Wednesday, January 1, 2020

A New Year's Day Meditation: Asking the Three Questions

"We must be willing to get rid of the life we planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us."
                                                                                ~Joseph Campbell

I recorded the New Year's Day meditation below on our lanai here in Florida this morning. This meditation helps us to find balance between our wants, desires, dreams and goals, and our true purpose. At the start of the new year, most of us set intentions and think about how we want our lives to be. This is a beautiful and necessary thing. But we sometimes get caught up in narrowing the focus of acceptable outcomes - our minds can only conjure up so many possibilities. The universe though, knows of infinite possibilites, and outcomes far more wonderful than we can imagine on our own. So, we ask the universe some questions, and leave space to received the wisdom that knows no bounds.

I wish you a very Happy New Year! Enjoy the meditation - turn the sound all the way up - it's a little soft. I need to sit a little closer next time.

Saturday, August 10, 2019

The Past is Present

This morning, while I puttered around my study, I listened to CSN (Crosby, Stills and Nash) Greatest Hits. They were, more than any others, the voices of my generation that spoke best to me. Others might say the Beatles, or the Stones, or James Taylor or Dylan or Springsteen, or Joni Mitchell or Judy Collins or Carole King or Carly Simon, all of whom I adore. (Forgive me if I omitted your favs. - our generation had SO many!) And I don't mean to leave out Neil Young, but this album was CSN without Y.

As I listened to CSN this morning, I realized why I always loved them most of all.  It's because they managed to sing about all our problems and struggles and everything that was wrong and awful, yet in the end, still left me feeling a sense of hope.

We are so messed up these days, with chronic mass shootings, white supremacists feeling empowered, racism front and center, and hateful rhetoric against anyone different from us. I think we all thought we had made it almost out the other side of the forest with that stuff, and it hurts to be shown that we were only kidding ourselves. It seems like we've backslid, but the truth is that the ugly stuff was still there, just hiding. Perhaps there is some gift in having the spotlight pointed on it so all the rats who've been hiding in the dark, dirty corners are revealed so we can see them. But I have to say, it feels like a pretty shitty gift.

So this morning, I listened to CSN sing about two soldiers on opposite sides of war, meeting by chance in the woods, sharing berries and talking about the nonsense of it all, about parents teaching their children and children teaching their parents and the possibility that both might listen and learn, and about how fast life passes and how there is not a soul alive who doesn't regret time wasted on the way. And most of this was written 30 - 40 years ago, but they tapped into truths that are timeless and equally real and relevant now. There is palpable sadness and wistfulness in their music and lyrics, but still there is hope. Carry On, they sing. Carry on, Love is coming. Love is coming to us all. I hope so.

Monday, July 15, 2019


The woman seated beside me on the edge of the bench - the one sitting ladylike with her hands clasped, spine straight and wearing a demure smile, is Gwen. She passed away last Sunday from cancer at the age of 57.

This picture was taken a couple of years ago, when we had a professional photo shoot done at the yoga studio. Here, we were hanging out waiting for the photographer to finish taking shots in the classroom. I love this photo for so many reasons - because it shows us enjoying each other's company and because it shows our personalities outside of being teachers at the front of the classroom. I am trying to mimic Margit's classic photo pose, Margit and Pat are cracking up, Anna is wearing her beautiful photogenic smile, Heleen and Sharon in the back are just trying to behave, and Gwen is trying not to laugh.

Gwen was - is - one of my favorite people of all time. She is a devotional yogi, meaning that she studied in depth the philosophy and wisdom and spirituality of yoga, and lived and practiced it daily in her life. She is learned and wise and funny and really, really down-to-earth. I loved taking her workshops and I learned so much from her. There was so much more I wanted to ask, so much more I hoped to learn.

When I arrived in Punta Gorda in 2012, we were at the end of our time living and traveling in our RV. It was a tough time for us, because we had planned to continue that journey, but I wasn't doing well living without roots, and we were making the decision to stop and settle here. We were grieving the letting go of our dream.

I found The Yoga Sanctuary and hoped that I would be able to join the teaching staff, but it wasn't a certainty. It was December of 2012; the studio was decorated for Christmas, with stockings hung across the mantel and down the stair railing. Each stocking bore the name of one of the teachers or staff, and one of those names was Gwen. Gwen - Gwendolyn - was my mother's name. There are not so very many Gwens in the world, and when I saw that name on a stocking, it instantly comforted me and I began to think that perhaps this place would be a safe haven. Gwen was not on the regular teaching staff, so I probably didn't even meet her for some months after I joined the studio. But in those early months, it was the remembered comfort of seeing that name on a Christmas stocking that helped me start to feel at home.

For a time, long before I met her, Gwen lived at the Himalayan Institute and studied with her guru, Sri Swami Rama. In one of her workshops, Gwen talked about how her teacher became ill and she could no longer talk to him. She said, "I was so glad when he finally passed away, because then I could talk to him all the time!"

That resonated so much with me because of my experience with my mom. She had Alzheimer's, and for a long time, she was still physically here but mentally gone. When she passed away in 2011, I'd  had that same thought that Gwen expressed, "Thank goodness! Now I can talk to her again."

In yoga, we believe that death is like stepping into a different room. The physical person is no longer here for us to see and touch, but their essence, their spirit is here, there, everywhere. I am sad that I cannot see Gwen and hear her voice and her laugh, but she would not want any of us to be sad (though, to be clear, she did NOT want to leave us!). She would want me to think of it as she did when her guru passed - that now I can talk to her all the time. She may be sorry on that score - I plan to talk her ear off.

Gwen, I love you and am grateful for the privilege of having known you on this earthly plane.