was phenomenal. It was so clear to me that, once again, the Universe had put me EXACTLY where I needed to be.
The third hour was a lunch date with a friend that I do not see very often. I was a little nervous because my friendship with this woman has evolved out of a working relationship but we really have not seen each other socially outside of the collaborative work we have done. As I was sitting across the table from her over mulligatawny soup, samosas, and kabuli nan, I learned of her most recent undertakings in a venture to live out a dream she has had for quite some time. I was struck by how similar our experiences were at the core and how differently we chose to manifest the callings we hear from within. I left this lunch compelled to write this posting.
I came away from my experiences this morning thinking about all that I would have missed had I listened to the nay-sayer within. What I am learning though, is that the nay-sayer is not me. She is not MY voice. Her messages are simply an accumulation of beliefs about what is expected of me as interpreted through my experiences within this life. I think the resistance that Sally talked about is the battle between the nay-sayer and the self. Today I found the most perfect gifts from the Universe waiting for me on the other side of doubt.
My very good friend Sally always says that when she feels resistance she interprets it as a sign that she is moving in the right direction. She says when she pushes through the resistance, she is often awed and inspired by the perfect gift she receives from the Universe having had the faith to persevere.
Today was yoga class #3. It was the first day of meeting during the week as intended. The last two weeks had been shifted to the Saturday class, one an act of Mother Nature (blizzard) the other an act of Motherhood (kindergarten round-up). In the interim, the class I had originally signed up for had disintegrated due to a mix of scheduling conflicts and medical restrictions of the other members. I was left with the option of staying with Saturday or, maybe, squeezing into an evening class. There were no other Hyp-Yoga classes during the day during the week.
Despite the days, weeks, months, and even years of commitments, distractions, other priorities and so on that would fall into the category of resistance that has kept me from this quest, for blogging sake, let's start the resistance discussion at this scheduling change. I had that internal conversation with myself that we all have concurrently with an external conversation--at this moment my telephone conversation with my yoga instructor. "Don't be difficult, just pick a time that is available. You could just quit, but you really want to do this so pick a time that is available and you can just work it in. Don't worry--husband and children won't get in the way if you try to squeeze this in on THEIR time, they will gladly step aside and take care of themselves while you are practicing self-care" EEERRRRKKKZZZ. I could literally hear the needle scratching across the vinyl as I confronted the reality that I was standing at the abyss separating me from my yoga practice. I could see the waving arms and clutching hands of my dear, sweet family grabbing at my ankles trying to pull me in. I emerged from this vision as I heard myself explain to the instructor that I was not willing to compromise the freedom I had by attending a class held at a time when childcare was assured ('cause if the kids are cared for, Daddy is overly generous to have me follow my whims). She offered me a spot in the Tuesday morning meditation-yoga class. Disaster averted.
Fast forward to Tuesday morning. As I am backing the van out of the garage I look down and see the time, 8:49am. My yoga class is downtown (between 10th & 11th Streets) and I am pulling out of my driveway at 136th street. Not good. I have to drop the girls at preschool on the way. Not good. But why worry...you can just bust into a meditation class late without disrupting the process, right?!? Given the late hour of morning traffic, I approach the University right at 9:00. I call ahead and ask Ms. Megan if she will meet me outside so I can simply slow down and let the girls leap from the car. She graciously agreed and by 9:04, I was again on Dodge, heading to the Old Market. I parked the car at about 9:12, and as I plugged the meter, the internal commentary cluttered the airwaves with "you don't want to go in late. Maybe you should just call and ask to make up the class at another time." I heard myself say aloud, "no, damn it, you are here now go inside". I chuckled to myself at the realization that any passer-by would be witness to a crazy lady having an argument with herself.
The next 3 hours surpassed my every expectation. For 2 hours I meditated, listened to a reading, centered on a purpose for my yoga practice, practiced yoga, practiced relaxation, meditated again, and then shared tea with my instructor and classmates. The energy of the women in this room was amazing when I entered but the shared energy we created in the process was phenomenal. It was so clear to me that, once again, the Universe had put me EXACTLY where I needed to be.
The third hour was a lunch date with a friend that I do not see very often. I was a little nervous because my friendship with this woman has evolved out of a working relationship but we really have not seen each other socially outside of the collaborative work we have done. As I was sitting across the table from her over mulligatawny soup, samosas, and kabuli nan, I learned of her most recent undertakings in a venture to live out a dream she has had for quite some time. I was struck by how similar our experiences were at the core and how differently we chose to manifest the callings we hear from within. I left this lunch compelled to write this posting.
I came away from my experiences this morning thinking about all that I would have missed had I listened to the nay-sayer within. What I am learning though, is that the nay-sayer is not me. She is not MY voice. Her messages are simply an accumulation of beliefs about what is expected of me as interpreted through my experiences within this life. I think the resistance that Sally talked about is the battle between the nay-sayer and the self. Today I found the most perfect gifts from the Universe waiting for me on the other side of doubt.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Swelling
Saturday, January ?, 2010 (14, 15, 16?)
Okay, I'm sitting here. The chair is comfy. Check. A freshly poured cup of fair trade coffee. Check. Just finished yoga. Check. ...and now I feel my inspiration slipping away because I can't remember today's date with certainty. I could go into how that is symbolic of life...enjoy the moment, be in the here and now to the extent that you don't even know when the now actually is. Funny, I just realized my watch is at home lying on the vanity waiting for a battery with enough energy to keep it going (the metaphors just don't stop coming.) I really am in the moment. I have no point of reference with which to orient myself...unless I get up from this chair and look at the wall...or I dig into my bag and pull out my phone--the keeper of all information. I guess the trick is to win the battle, defeat the urge to inform myself with information that is only going to take away this moment of freedom I have. Right here. Right now.
My wrist is aching. The yoga practice will be hard on it. I'm not sure now is the best time to try to write.
Last week after my first yoga class (in almost a decade), I found a tender spot while showering. It was my left hip. As I explored the "problem" with my left hand I realized that the tender spot felt swollen. There was an obvious difference between my "regular" hip and this new, raised topography on my hind quarter. As I finished showering, my mind wandered through the potential culprits for my newly discovered swelling. I remembered that I had experienced discomfort in the same area as I rolled over it when moving from one yoga pose to another. At that moment in class I made a mental note that I would need to accommodate this tender spot. I haven't been able to put any real pressure on it for at least 2 years--likely more. I don't really remember. Now I found myself in the shower connecting the two and wondering what the hell I did to my butt in yoga class.
I got out of the shower, towel-dried, and stepped before the mirror to collect more data, the visual sort. Prepared to find a bruise or a least a redness, I looked over my shoulder and saw nothing new. Seriously, I turned from side to side searching. "Oh, I thought it was this side but it must have been...no...hmm...that's funny..." Visual data was not triangulating with conclusion drawn from sensory-motor data, return to sensory-motor method of data collection...yes...swelling still present...now employing mixed-method design by simultaneously collecting sensory-motor and visual data. With this approach, I found it. I could see the perimeter separating the swelling from the pre-existing rotundness of its location. Or at least, I think I did. To be sure, I gave it a poke to see if it hurt. "Ouch." Yep, it hurt. But I was confused. It didn't look like a swelling. It looked like, like, a new deposit of fat. "No! Really?!? But it hurts. It can't just be new lumps on my lumpy butt." More data needed. A control sample. I turned to investigate the right hip. Looked like I remembered it. Now the poke test..."ouch." Hmm, this one hurts too. Poke-test conclusion--poke pain associated with diminished muscle tone due to less than optimal use (a phenomenon I was familiar with as I watched my grandmother and now my mother and aunt age).
So there I stood, towel on the floor, gazing into the mirror at my latest addition to the topography of my backside. What positive place can I take this one? It took a few days to find it, but the Universe gave it to me this morning, again, in the shower.
I am swelling. I have been swelling for quite some time and I am finally reaching a point at which I can no longer ignore it. I am "swelling" physically--not in any acute injury-related way but in the, "hmm, these jeans used to be comfortable" or "hey, when did that roll that has moved in to assume the space that had been my waist arrive?" kind-of-way. But I have not really been too concerned about that swelling. I've more been observing it and experiencing it rather than fighting it. The swelling to which I refer comes from within. I have been swelling with a desire to nurture my spiritual center. I have been swelling with an interest in honing the insights I receive from the divinity within me. I have been swelling with a restlessness to clear the pathways and open the channels so that the divine can freely flow through me. Which brings me to this moment. Here. Now. Admittedly fighting the urge to look at the clock. This is my quiet time after my newly embarked upon yoga practice. I figured if I was really going to try to do this that I must really start from the inside and make this a journey of body, mind, and spirit. That said, I hope to ease the swelling by removing the blocks that interrupt the flow of energy within me and through me. I don't want to remove the source of the swelling, but rather to eliminate the barriers that create the pools, the accumulations, the excesses.
As for the changing topography of my backside, I am happy to say, for the first time in my entire life it is not my motivation. I do not want the peace treaty that has ended the war that I have been waging with my body--my weight my whole life to be compromised. Rather, my hope is that it will be enhanced and whole wellness--physical, mental, and spiritual--will ensue.
Okay, I'm sitting here. The chair is comfy. Check. A freshly poured cup of fair trade coffee. Check. Just finished yoga. Check. ...and now I feel my inspiration slipping away because I can't remember today's date with certainty. I could go into how that is symbolic of life...enjoy the moment, be in the here and now to the extent that you don't even know when the now actually is. Funny, I just realized my watch is at home lying on the vanity waiting for a battery with enough energy to keep it going (the metaphors just don't stop coming.) I really am in the moment. I have no point of reference with which to orient myself...unless I get up from this chair and look at the wall...or I dig into my bag and pull out my phone--the keeper of all information. I guess the trick is to win the battle, defeat the urge to inform myself with information that is only going to take away this moment of freedom I have. Right here. Right now.
My wrist is aching. The yoga practice will be hard on it. I'm not sure now is the best time to try to write.
Last week after my first yoga class (in almost a decade), I found a tender spot while showering. It was my left hip. As I explored the "problem" with my left hand I realized that the tender spot felt swollen. There was an obvious difference between my "regular" hip and this new, raised topography on my hind quarter. As I finished showering, my mind wandered through the potential culprits for my newly discovered swelling. I remembered that I had experienced discomfort in the same area as I rolled over it when moving from one yoga pose to another. At that moment in class I made a mental note that I would need to accommodate this tender spot. I haven't been able to put any real pressure on it for at least 2 years--likely more. I don't really remember. Now I found myself in the shower connecting the two and wondering what the hell I did to my butt in yoga class.
I got out of the shower, towel-dried, and stepped before the mirror to collect more data, the visual sort. Prepared to find a bruise or a least a redness, I looked over my shoulder and saw nothing new. Seriously, I turned from side to side searching. "Oh, I thought it was this side but it must have been...no...hmm...that's funny..." Visual data was not triangulating with conclusion drawn from sensory-motor data, return to sensory-motor method of data collection...yes...swelling still present...now employing mixed-method design by simultaneously collecting sensory-motor and visual data. With this approach, I found it. I could see the perimeter separating the swelling from the pre-existing rotundness of its location. Or at least, I think I did. To be sure, I gave it a poke to see if it hurt. "Ouch." Yep, it hurt. But I was confused. It didn't look like a swelling. It looked like, like, a new deposit of fat. "No! Really?!? But it hurts. It can't just be new lumps on my lumpy butt." More data needed. A control sample. I turned to investigate the right hip. Looked like I remembered it. Now the poke test..."ouch." Hmm, this one hurts too. Poke-test conclusion--poke pain associated with diminished muscle tone due to less than optimal use (a phenomenon I was familiar with as I watched my grandmother and now my mother and aunt age).
So there I stood, towel on the floor, gazing into the mirror at my latest addition to the topography of my backside. What positive place can I take this one? It took a few days to find it, but the Universe gave it to me this morning, again, in the shower.
I am swelling. I have been swelling for quite some time and I am finally reaching a point at which I can no longer ignore it. I am "swelling" physically--not in any acute injury-related way but in the, "hmm, these jeans used to be comfortable" or "hey, when did that roll that has moved in to assume the space that had been my waist arrive?" kind-of-way. But I have not really been too concerned about that swelling. I've more been observing it and experiencing it rather than fighting it. The swelling to which I refer comes from within. I have been swelling with a desire to nurture my spiritual center. I have been swelling with an interest in honing the insights I receive from the divinity within me. I have been swelling with a restlessness to clear the pathways and open the channels so that the divine can freely flow through me. Which brings me to this moment. Here. Now. Admittedly fighting the urge to look at the clock. This is my quiet time after my newly embarked upon yoga practice. I figured if I was really going to try to do this that I must really start from the inside and make this a journey of body, mind, and spirit. That said, I hope to ease the swelling by removing the blocks that interrupt the flow of energy within me and through me. I don't want to remove the source of the swelling, but rather to eliminate the barriers that create the pools, the accumulations, the excesses.
As for the changing topography of my backside, I am happy to say, for the first time in my entire life it is not my motivation. I do not want the peace treaty that has ended the war that I have been waging with my body--my weight my whole life to be compromised. Rather, my hope is that it will be enhanced and whole wellness--physical, mental, and spiritual--will ensue.
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