Know your place...

Have you ever attempted to support someone close to you by listening to a story about a recent trauma, conflict or upsetting event?

Have you, after hearing that story, ever tried to offer some guidance, wisdom or perspective, or tried to shed some light on a seemingly obvious aspect of their experience?

Have you, after generously offering such support, then had the person turn their anger, sadness, frustration or confusion on you, leaving you feeling dumbfounded, hurt, and confused yourself?

Ah yes, welcome to the complexities of human relationships. Just when we think we are being a good friend, a helpful guide, or a wise teacher, our best efforts go unrecognized, or at worst, shoot us in the foot.

I recently witnessed some interesting interpersonal interactions that, although less than enjoyable for all involved, were deeply illuminating. Twice in the span of a few days, someone close to me had the unpleasant experience of opening their heart and offering what they thought was support, only to have the person on the receiving end respond less-than-graciously. Now, not only was the original person in a bad spot, but my friend now too was feeling deeply hurt.

Already seeing a pattern emerging, I asked for permission before offering “support.” When permission was granted, I spoke:

“Sometimes, people don’t need anything from you but to be heard. Sometimes, people don’t even need to be heard, they just need to be held. Sometimes, people don’t even need to be held, they just need you to hold the space while they go through whatever they’re experiencing. Despite your best intentions, it’s important to know your place…“

The next time someone comes to you with a problem, a story of woe, or some other situation, before you act (or react) ask yourself what your role is. If you’re not sure, ask the person involved, “do you want my advice or do you just need someone to listen to you?” It might come as a surprise, but most of us are adept at figuring things out ourselves if we just have the time and space to process things. Your role may not be to problem solve or fix anything, but to be present while the person works through things themselves.

Being present with someone may not look like much on the outside, but it takes a lot of inner work. If you find yourself in such a situation, consider the following technique, known as active listening:

Allow the person to speak without interruption, listening and witnessing without judgment until they are completely through. (If they pause, wait a few moments to see if they begin again, before you begin to respond).

When you are sure they are finished speaking say, “I’d like to repeat back to you what I heard you say, so that I can be sure I heard you correctly.”

Begin to repeat back, in your own words, the main ideas or feelings the person shared. Don’t worry about repeating things verbatim, or remembering everything they talked about. Just pick up the core concepts, and repeat objectively in your own words.

Ask, “did I hear you correctly?” Wait for their response. Then ask, “is there anything you would like to add?”

At that point you may ask, “would you like me to share my thoughts or offer some guidance?” Only proceed if the person requests you to share.

If nothing further is requested of you, you can thank them for sharing their experience with you and finish the conversation.

That’s it. Seriously.

On fearlessness

“Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over again to our own annihilation, can that which is indestructible be found in us.”

-- Buddhist teaching

The beginning of November marks the time, a year ago, that I set off for Costa Rica with a map, a backpack and a plan… Luckily, the backpack was well constructed, because the other two items went to hell pretty quickly. The happy ending to the rough start of that story, of course, was that the gravitational pull from Nosara Yoga Institute lured me in like a ship to the Bermuda triangle. I can’t speak for the boats, but I know that I was certainly not lost there. I was found.   

It has been almost a year since I began teaching yoga, and while I feel blessed and deeply nourished by the journey so far, that in no way has made it a completely smooth ride.

My first several months of teaching I was filled with fear. One of the major obstacles to pursuing a teacher training in the first place was that I felt nervous speaking in front of people. With a certification finally under my belt, I now felt even more nervous about what I would say when I finally got the courage to stand in front of a class.

Then there was the logistics of creating a class. Even though my body knew the practice intimately, directing others through familiar asanas felt like learning a new language. Would my directions be clear? Would I be able to discern right from left? Would I forget what I had planned? I would be instructing my students to link their movement to their breath, but would I be able to speak and breathe myself? (The answer to those questions, I would soon learn, depended entirely on the day and the class).

Then there were the familiar pangs of the desire for approval and the fear of rejection. Would anyone come to class? If they came, would they like it? If it was too hard, would my students hate me? If it was too easy, would they be bored? Will they like me? Will they come again? You see, as much as this practice is about dissolving ego, mine still raises hell on a regular basis.

All together, it’s been an incredible year. I feel like I’ve grown tremendously as a teacher and a student. It turns out the lessons I learn while teaching, are just a continuation of my own personal yoga practice. Just as I continue to grow every time I step on my mat and begin breathing deeply, I evolve every time I step in front of a class and ask others to do the same. Just as in my own personal practice, I have gained confidence and clarity, but I also make missteps, have moments and areas of weakness, and so keep myself humble.

I don’t experience the same level of nervousness prior to teaching, but I also remember what those early months felt like.  As another teaching says, “courage is not the absence of fear, but the determination to move beyond it.” And so, I keep moving on.  

If not now, when?

A couple of weeks ago, I attended a four hour long group meditation in the city. (Although 20 minutes might be par for the course for most people in search of enlightenment, we New Yorkers apparently need a bit more warming up in order to find inner peace).

 

Although I like to think I know better than to expect anything from a situation like that (or any situation, really) part of me was definitely hopeful that I would break through to some insanely blissful state at some point during the process. So, I sat. And I waited... and I kept sitting... and waiting. 

 

Ahem. I'm sitting here! Bliss can come find me any minute now.

 

I kept waiting. Nothing happened. And then, something did happen: the torment sunk in. All of a sudden, I was being pulled by my thoughts. I wanted to move; I wanted to stop; I wanted to sit still, but my skin started to crawl. Then the judgements sunk in: "If you only meditated more, this would be easy for you. Why can't you concentrate? Do you really think you deserve to have this be easy?"

 

After roughly an eternity of this, my thoughts then turned to the words our guide for the evening had spoken prior to the start of the session. "Your thoughts and actions are like ripples in a pool of water. Any fluctuations of the mind or body will effect the whole, so be careful with your thoughts and be conscious of unnecessary movement. We are all carrying each other, so be present not only for yourself but for the good of all who are here." 

 

I then remembered a few interesting and intense exchanges with various members of the group prior to the start of the session. These conversations were charged with a negative and heavy quality, and had left me feeling a bit knocked off center. Now knee-deep into the process, I began to place the burden of my emotional turmoil on others. "Oh great," I thought. "These are the people responsible for holding up the ship... I think I want to get in another life raft, thanks. Maybe this isn't even MY stuff coming up. Maybe it's that dude's stress from across the room. Thanks, guy!"

 

Wave after wave, thought after thought kept crashing over me, and it was all I could do stay afloat. And still, somewhere, part of me was waiting. Waiting for the waves to stop; waiting for something better to step in; waiting to be relieved of my misery; waiting for my fellow meditators to get their shit together so that I could shower them with unconditional love and thanks and feel better. 

 

Not surprisingly, this did not happen. Here is what did:

 

Some how I received the message that this waiting was exactly the thing that was keeping me from being in the space I wanted to be in. This waiting was a denial of the fact that joy and love and peace were there, right on the other side of all this darkness, just waiting for me to see it. This waiting was keeping me out of accepting and being in the present. 

 

How often in my life am I waiting for something to happen so that I can be happy?

 

“I’ll be happy when I have a different job.”

 

“I’ll be happy when I’m out of New York.”

 

“I’ll love that person more once they get their act together.”

 

It suddenly became apparent that love, peace, and happiness are not conditional states, although I often try to make them that way.

 

The tables had turned. I wasn’t waiting for peace or happiness. They were waiting for me. 

 

Angels didn't exactly start to sing in ecstasy, but things certainly got lighter from that point forward. Although I didn't reach enlightenment in four hours, I was finally able to accept exactly where I was, and everyone who was there with me, and that was more than enough.

 

Peace.

 

(At last).

Mas Poesia

I've just returned from an insanely amazing trip to Lake Tahoe. Highlights: Love. Yoga. Music. Sunshine. My souvenir:

Summer Hymn 

In the pyres of snow-worn rocks,

a simple alter presents itself:

Sun-warmed stoned, soft

blankets of moss, water falling

from who-knows-where,

from a winter 

who-knows-how-long-

ago.  

What else is there?

What more is necessary to recognize 

the need for celebration?

Praise in the movement of the stream.

Praise in the birdsongs.

Praise in the too-blue sky and 

the green trees. 

Praise! 

And don't get me started on

the wildflowers--

the three brave ones

that grew, like a miracle,

from a crack in the rock. 

So small! So determined to live,

despite all that coarseness and

roughness,

Each unlikely, vibrant petal

respiring softly,

as it rose towards light

sighing,

Thank you,

thank you,

thank you,

thank you.

Life-speed ahead

The last month and a half has been an inspirational one, filled with many new opportunities to teach, to learn, to grow, and most importantly to love. Although I haven't been logging as many hours onto the computer, I have been writing. Here's a little taste of where I am now:

And Other Lightness

1. 

Rain hangs heavy

all day

until a great shift splits

clouds, and splinters of sun

break all of us wide open 

at four in the afternoon.

2.

A silk ribbon of fog

slips like a veil 

across the eyes of evening--

scatters and refracts the glow 

from softly illumined windows.

 

3. 

Fireflies, like fallen constellations,

flashing in the hushed galaxies of grass,

circle in unseen orbits. 

4.

An oven burns, and the

long work of turning 

love to nourishment creates space 

for ceremony in busy kitchens.

5.

A common table transforms

into alter, with candles lit for communion, 

as gently emptied bellies are waiting 

to be filled.

6. 

The last trace of Day

drifts from her long post as guardian,

interrupting such stillness 

only to invite the stars 

into the subtle spread of night.

7. 

Later, in the quiet hours,

in the undeniable darkness,

with senses sharpened to all small miracles,

she sings and spins and asks and prays,

Is there anything but light? 

Guru

A few months back, during a particularly emotional week, I found myself nearly in tears, saying to a friend, "I want a guru!" 

My friend, in his wisdom, looked at me with a calm expression and asked, "Really?" A major pause. "Why?" 

"Well, I don't know..." I responded, imagining living an austere life on a mountain somewhere near the end of the earth, in service of some bald-headed being. "Maybe I don't want a guru exactly. But I need some help! Why can't someone just give me some guidance. Sometimes I just want someone to tell me what to do!" My friend smiled, nodded, and said little else. 

Ten minutes later, as we were meditating on the beach, I found a place of stillness within myself, and the answers I needed flooded forth (along with many tears). I rescinded my statement, ceding to the power of my own inner guide. 

Still, sometimes in life, we need guidance, and sometimes it feels like it really needs to come from something outside of us-- from an objective perspective perhaps, or from someone who has traveled down the same path before. 

According to some texts, the word guru comes from the sanskrit, "gu," meaning "darkness," and  "ru," meaning "light." A loose translation then is a guru is a dispeller of darkness, one who guides another from darkness to light. 

When I have broached the conversation of gurus to others, I have often been quoted the popular adage from Confuscious, who says, "when the student is ready, the guru appears." 

Throughout the course of my life, I have had many teachers, but never one I considered my "guru." I thus took this to be a sign that I wasn't ready. Recently however, I've begun to notice a proliferation of people who are enlightening me-- literally bringing more light, wisdom and guidance, into my life on a daily basis-- true gurus, by this definition. These people come from all parts of my past and present-- friends from college who are slowly becoming interested in what I've been chanting all these years and who now have their own amazing insights to share; my niece, whose independent dedication to her faith as a young woman is beyond inspiring; my beautiful and diverse coworkers; my spiritual/religious/zen-without-trying-to-be Mom and Dad! 

David Swenson, in his manual on Ashtanga Yoga asks the question, "What does a yogi look like?" He writes:

The learned sage draped in robes, residing in a cave or mystical temple is the image of spirituality which is sometimes sought by the western student. There are certainly saintly persons residing in such abodes yet it is not the only place to look. In my quest for knowledge I have felt at times to be like a fish swimming in the ocean looking hear and there for the ocean itself. All knowledge is available to us within each breath if we are but aware enough to recognize it. I thank my family [and friends] for exhibiting the qualities of a yogi in their daily life and interactions. 

As I reflect on these words and my own experiences, I see I am literally surrounded by gurus-- that I am daily being lifted from the darkness into light by the people who love, nourish and care for me. 

I am humbled by all of you, and I thank you, with deep recognition of your light and teachings.

Namaste. With love.  

Community

It is paradoxical to think that in a city full of people, a person can feel so alone. But as I navigate through a sea of people on a daily basis, alone is exactly how I sometimes feel. Here in New York, where people walk down the street with blank expressions, avoiding eye contact, and where the only touch is an unwelcome bump or nudge in a crowded subway car, it is easy to feel as though everyone is a stranger. 

Even within the yoga "community," I have often voiced the complaint that we all show up on our mats, do our practice and then leave. "Not much of a community, if you ask me," I always say. "I don't even know the names of the people who put their mats down next to me on a daily basis. Humph!"  (Of course, if you asked me whether I ever took the initiative to introduce myself to my neighbor, the answer would be "no." But it's much easier to project this lack of social skills on others rather than own it, now isn't it?)

When I'm not experiencing that inexplicable sense of aloneness in yoga class, my feeling of isolation in the world at large usually takes the following course: a common thought that pops into my head in a group of people I am assessing (aka judging-the-hell-out-of) is, "none of these people are into yoga/meditation/spirituality..." As these concepts and practices are of utmost interest and importance to me, the follow-up thought to this, recited straight from the annuls of my turbulent teens is, "no body understands me. I am completely alone." 

When something persistent and pervasive appears in my life such as this, and I find myself pointing the finger at everyone else, I sometimes have the good judgment to stop and ask myself, "is it them, or is it really me?" While I rarely like the answer to this question, the same courage that is required to ask the question in the first place is often enough to get me through the answer... "it's me." 

Upon reflection, I've been forced to notice my tendency to pull the curtains around myself and then exclaim into the darkness, "I'm alone!" With recognition of this rather peculiar behavior, I've benefited from a softening of my judgements of others, and with this softening, more light has filtered in...

I can't tell you how many times recently someone I once judged as a-spiritual has surprised me by sharing some aspect of themselves and their spirit that I previously never saw (but am sure was really there all along). Once I let go of my preconceived notions, I was shocked to realize how many people around me are engaged, at various levels, in a deeper inquiry into themselves.

From this realization, I gained another insight, which was that in addition to judging the person as spiritual or not, yogic or not, I was also judging what "spirituality" looks like. 

Although not everyone practices yoga, I've become increasingly attuned to hearing friends and acquaintances describe a spiritual connection to their love of biking, cooking, music, dancing.... One of my dear friends has found a profound connection to Spirit through Narcotics Anonymous meetings, while another has a somewhat secret, strong family background in a certain faith that they hold most dear. A busser at work shared with me the meditative aspects of his life back home in Nepal, while a few days prior, one of our managers held a positivity circle during our staff meeting. 

When I stop expecting Spirit to look like a certain thing, or belong to a certain type of person, I realize it is everywhere. When I stop seeing myself as separate from the sea of people swirling around me, I recognize we are all moving in the same tide. When I pull back the curtains I've drawn around me, I see I'm a part of an 8 million person-strong community. I begin to see that there are no strangers, just seekers I haven't met yet. 

City Scriptures

I would be lying if I said the transition from beach to city has been easy. I’ve been home for a week and so far I’ve experienced a rollercoaster of emotions almost every hour. A typical monologue of mind stuff goes like this:

“YAY! I’m so happy I’m home. I get to see my friends and my family! I missed you guys! I love you so much! And WOW! There are so many good yoga studios here and so many inspiring teachers to learn from…. “

“AGH! Why is everybody pushing me? I’m walking fast enough. I’m sweating for gods’ sake! What’s the damn rush, people?? I hate this… “

Inhale. Exhale.

“Ok, but seriously I’m so grateful to be here. What a great test of my ability to be present. Being here makes me stronger. I’m a spiritual gangster!! And there’s so much good food. Good music. Good art….”

“Oh my god! There’s the subway. RUN! The train’s delayed. I’m going to be late for work. RUN! Why are all these tourists walking so damn slow? RUN!!! I hate it here… Screw the music. Screw the art. I never have time to go see any of it anyway… my schedule is already full for the next three weeks. I’m overwhelmed. I can’t breathe…”

Inhale. Exhale.

Continue this chatter ad infinitum… wash, rinse, repeat… You get the idea.

So what is a culture-shocked yogini to do? Back her bags and go back to the beach? Succumb to the mind stuff and search for an escape in old habits (staying out too late, stretching herself too thin, drinking more martinis than tea)? Or better yet, figure out a way to quit her job and stay within the cozy confines of 24/7 yoga classes in the myriad studios throughout the city? Tempting. But, no.

 Because I am a spiritual gangster. Being here, feeling the vrittis pile up in my mind like  a midtown traffic jam on a Friday at six, I feel increasingly determined to take my yoga with me everywhere I go.

I’ve been meditating on the J train as it rattles over the graffiti-riddled low-income housing of deep Queens and Brooklyn. I’ve been breathing deeply on my walk through the rambling hoards of window shoppers that stop without warning to ogle overpriced Prada while I’m trying to get to work. I’ve been trying to plan less and be present more.

And I fail. And I lose focus. And I realize it. And I try again.

The yoga sutras, the bhagavad gita, all of the poems of Rumi and Hafiz—they are all powerful tools for learning about yoga. But the scriptures of New York City make you live it.

Case in point:

Saturday, I spent the morning sweating it out in an amazing yoga class, only to realize, I still felt funky and somewhat blue. Despite being on my mat, I couldn’t get my mind away from all of the things I was thinking I wanted to accomplish in the weeks ahead. I tried the usual tricks to no avail. I felt stressed, depressed even.  Where was the panic button, I wondered? I wanted off the ride.

I went to work, put on a smile and repeated the sacred mantra, “fake it ‘til you make it.” As I polished glasses and set up my station, my mind was still running a thousand miles a minute, trying to schedule and squeeze me into every possible activity and goal over the next stretch of time. Unable to be in the moment, I was even scribbling my schedule for the next two weeks on cocktail napkins stolen from the bar. And then, the dinner rush came.

Two hours into the nonstop movement and on-the-spot problem solving that serving our guests, requires, I realized that I had become completely engrossed in what I was doing, right there, right then. I had stopped planning for the unknown. And despite my quickening pulse, the crowd and the chaos all around me, I didn’t feel stressed at all. Quite the contrary, I felt in my element, fully present, and actually invigorated. If I was still on a rollercoaster, I wanted to let go of the safety bars, throw my hands up and scream, “WOO HOO!”

 That night, my gurus weren’t wearing robes or reciting sacred chants, they were wearing skinny jeans and speaking with bad Jersey accents. Although I couldn’t find my yoga while doing asanas that morning, my yoga found me while I was in the weeds, at the height a Saturday night rush in a busy restaurant in the West Village.

Lesson learned. Om mane Prada om…..

 

Time Warp...

I write this on an airplane, zooming through space, headed back to the rush and bustle of modern living. Conceptually, I know that we are going fast—over 500 miles an hour, most likely—and yet, staring out the window, watching the fluff of clouds beneath and around me, it seems that we are hardly moving. As I reflect on my experience in Costa Rica over the past few months, speed and time feel similarly warped by perception.

Something I am noticing is how much can occur when you strive to do less and be more. I am thinking about a recent trip to Playa Negra, in which the pinnacle of each day, in between yoga and walks on the beach, was sitting on the porch, drinking hot tea in the hot sun, and talking with two fellow journeymen about astrology, the universe and life in general. There was very little “doing” on that trip, but a lot of being definitely occurred. Although we were only there three days, I returned back to Nosara feeling as refreshed as though I had been vacationing for a year.

As the Indian play write Kalidasa exclaimed, “Look to this day!/For it is life, the very life of life./ In its brief course lie all the verities and realities of your existence.” Indeed, it is amazing to me how much life can be packed into a single span from sunrise to sunset, when you are present enough to live it. From my perspective, many lifetimes unfolded on that porch, and each one was long, rich and inspiring.

On the flip side of this, I can think of many days spent at home in the City that seemed to slip between my fingers before I even felt it was there. Somewhere, somehow, between subway rides, yoga classes, lunch dates and ten hours in the throngs of a dinner rush at work, the day rises and falls and the night settles in, and I feel as though I have hardly blinked or taken a few (rushed and shallow) breaths. Many times, I go to bed, exhausted, sensing that I have done a lot but gained or accomplished little. Such is the reality of doing more than being.

Looking back at a year of living at City speed, (over 500 miles an hour, most likely) life becomes a dizzying blur. I have often felt as though I needed to get off the ride before I vomit (or die). I have spent nearly 7 years living at this pulse-quickening rate, and yet, “it seems like only yesterday….”

Conversely, reflecting on ten weeks spent in Costa Rica, I feel like every day was at least a year. Waking to the sound of howler monkeys, giving thanks into the sunrise and the silver morning waves, meditating and doing my asanas, dancing by myself on the beach, I often had the sense that I had accomplished more before noon than I had in my City life in a week—not because anything I did was particularly deep or important, but because I was so fully there, living every moment of it in celebration and awareness, not just doing it but being it. Such is the exhilaration of stillness.

So here I am, on the fast track back to my fast life for a while, refreshed and ready to face “reality” yet again. Despite loving "pura vida," I am looking forward to modern life; to the luxuries of washer/dryers, paved roads and double lattes to-go. However, I’m going to keep my watch set to "Tico time." I may be late, but at least when I arrive, I’ll really be there.

   

Communication

I am officially half-way though my 100-hour Pranassage training at the Nosara Yoga Institute. In a nut shell, Pranassage fuses yoga-like movements with thai massage-like touch, in order to induce deep relaxation and foster communication with body. A few days ago, our teacher provided the following lesson:

In yoga, there are said to be five types of prana—essentially, energy that moves within and around the various spheres of our Being. Udana is said to be the energy of communication. This energy resides in the throat region and allows us to convey our needs, hopes, boundaries and desires, thereby allowing us to co-create our universe and our role in it.

This new awareness of the energy of communication has been reverberating in my personal life ever since...

Over the past few months, I have been engaged in a fascinating learning process regarding communication with someone very dear to me. I, apparently, am something called a “high communicator.” This does not imply that I communicate better after a little puff puff, but rather that I like to communicate openly (and often) my thoughts and feelings. Talking things out (and honestly, sometimes just hearing myself speak) is my way of working with the issues, events and emotions I am dealing with at any given time. 

All of this time, I thought I was crazy because I will often have spoken conversations with people who were not with me in present time. Now I know there’s a term for this condition… “Hi, I’m Dana, and I’m a ‘high-communicator.’” Whew! Consider me cured! 

Apparently, some people are more introverted by nature, and some how they go through similar processes on their own, quietly in contemplation and feel just fine. Thus, I am learning that one of the first steps towards good communication is the understanding that not all people communicate equally.

 

The second thing, that was fairly bluntly pointed out to me, is that not all communication is verbal. In fact, there are often more messages in what is not said than in any string of words and sentences. In the personal sphere, I have been waiting for the words that would clarify where certain people are in my life. However, if I had been listening for what was not being said, I would already have gotten a sense of clarity. Similarly, if I had been paying closer attention to actions rather than the words, I would have gotten a pretty accurate portrayal of where they are, no words necessary.

In Pranassage, listening to the non-verbal communication that is the language of the body is essential. At this point in the training, often we will ask, “How is the pressure?” But as we get more attuned to the subtle signs of the muscles and breath, this question seems to be asked less and less.

It is especially interesting to note that when I am asked this question, I often say it’s fine even when I may prefer it to be more or less than it is. Sometimes I do this because I don’t want to be critical or make the practitioner feel bad (so ridiculous!) and sometimes I do it because I feel like a little pain is “good for me…” (also pretty dumb). But my own tendency to ineffectively communicate my true needs leads me to believe that I am not alone. It is also a good reminder about the necessity to become multi-lingual—adept at communicating and receiving information beyond the verbal sphere.

The third and final lesson for now is that electronic communication should play as little a role in relaying important interpersonal information as possible. We are multi-dimensional beings, capable of relaying and receiving information through all of our senses. We should take advantage of this as often as possible, and let the big stuff be heard, felt, seen and tasted in order to get the full effect.

With that, I’m going to stop blogging for now and go have a solo conversation with my Self in real time.

Con Paz,

D 

On love...

This morning, as I meditated on the beach, I began thinking about all of the people I love (and who love me in return), and I was moved to tears. Thus began a trend which has been following me all day-- blissed-out to the breaking point, the smallest suggestion is enough to inspire the waterworks to flow. I usually feel like I live a blessed life, but when I reflect on how much love is around me daily, it bursts my heart completely open.

I am also amazed by how many people in my life are themselves living in love. Some of my dearest friends are in relationships that are embodying love to the fullest. Their happiness and connection compounds my own experience of love, and brings me a deep sense of joy that is just beyond me.. hence the tears. All that energy has to go somewhere, I guess.

I think about my family members-- my parents, my brothers-- they are all blessed with full and loving relationships. Again, this is deeply inspiring. 

I recently received the news that my former partner, one of the major loves in my life, is getting married to a now major love in his life. I wish him so much happiness and can only express gratitude for his role in my life even now. 

I don't know what they put in the water here in Costa Rica, but everyone should have some. It would be the end of wars. 

To all of my loves, know that I'm sending you lots while I am away. Your presence in my life is beyond a blessing-- it's a miracle-- and one I am deeply grateful for.

Isn't love grand? 

(Yes, yes it is... now can someone hand me a tissue?)

<3 

D

On Surrender...

Finally-- Costa Rica! Although I have not yet arrived in Nosara, the town I will call home for the next stretch of time, I definitely feel like I have landed.

As I mentally prepared for my departure over the last week, something that continued to come up for me was the need to let go. Although this sounds simple, (just let go!) it is not an easy or effortless task. As passive as it sounds, letting go takes work.

Although I often like to believe that I am ultimately the one in control of this journey, there comes a point where I have to acknowledge the role of something bigger and beyond me that is also at work. (I learned this during Costa Rica trip 2.0, when all of my best laid plans, which took months to create, disappeared in day... and for those keeping tabs, I am relearning it now for the 9,999,999,998th time).

In saying this, I am not discounting the power of choice or personal volition, or the law of cause and effect; I can certainly attest, I am living out the effects of many recent actions and decisions. What I am learning, is that there is a very thin line between choice-- conscious steps in a certain direction-- and surrender-- essentially, a leap of faith. It seems to me that finding harmony between these two states of being is the key to being presently alive.

This concept is probably old news to many, but a certain translation of it was introduced to me during our yoga teacher training. In the yoga sutras, Patanjali talks about the seeming duality of abhyasa (resolute action, practice) and vairagya (non-attachment). Our teacher talked about the need to take resolute, conscious action-- to make a choice and stand by it-- and at the same time invoke an attitude of non-attachment to the outcome. Basically, it embodies the idea that there are some things we can control (our choices, behaviors, actions) and then there is everything that is beyond us (the outcomes, reactions reprecussions). Our teachers message was-- act with your whole heart, be resolute and determined.. that is the most you can do. If you make a mess, if seeming disaster strikes as a result, so be it. At least you lived up to your end.
(In my experience, by the way, what can at first seem like a mess is often the best possible outcome in the end).

As someone who is often convinced that I need to plan my entire life out, that each choice could spell success or disaster, that there is a right or wrong answer to the decisions I am faced with (which partner? which job? which apartment? what time frame?) these concepts give me pause.

As Caroline Myss states, it is not about the choice really, but about your reasons for choosing it. There is no right or wrong choice, only different lessons to be learned from evaluating your motivations and being with each outcome.

Similarly, Carlos Castaneda says the only thing to ask yourself is does this path have heart? He says, all paths lead to nowhere, but if you choose the path with heart you will always grow.

So here I am, Costa Rica 3.0. I dont know where this journey will take me, and right now at least, I can release the need to know. I made a conscious choice to follow my inspiration, and I am resolved to stick with it, ups and downs, twists and turns, because I know is this path has heart-- my heart-- and I am ready to ride the waves until I am called to shore.

With love and gratitude, enjoy the journey!

Outside in...

Something I've been looking at is my tendency to look outside myself for the answers, resources, permission, or power to follow through, act, move forward or fill-in-the-verb here. 

Yesterday, I was thinking about it in terms of my belief that peace will come to me when I am in Costa Rica, living on the beach. As I shared, I had the realization that not only will peace not come to me on the beach, quite conversely, stress would be waiting on the beach towel next to me... unless of course I changed my line of thinking. Part two of this realization is that peace is already here if I enter into the exact space that I am in now. (And that space can be anywhere at any moment).

Yesterday, I was able to find peace for the most fleeting of moments by watching my breath and becoming fully present. Today, I tried to recreate this experience (thereby holding on to the past) and I had a fairly challenging time. Sitting there, looking for peace (where did it go? I thought I left it right here!), the wheels of my mind started turning. As I struggled to focus on my breath, a beep from the telephone distracted me (maybe when it's totally silent I will find peace); then my mom came home and began opening cabinets (maybe when my mom leaves the room I will find peace); then there was the gardener with a leaf blower (maybe I'll find peace tomorrow)... Basically, before I knew it, I was back in the mindset that my experience of peace was conditional, that it would some how present itself when the time and place was exactly right... WRONG.

I then began thinking about all of the other places in my life where I am waiting for something outside to change before I do..."I will meditate more when I'm in more tranquil surroundings,"  or, "I will start eating better when I'm not surrounded by such good restaurants, or when the holidays are over and the chocolate is gone,"or, "I will begin healing once so-and-so apologizes..." It is honestly staggering how much personal power I have ceded to the smallest external condition or stimulus. And that's just the minor stuff.

As I told  a friend recently, becoming conscious of our behavior is the first step towards changing it. We may have to witness ourselves making the same unhealthy choices or falling back into the same frustrating habits hundreds of times before we choose something different, but at least if we are aware of it, there is hope that one day we will move beyond it. 

Although it didn't happen while I was meditating, I was able to enter a state of peace today-- at the gym of all places! There I was, on the elliptical, pumping away, listening to Ron Trent's Deep Sexy house mix, totally in my body and my breath, not searching or waiting for it... and there it was. Nothing about my environment was particularly peaceful or sacred, and yet my inner environment was totally there.

Lesson learned. Now to relearn it 9,999,999,999 more times....

  

Revelation in Neon (or Enlightenment in Las Vegas)

This is it; this is the first step towards becoming one of those people. You know, a blogger. I can hear the collective groan coming from all of the people who know me best. But, here I go, doing it anyway. 

Disclaimer: If you know me fairly well, skip this part and begin reading below...

An introduction to life as I've lived it: 

Back in December, I set the intention (and bought the plane ticket) to return to Costa Rica on February 9th in order to pursue la pura vida. After setting off with a similar intention in November, I was amazed by how quickly my "plans" went out the window. I learned two days into my initial voyage that the yoga retreat where I had intended to cook would have no visitors for nearly a month-- the initial length of time I had intended to stay. This left me at the top of a hill, at the end of distant beach town, at the tip of the most southern peninsula of Costa Rica, without electricity, phones or dry matches to send smoke signals (it was the end of the rainy season), and most importantly, without a plan.

Somewhat surprisingly, in my two hour hike back to the nearest town, I resolved to remain calm, because I instinctually felt like something better was coming my way. I found a patch of cell reception along my jungle beach path and used it to call my parents. Again, somewhat surprisingly, they too remained calm. To make a long story short: despite torrential rains, flooded rivers, and the threat of airport closures, I arrived back in San Jose one day later with a list of yoga related contacts in Costa Rica. (Thank You Costa Rican Biologist Angel!) 

By the next day, I a new plan had found me, and a month and a half later I was graduating as a certified yoga teacher-- a goal I have had since my first yoga class at Laughing Lotus over 5 years ago. 

Friends' Abridged Version: 

So, here I am again, a couple of months later, armed with a "plan," (although this time even less focused) to return to Costa Rica in order to pursue peace and balance, to share yoga and cook, and to complete another part of a professional training at the yoga institute. (Infinite thank you's to a fellow Nosara Grad for providing a scholarship). 

And yet, it's February 12th and I'm not there yet. On February 10th, I boarded a plane to Las Vegas, seeking out my old bedroom rather than the beach, in the hopes of creating some space around an emotionally charged week of  various "see-ya-laters" from friends and loved ones (some seemingly more final than others). Despite my usually independent nature, I chose not to try to push through this alone, and to instead create some grounding and stability before setting off to take over the world.

I'm so glad I did, because this morning, in our living room, with the flashing lights of the strip (and strippers!) only a few miles away, I felt enlightened for two fleeting seconds. Here is what came up: 

I was moving to Costa Rica (I thought) in search of balance; in order to live more simply, without the distraction and intense energy of the city. But I haven't even arrived there yet and already I was planning my next move. I could see myself, sitting on the beach, without any real stress to speak of, and I could already feel my heart and mind racing with the question, "what next?" 

It dawned on me that I could end up on the beach in Costa Rica, in one of arguably the most tranquilo places on earth, and I would still be stressed out. For years I've been blaming the city for making me crazy, and this morning I realized...

It's not the city! It's just ME! 

Of course, the truth is, it's not just me, it's many of us. There are many others out there who simultaneously love the city, but feel overwhelmed by it, who love the stimulation but go to the point of burnout. I am telling myself at least, that there are others who swing from one end of the spectrum to another, without yielding for moderation at some point in the middle.

And hence, a blog is born. Living La Vida Yoga is intended to be a rough guide to creating harmony and finding balance no matter where you are, written one day at a time, by someone still trying to figure it out. For all of the spiritual gangsters and spiritualistas living life in the concrete jungle of NYC (and in the towns and cities beyond), and to anyone else who is in search of making more peace, finding more joy, and living their life as they want it to be exactly where they are now, this blog seeks to inspire and support you on your path, and more importantly, share the journey. 

It may seem easier to find enlightenment on the beach, (although I can already see how misguided that idea was). Finding enlightenment on the subway... at rush hour... in the summer... now that takes BALLS! 

Peace for now!